#if anyone comes in here telling me to go to therapy i want you executed

[artisthoi]

guys genuine question is there like a term for thinking about dying but no so much bc you want to die and also not bc u want to feel pain but bc u wanna know what its like SPECIFICALLY with the like silly deaths.i wanna stick a fork in an outlet but i cant bc id die but i have thought about it

[bat-mom-writer]

Impulses

Bruce Wayne(Husband) X Reader(Wife)

Summery: you can be very quick to act on your impulse, usually being done with a kind heart. But can sometimes lead to you and some others being hurt.

Note: Something tells me Bruce wouldn't go to therapy, but this isn't real so...

Rate: Loving Bruce, the very small almost of angst

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"So, tell me Bruce, are you happily married?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you here?"

"Well," Bruce pauses, thinking over his words carefully, "it's not exactly that simple."

The therapist's office was quiet, the kind of silence that felt like it was holding its breath. Bruce Wayne sat in a chair that was a little too small for his broad shoulders, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It was a simple room, with a few plants scattered around and a faint scent of lavender in the air, but it was the last place he ever thought he'd be. He was a man who dealt with Gotham's problems from the shadows, not one who talked about his own in a well-lit space with a box of tissues within arm's reach.

"How so?" the therapist asked again, her voice gentle but firm, bringing Bruce back to the present.

He sighed. "Well, my wife… she's incredible. She's kind and she's the glue that holds our family together."

The therapist nodded, her expression neutral. "But?"

Bruce leaned back, rubbing his temples. "But she's… impulsive. She does things without considering the consequences, especially when it comes to the boys."

The therapist made a note in her pad. "Could you give me an example?"

Bruce sighed heavily, his mind racing with instances. "Once we went hiking, and she found a baby wolf, injured and alone. She insisted on bringing it back to the manor to care for it herself. Most of my sons thought it would be a great idea—until we realized it had a pack out there looking for it, and suddenly we had a bunch of very unhappy wolves on our backs."

The therapist looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I see. And how did that situation resolve?"

Bruce chuckled, a bit nervously. "Let's just say there were a lot of stitches involved. And I haven't heard anyone wanting to go camping again ever since."

The therapist's eyes widened, but she remained calm. "It seems she has a heart of gold, but maybe a bit of an overactive sense of adventure."

Bruce nodded. "Exactly. And it's not just with animals. She once tried to organize a surprise street carnival in the middle of Gotham because she thought the city needed more joy. You can imagine the chaos that ensued with all the traffic rerouting and permits she didn't bother to get."

The therapist's pen stopped mid-stroke. "Ah, so her intentions are good, but the execution could use some work."

Bruce nodded emphatically. "You have no idea. She's the love of my life, but sometimes I worry she's going to get us all into trouble. The boys look up to her, especially Dick and Damian."

The therapist leaned in slightly. "How do Dick and Damian react to her impulsive nature?"

"Dick tries to be the voice of reason, but he's young and still learning the ropes of being a responsible older brother. And Damian," Bruce sighed, "he's more like me—he's intrigued by the chaos she creates, but he's also the one who ends up getting hurt when things go awry."

The therapist nodded understandingly. "It's natural for children to look up to their parents, especially when they see the love and good intentions behind their actions. But it's also important for them to learn about boundaries and the potential consequences of impulsivity. How does your wife react when you bring this up with her?"

Bruce leaned forward, his expression a mix of affection and exasperation. "She's… well, she's stubborn. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities, and she wants to experience all of them. I get that, I do. But we can't live our lives on the edge like that, especially with the kind of enemies I've made over the years."

The therapist nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's a delicate balance, isn't it? Wanting to keep your family safe and also allowing them the freedom to live their lives fully. How have you been managing this?"

Bruce's smile grew a bit wistful. "Well, my wife is also the lively part of our lives. Without her, the manor would be just a fortress, not a home. She brings laughter and light to every room she enters. She's the one who convinced me to let Tim build a skateboard ramp in the garage, and even though it's a hazard to my cars, I can't help but smile when I hear them all out there, having fun."

The therapist nodded, understanding the complexity of the situation. "It sounds like you appreciate her spirit, but it's important to establish boundaries to ensure everyone's safety. Have you tried discussing the potential dangers with her?"

Bruce leaned back, his eyes drifting to the floor. "I've tried," he admitted. "But she's… she's like a tornado of love and enthusiasm. It's hard to say no to her."

The therapist nodded, her expression understanding. "It's clear you care deeply for her and the boys. Perhaps it's time to find a way to channel that enthusiasm into safer outlets."

"I know," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair. "But she's so… so alive. It's like trying to cage a butterfly."

The therapist nodded. "It's not about caging her, Bruce. It's about guiding her. Teaching her and the boys to weigh risks and rewards. To channel their energy into something positive without endangering themselves or others."

Bruce sat in silence, contemplating her words. He knew she was right, but it was easier said than done when it came to his vibrant wife. Her zest for life was both infectious and overwhelming at times. He thought back to the street carnival she had organized. The look of joy on the citizens' faces as they played games and ate cotton candy was something he hadn't seen in Gotham in a long time.

"There not all bad," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "Her impulses have led to some amazing moments, too."

"Like what?" the therapist prompted, her curiosity piqued.

Bruce's smile grew as he recalled a recent incident. "Last week, she found out about a fundraising event for an underfunded children's hospital. Without asking, she decided to host a masquerade ball at the manor. She convinced Alfred to help, and together they transformed the place into a fairy tale. The kids had the time of their lives, and we ended up raising a fortune for those kids."

The therapist returned his smile. "That does sound wonderful. It seems her spontaneity has its benefits."

Bruce nodded. "It does. But it's also a double-edged sword. I want to support her, but I also need to keep everyone safe."

The therapist leaned back in her chair. "Communication is key, Bruce. It's about expressing your concerns without squashing her spirit. Have you tried talking to her about how her impulsiveness affects you?"

Bruce sighed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his words. "I've tried, but she takes it personally. She thinks I'm trying to control her."

The therapist nodded, her expression empathetic. "It's a common misconception. Setting boundaries isn't about control; it's about care and safety. Have you framed it that way?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. I've usually approached it from the perspective of the danger it could pose to the boys."

"It's important to express your feelings," the therapist said. "Tell her how her actions affect you and why you worry. It might help her understand your perspective better."

Bruce nodded slowly, considering her advice. It was true; he hadn't shared his own fears with her, only the potential risks to the boys. Perhaps that was where he was going wrong.

"Thank you, doctor," he said, rising from his chair. "I'll think about what you've said."

The therapist stood and offered a warm smile. "Remember, Bruce, it's about balance. And sometimes, that means taking a risk to find it."

Bruce nodded, her words echoing in his mind as he left the office and stepped into the Gotham night. The city was alive with the pulse of its inhabitants, a stark contrast to the calmness he'd just left behind. His thoughts were racing, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between his need for security and his wife's boundless spirit.

As he drove back to Wayne Manor, the grandeur of the estate came into view, the gothic architecture a stark contrast to the chaos of the city beyond its gates. The manor was more than just a home; it was a bastion of hope in a city that desperately needed it. The lights were on in the windows, a warm glow that promised sanctuary from the cold outside.

When he walked in, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. You was in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you pulled a tray out of the oven. You turned to him, your face lighting up with a smile that never failed to melt his heart. "Hi, honey! How was your day?"

Bruce took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he knew he had to have. "It was… interesting," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "How about yours?"

"Oh, you know," you replied with a shrug, placing the cookies on a rack to cool. "Just the usual—keeping the boys out of trouble, planning the next big surprise for them." you winked at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bruce felt a twinge of both fondness and dread. He knew that look all too well. It was the look you got when she had another harebrained scheme up your sleeve. He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into an embrace. "How about we talk about these surprises together from now on?"

You tilted your head back, your smile fading a bit. "What do you mean?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "I mean, I know you love surprising the boys, and I love that about you. But sometimes, your surprises have… unintended consequences. I want to be there to support you, but I also need to make sure everyone is safe."

You leaned back, looking up at him with a slightly defensive expression. "Not all of my surprises turn out bad," you said, your voice a bit softer than before.

Bruce felt his heart squeeze at the sight of you, flour smudged on your cheek and apron, looking so earnest. He gave a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. But his face was screaming, "Are you sure?"

You took a step back, "Okay, okay, maybe most of them," you conceded. "But the good ones make up for it, right?"

Bruce sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. "They do," he agreed. "But it's the potential for danger that I can't ignore. And not just for the boys, but for you too."

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the flour on your apron. "Me? I'm fine. I can handle myself."

Bruce's grip on your shoulders tightened slightly. "You know what I mean," he said, his voice serious. "How many times have you ended up in the hospital because of one of your… adventures?"

You winced, remembering the last time you had tried to rescue a cat stuck in a tree, only to end up with a broken arm and a bruised ego. "Okay, okay," you repeated, holding up your hands in surrender. "I get it. I can be a bit… much."

Bruce's expression softened, his eyes searching yours. "You're not 'much', you're amazing. I just don't want to lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling in. "I know," you said, your voice small. "But what about you? You're not much different, Bruce. Maybe even worse. You go out every night as Batman, risking your life."

He stepped back, his expression unreadable. "That's different," he said firmly. "That's for the city."

"Is it?" you asked, looking up at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes. "Or is it because you've convinced yourself that it's your duty? That you're the only one who can do it?"

Bruce's jaw tightened at your question. It was a fair point, one he'd wrestled with in the quiet moments of his life. He knew that his crusade as Batman was driven by his own fears and the need to keep the city that had taken his parents safe. But he also knew that the stakes were higher for him than they were for you.

"I've been trained for that," he said finally. "You… you have the biggest heart in the world, but sometimes you don't think about the risks."

You nodded, looking down at the cookies cooling on the rack. "I know," you murmured. "But it's just so hard to resist when I see something that could bring joy to people, especially the boys."

Bruce stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "I know your heart's in the right place," he said. "But we can't keep playing Russian roulette with our lives, not when we have so much to lose. I don't want to lose you. Or see you get hurt. I'm just asking, please, consider the risks before you act. And come to me, talk to me, let's find a way to make this work."

You searched his eyes, the gravity of his words sinking in. You knew he wasn't trying to stifle you; he was just worried. "Okay," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "I'll try."

Bruce's expression relaxed a bit, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Thank you," he said softly. "Now, how about we sit down and talk about what's been on your mind? Maybe we can come up with some ideas together."

You nodded, swiping a strand of hair from your forehead. "Alright, I'll finish up on the cookies and then we can talk. Until then, want to help? Just to make sure I don't hurt myself?"

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at your attempt to lighten the mood. "Sure," he said, taking the spatula from your hand. "Let's do this together."

As you both worked side by side in the kitchen, the tension began to ease. You chatted about the different flavors of cookies and which ones the boys would like best, while Bruce carefully placed the finished ones on a plate. The rhythm of your conversation was soothing, and it reminded him of the first time he had met you—how your laugh had filled a room and made him feel alive again.

[sjsmith56]

Third Date

Summary: Bucky, called out for a mission, ghosts Holly on his return, making her think he doesn’t care. When Sam comes to get her and take her to him he tells her what happened on the mission that affected Bucky. Before they can plan the third date there are things that have to be said.

Length: 4.1K

Characters: Bucky, Holly, Sam

Warnings: Angst, Bucky’s anxiety and negative self-talk, ghosting.

Author’s notes: I didn’t plan for this to become a therapy session but sometimes that’s where the writing takes you. Sam is kind of the voice of reason in this with his “just talk about it” attitude. Thought it fitting since he’s the one who composed and sent the original text asking Holly out on Bucky’s behalf. This is the final instalment of this story.

First date Second date

🌆 🌇 🌃

Holly

It had been almost three weeks since Ivy and I last saw Steve and Bucky. Pulled away on a mission just a few days after that amazing double date we had, meant that other than video calls or texts neither one of us had heard from the guys. About a week into the mission Bucky stopped calling. Then Ivy got a text from Steve a few days later that he was coming back in the next day. I had heard nothing from Bucky, and he didn’t respond to my texts or calls, which bothered me as I thought we had something really special starting. Two days after Steve’s supposed return, as I left work there was a truck parked across the street from the building and I recognized the man leaning against the truck. He waved, looked both ways then ran across the traffic.

“Hi, Holly,” he asked. “Remember me? I’m Sam Wilson, Bucky’s friend. We met at Coney Island. I’m here to get you.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a while,” I replied. “Steve came back, but Bucky hasn’t even called.”

Sam smiled sympathetically. “I know, and he’s sorry but something happened and he kind of swore Steve to secrecy. I think they’re both being dumbasses about it, so I made an executive decision. Do you want to see him?”

Maybe it was the sincere expression on his face or the fact he called both guys dumbasses, but something said I could trust Sam. I nodded and he guided me safely across the street, holding the door of his truck open for me. As I settled in while he started it, he glanced sympathetically at me.

“This was a really hard mission for Bucky,” he said. “One of the bases where he was experimented on in the 1950s was rebuilt and they were kidnapping kids, performing experiments on them against their will. This is classified, by the way, so don’t go telling anyone.”

“Is he alright?” I was worried now.

Even though I didn’t know all the details of when Bucky was held prisoner by HYDRA, I knew the basics; that he was experimented on, tortured and forced to kill for them. I could only imagine if he found kids in the same predicament how it might trigger his PTSD.

“He’s better but the whole thing took its toll on him,” said Sam. “He sometimes has a hard time dealing with the emotions it brings up in him. In fact, after they got the kids out, he went back on his own and started trashing the place. I mean literally tearing it apart and it kind of collapsed around him. He was trapped for a day which didn’t help matters. Steve, Thor and Tony were able to get him out, but he had injuries and spent the last few days in a healing cradle back at the Tower. He was released yesterday, and we encouraged him to call you but he’s sure you want nothing to do with him after he, well, ghosted you.”

“You care about him,” I stated. “He said you’re a major pain in the ass, but you do care.”

“I do tease him a lot and maybe I shouldn’t because it’s over things that he doesn’t know about, being a guy from the 1940s,” admitted Sam. “But I hate seeing him miserable and he’s miserable right now, thinking that he blew his chances with you.”

I didn’t say anything to that because I did feel like he ghosted me. Even though I was still mad, I was more disappointed that he wouldn’t let me know he had messed up. As Sam drove from Brooklyn towards Midtown, he asked me more about myself. We found some common ground as Ivy and I were from a fishing community, although we were from the west coast, and he was from Louisiana, co-owner of a fishing boat with his sister. As we got closer to our destination, I got the feeling he was also helping me calm down somewhat as he seemed to have the knack of affirming my negative emotions about being ghosted while encouraging me to be sympathetic to Bucky. I almost laughed when he pulled into the parking garage at Avengers Tower and parked the truck before giving me some advice.

“Just don’t beat him up too bad,” he said. “Tell him how his behaviour made you feel but give him a way to make amends for it.”

“You were a counsellor in a previous life, weren’t you?” I asked. “You’ve been preparing me to deal with him.”

He grinned and shrugged. “I counselled veterans for a time, but I did this because I like you and you make him happy. He still needs to own his mistakes, but he also needs to be led like a kid to see the brighter side of things.”

We entered the elevator, stopping at the lobby so that I could get registered for a friend security ID that would allow me to return almost any time. From there we went to another elevator, and he asked for a certain floor. A female voice came out of nowhere and greeted me by name. I looked at Sam, recognizing the voice from the car that Steve picked us up in for the double date.

“That’s the AI, Friday,” he explained. “You can ask her anything, and I mean anything.”

“Friday, should I forgive Bucky Barnes for ghosting me?” I asked facetiously.

“Sergeant Barnes is a man who still deals with his emotions like many men born at the same time as him,” said the AI, immediately. “It may seem frustrating to a modern woman that he would keep himself closed off, not wishing to inflict what he sees as his flaws on you. However, he is also loyal, faithful, sincere, and according to an analysis of masculine beauty standards is considered to fit in the higher percentile of attractive men, although he seems unaware of that. Based on those factors, forgiveness should be considered.”

I looked at Sam while he grinned at me. “I’m still thinking about it,” I said.

The doors opened to a floor, and we stepped out. There was a common room with a kitchen attached, as well as a large communal table. Several people were gathered around it and watched me as I got off the elevator. We turned in the other direction towards what I assumed were the living quarters. It was bright, large, and I had the feeling that the apartment I was going to was going to be considerably larger than the small flat that I lived in, the same flat that Bucky lived in just a few months previously. Knocking on one of the doors, Sam tentatively opened it and stuck his head inside then he stepped back out.

“Not there,” he said. “He’s not cleared for working out yet so he’s likely in one of his thinking spots. Back to the elevator. Friday, where is Sergeant Barnes?”

She told him and this time we took the elevator to the top, getting out on the roof of the Avengers Tower. I was expecting it to be cool and windy up there, but it was actually kind of nice and warm, without being hot. Sam told me where to go then he left me there. Taking a breath, I walked along the decking towards an assortment of patio furniture. Bucky was sitting on a lounge chair that looked out over the Manhattan skyline. As I approached, I could see that he was aware of someone coming closer.

“I said I don’t want to be bothered,” he called out, looking to the side. “Just leave me alone.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” I answered, and he jumped off the chaise.

“Holly,” he whispered. “How did you ….”

“Sam came for me,” I answered. There were all sorts of questions I wanted to ask him, but Sam had said to lead with how his ghosting made me feel. “You didn’t call or text, and I thought you were ending it with me, before we even had a chance to see where this goes. That really hurt, Bucky.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, looking sad. “I was dealing with some things, not very well either, and I thought I could handle them by myself.”

“So I heard. You got hurt.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at his hands. I stepped closer but he stepped away. “I’m not worth it, not really.”

“Not worth what?”

He ran his hands through his hair, which had grown out a bit in the few weeks since I saw him. His stubble was noticeable, making me wonder if that was a super soldier thing.

“Love. I’m broken, Holly. When things get too much, I have a hard time. It’s not fair for someone as amazing as you to be tied down to someone like me.”

“I thought we were just dating,” I stated. “Kind of early for love.”

“Guys I served with got married after just a few days of dating,” he answered. “They were the lucky ones. Had someone waiting at home for them. I didn’t.”

“If you met me in 1940, would you have dated me?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I would have taken you to dinner and dancing. We would go for walks in the park, sit on the benches in the shadows and make out. I would have given you a ring, so you would wait for me. My therapist said it doesn’t work like that anymore. You need time to get to know someone, to find out if you can add them to your life.”

He looked out over the skyline, and I never thought I saw someone so beautiful as him, at that moment. There was something vulnerable, and hopeful, but also sad about him, how he kept himself deliberately apart.

“My last boyfriend said I would be prettier if I lost 20 pounds,” I said. “The one before him said I was too needy which was weird because I only saw him every two weeks and he always phoned me. Before him there were several that basically told me I didn’t measure up to their ideal woman. With you, I’ve only ever felt beautiful, and appreciated, and loved. You’re not broken, Bucky, not if you know how to make me feel like something to be cherished and you do. We all have baggage and not all scars are physical but they’re still there. The only thing that heals them is time and love. I have the time and I definitely have the love just waiting for the right guy to return it to me. I want that guy to be you.”

“Really? Even with only two dates?”

“When you know you know,” I smiled. “We can go on as many dates as you want before we say anything but I’m just asking that you don’t sabotage us by thinking you’re not worth it because you are. You’re definitely boyfriend material and maybe more with the right woman.”

He just stood there, looking everywhere but at me so I came closer until I was right in front of him. There are so many romantic movies that use the same trope of when the heroine, who’s been unlucky in love, finally finds the strength to confront the hero, who’s either been busy with saving the world or just not realizing that the woman who is looking up at him at that moment is the one who wants to be with him. I felt like I was in one of those scenes right then and there. The sun was low in the west, casting a golden glow over Manhattan. We were alone on a skyscraper and a light breeze was gently blowing the tendrils of my hair across my face. Bucky, so handsome, with his chiseled features and those eyes, those damn fine blue eyes that changed with his emotions, were bright but sad. We were so close together that I could feel the heat coming from his body. Right now, those eyes were looking at me as if I held his fate in my hands.

“I’m afraid of hurting you,” he whispered, then he lifted his left hand, looking at it as if it were something alien. “When I have a nightmare, I don’t know my own strength and I panic. I could really hurt you if I hit you.”

“When you slept over the last time we saw each other did you have a nightmare?” I asked.

“No, but I was pretty relaxed,” he admitted. “I often get my nightmares after a mission, especially ones that trigger memories for me.”

Raising my hand, I tentatively touched his left arm, running my hand down to his hand, then supporting it as I caressed his palm.

“One of my friends went through a tough time after she left an abusive relationship,” I said. “Touch was really difficult for her, and she had nightmares as well, horrible ones where she would cower into herself and not let anyone touch her. At first, we didn’t understand, and we would try to hug her against her wishes. She would hit out in a panic to keep us from touching her. I got a few black eyes and quite a few bruises from her hits.”

He was still letting me touch his palm and I ran my hand back up to his shoulder, feeling the seam of the metal where it met the flesh of his body. For several moments he tensed, and his breathing became a little erratic, so I stopped but left my fingers on the spot, gently circling it with just a single fingertip.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low.

“What we did for her to help her learn to trust again,” I said in my softest voice. “It wasn’t anything a therapist recommended. It was just something our circle of friends hoped would help. In a pleasant situation we started with little touches and caresses, while speaking gently to her, desensitizing her panic response. It took time but after a while when she had a nightmare, she was able to let us comfort her physically with hugs. The best part is that the panic attacks decreased.” His breathing had eased as I explained while still gently rubbing that circle on his shoulder. “I’m still touching the part of your shoulder where you reacted just a few minutes ago but now your breathing is normal and you’re not tense.”

I stopped but kept my hand there. He took a deep breath and looked up to the sky for a moment then back at me.

“I’m still afraid,” he said. “I like you so much and the thought of it becoming more is so appealing but if I hurt you, it will send me deeper into the darkness.”

“Then we have a safe word,” I suggested. “I know most people think of it as something sexual to draw a boundary so that a partner doesn’t go too far but it can also be used in a situation involving emotional upheaval, a way to say back off so that the person with you knows that you’re at the limit of your control.”

“Kind of hard when I’m still in between dreaming and waking up,” answered Bucky, then he became thoughtful. “Although, if I get the idea implanted in my consciousness maybe it’s something that I’ll be able to blurt out and you can get away from me.”

“A therapist can suggest it as a post-hypnotic command,” I mused, then saw the look of panic on his face. “Okay, or not. It might be something that we work on. If you’re really stressed after a mission, just send me a text with the word and I’ll know you’re not ghosting me, just dealing with things. I can respect that. When you’re ready I’ll be around. Just don’t shut me out, Bucky. It hurt.”

“I’m so sorry.” He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my neck. “I missed you and I’m so sorry I let my fear keep me from talking to you.”

I squeezed him back, feeling the impact of his worry for me. It was obvious that I meant something to him. Just as I was about to tell him something he released me. His face was more alive as he looked down at me.

“We have to go out,” he said. “Third date. Anything you want.”

I looked out over the view from where we were.

“Can we just sit up here and watch the sunset first?” I asked. “I’ve never been on a building this high to see that before. Then, maybe we can go for pizza or something and go for a walk after?”

He smiled at me then and I felt like my insides had turned warm and mushy.

“We can do that,” he agreed.

He led me over to the assortment of patio furniture that was there. Arranging the pieces together so that we could recline and see the sunset he helped me on then sat beside me. With his arm around me, while basking in the warmth that I drew from his body it was almost perfect.

Bucky

I almost lost her; lost her before I could tell her how incredible she was. I almost lost her because I fell into my old trap of withdrawing into myself whenever it got too hard to deal with my past. As we were at that base, with the sounds, sights, and smells that I remembered from when HYDRA had me, assaulting me constantly while we dealt with the small army that was there, all I could think of was this wasn’t real. Real was falling asleep next to Holly on her couch, then waking up next to her when the sun poured into that tiny flat that had felt like a dormitory to me when I lived there. But Holly had made it a home, with plants and pictures, cushions and throw blankets that had me wanting to be there with her, more than I ever wanted to be there before. She did that, gave me a sense that I could have a future with someone, with her. Then I had to almost blow it by ghosting her because the pain of what we found in that base brought so much anger and fear; nothing that I wanted to taint her with.

As we watched the sunset; rather she watched the sunset while I watched her, I thanked whatever god there was that gave me Sam for a friend. Steve was willing to let me wallow in my misery, not wanting to impose his will on mine, thinking he was being kind. But Sam went right to what I needed. He went and got Holly, bringing her back to the Tower so that I could draw some strength from her. How could one woman be so strong, and make me feel so weak, but in a good way? Weak in that I wanted to please her, to follow her lead, to be vulnerable with her in a way that I never was before with a woman. That’s what I felt with Holly, not like the jacked up enhanced human that HYDRA made me but just a guy who thought he might be in love with this girl.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said as the sun dipped behind the buildings. “Different than a sunset over the ocean but beautiful just the same.” She noticed I wasn’t watching the sunset. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m agreeing with you,” is what came out of my mouth.

I meant to say that she was beautiful, but it got tangled up with her comment about the sunset. It didn’t matter because her face glowed as she blushed, and I felt it deep inside of me. As the sun sunk lower to the horizon, obscured by the other Manhattan buildings and the clouds spread out, the orange colour deepened then dissipated as the indigo blue of night seeped into the sky. The solar lights up top came on and we found ourselves in the dark, except for the little pools of white light that would guide us back to the elevator. I shifted to get up, remembering that I said we could go for pizza, but she put her hand on my chest. No words were required as I bent my head to hers and kissed her. The touch of her soft hands on my neck and hair felt like heaven while she tasted like honey. With my arms I pulled her close, wanting to mold my body to hers. Without even thinking I whispered to her.

“Stay with me tonight.”

It was too late to take it back, but I didn’t regret saying it. Being close to her in as many ways possible had already occurred to me before I regressed and her keeping me on this soft chair with her indicated that perhaps she felt the same way. She could have given me any number of excuses not to stay; work, no extra clothes, too soon … but none of those came out of her lips.

“Alright.”

That one word almost sent me over the edge. After all that I had done to sabotage our relationship from going any further she liked me enough (maybe even more) to say yes, to agreeing to stay with me. I would have asked her to marry me at that moment; following in the footsteps of so many soldiers in World War II who met and married the right girl in a few weeks or less. Then she made me laugh with her next words.

“Can we get the pizza first? I’m starving.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I haven’t eaten well since I started the mission. Come on.”

This time Holly let me help her off of the chaise and we walked, hand in hand, to the elevator. Just before we got there I stopped and caressed her face. An idea had formed in my mind, and I wanted to share it before we left the rooftop.

“I think I know the safe word, but I don’t want to use it to keep you away. I want you to use it on me so that I know you’re close and that you care about me and then maybe I’ll feel safe enough to stop panicking.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Sunset,” I replied, looking back at where we had watched it together. “It will remind me of being here with you and feeling … loved.”

“Sunset,” she repeated, smiling softly. “I like that.”

We went down to the common room, partly to let them know I was better, but I also wanted the others to formally meet Holly. She showed me that Sam set her up with a friend's security ID that would allow her access to the Avengers level of the building, meaning she could drop in almost any time. Both Steve and Sam came to give her a hug and we sat talking with the others for a while. Then I stood up and took her by the hand.

“We’re going out for some pizza, somewhere close,” I said. “Kind of our third date.” She squeezed my hand and smiled at me, so I made a leap in logic. “You’re welcome to come with us, if you want. We can make an evening of it.”

“I should go pick up Ivy then,” said Steve. “Don’t want her feeling left out.”

We waited while the others got ready, and I leaned down close. “That’s what you signalled, right?”

A big smile crossed her face. “Yeah, I kind of want to get to know the people you’re around the most. That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“It’s perfect.”

It was perfect and I was actually looking forward to it, to being with Holly, and my friends. Being alone seemed easy but it wasn’t. It just isolated me further and now that I had Holly, I wanted more of what I once had; good friends, good times, and maybe one day, someone to come home to, someone to be my tether to life and love. By the time we got down to the street level and headed to the nearest pizzeria I knew for sure who I wanted it to be. With Holly’s hand in mine, I felt hopeful, and hope was a good thing.

If you liked this one shot please like, comment, or reblog.

[stories-poetry4all]

Do I have your undivided attention, Ms. Goodacre?"

I snap my focus back to my boss, Ivan Stepanov, who's giving me that trademark look of his—not that I've messed up, but because that's just his default setting.

Truly, he's the living proof of the cautionary tale parents tell their children about the risk of a face freezing in a permanent scowl if they're not careful.

I suppose his annoyance is somewhat justified. Not that he knows it.

He just caught me in the middle of a vivid daydream, where I'm wielding a magical remote with the power to silence his endless chatter at the press of a button. My fantasy escalates to the point where I hit the fast-forward button, zipping him through his lavish office's panoramic windows and into a comedic dive into the bustling streets of Manhattan.

It's hard to fault my daydream; the day has stretched my patience to its limits, and I can feel my stomach growling.

I am thoroughly DONE with jumping through hoops for him today.

I've been at Stepanov Holdings since an ungodly hour this morning, after leaving the office last night at 10:00 P.M. For goodness' sake, I even missed the Season Finale of the Bachelor.

I haven't had a moment's peace today, and now, without having had my lunch at 3:00 P.M., I'm just about ready to call it quits on this devil in an Armani suit.

Without my trusty sidekick—aka four shots of espresso—I'd be a goner for sure.

Yet, even fueled by caffeine, I'm a hot mess express.

I'm mentally face-palming for convincing myself that buying these ultra-skinny work trousers on sale was a savvy decision.

Right now, my legs are on the brink of rebellion, decidedly unhappy about being crammed into what I thought was a steal of a deal. I had to wear an extra long dress shirt to mask my camel toe.

Ivan, meanwhile, is the picture of unbothered elegance.

It's actually unfair how he manages to look like he's stepped out of a magazine, despite being on the go as much as he is.

His suit, his stubble, those piercing eyes—nothing's out of place.

"Ms. Goodacre, you haven't answered my question."

"Oh, right," I manage to say. "Yes, you have my full attention." My eyes dart to my notebook. "The financial report is due to be reviewed by Mr. Thompson in Compliance first thing. Also, new ergonomic chairs for the executive conference room have been ordered, and I'll follow up on the delivery. Your 10:00 A.M. tomorrow is now at 11:30, the 11:30 has moved to 2:15. And for next Thursday's meeting, I've left a note saying—they can, um, 'get lost.' Did I miss anything?"

Ivan raises an eyebrow, a gesture that could mean anything from ‘I’m impressed’ to ‘you're on thin ice.’

"Is there a hint of sarcasm I detect?"

Keeping my expression as blank as possible, I reply, "Not at all, sir. After the incident with the incorrect financial forecast last month, you wanted 'zero sass'. I remember."

"Hm."

That sound, coming from Ivan Stepanov, the enigmatic CEO of Stepanov Holdings, is enough to send shivers down the spine of anyone. I've seen it—a supplier once came in to negotiate a contract and left looking like they needed a stretcher, all because of a single "Hm" from Ivan.

He's not just formidable to outsiders; even I've been on the verge of tears more times than I can count since starting here. And yet, here I am, plotting his remote control demise as a form of twisted self-therapy. What has my life come to?

"And the email I asked for?"

I hand a printed email to the corporate lion.

He looks at me, his gaze as penetrating as a laser.

"I asked for this to be emailed, Miss Goodacre," he says with a voice smoother than a whiskey on the rocks.

"Oh, it’s been sent," I retort, sprinkling just the right amount of sass into my words. "But given its vanishing act last time, I thought a hard copy might stick around longer."

He raises his eyebrow again. I’d bet a million dollars he popped out of the womb with that exact same intimidating expression.

Intimidating and sexy.

It's in fleeting moments like this I find myself admiring just how unforgivably handsome he is. Despite my best efforts. The tall, dark, and brooding thing really works for him. If only his personality matched the exterior.

Wishful thinking.

With the elegance of a maestro, Ivan navigates to his inbox, spots the email, and dives into a reply. All business, no pleasantries.

Then, without missing a beat, he's onto his next demand. "I’ll be having a late lunch from that Mediterranean place on 5th. They're always swamped, just so you know. Please tend to the paperwork on your desk when you return."

Being an assistant to a man who thinks the world revolves around his wants requires a particular brand of insanity.

If I didn’t need this job so badly, I might just have the courage to tell him where to shove his five-star meal.

"Thank you, Miss Goodacre."

Clearly, my time's up.

As I make my way to Medina, the city's rhythm pulsates through the streets, a symphony of honking taxis, chattering pedestrians, and the ever-present tune of sirens in the distance.

Navigating Manhattan's Financial District is akin to playing a real-life game of Tetris, where I dart and weave through an obstacle course of tourists mesmerized by skyscrapers stopping to snap a photo of literally everything.

It’s a dance of waiting, smiling politely, and gently nudging the staff with a reminder that I am there to pick up an urgent business lunch for Stepanov Holdings to get the order expedited.

Upon securing the culinary treasure, I return to Stepanov Holdings Headquarters. The building, much like Ivan, stands tall, imposing, and unapologetically opulent.

By the time I return, holding Ivan's gourmet lunch and my modest salad, he's vanished.

Typical.

As I settle down to tackle the mountain of paperwork he's generously left behind, my desk phone starts ringing off the hook.

My phone becomes a hot potato, passing from one crisis to another with the skill of a seasoned diplomat promising that Mr. Stepanov will indeed return all calls, knowing fully well he won't.

Between bites of my salad and sips of coffee that's already gone cold, I navigate the treacherous waters of high finance by soothing egos and making promises I can only hope Ivan will keep.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

A smidgen of recognition from Ivan wouldn’t hurt.

Some acknowledgment of the tireless effort behind making his life run as smoothly as a well-oiled machine.

As I glance at his untouched lunch, a part of me wants so badly to dump it on over his head. I’ll have to save that vision for my next daydream.

Ivan sweeps back into the office like a stormfront.

"The paperwork, Miss Goodacre," he says, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

My eyes dart between the semi-conquered paper mountain and him. "I didn't forget." I start, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. "Your clients have been calling nonstop, and I’ve been doing my best to keep them from losing their cool."

He fixes me with a look that could freeze lava. “Ten minutes."

I open my mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops me—the unyielding demand, the expectation of perfection.

In his world, there's no room for excuses, no space for the human element.

He leans in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I hired you because I thought you could handle the pressure. Don't prove me wrong."

With that parting shot, he strides away, leaving me feeling about two inches tall.

It's moments like these that I question my life choices.

Anger and frustration bubble up inside me like a shaken soda bottle, threatening to explode. But I refuse to cry, refuse to show any weakness in this high-stakes game of corporate chess.

Instead, I channel all that emotion into finishing the paperwork, my fingers flying over the keyboard like a pianist in the midst of a frenzied solo.

Feeling like I could blow up any minute.

Finally, with the printouts in hand, I march to Ivan's office.

I drop the papers onto his desk with a deliberate thump, watching them scatter forcefully.

He looks up, his expression unreadable as the papers flutter across his desk.

"That’s everything you asked for," I announce, my voice quivering with a storm of suppressed fury. "Now if you don’t mind, I’m clocking out for the rest of the day." The words hang between us, a bold line drawn after a day where every ounce of my patience was tested.

For a moment, Ivan only watches me, his dark eyes giving nothing away.

It's infuriating, like shouting into a void and waiting for an echo that never comes.

Ivan finally breaks the tense silence, his voice as steady and composed as ever, betraying no sign of irritation or amusement. "Miss Goodacre, you’re free to leave," he says, his tone embodying the very essence of professional detachment he has practically made as his signature.

I quietly leave his office, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

I gather my things, pretending to be calm, my hands shaking as I shove my laptop into my bag.

I could totally be fired tomorrow.

I don't look back as I leave, the doors closing behind me with a finality that feels oddly satisfying.

The cool air hits my face, and I take a deep breath, trying to let go of the anger and the frustration.

As I walk, my mind keeps replaying the scene in Ivan's office.

That unreadable look in his eyes, was it indifference or something else?

"The chemistry is off the charts and the characters work well together.

[darkobssessionspoetry]

February 7th, 2023

Part I

These ruts Got guts to live in the trenches and still throw punches I’m suprised by the ever decreasing sense year after year And when I found out grey matter decreases with episodes Now I wonder what learning does for me If there are clusters of expansive universes in my ganglia rimmed by absolutely nothing Places of no memory, no associations, no dreams Words I can’t pull up when I need them, feelings that used to be Neuroplasticity and all its glory Can’t seem to make the distress symptoms less, the splitting better The seeing things when they are not there go away I’m wired for paranoia, what does it matter if I get up in the morning? Just lifted some weights in a dissociated state, made some breakfast while screaming on the inside Finished breakfast at 3 pm, can’t crack this day thing Can’t get my head to be calm when I lay me down to sleep These aren’t habits anymore They are megaliths Rock formations dragged up from the deep and worked to absorb and reflect maxiumum capacity of pai Tonal memory won’t change this, therapy won’t make this existential dread less You’re telling me that I can go to someone and say I am utterly unreal, I do not exist, you can read the thoughts in my head, I think about death a lot, I have special powers, I believe in an afterlife, the gods speak through me, the universe is magical, we are consciousness experiencing itself, and I didn’t get out of bed today And they would say, keep your job Get up tomorrow and be around people Have a meal, your stomach needs it and not YOU NEED HELP, here is a phone number to call so we come and LOCK YOU UP I’m just coming down after a nice respite gritting my teeth and having energy at inapproriate times, wanting to make comments and instead laughing Typing thousands of words for fun I think I lost a few friends this last episode I waited 48 hours to my supposed partner to get back to me upon going to a party And he didn’t and my resolve snapped I went from manic and ready to mingle To existential collapse at a million miles a minute, eyes making tears, chest heaving under rocks Naked in bed not getting dressed after a shower, attack of the titans, I am the titans, I am long lost giants that live inside these confines Something not quite right, too large, too much I say over and over again, don’t treat me like this, and I stay I already struggle to make sense of reality I don’t need your excuses

Part II

It’s not good for my health when you say it’s your anxiety, your lack of executive dysfunction that makes you do me like that Just a text my dude, just a text You can do consent but not signpost my way out of hell, I get it But when did I consent to not be understood by literally anyone around me? When did I consent to be an exhibit? When am I and what am I that I come alive in front of a classroom but I have painted notions of doom before noon? What am I using to travel between these islands of rich biodiversity? Am I on death’s vessel like the six of swords, rowing over misty waters Always leaving, always looking back, but always moving forwards My writing doesn’t even make sense anymore I am a knot, a boiling rage, a crinkled algae caught on a spiny plant at the boundary of sweet and salt I am crying for homeland and I am without home I am sirens of rage and seduction, making myself known But the rest of that story is misery, it’s more questions than answers You drown, or I go back to my murky waters I am a disembodided, in between body, a state, a shape I am not making sense And the more I delve the more I find pearls in between the folds of my chaffed skin, sand in wounds, wounds I never saw coming Am I history? I happened before, I was alive then I was there when the shell fire of their voices and the daily gripe was a thing We watched news for a steady diet of terror and all I was was eyes I don’t remember talking Did I exist? I am here now and I don’t have a home, only places where I can be lonely It’s sad you don’t know me no matter how much I speak I could be speaking in tongues I could be invisible I could text a crisis line and not get a response for six hours Looks like my bright future, do I lie or nah at the upcoming assessment? How much is too much? I can hear the invisible tracks of time between us and the weeping of sea creatures, feel the slushiness of my blood, like a half defrosted drink I can tell you my beliefs I can show up pretending I can be anyone and no one I can tell you how much I disdain…it all I’m a walking manual on how not to exist, except I do What are the empty places in between my islands again? Why am I fading if I never even lived?

[specialagentsergio]

rationalizations

rationalizations: a defense mechanism in which one makes up a false but reassuring explanation to explain their behavior and/or feelings to both themselves and others, thus avoiding the reality of why they are really acting or feeling as they do.

summary: You’re the psych evaluation for Spencer. You think he’s full of shit, so you refuse to sign his clearance form until he actually tells the truth.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

category: angst (happy ending)

content warnings: spencer’s canonical trauma, flashbacks, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, swearing

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ enemies to lovers event. it’s not my favorite trope, but one of the prompts sparked inspiration for me. i also took a good amount of inspiration from meredith’s various therapy scenes in grey’s anatomy, so if some of it feels familiar, that’s why! i swear i intended to make this cute and funny, but, well… here we are lmao.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Spencer throws his bag onto his desk with a frustrated huff. It thumps loudly, startling JJ at her desk across from his. She gives him a sympathetic look regardless. “Still not cleared yet?”

“No!” Forgetting that it’s wheeled, he drops himself into his chair. It skids backwards and he has to scramble to grab something to keep from falling out of it.

“Careful there,” JJ says, trying valiantly to suppress a laugh. “That psychologist's got you really worked up, huh?”

“I don’t know what she wants from me!” he complains. “It’s been nearly a month! Hotch’s ex-wife was murdered by an unsub, but they cleared him. I was only shot in the neck.”

“I mean, that’s still kind of a big deal,” she says. “You could’ve died, from the gunshot, or from the nurse that tried to kill you afterwards.”

“Speaking of that nurse,” he starts, “Garcia is the one who shot him and she’s been a wreck over it. She insisted on going to the guy’s execution. But the therapist cleared her!”

“Penelope’s not in the field,” JJ points out.

He crosses his arms. “Still. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. That possibility is part of the job. It’s not like it came out of nowhere and I was completely unprepared for it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spence,” she says. “Just keep all of your appointments and I’m sure you’ll be cleared soon.”

He pulls a stack of papers on his desk towards him. Paperwork—one of the things he’s actually allowed to do. “I better be,” he mutters.

---

“And it was really scary, you know?” Spencer wipes at his eyes with a tissue. “Not knowing if I was going to live or die.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He takes a deep breath. “But… it’s over now. The preacher who shot me died in the same shootout. Owen McGregor, the leader of the corrupt deputies, died later that night, in another shootout. And Greg Baylor, the one who posed as a nurse and tried to kill me, was sentenced to death row and he’s gone now, too.”

His psychologist makes a note on the paper in front of her, but doesn’t say anything, so he continues.

“I… I feel better now, just letting that out.” He takes a new tissue and dries his nose. “I feel ready now. Ready to go back to work.”

She nods slowly, considering him. But she doesn’t even look towards her desk where the clearance form sits, frustrating him to no end. After five minutes of silence, he breaks.

“You can’t be serious.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve been coming to these sessions for over a month, and I’m still not cleared to be in the field. I…” He musters up more tears and makes sure his voice wavers during his next words. “I just don’t know what you want? I’ve tried everything.”

“No, you haven’t,” she says plainly.

He blinks in surprise, sending some of the crocodile tears down his cheeks. “What?”

She crosses her legs. “You’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not being honest with me, and I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself either,” she says. “You’re a great actor. I can see how you’ve gotten clearances easily before. But that stops with me.”

Spencer stares at her. “I don’t understand.”

She moves her notebook to the side. “What happened in Texas isn’t the first time your life’s been in danger. Why do you think that is?”

“Wh—that’s part of my job,” he argues, fake crying long since forgotten.

“Not to the extent that you take it. I’ve read your file,” she says. “You take unnecessary risks with regularity.”

The tissues crumple in his hand as he clenches it. “I do not.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“Of your career.” Yet she doesn’t take out his file, or look at her notes. She speaks from memory. “2005. The BAU is assisting with a hostage situation. You go into the train, posing as someone who is there to remove a microchip from the unsub, but the first thing you do? You take off your bulletproof vest.”

“Okay, clearly you don’t understand what the situation was,” Spencer cuts in. “Ted Bryar was suffering from a psychotic break. He was somewhat unpredictable, and he told me to take off the vest.”

“And you just listened?”

“He—he had a gun, and was threatening both me and the other passengers with it!” he says. “What was I supposed to do, not listen?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replies. “You easily played into his delusions just a few minutes later to distract him. Why not do that to keep yourself safe?”

“I was twenty-four and was running on adrenaline,” he says defensively. “And it was my first time doing something like that. You can’t expect me to think of everything.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” she agrees. “So let’s jump forward a few years. How about the time you approached a teenager who was wielding an assault rifle with no protection, not even your own firearm?” she challenges.

“You mean Owen Savage? That was a unique situation,” he protests. “I knew I could talk him down.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought you had a good chance, but there’s no way to be one hundred percent sure of that. He was volatile, and on a killing spree,” she counters. “You didn’t know if you’d succeed--”

“I did!” He startles himself by unconsciously raising his voice, but he doesn’t apologize. “I did, because….”

“Because you related to him,” she fills in. “And that’s fine. Having empathy for an unsub doesn’t suggest something’s wrong in and of itself. But you still put yourself, and the rest of your team, in danger, didn’t you?”

He crosses his arms. “I got that lecture from Hotch when it happened, okay?”

“So then why’d you confront an unsub alone a few years later in Miami?” she asks. “You didn’t even tell anyone where you were going. You left your vest behind and just ran off.”

“I was having a head—wait, how do you even know that happened?” he questions. “It wasn’t in the report.”

“Well, first of all, you just confirmed it,” she points out, and he wants to kick himself. “Secondly, I can read between the lines.”

“I was having a headache,” he repeats. “I wasn’t thinking all that clearly. I just knew Julio’s life was in immediate danger, so I went to help him.”

“Uh-huh. More recently,” she says, brushing past his excuse, “You confronted your girlfriend’s stalker without your vest or gun.”

Spencer’s getting angry now. “I was trying to save Maeve. She asked me to leave them behind.”

“And you simply listened. Do you see the pattern I’m drawing here, Dr. Reid?” she asks. “These are just a few of the instances that stand out. Time and time again, you put yourself in unnecessary danger. So I’ll ask you again. Why do you think that is?”

Spencer looks over her—really looks over her, trying to understand what she’s getting at. “Are… are you suggesting that I’m suicidal?” he asks quietly.

She looks him straight in the eye. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

It’s like she set off a bomb in his brain. Memories, and the feelings attached to them, emerge—Elle handcuffed to a seat, a teenager with a rifle, a blinding headache, Maeve and blood on the warehouse floor.

“Here’s what I see,” she says. “I see a man who’s been through so, so much. Your mother is mentally ill, your father left--”

His father is packing a suitcase. Spencer doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say, so he falls back on what he knows.

“Statistically, children who grow up in two-parent households attain three more years of higher education than children from single-parent households.”

It doesn’t help. “We’re not statistics, Spencer.”

“Your file says she’s staying at an institution, and with your father out of the picture, I can only assume you were the one who had her admitted--”

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me!” she cries as she’s escorted out of the house by Bennington Sanitarium’s transport staff.

“A few years into your work here at the FBI, you were kidnapped, tortured and drugged--”

He’s tired and cold and his whole body aches. Tobias—the real Tobias—looms over him with a syringe.

“Please. I don’t want it,” he pleads of his captor. “I don’t want it, please.”

The needle punctures his skin regardless.

“—you were held hostage by a cult leader--”

Emily sits across from him on the plane with a black eye. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault.”

He pretends to agree.

“—you went through the death and reappearance of Agent Prentiss--”

He’s tried to make it clear to Jennifer that he wants to be left alone, but she won’t stop trying to talk about it with him, and he’s had enough.

“I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

“—and your girlfriend was shot in front of you.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton? Who is he?” Diane demands, gun pressed against Maeve’s head.

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve replies, and Spencer’s heart drops. Thomas Merton is Maeve’s way of saying goodbye—she’s giving up.

“Wait!” he cries out, but it’s too late.

“This is just some of the more traumatic stuff. And then there’s what happened last month, which is why you’re here. You present a face of not being bothered by all of this, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life, but I think you are bothered. You really, really are. And you don’t want to admit to anyone just how much it all has affected you. Maybe you don’t even want yourself to know.” Her expression and tone of voice are certain.

Spencer can’t take it anymore. The whirlwind of emotions and memories is overwhelming.

“The number of times you’ve almost died is staggering--”

“Yeah, and sometimes I wish I had!” He glares at her, breathing heavily. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

But she doesn’t seem intimidated or alarmed at all. She leans back in her armchair. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The response only serves to make him angrier. She questioned him relentlessly and made him admit something he swore in the dark hours of sleepless nights that he’d never think again, never voice, let alone admit to anyone. She forced it out of him, forced. She made him say it against his will.

So why does he feel a sense of relief?

“I…” Tears well up in his eyes—real ones this time. “I’m done,” he chokes out.

He pushes himself off of the couch and out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

---

He storms in Hotch’s office and demands to see a different psychologist. But she was one step ahead of him—a few hours before the appointment, she had emailed Hotch and told him that under no circumstances should Spencer be allowed to get a clearance from someone else.

“And you’re going to believe her?” he cries.

“She’s doing her job, Reid.”

“You barely know her! You’ve known me for a decade!”

“Yes, I have,” Hotch agrees. “And you’ve told me yourself that you’ve fooled psychologists and therapists before. So if this one is saying you’re not ready yet, I’m inclined to believe her.”

Spencer just stares at him, but as usual, Hotch doesn’t blink.

“Unbelievable,” Spencer eventually mutters.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Hotch replies, glancing down at fists Spencer hadn’t realized he was clenching.

“Fine.”

Too agitated to stand in the elevator, he takes the stairs. As he stomps down them, he swears he’ll never go back to her office, even if it means never going into the field again.

A week passes, then two, and he hasn’t seen the psychologist since. But he doesn’t feel any better—he actually feels worse. It’s like her words broke a dam in his mind, in his gut, and feelings of unease and uncertainty won’t pass. It keeps him up at night. Her words echo in his head. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

Spencer’s had yet another sleepless night and is struggling not to doze off at his desk despite the coffee he’s drinking. He stands up with the intention of splashing some water from the bathroom sink on his face, but his feet take him somewhere else.

He stares at the nameplate on the door. He swore he’d never go back, yet he feels compelled to knock.

It only takes her a few moments to answer. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?” she asks.

“I…” He sighs. “Are you busy?”

“No. Come on in.” She steps to the side, opening the door wider to let him pass. He sits down on the couch.

She waits patiently. She doesn’t rush him. She lets him speak first.

He wrings his hands in his lap, staring down at them. “Something you said is bothering me.”

“What was it?”

“About… living,” he admits quietly. “I… I think you might have been right.”

When he gets the courage to glance up at her, he finds a soft smile on her face. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Spencer hadn’t realized he was expecting judgment and disdain until it didn’t happen. His shoulders slump down in relief. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I would.”

---

“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Spencer looks up from his paperwork, slightly out of it, to find Derek watching him. His coworker had, indeed, caught him thinking about her again. His psychologist. Well, former psychologist. After his second session back with her, she’d handed over a clearance form and a referral to a therapist outside the bureau to see long-term.

“And you better follow up with that,” she’d told him, the corner of her mouth turning up despite her serious tone of voice. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

He’d promised that he would, and had followed through. But despite the progress he was making with the new therapist, he was feeling a little disappointed that he didn’t get to see her anymore. He only saw her in passing, sometimes in the elevator or walking down the hallways of the building. They would exchange hellos, she would ask how he was doing, then give him a little wave as she left. Each time his heart would skip a beat, and he’d feel an urge to follow her to wherever she was going.

Yet he hadn’t quite realized why he seemed to be preoccupied with her until a dream he had a few weeks ago—a dream in which he found himself kissing her. Despite being alone in his bedroom, he’d woken up feeling embarrassed. He promised himself that he would put her out of his mind. Having a crush on his psychologist? It was ridiculous.

But then he saw her in the elevator a few days later and he couldn’t help but analyze her body language. It was open, and she twirled her hair around a finger while she looked at him to ask him how he was. A few other people entered the elevator on the next floor, but her attention remained on him. They were subtle signs, but signs that he recognized nonetheless—signs of attraction. And once he started seeing them, he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer tells Derek, picking back up the pen he hadn’t noticed he dropped.

“You can’t pull that on me, kid,” he replies. “It’s your psychologist. You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”

Spencer sighs. “So what if I can’t?”

“So go ask her out already!” Derek says like it’s obvious.

“You don’t think that’s just a little inappropriate?”

“You’re not seeing her as a client anymore, are you?” he points out. “Go for it, kid. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Spencer takes the advice—as soon as Derek said it, he knew he was right. He would regret not taking a chance on her and the connection he felt. Sure, she’d helped him with therapy, but it went deeper than that. It feels like she knows him.

He leaves the bullpen ten minutes early that evening, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. On her doorstep, he feels just as nervous as he did on the day he admitted that she was right, but it’s a different kind of nervous. An excited nervous. He knocks on the door.

She’s surprised when she seems him. He watches as her pupils dilate, and it boosts his confidence. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?”

“You can. I’d like to talk,” he says.

“Oh. Well, I guess I could do that,” she says. “I thought things were going well with the therapist I referred you to, though.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean I want an appointment.”

Her eyebrows come together in confusion. “Okay, then, what do you want?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I really like you, and I think we’re meant to be together,” he replies, voice softening a bit.

She pauses before answering. When she does, her voice is gentle. “Dr. Reid, sometimes a medical professional’s care can start to feel like affection over a period of time, but--”

“No one has ever listened to me like you do,” he interrupts.

“That’s my job,” she points out.

“I’ve seen therapists before, but none of them have been like you,” he counters. “You understand me.”

She sighs. “Well, I’m glad I was a good fit and was able to help you. But that doesn’t mean that I see you as anything more than a client.”

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do feel something more for me,” he says firmly, but then backtracks a little. “Well, I know you’re attracted to me at least.”

She blinks and shakes her head slightly, take aback. “Dr. Reid, this is not appropriate--”

“Please call me Spencer,” he says, then jumps into his explanation. “See, when we’re attracted to someone, our bodies display involuntary signals, and I’ve seen you do some of them when you’re around me. Whenever we run into each other here, your body will turn a little towards me and you’ll play with your hair. Your attention is almost entirely focused on me. And, when you see me, your pupils dilate. They did it when you opened the door just a few minutes ago. Oh, and I’m attracted to you, by the way,” he adds as he realizes how one-sided he’s been. “I imagine my pupils probably dilate when I see you, too.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like she wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say. She looks flustered, and he wonders if maybe he’s pushed it too far or said too much, but he can’t turn back now. “So, please, let me take you out,” he says quietly. “Just… just give it a chance.”

She bites her lip and looks at the ground. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, which he’s come to learn means she’s thinking. She speaks seriously when she looks back up. “If I go out with you, I can’t treat you anymore. If you ever need another evaluation or session, you’d have to get it from someone else.”

“I know,” he says. “I get along well with the therapist you referred me to, though. And having to get clearance from a different psychologist at the bureau is something I’m willing to give up in favor of getting to know you better.”

She considers him. “You’re serious about this,” she states.

It’s not a question, but he answers it anyways. “I am.”

She tilts her head to the side, eyes unfocusing as she ponders the situation. Eventually, she says, “Let me think about it.”

It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but he’ll take it.

---

It’s only six PM, but Spencer is already exhausted. He unlocks his apartment door, fully intending to collapse onto his bed, but instead receives a pleasant surprise in the form of his girlfriend waiting for him on the couch. He can’t help but smile.

“Sweetie, what are you doing here?” he asks, then adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Penelope told me it was a bit of a rough case,” she replies. “And I missed you.”

She holds out her arms and he takes the invitation, joining her on the couch and laying down between her legs, placing his head on her chest. “I missed you, too.”

Her next words are overly familiar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hey, we agreed to no therapy,” he says. “Something about I can’t be your client anymore?”

She huffs. “This isn’t therapy. This is being a good partner.”

Spencer smiles into the fabric of her shirt, snuggling in closer. “I know, I’m just teasing you. I don’t need to talk about the case,” he says, finally answering her original question. “I feel fine now that I’m here with you.”

She lets out a pleased hum and starts running her fingers through his hair. “I ordered take-out for dinner, by the way.”

“Where from?”

“You know where.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. She must have ordered take-out from the restaurant he took her to on their first date. He lifts his head to look her in the eye. “Aren’t you glad you said yes to me all those months ago?”

“Oh, I suppose,” she says with pretend annoyance, rolling her eyes.

Then she kisses him.

Spencer’s never been so happy to be alive.

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

tell me what you thought here!

please note that i DO NOT ENDORSE asking out your therapist/former therapist. this is fanfiction. thank you.

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

[ktinastrikesback]

i came across the clip of taylor saying that buck is intimidated by strong women and like. there’s just so much about it that rubs me the wrong way.

like the implication is that taylor is strong (or at least, we’re supposed to see here that way), right? but here she in petty and immature and just down right mean. none of those things make someone a strong woman. and she’s supposed to be his friend, she’s supposed to know him to some extent (hell, she told buck that his life is nothing but meaningful relationships), so are we supposed to imply that she sees athena as weak? hen? maddie?

like obviously she didn’t think that deeply about it (or maybe she did, who knows), but i still cannot get over how rude it was. i get she was hurt by buck, but this woman is supposed to be in her late twenties/early thirties, and she still said that. isn’t she embarrassed for herself for how she acted? (i’m certainly embarrassed for her. i want to turn off the clip every time it comes up)

and then she went and called buck needy after he said he needed a friend. just to rub salt in the wound.

Anon, I love you for this because I’ve been thinking about it recently bc it came up elsewhere and…I will never ever understand this line. Buck was raised by a strong woman and works alongside them daily, so the statement makes zero sense. But…I don’t think it was ever meant to make sense, it was just used to be hurtful when Taylor herself was feeling hurt (which…lashing out is not the way to sort out our feelings but I can’t tell her what to do🤷🏻‍♀️).

Now, I won’t say Taylor isn’t a strong woman. Because she is. I don’t like the execution of her backstory, but it certainly demonstrates that she is a strong person; I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up with that kind of trauma and conflict. Her independent demeanor is certainly attributed to that. But…Buck inviting her to a double date doesn’t negate her power or strength as a woman. Should he have mentioned it was a double date? Yeah probably. But this reaction is so unwarranted in my opinion. She talks down the way he saved her life, she throws shade at the other woman in the room (which feels extremely hypocritical), and then she brings out this horrid line.

It saddens me a lot because this line mixed together with the “you’re so needy” and “you can’t deal with people not liking you” are things that Buck still internalizes…and he takes these comments so personally that he thinks he’s a bad friend throughout the rest of the episode…when we have proof of what a good friend he is right there with Eddie and Chris! He watches Chris for Eddie while he’s on his date, and Chris comes to him for advice. Chris isn’t lying when he says Buck is a good friend, and Buck doubting that because of what Taylor said to him? Oh it hurts. And it especially hurts that her hurtful comments are let go (because a. he places all the blame on himself and b. neither one of them bring them up again) and that he pines after and eventually dates her.

Taylor has never once apologized for her actions. Dosed? Didn’t apologize. Ditches Buck in a parking lot? Doesn’t apologize. Says horrible things (when it sounds like he just shared his feelings about therapy and everything with her at that call???) to his face? Doesn’t apologize. Friendzones him then kisses him and runs away and then comes back later? Makes an excuse but still doesn’t apologize. Using his phone to do work stuff? Doesn’t apologize. Tries to leave without telling him where she’s going or why (when she’s seen the ramifications Maddie and Chim leaving have had on him)? Doesn’t apologize. It just never ends. If anyone is a bad friend, girlfriend, what have you….it’s her.

So yes, exactly as you mentioned, it’s sad that Buck has pursued a relationship with someone who just…doesn’t see or understand him. And it’s becoming more and more evident as time goes on just how ill-suited they are for one another. Do I think Taylor really loves Buck? Yeah. But she will never be able to love him the way he needs to be loved. She can’t even really be a good friend to him (as evidenced by all this), let alone be his lifelong partner.

I find it so interesting that Buck was reading that love languages book shortly before Taylor returned, and I would love to get inside his brain and see what love languages he thinks are at work in this relationship. I do think Buck knows it isn’t working, and I think he’s eventually going to have to take his own advice about not being all the way in. I just wish he could have figured all this out right after Taylor was so awful in Breaking Point, but like Albert said, every dating experience is a lesson. So I guess we have to wait and see what Buck learns from this.

Thank you for this brilliant ask, I enjoyed answering it!! Feel free to send a follow up or any other thoughts 🥰

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (March 14/2021) -     The Plan

Tommy tells Tubbo and Ranboo about his plan to kill Dream and they establish a space to stake out the prison. 

While they plot, though, an old friend makes his return!

---

VOD LINKS:

Foolish

Tubbo

Tommy

Ranboo

Captain Puffy

Eret

---

- Tommy walks over to look at the prison. He has a plan to kill Dream.

- He briefly greets Sam Nook and shelters him from the rain

- First, he heads over to Snowchester to explain to Tubbo and Ranboo what’s gong on. He makes it there and looks in the mansion. Foolish sees him, having thought he was dead.

- Tubbo and Ranboo come over and explain the manor house. To discuss business, they go to the execution room.

- Tommy asks Tubbo about getting married without him. Then Tommy opens up to Ranboo about feeling lonely about Ranboo stealing his best friend.

- He then tells the both of them that he died in prison and Dream is planning on breaking out. When he was dead, he spoke to Schlatt and Wilbur. Tubbo asks if Schlatt’s changed his ways.

- Tommy explains that time passes faster in death.

- Someone made an explosion on the top of the prison, Technoblade owes Dream a favor and might be a problem, Tommy wants to stake out the prison.

- Tubbo asks why it’s different now. Why didn’t they just kill him to begin with? Tommy tells Tubbo that he’s only planning on reviving Wilbur. The revive book wouldn’t be used for good.

- Ranboo agrees with Tommy. Tubbo asks why they wouldn’t want to revive Wilbur — Tommy tells them that Wilbur’s different now and can’t be let back. Tubbo still has doubts about the plan.

- They decide to make a space near the prison to observe.

- Tubbo leads them to his detective room

- Tommy tells them that Sam has failed his job and went against his orders to not let anybody else visit. Ranboo and Tubbo ask who else has visited since — Tommy doesn’t know.

- Tubbo shows him the evidence.

- They go back to Tommy’s house and Tommy reads Puffy’s message.

- The Egg comes up in conversation. Ranboo thinks it’ll solve itself.

- They go into the Nether to gather resources

- They spot Punz on top of the Eggpire meeting room and briefly speak with him. Ghostbur also shows up.

- Tommy asks if Ghostbur remembers him being dead and speaking with him. Ghostbur says the last time he spoke with Tommy was a couple days ago.

- Tommy asks about Wilbur, not Ghostbur. Ghostbur’s been away, he doesn’t remember.

- Ghostbur points out how everything is red. He likes it, red’s a good color. Like blue but wrong.

- Tommy asks Ghostbur if he wants Wilbur to come back.

  Ghostbur: “The world needs structure and order, and he was good at that.” Tommy: “The world needs less villains, and he was a villain if I’ve ever seen one.” Ghostbur: “Sometime’s the line’s a little blurry… A villain is just a hero you haven’t convinced yet.”

Tommy: “No, but he started as a hero, and then he was the villain. I don’t think we should bring him back ever.”

- Ghostbur loves being able to walk around, he loves being able to touch things

- Tommy tells Ghostbur that he spent months with Wilbur, and Wilbur can’t come back. Ghostbur asks about the time conversion in Limbo.

Apparently in the afterlife, Wilbur spent a month explaining hemorrhoids 

- They show Ghostbur the prison

- Ghostbur asks why Tommy doesn’t want Wilbur back again. Tommy says when they were trying to bring him back, he still thought there was some “brotherness” there

- Ghostbur points out he spent a lot of time with Schlatt, and Schlatt’s “the bad guy.” Schlatt and Eret.

- They say there are a lot of other bad guys out there, like Dream. Ghostbur says Dream was nice to him, though.

- They ask about Tubbo and Ranboo’s marriage (they got married for tax reasons initially) and they also bring up Michael.

- They introduce Ghostbur to Michael.

- Eret points out that he tried to revive Wilbur a while ago in chat. Ghostbur doesn’t remember.

- They head to the McPuffy’s and encounter Connor on the Prime Path. He gives Ghostbur his stabbin’ knife back. Ghostbur asks if Connor has his Chekhov’s Gun.

- They introduce Ghostbur to Sam Nook

- Sam Nook tells Tommy that Awesam gave him specific orders to keep Tommy away from the prison for his own safety. He says he might have to report this to Awesam, and he won’t be pleased.

- They continue building the tower

- Ranboo tells Ghostbur he hasn’t seen him in a while. Ghostbur’s been sleeping. The resurrection was stressful — he got a glimpse of the other side. He’s back because Tommy needed him, and he heard it through the grapevine.

- Ghostbur asks why they’re trying to break into the prison again. Ranboo explains that they need to kill Dream, or else a lot of bad things — even things Tommy doesn’t know about — might happen.

- Ghostbur says that Dream was a bad guy, but then they were friends. Ranboo explains that Dream tends to manipulate to gain power, and they need to get rid of him because he still has power.

- Ghostbur asks what the worst he could do is — Ranboo says he could bring back the “villains” in this story.

Schlatt? Mexican Dream? 

- Ghostbur asks if bringing back Wilbur is off the table. Ghostbur is scared. Not scared of Wilbur, but scared of going back to nothing. He likes being here.

- Ranboo never knew Wilbur, only Ghostbur. But it seems like Ghostbur is Wilbur’s good intentions.

- Ghostbur’s read Wilbur’s memoirs (though they’re destroyed now), and explains that Wilbur started out with good intentions.

Ghostbur: “Now more than ever, I think it’s really important we have a leader.”

- Ghostbur is willing to help, whether that means keeping Ghostbur or bringing back Wilbur. Ranboo doesn’t know what would be best, though.

Ghostbur: “History is written by the winners.” Ranboo: “Yeah, and he…technically won.” Ghostbur: “But he lost, everyone hates him.” Ranboo: “I don’t think that everyone hates him. I don’t really hate him, I mean it’s like hearing about a historical figure.”

- Ghostbur leaves to get snacks, leaving Ranboo to ponder. Tubbo never told him much about Wilbur. He doesn’t know — he doesn’t think they need a leader.

Ranboo: “Because if someone rules everyone, then when the leader becomes corrupted, then — well, we see what happens.”

- He doesn’t think anyone really wants Wilbur back, so why is it even a question? All they know is that they have to kill Dream. The only person who might want Wilbur back would be Phil.

- If they can get rid of Dream, then everything will be good! If Dream comes out of prison, the voice might come back too. And the one thing Dream will want is revenge against the people who put him in the prison in the first place.

- Ranboo needs to be involved and not stand idly by. As the person with three lives, he has the upper hand.

- Ghostbur returns with snacks! He also gives Ranboo some blue

- Ranboo goes back to his house and looks at his vault, where he has an extra set of maxed Netherite armor. The others need new sets prepared.

- Puffy sees the Red Banquet decorations being set up in the Egg Room

- As she walks around on the surface, she talks about how Tommy is making an effort to better himself with therapy

- She’s heard a rumor today about her “duckling,” Dream — that people are plotting to kill him. 

- Dream has done wrong, she says,

“But, more than anything else…murder…is not a proper consequence to another murder. Two wrongs don’t make a right. And although I’m not a Dream apologist — believe me I hold him more accountable than most — there’s a reason that I haven’t visited him. And…it’s because I don’t think, right now, he deserves it. But…as much as he’s wronged Tommy, as much as maybe Tommy thinks this will help him in the long run, in some way, shape or form…I think it’s gonna hurt Tommy more than anything. I think, ultimately, Tommy’s gonna feel guilty for this and we don’t — I don’t know how he’s gonna handle it! I don’t know if Tommy’s meant to be the one to go through something like this again, even if it results in Dream’s death.”

“See…the thing about morals is, everybody has different ones.”

- She says Dream needs to pay, and the walls of the prison aren’t secure enough to contain his chaos. She doesn’t think it’s as impenetrable as Sam says it is.

- Dream is stuck in prison, but he’s still the topic of discussion on everyone’s minds — which Puffy sees as the jail not doing its job.

- Everybody has now seen how they’ve reacted to Tommy’s death, including the people who didn’t care, and they now have to come to terms with that.

“More than just therapy is coming to the Dream SMP."

Upcoming Events:

- Quackity’s business opening

- The Red Banquet

- Eret’s lore stream

END OF WEEK RECAP:

3/8 - Ponk’s preparations, Michelle is brought to Snowchester

3/9 - Ponk’s last warning to Foolish, Hannah gets trapped with the Egg

3/10 - The Eggpire’s attack on the Temple, Sam rescues Hannah

3/11 - Nothing much happens

3/12 - Tommy exits Pandora’s Vault

3/13 - Nothing much happens

3/14 - Tommy plans to kill Dream, Ghostbur returns

[nightingaelic]

Craig, Veronica, and Cass learn about Arcade and his father being in the Enclave and constantly running from the BoS and NCR? (IMO, Gannon isnt guilty of anything. He was a child when the Enclave was being hunted down. He actively tries to make the wasteland better!)

The only thing Arcade is guilty of is occasionally annoying Julie Farkas and missing his therapy sessions with Doctor Usanagi, cHaNgE mY mInD

Arcade sighed and tilted his glass of wine around in the afternoon sunlight. "My late father was... an officer in a group called the Enclave, a remnant of America's pre-war government. Memories being short around here, not a whole lot of people remember them, but they did bad things."

"Like what?" the courier asked, accepting the shot of tequila they had ordered from the securitron currently bartending at the Lucky 38 cocktail lounge. They ignored the little tray of salt alongside the drink and downed the liquor straight.

Arcade shrugged. "Terrorized communities, kidnapped people. Eventually, someone stopped them. I was born a few years later at a military base on the coast, a place called Navarro."

The courier slammed their shot glass down on the bar and froze. Arcade tensed too, wondering if his confession had touched a nerve, but was both relieved and terrified when they directed their surprise at someone behind him. "How long have you been standing there?"

Craig Boone: "Long enough."

It was the last voice Arcade wanted to hear, and he slowly spun on his stool to face the former NCR sniper standing by the lounge's entrance. Boone's face was as unreadable as ever beneath his beret and sunglasses, but Arcade could tell his guard was up by his stance: One hand open-palmed, ready to retrieve the rifle on his back, and the other curled into a fist.

Before Arcade could say anything, the courier stood up. Clearly, they sensed some kind of damage had been done. "Easy, Boone. Come over here. Let's talk."

Boone looked like he would rather jump out one of the Lucky 38's windows, but he stiffly approached the bar as requested. "So talk."

The courier's eyes briefly swept the room, searching for the words. "Do you remember what you told me, when I first met you? I walked into Cliff's shop to sell a bunch of Legion armor from that group that tried to get the drop on me outside of town, and you snuck up behind me with your tough guy shtick because you thought I might be a deserter trying to sell my own armor and cover my tracks?"

"If you're an enemy of the NCR, you're an enemy of mine," Boone replied darkly.

"Right." The courier put their hand on Arcade's shoulder. "Let's not repeat that incident, okay?"

Arcade didn't think it was a strong enough statement to convince the 1st Recon graduate, but it did seem to resonate with Boone. Slowly, the sharpshooter's fist uncurled. "Okay."

This appeared to satisfy the courier, who sat back down and signaled the securitron to fetch another tequila. Arcade looked nervously between them and Boone, who didn't seem to be going anywhere. "Should I... should we hold off for today, or..."

"Oh, sorry." The courier made a face. "He's waiting for you to continue, if you don't mind. He decided to throw punches first in Novac and ask questions later, so I kicked his ass and made him promise that if he was going to travel with me, he needed to hear people out before he judged them."

Arcade's gaze immediately swung back to Boone, who nodded so solemnly that he had to choke back a laugh. "O-okay then. Thanks. Uh, let's... keep going."

Veronica Santangelo: "Sorry, I, uh..." Arcade turned to find Veronica swaying back and forth between the conversation she'd accidentally walked in on and the exit, her face cycling through shades of pink. Eventually her curiosity won out and she dashed over to the bar, taking the stool on the other side of him. "Navarro? The NCR crushed it in 2248, or was it 2249... did you have to escape, or did you get out before they came after you?"

"We went south before it was sacked," Arcade answered, bewildered. "My mother and I left with a group of my father's old unit when most of the remaining forces fled east with the remaining leadersh- Veronica, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I originally came up here to tell Six that the King is looking for them," Veronica admitted. "Something about bodyguards and a guy named Warren? Harris? Anyway, it can wait, this is much more interesting. Did you hide in NCR territory, or did you just try to stay out of everyone's way?"

"Veronica," the courier pressed, leaning around Arcade to look at the Scribe. "This is supposed to be a private conversation?"

"Six, do you have any idea how rare it is to find former Enclave members?" Veronica protested. "They're like one-headed brahmin nowadays, on account of the..."

She trailed off in realization, so Arcade finished the thought for her. "On account of the NCR and the Brotherhood of Steel killing them off wherever they could find them."

"Mmm, there is that." Veronica squirmed in her seat. "And technically speaking, I would be obligated to report any known Enclave survivors to my superiors with the intention of having them executed or at least run out of town, but... how old would you say you were, when you left Navarro?"

"Around three."

Veronica beamed. "Well then I can't really call you an Enclave member anyway, since I don't think they were inducting kids into their ranks. Even after we got a hold of them."

"Uh-huh." Arcade studied her for a beat before turning back to the courier. "She's not going to go away, is she?"

"Probably not," the courier replied. "Even if I kick her out, she'll just keep bugging you until you tell her."

"Great." Arcade took a sip of his wine and pointed a finger at Veronica. "Not a word to anyone, okay?"

Veronica mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. "You got it."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Don't mind me, just trying to re-stock my first aid kit." Cass sauntered over to the bar like she hadn't just stumbled upon Arcade spilling his deepest, darkest secret, and slapped the counter to get the securitron's attention. "Found myself running a little low on my last outing to Red Lucy's in Westside, and I figured House had some of the good stuff hidden away for just such an occasion."

"We were up here for some privacy," the courier said testily, eyes flicking between Cass and Arcade.

"In a goddamn bar?" Cass whistled. "Sorry, must've missed the sign on the door. Or were you being serious, when you said we weren't allowed up here without an escort? Better remind Raul, he was up here yesterday to take in the view. And Veronica, she was making friends with the robots last week. In fact, let's have a staff meeting, it's been a spell since we got everybody together in one place. You can tell your sob story to a larger audience, Arcade."

"You're an asshole, Cass," Arcade said affectionately. "This wasn't supposed to be a performance."

"Oh no." Cass feigned embarrassment. "And here I am, barging in on you like a deathclaw in a doctor's office. The Enclave? Thought you were all extinct by now. Wait 'til Boone finds out."

"He won't find out," the courier warned her in a low voice. "Unless Arcade wants him to. Understand?"

"No argument here." Cass took the other seat next to Arcade and propped her boots up on the bar. "But I wanna hear this too. I don't have strong feelings about those Navarro folks either way, but it sounds like a thrilling tale. Might even take my mind off my own troubles."

The courier looked like they were ready to physically toss her out of the cocktail lounge, but Arcade stopped them. "She's fine. Annoying, but fine. Get your drinks, Cass, and I'll give you the full-length version."

Cass grinned. "That's what I'm talking about. Three bottles of whiskey and one glass, please. And none of that radioactive shit, I'm talking whiskey. Not Dixon Whiskey- whiskey."

[cblgblog]

Sorry I’m advance but one of my other favorite accounts just reblogged a Tony scene and people are talking about Civil War and how it made them Stan Tony, and how when they watch that movie they hate team cap👀 Then someone was all about how he was sleep deprived and how much pressure he was under and couldn’t understand how people didn’t like Tony because. Someone literally said that when someone says they don’t like Tony in Civil War they say “did you watch the same movie as me.” I’m baffled. Oddly enough someone else said, “he just wants to help everyone.” Sorry for the rant but I think people forget about what the accords are and what it would mean for people. Side note, I hope you’re having a great day/night 😀

No sorry needed!

I feel you man, I do. Honestly, I’ve unfollowed people based on similar posts when I was in especially Done moods, so.

Look on the one hand, the movie would’ve been a narrative failure if everyone was in favor of one side or the other, right? The whole point of the damn thing—besides giving the Mouse overlords more money—was to spark discussion, debate. Which, yeah, we’ll call that the tame description for what actually happened. But just, the thing was meant to split the fanbase so in that regard…winning? Thanks, I guess?

Film is also very obviously subjective, different strokes for different folks, so yeah, ten people can watch a movie and none of them are gonna see the exact same film. Let’s try to remember that this is, in theory anyway, a good thing. I just read a professional film review yesterday where I had the same reaction. What film were you watching, dude? Incidentally his reviewing partner said the same thing.

So honestly, no, they weren’t watching the same film as you or I or anyone else, because everyone brings their own biases and experiences and knowledge and interests into a thing, and that’s always going to flavor how it’s viewed. Again, let’s try to remember that this is good. In theory. Heavy on the theory.

That out of the way? Let’s get into Tony specifically so his uber stans can find this and scream at me on anon as though I just shot RDJ with a nuke.

Oh yeah, he was stressed. Oh, he was sleep deprived. Yeah, I’ve heard that. And that it’s Pepper’s fault, if she hadn’t left the poor baby, if she was there to rein him in, he’d be fine dammit, leave the baby alone!

Here’s the thing. You know who gets a pass on their shit behavior when they’re upset or tired? Actual babies. Actual babies and toddlers, and children, up to a point. Because they actually cannot always help themselves. Their bodies and brains are different, they have not learned better.

When you’re a 50-year-old man who’s supposedly the world’s bestest superhero, who wants, wants to be in charge of protecting the whole world? You need a little more self-control than that. The sleep deprived excuse works if you snap at someone before you’ve had your coffee, not for this. Roseanne Barr didn’t get to blame Ambien for her racism, Tony doesn’t get to handwave CW away because oops, I was tired.

Really? You’re a superhero, dude. Most of your teammates are tired too, that’s part of the gig. If you crash and burn this badly without your afternoon nap, fucking hang up the armor and go back to your billionaire playboy lifestyle.

Speaking of that, sure, right. It’s Pepper’s fault because she left him. Put aside the argument on whether that was justified or not (cough, it was and she should’ve stayed away even though they are adorable together). It’s not Pepper’s job to keep Tony sane. It’s not any partner’s job to do that for anyone. If she wants out, she has a right to that, without Tony going off the rails and blaming it on her. Seriously, he says part of the reason he backed the Accords was to “split the difference” with Pepper.

Dude. You were an asshole and you lost your girl. You destroyed all your suits, turned an emotional and mental corner in IM 3…and then relapsed 4 minutes later I guess because Whedon. Either way, Tony admits himself that he does not want to stop. So instead of doing that, or finding another partner who can accept that, you back an unjust international law that pits you against your team, your supposed friends? Go to therapy, have a pint of ice cream, cry into your pillow, send her more of those strawberries you sent her in IM 2 that she’s allergic to. You don’t go trying to change international law in ways that could ultimately affect millions of people because your girl left you.

Honestly—and thank God they didn’t do this but—the only way the Pepper excuse works in excusing his behavior in any way is if she’d died. Or been severely injured like Happy in IM 3. Still wouldn’t be okay, but, like Quill messing up their chance to stop Thanos because Gamora died, it would’ve been more understandable. Understandable, not excusable, and the way the MCU treats their women as manpain fodder, we’re probably legit lucky we didn’t get this.

As for him wanting to help everyone. He does in fact want that, I think. The problem is that his need to feel like he’s doing that is stronger than his rational mind, or his want to actually help in a constructive way.

Tony is too smart. He’s dumb as hell in many instances, mostly involving people and relationships, but he’s also too smart, and he’s been told for too long that he’s smart, and he’s bought into it. Ultron. Suit of armor around the world, protects the world, no more alien threats. It’s a simple concept on paper that fails in execution. So there are people with dangerous powers. Okay, we’ll make a set of laws to keep them from being dangerous, problem solved. But again, it isn’t.

Tony is not used to problems he cannot solve. He’s a genius, right? He can fix anything. He should be able to fix anything. That’s how he feels. But not everything is zeros and ones and circuits, things that can be fixed mechanically like his armors can. The people he wants to protect are not built that way. But he needs to feel like he’s doing something, because he’s terrified of what happens to the world if he doesn’t. So he creates these simple solutions to complex problems. The suit of armor, the Accords. They sound good in theory, but the problems they’re trying to solve are bigger than they are. And Tony, way back in IM 1, he sat back for years, clueless that his weapons were being used for bad things. He says it to Cap in CW. When he found out what his weapons were being used for, he went in and stopped it. Whether or not he should’ve known that already is a separate issue here. The point here is that when he found out, too late or not, he went in and did something about it.

Tony needs to do something about it. Again, go back to Cap in AoU, Tony’s nightmare sequence. Steve asks Tony why he didn’t save them. Tony’s ultimate nightmare is that he sits back and does nothing, and his inaction causes everyone to die. Which is where you get Ultron. Something he came up with because of what he saw in space in Avengers 1, then doubled down on in AoU. It’s where you get the Accords. Oops, he caused someone to die, he killed Charles Spencer. Must do something about that right now so it doesn’t happen again, and he won’t have to feel this guilt. He should be collaborating with others to come up with solutions (no Bruce in AoU doesn’t count because Bruce was dumb there), or at the very least, taking more time to think through the repercussions of the things he puts out there. But he doesn’t, because he’s got his savior complex that tells him that he alone can and must fix this, and because he’s too dumb to realize how not-smart he is in certain areas.

“We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I’m game.”

Isn’t that what he says in CW, or something very close to it? Whatever form that takes. That’s the issue, right there, whatever form that takes. Realistically, yes, there should be laws regarding people with powers, the same way there are special laws pertaining to people who carry guns, or people who are licensed to fly planes. You have a thing/can do a thing that not everyone else does, so there are regulations pertaining to that thing. Laws change with the times, they always have. Some new technology comes up, eventually there will be laws that regulate it. As there should be, honestly. The issue with the Accords, Steve’s issue with the Accords, was not the basic idea. He says as much. He says that it could work, but there would have to be safeguards. Safeguards that are not in the Accords that Tony wants him to sign.

It's not a matter of oh, fuck the law, there should be no law governing these people, they’re above it. The problem is that the law as it’s presented here is unjust. There’s what, a month between Lagos and Ross coming by to tell them about the Accords? A month is not enough time to properly analyze such a big issue, Especially when you’re reacting out of fear, which is what happened with Lagos. People died because of an Enhanced person, an Avenger, in this case. Lawmakers don’t want that to happen again, they especially don’t want the political shit storm that comes with it. Damn, we look like we were asleep at the switch here, not having anything to throw at this problem earlier. Quick, let’s throw together this thing so no one can say we’re not addressing the problem.

Patriot Act of 2001, anyone? 9/11 happened, the public were rightfully terrified, the US said oh man, these are unprecedented circumstances, we’ve never had this before. Don’t worry though, we’re on this, we’re protecting you. The reality being that that bill simply gave the government too much power, most of it being used against people who were not actually threats, and it’s debatable, to say the very least, whether or not that law helped more than it hurt.

No law is perfect. No law ever will be. It’s not possible. We still have to strive for perfection though, have to aim there so that the laws we get are as close to fair as possible. Tony’s a big deal. If not for his “whatever form that takes” attitude, he might’ve been able to use his influence to pressure lawmakers into coming up with a fairer bill. Hey, I’m me, the public loves me, I will endorse this bill publicly and work on getting the rest of the team to sign, but you need to change this and this and this first, or no deal. Instead, he took the easy way out, the quickest, easiest way for him to feel like he’s atoned for his sins without actually doing anything. Whatever form that takes.

Tony’s not wrong because he backs the creation of a law that addresses these things. He’s wrong because he says himself that he does not care what that law does, specifically, so long as it exists. He’s wrong because he violates said law upteen times during the movie, while preaching to team Cap about what assholes they are for not backing it. He’s wrong because he cares more about feeling as though he’s tackled a problem than he does about taking the time to make sure that the thing he’s proposing is actually a good idea. He’s wrong because of what he does with Bucky, though that’s honestly a separate issue, for the purposes of this discussion.

Anyway, that was longer than I ever wanted it to be. Damn. Next time you see a comment about CW being the reason people stan Tony, just remember there are other people out there who stopped stanning Tony because of that movie. Everyone’s entitled to see a piece of media however they see it, and although the Tony stans are often the loudest, there are plenty of like-minded people out there who share your take on events. Block who you need to, unfollow who you need to, blacklist what you need to, and don’t let them get you down.

Hang in there, and have an awesome day :)

[lokiondisneyplus]

Holy crap. Look at Kate Herron's shirt. When the Loki director pops up on Zoom, she's donning the most glorious image anyone will see since we laid eyes on Alligator Loki: A Teletubby wearing the Loki horns. Are the Teletubbies Loki variants? Sure, why not!

"I got it on Instagram," Herron says. "There's an amazing comic book artist and he designed it. He made it into a T-shirt for me because I saw it and was like, 'That's incredible. Can I get it for the press junket?'"

Herron, no big deal, just pulled off an MCU miracle. Entering a mammoth franchise with, notably, some of Sex Education's best episodes under her belt, the director deftly brought a plot involving multiverses and Richard E. Grant in a cape and superhero mumbo-jumbo to brilliant, beautiful life. Following Loki's tear-jerking, mind-bending finale, the series has been dubbed by critics and fan's alike as one of Marvel's best efforts—which is no small feat. Of course, we needed to ask Herron how she stuck the landing. Following the most epic finale you, me, or any Teletubby can remember, Herron talked to Esquire about the Miss Minutes jump scare, filming the finale's introduction of He Who Remains, and why she won't return for Season Two of Loki.

ESQ: How are you doing?

KH: I'm good. I think I feel very relieved that I don't have to sit on the secret of He Who Remains anymore, It was a very big secret to hold, but for an important reason, right? Because it's such a good character to be launching. So yeah, I feel good.

ESQ: Loking back at your old interviews, you have such a good poker face when you're avoiding spoilers, but you're also incredible at giving aggregator crumbs.

KH: I play a lot of board games, so you need to be quite good at strategy and poker faces so people can't always read your hand. So I think weirdly board games have prepared me more for working with Marvel than anything else.

ESQ: I have to start with the Miss Minutes jump scare. What went into the decision to make her a memeable, creepy apparition in that moment?

KH: I love horror, and my executive, Kevin Wright, knew that. Me and him were talking about Episode Six and I remember that he was like, "Oh, maybe you could do something creepy of Miss Minutes." And I immediately was like, "We have to do a jump scare!" Because I haven't got to do a good jump scare in anything yet and I really wanted to, because a lot of my friends are horror directors. I was like, "I can't let them down." So I was really excited to have a shot at doing a jump scare. And Miss Minutes, it was really fun testing it because we'd kind of bring different people into the edit, me and Emma McCleave, the editor, and we'd just play it for them, watch them, and check that they were jumping when we cut it.

ESQ: One thing that I think is getting missed in all the craziness is that we see a peak moment of the love story between Loki and Sylvie. Where does the finale leave the companionship that they found in each other?

KH: When I started the show, that was always in the DNA of it—that Loki was going to meet a version of himself and they were going to fall in love. And that's honestly what drew me into the story, because I directed Sex Education. I love stories about self-love and finding your identity and your people. Loki is such a broken character when we join him, and seeing him go on this amazing journey with all this growth and finding the good points of himself in seeing her—I think that was very beautiful. It's also paying respect to the fact that Sylvie's in a very different place to him. She hasn't had the Mobius therapy session. She even says, in Episode Five, "I don't know how to do this. I don't have friends." You really feel for her because she has been on the run and her whole life has been this mission.

It's almost funny because these characters are thousands of years old, but it's almost teenage the way they both talk about their feelings for each other. I think everyone can relate to that, right? In any new relationship, there's always that kind of awkwardness and like, "Oh God, am I too keen? The important thing was the hope—like when Sylvie and him kiss, I think it is genuine and it is coming from a place of these feelings they have for each other. Obviously she does push them through that door, but for me it was a goodbye and it was with heart. But it's kind of a goodbye in the sense of like, I care about you, but I'm going to do my mission because that's where I'm at.

ESQ: I would pay for you to direct the Sex Education episode where Otis falls through a portal into the multiverse, into the main MCU.

KH: He really looks like a Loki as well, which is so funny. I always thought that. I was like Asa does look like a Loki. It didn't come to pass or anything, but it would be interesting to do a Sex Ed-Marvel crossover. I wonder who all the different characters would be within the MCU, but it would be quite funny.

ESQ: You're right, he could pull off a teenage Loki.

KH: Yeah, like a teen or a very young ’20s, maybe. But it was just funny because I was like, "Oh yeah, he looks a bit like Tom." I wonder how they could do it. I'm sure they'll find a way to do a crossover anyway.

ESQ: Can you just take me back to filming with Jonathan Majors? And you capturing him in such a compelling, quirky, scary way—I'm sure your direction was such a big part of that.

KH: I was just so excited because Jonathan is an actor that everyone was so excited about. He's like a chameleon in everything he does and he's so talented. I just feel as a director so lucky to have worked on this because I feel like I've got to work with some of the best actors out there. And when you're with Jonathan, you know you're in the presence of just someone really magnificent. For me as a director, it's giving him the space to play and feel safe. Because we filmed it all in a week, but it was a lot to film in a week. So I think it was really about creating a space where he could have fun and find this character because he's going to be playing him for a long time.

ESQ: What went into the decision to introduce us to the good guy first?

KH: I remember in the script, he comes up the elevator and it was so casual. I was like, "Oh man, that's so fun." And then Jonathan, when he plays it, he's relaxed. And I the thing he used to talk about a lot was that this is a character who's been on his own for a long time. Because at the beginning, we introduced him in a space in the universe that feels like this very busy, loud place, but actually, when we see the Citadel, he's surrounded by the Timeline and he's very isolated. Even in his costume with [designer] Christine Wada, for the idea of his outfit, he's a character who's existed for multiple millennia. So it's like, OK, let's pull from lots of different places so you can't necessarily pin down which time or which place he might be from. Also the fact that his clothes look comfy. They were like pajamas because he's living at home. He loved the idea of the office [being] the only finished part of the citadel and that the rest of the citadel was like this Sunset Boulevard kind of dusty, dilapidated space. And just again showed that he probably just keeps himself to his office. All those elements definitely fed into Jonathan's performance in terms of balancing the extrovert, but also the introvert of someone that would be living by themselves and only talking to a cartoon clock.

ESQ: It really is incredible how you pull a nail-biting finale with this battle of wits and dialogue.

KH: It was really exciting because I feel like Episode Five was a lot of fun because we got to play into all the joy of the different versions of Loki, but also just the fact that it was our big usual Marvel third act, right? Like it was where our big spectacle was as they were fighting this big monster. But I love that our finale bookends, right? We began with a conversation and we ended with one.

ESQ: I also loved that there was no end-credits scene—I think it makes the ending that much more impactful. Was there ever an end credit scene on the table, or any kind of a stinger?

KH: I think no, because weirdly, we never went after the kind of mid-credit sequences. I think we always just were thinking just of the story and where we knew we wanted it to end. For example, Episode Four, originally Loki was deleted and then we went straight to him waking up. And it was only in the edit I was like, “I think it'd be really cool actually. We should move that scene to mid-credits because then we'll really feel like Loki has died." Because if I watched that moment and then it went to the credits, I'd be like, "What?!" And then when we were talking about the best way to talk about Season Two, we were like, "Okay, well, let's do that like a little mid-credits at the end because that is exciting to confirm it in that way." I'd say we found both of those in the edit just because we wanted to kind of do it right and have a fun nod to something that Marvel does so well.

ESQ: Is there anything you can tell about the future of the story you've told here—or even where you personally would like to go with the studio or otherwise going forward?

KH: Yeah, so I'm just on for Season One. So I'm so proud of the story we told. I mean, it was amazing getting to set up the TVA and take Loki on this whole new journey. And I mean, I think we've left so much groundwork for his character, and as people see in the comics, there's so much more to be delved into. And I just am excited honestly to just see where all the characters go. Like, who is B-15? What did she see in those memories and where did Ravonna go and where is Loki? I think for me, we've set up these questions and I look forward to seeing them being answered as a fan in the next season.

ESQ: Absolutely. Well, can we please work on the Asa Butterfield Loki?

KH: I will call him and I'll be like, "You want to do some crazy Marvel crossover?"

[pparkerpoetry]

Face Reality (Part 9)

Title: Confrontation and Avoiding the Truth (fear the strength of a father wronged)

Summary: A few of the boys go to confront their past. One decides to avoid it. And, at the end of it all, they fall onto Sam, their father. (Sam also kills a god, but that's unimportant.)

- Chapter One - Chapter Ten

Masterlist

____________

Occasionally, they’d all go somewhere, as a family. It was odd, such a big group traveling together, but they made it work. Other times, they’d travel in smaller groups, like when Sam had to go to the prison. None of them liked Warden Sam a whole lot, but they knew deep down that it was the same Sam that comforted them late at night. Tommy never went, though.

At least, not until now.

“Someone wants to visit the prisoner.” Sam said while they were all eating breakfast one morning. 

The early morning chatter paused. Ranboo hummed a little nervously. “Maybe I’ll go with you today. I haven’t seen the prison in a while.”

Fundy sighed. “Who’s visiting him?”

“George.” Sam winced, knowing he didn’t particularly like the man. 

“Guess I won’t go today, then.” Fundy mumbled, looking down and shoveling some more food into his mouth.

It was quiet for the rest of breakfast, just the clinking of forks against plates filling the silence. After Ranboo was done, he got ready, and met Sam at the entrance of their home. Right as the door opened, Tommy shuffled over.

“Could I come today?” He asked, wings circling around his body.

Sam nodded. “Of course you can. Are you sure you want to, though? You might have to see, uh, Dream.”

Tommy flinched at the name. “Yeah. I think I need to go.”

They left, then, and the journey was a soft show of how Sam and Ranboo cared for Tommy. They walked closer than Tommy probably would’ve liked, they bristled whenever they heard something. Tommy appreciated it, though, Ranboo could tell. His wings were relaxed and comfortable on his back rather than fluffed out like they were a while ago. 

When they reached the prison, Ranboo caught a glimpse of blue on the horizon coming towards them. The three of them were safely inside before the visitor arrived, though.

As usual, Sam brought them to a little hidden room that could see the cell without being seen. Sam stood there whenever visitors arrived, so Tommy and Ranboo waited there while he guided the guests to the cell.

They watched as George walked over the bridge to look at Dream. Tommy looked down. He was starting to regret coming, so Ranboo put an arm around his shoulders. Sam came over a minute later, and they watched George.

The man had looked better. His posture was slumped, his hair swept to the side stiffly, like it hadn’t been washed in a while. He looked defeated. 

“George.” Dream said, voice slightly wobbling in a way undetectable by anyone who was just casually watching the interaction.

George looked at the while mask for a second before sighing. “Dream. It’s been a while since I visited. Thought I’d see if you needed anything, make sure Sam’s treating you well. As well as he can, considering you’re a monster, anyway.” he shrugged, missing the way Dream folded into himself a little.

It was quiet. A painful, tense silence. 

Dream broke it. “How’ve you been?”

“I left.” George said, looking up with tears in his eyes. “I left after the last visit and you didn’t care. I went with Karl and Sapnap, we had a fun time. Built a library. I was enjoying myself, but after everything you’ve done, I can’t be away from you. I hate you, but I still want what we had back.”

“George…” Dream groaned, silently begging him to stop.

“No. No, Dream. You are going to sit here and listen. After all the nights I’ve spent awake wondering if I should visit, you are going to sit here and acknowledge what you’ve done.” George snapped. “You spent years with Sapnap and I just to leave us at the drop of a hat for what, power? Why did you change? Was I not good enough? Do you hate me? Because after what you’ve done, I’m starting to think that there’s nothing left here for me.” It was silent again. When George spoke next, it was softer. “Say something, Dream. Say something, anything, and I’ll come back. I’ll stay. For you.”

“George,” Dream started, before trailing off into meaningless mutters.

He started begging. “Anything, Dream. Give me any clue that there’s a part left of the old you that I can save and I’ll stay. I promise.”

Dream stayed quiet, all the words he wanted to say biting the tip of his tongue. Instead, he said, “Then leave. See if I care. Our time is over, George. When I get out of here, I’ll be a stranger to the ones that I once loved.”

“I hope you burn in hell.” George whispered, turning away so that Dream wouldn’t see the tears he shed. He didn’t deserve to see how his words hurt. “Sam, I’m ready to go.”

Dream reached out a hand, but pulled it back. He needed to remember his plan. This was worth it.

“Bye, Dream.”

Sam had left Ranboo and Tommy to escort the broken man out, and once he came back, Tommy stood up. “Can I go visit him? I think… I think I need to talk to him.”

Even Warden Sam hesitated. “Sure.”

Tommy didn’t fill out the books, it wasn’t necessary. He finally stood above Dream, wings flared out as his anger grew.

“Hey Tommy,” Dream drawled. “Those wings are new.”

“Not really,” Tommy shrugged. “I just haven’t felt the need to tell you every little thing about my life, nowadays. No since you, you know, pushed me to almost kill myself.”

Dream wasn’t sure he liked how blunt Tommy was being. “But didn’t you hide things from me before? Isn’t that why you deserve that ending?”

Tommy scoffed. “Say what you will, Small D. I’ve got a family, I’ve healed, I’m happy. I’m not going to let you manipulate me when I’ve got the ending all heroes want and you’re here getting yelled at by George, for all I care, rotting until the ends of time. It worked back then, but not now.”

“But I’m your friend!” Dream crooned, trying to get under Tommy’s feathers.

“No you aren’t!” Tommy shouted, before pausing to calm down. “You hit me, you blew up my stuff, you abused me, Dream. You aren’t my friend. So what if it took an actual family and therapy to figure that out. You aren’t my friend, Dream, and frankly, I don’t think you have any.”

Dream hummed. “So you got smart. You gonna hit me? Get angry? Lose your temper and see how long it takes to hurt me?”

Tommy laughed at that. “No, I’m not. If you think I’m going to turn around and be as bad as you, then you’re dumber than I took you for. I’m not here for you, Dream. I’m here for me. I finally got myself back after all these years, and I came here to look you in the eyes so that you know how truly alone you are.” He paused as he started to turn around. “Y’know, I’d almost feel bad for you, if I hadn’t known that this was your own fault.”

Sam brought him back, and Ranboo smiled at the blond. “Do you feel better?” 

The grin that Ranboo got as a response was telling. “I do! I feel like a big, huge man! I mean, I always was, but boy,” His wings stretched out further, proud, “I feel like I could take over the world.”

Ranboo thought about that for a while. How confident Tommy was, how relieved he felt. Ranboo wanted to feel that. Get that closure. He wasn’t sure he’d find it in Dream, though. They’d never spoken, after all. Not since Ranboo was accepted onto this server, anyway.

He found a way to get it when Karl was over one day, visiting. He’d always come alone, making an excuse as to why his fiances (husbands? Ranboo wasn’t sure if they got married or not.) couldn’t come.

They were having a picnic, all of them just hanging around snacking on food. Some of them couldn’t make it, but that wasn’t their fault.

Ranboo was sitting with his arms propping him up, staring up at how the wind moved the leaves of trees. It seemed so gentle, so relaxing, until the wind picked up and the rustling grew louder and violent. Karl was smiling, but the smile seemed to hide some uneasiness. He wasn’t sure what for, but he figured that if he'd been a time traveler in a unique timeline with little to no idea of what happened next, he’d be nervous, too.

His thoughts wandered to the green festival, how he’d been exposed as a traitor and almost executed by one of the men who wasn’t feasting in the meadow. He wasn’t sure why his mind brought it up, maybe because his mind picked up on the green around him, and as the laughter filtered into his hazy mind, they were contorted to screams.

“-you alright? Ranboo?”

Ranboo turned to see Karl looking at him funny. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“Okay,” Karl said dubiously. “If you say so.”

“Actually,” Ranboo spoke up, making Karl turn to him again. “Do you think I could go with you when you go back to your house? I think I want to visit, uh, Quackity.”

All conversation (or it seemed like it, at least,) stopped. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tubbo asked, looking concerned.

“Yeah!” Ranboo said, trying to sound cheerful. “I haven’t seen him in awhile. I want to see how he’s doing.”

“Sure.” Karl shrugged. “He and Sapnap went to the nether today, but you might catch them tonight. We have a spare room, too.”

So it was decided. Ranboo left with Karl that afternoon, but not without getting a tight hug from Sam and a package of snacks for the trip.

Quackity and Sapnap were already home by the time Ranboo and Karl arrived, and it was kind of comical how surprised they looked at seeing the enderman. 

“Hey, Ranboo.” Quackity started slowly. “Karl caught me up with what happened to you after everyone gave up searching. I… I’m sorry, man. I really am.”

Karl ushered Sapnap out of the room to let the other two talk. Ranboo spoke next. “I’d like to say it’s okay, I really would. I just… don’t you realize what you did to me back then?”

“Of course I do,” Quackity exclaimed softly. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t regret how I acted. I know it doesn’t excuse anything, I know that being almost executed is pretty traumatic, I wish I could’ve been better, you were just a kid, but-”

“Hey,” Ranboo interrupted. “We all have regrets. I’m getting help, and I think you are too,” The nod confirmed it, “I don’t think either of us are at fault for what happened. I think we can put it behind us. After all, being on this server causes a lot of stress.”

“You can say that again,” Quackity laughed, and Ranboo noticed small wings stretch out behind him.

“Oh, hey, Tommy has wings too,” Ranboo mentioned.

“He, he what???” Quackity asked. “Wings? Since when?”

They caught up more after that. It wasn’t perfect, but when Ranboo went back home the next morning, he felt happier. He felt content, and safe, and he was glad he’d gone. 

Purpled didn't get such a luxury that night. His mind was plagued with the horrors that he'd lived through not even a month ago, though he wanted nothing more than to finally rest.

It all started when he dreamed of waking up. It seemed realistic, and well, he couldn't bear the thought of not waking up, so he believed it.

He woke up quickly. What had he been dreaming of? He couldn't remember. He knew that it had caused the sinking feeling of terror in his bones, though, and knew it was real from the exhaustion in his body. 

His room looked different. Had the walls always been red? He wasn't sure. Why did he… what was he here for? Hadn't he fallen asleep in the room that they all shared? 

Hadn't he?

Purpled got up and padded over to the door. It swung open before him, but he didn't recall touching the handle. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. Yes, that was it. He was just tired.

He wanted to go to Sam. He'd had a nightmare, right? Yes. He wanted Sam. He wanted comfort. In his hazy mind, those were the same.

...When had he gotten to Sam's door? Hadn't he just been outside of his own room a minute ago? Nevermind that. Purpled wanted a hug.

He walked into the room. Sam lay there, still asleep.

"Sam?"

He did not wake. Purpled tried again, a little louder. "Sam?"

Nothing. Once more, "...Dad?"

Purpled was about to leave when something clicked in his mind. Why was it so quiet? Yes, why? Sam snored a bit, not loudly, but he was never this quiet. He walked over to the bed, and rolled Sam over.

Instead of a soft smile, there was blood on the corner of Sam's mouth, a blank stare, and red staining the sheets.

What was that weight in his hands? 

Purpled looked down, and he was met with the glinting grin of a sword. He'd done this. He killed Sam. Why wasn't Sam respawning?

He backed away slowly. He had to check on the others, make sure they were okay, oh, god- he’d blacked out again. He’d done the one thing he was terrified he would, he’d killed Sam, oh-

The door to the room that they all shared loomed in front of him. Why was he dizzy? He stumbled into the room to see what had happened. Hopefully nothing, but oh, god-

Tommy lay on the ground, wing stretching towards the door, telling the story of a failed defense, feathers torn and dirty, stained red like Sam’s bed had been. Under one of his wings was Tubbo- but which had died first? Was it Tubbo, and Tommy was grieving the loss of the only friend that had been there since the beginning? Or was it Tommy who was the first to fall, selfless until the end, hoping that Tubbo might be spared?

Purpled didn’t know.

Ranboo and Fundy were next to each other, Ranboo’s head on Fundy’s lap as his purple blood spilled onto the ground as if in his last moments he was pulled close to Fundy, the one he’d spent so long saving and healing. Fundy’s eyes were blank, slumped against a bed, fur matted and tangled. Purpled wanted to reach out to fix it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when he’d been the one to do this.

He tried to walk backwards, try to desperately deny that any of this had happened, but his foot caught on something and he tumbled onto his back- it was a wing, oh no, it was Tommy’s wing that he’d fallen over, and now he was looking into those dead, foggy eyes-

The hallway came into view, and it didn’t offer any solace to the boy born and raised in violence and abandonment. Puffy and Niki were by the door, tight in an embrace that held no fear because they would be together, even in death. It was a story of love that had been ended by Purpled’s blade, and he couldn’t bear to look at it, but everywhere he looked strengthened the burning feeling that he felt rising up his throat. 

There- Eret, crown fallen, splattered with what Purpled really hoped was just… paint? He turned again, and Karl- wait.

Karl was alive.

“Karl, thank god, you’re alive, please, are you okay?”

Karl startled and scrambled backwards to get away from Purpled. His eyes were full of fear, but that was better than blank-

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” 

Purpled squinted. “I know it wasn’t supposed to happen, Karl, I killed everybody! That means pretty much everything that could go wrong, did! Why didn’t anyone stop me? Don’t you guys have, like… I don’t know, overpowered armor and weapons? I’m still in my pajamas!”

Karl shook his head. “No, you don’t understand, Purpled- I- this, this shouldn’t have happened! I know time! I know vaguely how this timeline ends and this isn’t it! I don’t know how, but Purpled, you’ve altered time in a way that I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist!”

“What do you mean?” Purpled spluttered. “Mess with time? I’m barely an adult!”

“What are you?” Karl asked fearfully, and Purpled blinked, and just like that, everyone but him was dead in the house. It was quiet except for his horrified sobs that began to echo as he stepped past Karl to leave and get outside. He couldn’t tell if there were any trees there, or even if the sky was blue, but it all seemed so real despite that, like someone was trying to warn him, disguising the future as a dream.

He woke up quickly. What had he been dreaming of? He couldn't remember. He knew that it had caused the sinking feeling of terror in his bones, though, and knew it was real from the exhaustion in his body. 

Wait- no, he remembered. He really wished he didn’t remember, he wished with all of the bones in his body and with all of the coins that he could throw down any mossy wishing well that he could forget, but not for the first time, the world looked down on Purpled and sneered.

His heart rate began to speed up. He needed to get away, he couldn’t let that happen here-

He was gone before he’d even realized it. There was a bag, packed, and though it took some time to make sure that he wouldn’t wake up anyone as they stayed in their slumber, Purpled managed. Before he left for good, he wrote a quick note so that they wouldn’t worry, and walked by Sam’s room to hear the comforting sound of gentle snoring. During movie night (he’d miss that terribly, he decided, but this was for the better. The better of them, not him, but wasn’t that more important? Wasn’t everything he’d done to get to them, to help them, to make sure they never stooped as low as he had?) he’d usually find it annoying, but as he shut the front door behind him, he couldn’t find the strength to care very much. 

He was leaving them, and they very well might hate him for it, but he needed to do this. For their safety. And, as the sun struggled to keep it’s grasp on the horizon, staining his hair the same color he’d feared so much, he felt at peace. He needed to do this. Maybe if he repeated it enough, the feelings that he had would become genuine.

By the time Ranboo woke up, hours later, the sun now mourning the loss of one of her creations, he wasn’t the first to see Purpled’s note. He was the last, to be precise. The last to look at the tiny piece of paper, scribbled in handwriting that could only be Purpled’s. The last to have their eyes filled with tears.

Sure, he thought he was doing the right thing, but surely, surely he had felt safe with them. Safe with the family that loved him so much, the family that would stop at nothing to find him again. The family that could crumble so easily and erase all the healing that had been done, just with the loss of one. 

The searches that followed made Ranboo uneasy. It reminded him too much of what must've happened when he had disappeared, and he hated that it was happening again. His motivations had been more selfish, (not selfish. He wasn’t selfish for leaving when he was underappreciated. He just hadn’t realized his importance in the lives of others.) but he hated that he must’ve put this much sorrow into the hearts of the ones that searched for him. 

It grew dark as the results came up empty. Everyone returned to the house, saddened and disheartened, but then- and Ranboo wasn’t quite sure if this was a stroke of genius or a hopeless dead end that cursed him even after all this time- he knew where Purpled had gone.

Where would he have gone to escape everyone? To make sure no one would find him? To be absolutely sure that they were safe from him? Well, he’d already gone there.

The End.

(of what? His mind whispered. Another just-healed life? A family? What was this the end of? Everything he’d been living for?)

Blindly, in a haze of panic, Ranboo ran outside. He didn’t know what direction to go in, he felt hands pulling him back but suddenly they were gone, and he was deep in the forest. It happened again, and he didn’t quite register just how many times it happened until he was hit by a blast of cold-

Had he just teleported?

Nevermind that, his thoughts reminded him. Nevermind your power, nevermind the past that the cold will bring up, you have a job to do.

He stumbled to the shore’s edge, not caring how armorless he was. Diving into the water was painful, but the headache that was growing and the exhaustion setting into his body distracted him from it. His feet brought him to the room that he’d stood at, and for a second he could feel all of the blood rush from his face.

There, next to a now lit portal, was the god that had been part of the reason he had been so alone, and he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, let Purpled go through the same thing. No one deserved the fate that he’d submitted himself to all those years ago. 

And, next to the glowing wings, was a familiar purple sweatshirt, the person it belonged to looking devastated and broken.

Purpled looked up, and met Ranboo’s eyes. Neither were sure which pair of eyes held more emotion. Ranboo’s, full of shock that he was right, filled with pain that Purpled never thought to stay, telling the story of someone who’s lived out this ending and never wanted to go near it again, but has. Or, maybe Purpled’s, thought to be the least fucked-up of the bunch, eyes flooded with the memories that never let him rest, sick of it all and just wanting his family safe.

Purpled’s, which held the story of an apology. “I’m sorry,” it said, narrated in a tear-filled voice though no words were spoken. “I’m sorry that it had to end this way, I really am, but it’s better this way.”

“Then why does it hurt?” Ranboo’s responded, bringing up the regret that the story had brought.

The hesitation it caused as one foot lifted into the air was enough time. Ranboo let out a screech, somewhere between a shout of No!, and the warble of an enderman. He wasn’t sure which one it was closer to, but he knew that he had finally done something right as he felt the weight of Purpled collide with his, falling to the ground behind the portal instead of into the dark expanse.

“Let me go!” Purpled cried, the tears streaming down his face. He’d been so close to making sure they were safe, why did Ranboo stop him?

“No,” Ranboo growled, holding down Purpled as he struggled and tried to escape. “I’m not letting you go there. Not when it’s done what it has to me. Not when I know what it will do to you. Not when I know that I almost lost myself, and that I’ll lose you, too. I couldn’t bear to lose you. Not after all we’ve been through.”

Purpled went limp, falling into Ranboo’s arms as they both cried. It had been a long day, they were tired, and they wanted to go home. 

There was the issue of the very not amused god, though. They’d gone way off script, and he was sick of it. He wanted control back.

___________________

Sam wanted his sons back. 

He wasn’t stupid, he knew where they were. He knew almost immediately after Ranboo had gasped softly and ran outside toward where he knew the snowy tundra was. People tried to stop him, but the teleportation was new. Something they’d have to work on, certainly, but there was no time.

He set off a little while later. He trusted Ranboo to deal with it, but figured they could use some backup to get home. Sam used his trident, and flew through the air. It would’ve been enjoyable if he wasn’t so worried about Purpled.

While he wasn’t sure what he expected, but seeing an angry god standing over his two children wasn’t it. 

“Get away from them.” Sam said, hoping he wouldn’t have to get into a fight with a deity. Fate wasn’t on his side though. When had it ever been?

“Get away?” The god laughed. “I am powerful. I can shift reality. Create matter. Do you know pain, Awesamdude? I am made from the very essence of pain, and if you interfere here, you will learn of it.”

Sam had the audacity to laugh. He was scared, but he laughed. “Pain? You think I don’t know pain? How much of an idiot are you?” The laughter cut off, replaced with a cold, chilling voice. “I know more pain and hurt than you’d ever know. My story isn’t controlled by you, and neither am I. Now, get away from them.”

The deity would have been pouting, mockingly, had he a face. “You aren’t controlled by me? You really think so?” He crooned, reaching a hand out towards Sam. “How long do you think you can pretend that’s true?”

Sam felt his throat close, his lungs contract. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get the air he needed-

The air rushed into his lungs, only for walls of obsidian to be built, crushing him and leaving no space to move.

“How long can you escape me?”

As soon as he mined the blocks, more appeared. When they ceased, lava was poured onto the stone and he felt the heat through the protection of his boots.

“How long can you survive in a world that I run?”

When the lava was scooped up, it was quickly replaced with a skeleton, shooting an arrow through the weak part of his armour. Sam hissed, and fell back in pain, feeling the gunpowder rise up his throat. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t. His boys would get caught up in the explosion and get hurt- Sam spared a desperate glance to them to make sure they were alright, but the deity caught it.

“How long do you think you can protect them? Who even are you to challenge me when I am the god of these lands, who writes your futures?”

A wave of rage rolled off of Sam with the strength of a thousand tsunamis at the thought of this slimy fingered fuck touching his boys, startling the deity and breaking the connection that had been held. Sam unsheathed his sword as he stood up, and pushed it into (what he assumed was)  the body of the god.

“Me?” He snarled. “I’m their father. And if you think I won’t kill anything that’s standing in their way of a happy life, then you deserve everything that I want to do to you for preventing their safety.”

The god had a hard time breathing, but he spoke again. His head had no mouth, but the words were coming out slower, now. “I won’t die, if you do this. I’ll come back later, I’ll destroy everything you love. I cannot truly be killed.”

“You come and try.” Sam whispered into what he really hoped his ears were. “You come and try to touch a single hair on any one of my boy’s heads, and you see what happens. You can’t write my script because I’ve burned it in the flames that you’ve made of my past, so try and see what will happen if I see you again. I dare you.”

With that, the air was silent as the god disappeared, nothing left of him but a shining portal still lit and a message in the chat.

DreamXD has left the game.

He knelt down next to Purpled and Ranboo, who were trembling, still locked in a tight embrace. “C’mon, boys.” He sighed wearily. It’d been a long day, and he could check kill a god off of his bucket list. “Let’s go home.” He was holding his side and would limp back, but he repeated it. 

“Let’s go home.”

[red-hood-vigilante]

more hbo spn rambles, thoughts, drabbles etc. long long post.

part 1 here

there’s some things i’ve omitted here bc others have already posted about those things, certain headcanons and characterizations and stuff. those posts are in my likes somewhere (and i’ll reblog them someday), and there’s some posts i’ve read but not liked, which i now can only vaguely remember, which is why some ideas/thoughts are similar

ALSO most of these follow the model i talked about in part one: how s1-5 will stay more or less how they are but s6-10 is changed (some things are cut out entirely, some things are tweaked and some characters + arcs are more fleshed out. more focus on sam’s trauma and post-cage adaptation to the real world as well as dean letting his rage and control issues consume him and how he’d recover and redeem himself)

as i typed these paragraphs, i realized i really have 10 seasons mapped out and ready to go. hbo hire me!!

alright go:

sam and dean get wearier as the show progresses (second half), and eventually they stop putting so much care and thought in the people they save. like...hm how do i say this, like as long as a victim/victims are saved, they don’t care about how that happens or how those people suffer potential consequences, like if the victims lose a limb or have their homes burned down because of the monster, then sam and dean don’t really care. they saved your life, now they’ll leave you with your life in potential shambles and not care because all that matters is that they saved your life, not how it is afterwards. they still care about saving that one person, but eventually it pales a little in comparison to a war between heaven and hell, being the vessels etc. ---> saving people becomes less about making sure they’re actually alright and healing from horrific events and more about just making sure they have a pulse before they move on

when angels lose their wings they are either burned off in the actual fall or ripped off of them in their vessels, which leaves pretty nasty scars on the vessel

ed and harry are so young and bright eyed about the whole hunting thing; sam and dean as kids, idolizing it, finding it exciting and intriguing when they shouldn’t. sam and dean try to get them out of the business before they too are too traumatized and desensitized to do anything but hunt. neither sam or dean will say it but they are jealous of ed and harry and their freedom to leave, and hate them for choosing this voluntarily instead of being dragged into it by tragedy

hbo spn is a slow burn. there’s a lot more shots of sam and dean in silence just sitting together after a hunt, exhausted and too tired to move yet. they’re covered in blood and guts on the side of the road after killing or covered with dirt in a graveyard after burning bones, sitting next to the fire, just watching it. the times they park the car and watch the stars? we get to see it. 

dean wears rings and the amulet all the time in the beginning, for the first five seasons. the rings vary; first they’re some of john’s old ones and stuff he finds in thrift stores. then later on he begins wearing rings from people they’ve saved/haven’t saved as a keepsakes etc. when he begins his descent to the holy murderer in s6-10 he wears less and less rings. they don’t matter anymore -> symbolically shedding who he was and what mattered to him

the only accessories sam has is a rosary/cross around his neck. he has jess’ engagement ring in his pocket/wallet. after the cage he vaguely remembers why the ring was there and who jessica was (more on this further down)

the four horsemen are manifestations of different aspects of human nature at its most grotesque and strongest, can’t be killed as long as humans live. war is conflict, famine is desire, pestilence is physical and mental illnesses.

(the seven sins are like the horsemen, tulpas of human nature instead of demons)

death isn’t a concentration of an existing aspect of humans as much as it is the end of life, the antithesis of life. death the oldest of the horsemen and has existed since the beginning of any life, organism, cell and atom. the opposite of life and light, the other half of god (as i’m typing this i’m confused as to why  amara was the opposite of god instead of death). death isn’t evil or good, remains 100% objective. doesn’t care for sam or dean at all, but has a begrudging respect for their stubbornness and entertainment they provide due to their flat out refusal to do as they’re told by celestial bodies when anyone else would crumble

by including death i feel like it very naturally begs questions of who decides when someone dies, when someone lives, why would death follow these guides instead of reaping whomever whenever, what happens if a life isn’t reaped at the right time etc. the reader in me adore the idea of death having a library with books and records of everyone who has ever lived and died and how they died - but then, who writes these books and why? do they decide, and if in that case, how? these questions are above my paygrade but you know what i mean? like there has to be some sort of system right, god created everything, death executes to maintain order, some third party deity writes the laws and the books. the three branches of government. ok but it’s hbo so again, i think we shouldn’t dive this deep into things, like as much as these topics intrigue me i don’t want to stray too much from the dirt road trip aesthetic

shapeshifters are extremely rare because they don’t require any kind of human blood or organs/sacrifice to live

i want more exploration of how magic is like science, like it just needs the right ingredients and right conditions. sam thinks of magic as an obscure branch of science; it just requires research and knowledge and clear intentions because science can be controlled and do a lot of good when used responsibly. dean doesn’t like it. he doesn’t trust the unpredictable elements and he’s seen enough to know it never goes well. magic is a force that can’t be controlled by anyone.

sam and dean have full on fist fights regularly. to practice and keeping each other sharp, but also because they’re siblings. they’re feral, insane and unhinged with each other and they get on each other’s nerves A LOT. it’s petty and childish and sometimes it can get a lil ugly but it becomes their way of family therapy. after a fight the next scene cuts to sam and dean with ruffled clothes, nosebleeds and swollen lips at a diner eating silently after beating each other up. either they sit in silence because they’re tired or both are harping on the other’s openings and weaknesses

sometimes they’ll fight a little dirty but they do so in different ways; dean will pull the old ‘look!’ and point to something and then tackle sam when he turns to look while sam will just cry out in fake pain which makes dean stop dead in his tracks before sam headbutts him or kicks him in the groin

we, the audience get used to these fights, they’re sometimes funny and for comic relief, sometimes for narrative purposes (like tricking a monster they’re fighting each other when they’re really not) BUT. then comes the times when sam and dean are actually fighting without holding back and we see how much they are capable of hurting each other or how heartbreaking and difficult it can be to watch when of them are incapable of fighting back/doesn’t defend himself -> swan song when dean doesn’t fight back against possessed sam, or when dean beats soulless sam unconscious

sam and dean also just verbally bully each other constantly but they do have their odd ways of expressing affection and care. they get the other person their fave snack whenever they go grocery shopping without being asked to and are the only other one they truly trust to have their back in hunts. have a cup of coffee ready before the other asks for one. brothers and each other’s best friend. nightmare duo but in a sweet way. the cooperation of ‘the usual suspects’ when they’re in different interrogation rooms but still has the cover story down to a t. code words and code names and cover stories, they know it all

when sam and dean fight together against a common enemy they’re a damn nightmare - because they know each others weaknesses and habits, they cover each other perfectly and in complete silence. they’ve been at it together since they were kids and read each other’s nonverbal cues like a picture book

to build off of what i said in part 1; the winchesters are pretty hated in the hunter’s community. even the people sam and dean frequently work with (bobby, ellen, jo, ash, rufus, bela, kevin, charlie, castiel etc) roasts them all the time and don’t hesitate with calling them out on their self-pitying crap when it get’s too much (spn was just objectively better when characters weren’t afraid of dragging sam and dean through the mud for being selfish and stupid) and this WILL persist in hbo spn. the only reason people continue working with sam and dean is because they know deep down a lot of the things that happens aren’t sam and dean’s fault - but they still blame them for it. doesn’t make it easier how sam or dean sometimes start crap on purpose to save the other

the winchesters are terrifying and people for sure tell stories about them, but not like ‘they’re heroes’, more like ‘they’re insane and dangerous. stay the fuck away from them’. some stories are true, like how they’ve worked with demons, but some are just game of telephone. (dean has apparently a ghost he is frequently possessed by while sam is actually a mutant vampire). hunters hate and are scared of the winchesters. sam and dean are never invited to hunter stuff (burials, memorials etc) but crash them nonetheless even though the hunters do NOT want them there.

you know what drives me insane when i think about it? how some characters in spn already are their hbo spn counterparts; john. mary. adam. maybe kevin?

other things that already are their hbo spn counterparts: dean throwing away the amulet right in front of sam. eyes burning when angels are seen. how ghosts are just tragedies, stuck in a loop they can’t leave. how a lot of the monsters they meet are just victims or their circumstances or the first victim of a curse. the impala being sam and dean’s home. dean not knowing how to comfort sam when he’s upset other than trying to do things for sam that usually brings dean comfort (driving the impala, listening to rock music etc). the roadhouse. heaven being an eternal version of the memories that made you the happiest even though it’s not real. sam wanting independence and freedom but never fully having it. dean fearing being alone more than anything else and that’s where he always ends up. sam has an eating disorder after the demon blood and dean has an alcohol problem he refuses to see as a problem. dean saying “i’d do it again” without an ounce of regret and pouring himself a drink when sam tells him it was fucked up to lie to him about gadreel

the demon/angel hybrid: THIS could be sooo interesting to explore. an angel and demon hybrid are you kidding me?? not to toot my own horn too much but i’m so clever. i should write this story myself. SO. does this creature have parents who fucked in their vessels or was this an experiment by god (yes i love the ‘mad scientist’ idea, that really should’ve been played up way more) or did a pre-existing creature (human or otherwise) drink demon blood and angel grace at the same time so that it created itself? so much potential for some really intriguing storytelling and character exploration - not only the creature itself and what they would be like, but also for the people around; sam, dean, castiel, jack etc. how would they react to this thing that is the very definition of defying heaven and hell and all the natural laws? does it exist before the show starts or will we see its birth?

the powers of the demon/angel hybrid would be tricky; a mix of holy and defiant, grotesque and beautiful. unconsciously forces people to tell the truth when talking to them. poisons whatever they touch. eyes of a demon, wings of an angel. can smite but skin will burn when touching iron. can do deals but will require a sacrifice in return, not a soul, usually a body part taken then and there (the hybrid eats it. it favours eyeballs and the liver - angels like raw meat). lights always flicker. makes things explode when angry (esp people and cars). can manipulate feelings, thoughts and memories. can travel to both heaven and hell, not welcome in either places. + standard stuff like telekinesis, teleportation, mind reading, super strength etc. 

sam and dean’s wardrobe are pretty much the same; whatever’s cheap and not covered in blood. however, they do have stylistic differences. sam thinks graphic tees are funny, dean uses whatever’s black combined with john’s leather jacket. their wardrobe melds as they stop thinking of themselves as individuals and more of “me and my brother,”. their clothes are tattered and torn to shreds all the time. hand me downs, hand me ups. when they stray off their “path” and do things that are the crux of a storyline/character arc, this would reflect in their clothes. when sam is with ruby and becomes more and more “evil” he wears more and more red, a colour he has stated in the past he doesn’t really like. when dean is dead, sam starts to wear his rings and john’s and dean’s leather jacket. when dean decides he’s going to say yes to michael he dresses in white, when sam is dead dean takes off every piece of jewelry except the amulet. he holds it clenched in his fists when he’s whispering what comes close to a prayer

logically the amulet should have a backstory but you know what? i love that it’s hinted to be just a piece of cheap jewelry sam found in a thrift store he decided to give to dean. but narratively it should be explained so... idk. what could be logical solution as to why it would react to GOD himself? maybe god wore it once cuz he thought it was neat but he sold it for three dollars because he wanted coffee and then sam found it a week later

i would prefer it if god didn’t show up at all (absent father number one) but if he DID he’s not all powerful just a true neutral (like death, 100% objective) who created a thing that just took a life of its own, much like a parent and a child - the parent helps the child but can’t control it. the times he did intervene or tried to do something it didn’t really have any real long lasting effect so he gave up on trying a while ago. 

@spneveryseason talked about this, how the storyline of sam being possessed by gadreel would be horrifying if we saw everything from sam’s perspective instead of dean’s (her fic is wonderful). in the ‘dean slowly descends into a righteous murderer to become holy’ idea i have this tracks so damn well because again, if dean believes something is right, it is right, no questions about it. everyone around him is like “that’s really fucked up and you should make amends” but dean doesn’t see any reasons for why - sam is alive isn’t he? and seeing it from sam’s pov would really underline how horrifying, dehumanizing and belittling that experience was

john and mary are adam and eve. sam and dean are cain and abel are michael and lucifer. time is a flat circle. history never stops repeating itself. 

sam is the villain of s4. he is manipulated and key information is withheld from him but in the end... would it made a difference? it crossed his mind, that he could be tricked because ruby is a demon after all, but maybe he likes the power, the feeling of freedom, that he wasn’t just the baby, the one who always needs permission to do things. if he has to drain possessed people to get that power... so be it. and it’s for a good purpose, until it isn’t. he’s hungry for more, to be feared and respected. he’s enticed by lucifer’s sweet words, the potential of all that power and the idea of ruling two out of three realms. dean manages to pull him back from the brink because sam decides he doesn’t want to be what john thought he was and fail dean and himself like that.

dean is the villain in s9. he is controlling, the mark of cain without the mark. what he says goes - it’s not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship. he doesn’t see how much pain, doubt and fear he causes the people around him. if some victims or civilians die on his watch that doesn’t matter - just some collateral damage. sam can’t make dean listen to him because dean is the older one, the one who’s always called the shots. dean is the angelic one, heaven’s chosen warrior, he is untouchable and unkillable. he’s is an excellent killer, filling the void with blood and rage which is better than the crippling fear of loneliness carved into his bones. 'i butcher for love, to protect,’ he tells himself. ‘why shouldn’t i exterminate, regardless of the cost? i’ve followed the rules, i’ve always sacrificed. now i call the shots. it’s my right.’

sam’s hell trauma is never magically removed. he’s stuck with the memories and the nightmares and the occasional hallucinations. castiel can’t do anything but offers to wipe his memory completely, but sam says no, he is still doing penance. 

after dean comes back from hell he starts calling himself old man and jokes a lot about he’s 40 years older now (after he’s more comfortable about speaking about hell) 

when sam comes back he feels ancient (he’s over 900 years old at least but he lost count), weary, tired and so so so out of place in this world. he’s forgotten how to put gas in a car, how to drive, how to use a credit card, all the song lyrics he and dean used to yell together, the faces of people he knew before he fell, the softness of a bed, the schools he went to, most of the hunts he and dean, how john died, who mary is, the initials carved into the impala, the taste of food that isn’t raw meat. it’s so much he’s forgotten that he has to relearn. he prefers figuring things out with castiel instead of dean because castiel doesn’t silently resent him for everything he’s forgotten

sam doesn’t laugh anymore. despite dean’s many and castiel’s few awkward attempts, it’s more like quick smile and a quiet “hmm”. on some days he recoils when he sees blood and guts, on other days he’s so apathetic it’s unnerving

sam sympathizes with the brought back mary and castiel more than ever. dean tries to get sam to remember things he’s forgotten from his childhood but sam can’t connect with it anymore. he stopped being that sam a long time ago. dean doesn’t know what else to do than try to force this connection to be revitalized and he fails. sam isn’t that person anymore and this wedge in their relationship becomes a central factor in dean’s s6-10 desperation and isolation. sam is here and safe but it’s not really sam, not the sam dean grew up with

while sam has forgotten how to make coffee, he now knows everything about angels, effective torture tricks, a bunch of lore + biblical history, how to navigate hell, the most powerful and influential demons, rare and powerful spells as well as perfect enochian (he will speak enochian without realizing and it feels more natural than english). lucifer and michael were surprisingly talkative (raging about the unfairness) when taking their anger and hatred out on sam and adam and each other. sam had access to all of lucifer’s memories and knowledge for the time he was the one in control. walking library and encyclopedia of biblical lore.

he still has some muscle memory from hunting and sparring, but sam is ghostly thin and very rusty. even though he’s an expert on lore, he’s not fit to go on hunts anymore and he knows it. 

sam remembers adam and swears he’ll try to get him out, but he can’t. just thinking about the cage makes him vomit. he can’t talk about it, much less go near it. after a while sam thinks it might be better to let adam stay down there than let him come back up and feel this crushing emptiness and loss of direction

sam’s trials take place in s9 instead of 8; coinciding with dean’s villain arc. for sam the trials are a chance to redeem himself again, this time for good by closing hellgates forever. they’re scrubbing him clean of the demon blood and his sins and they give him a sense of purpose again now that he can’t join hunts anymore. it doesn’t matter if he dies because of it. it would be nice with a permanent and peaceful death that did something good. dean is taken aback by sam’s devotion to repent for something that happened years ago and for something sam has already paid for a thousand times over. dean realizes how messed up he himself has become and how he’s helped put sam here, on the cusp of self sacrifice again because of sickening guilt and self hatred. dean begs sam to not complete the trials at the cost of his own life and swears he’ll better himself, be a friend and a brother, not a jailer, dictator or a murderer. ‘if you won’t give yourself or life another chance, please give me one.’ ---> s10 pacifist dean learning to let go of the control, the violent tendencies and the rage

oh wait what if gadreel still possessed sam after the trials to heal him but sam is the one who invites the angel in? he’ll keep his promise to dean about staying alive, as well as heal from the inside and have breaks from the world when he doesn’t want to be present, like he and gadreel will alternate being the one in control. he keeps it a secret from dean and helps gadreel imitate him so dean won’t notice. it’s not so bad, being possessed by this angel - sam can say no anytime and gadreel is a nice guy. since they alternate on who’s present they can access each other’s memories, which is terrifying and embarrassing at first, but since gadreel and sam have been tricked and used by lucifer and been punished for it for far too long, they understand each other. now another creature knows their trauma and terrors without the need for verbal explanation. also having an angel residing in his body makes sam feel like he can hunt properly again because gadreel can heal him and take over in situations sam’s overpowered. this could show how messed up sam has come to view himself and his body. 

dean is conflicted when he finds out; sam lied but gadreel does help sam heal, sam’s traumatized and his self-worth is fucked up and dean has contributed to that. dean convinces sam to push gadreel out, that sam is still valuable, loved and a good person who shouldn’t be in a place where he views his body and mind like a property to be occupied. sam’s faith begins to come back bit by bit, not in god, but in himself, his brother, in the good things in life. they build their little family; sam, dean, castiel, the hybrids, whomever of their allies that are alive at this point.

castiel can heal sam and dean’s wounds but they are never completely gone; they leave scars and phantom pains. the brothers have SO many scars over the years. dean flaunts them to impress people because he likes the questions and the fearful admiration, the attention and the nods of approval. sam hides them.

when dean is in a bad mood or needs to get his mind off of things, sam just drops something like ‘i don’t get the deal with led zeppelin. one of the most overrated bands of all time’ and dean will go OFF every single time about the entire led zeppelin history, their discography and how they’ve shaped rock music. this will go on for hours and sam will zone out after 1 minute. but dean rants nonsensically the entire drive and it does get him to think about something else for a little bit. they stop at a motel and dean is STILL ranting while brushing his teeth. stops when going to sleep but without fail picks up where he left off the morning after and is so into it he doesn’t notice sam not paying attention at all. we could see this once in s1 when they’re searching for john, another in s3 when dean is anxious about his deal coming to an end and then again in a later season, when sam doesn’t remember to ask/doesn’t have the patience or mental capability, so they’ll sit there in tense silence, showing how much they’ve changed.

---> i can see this SO clearly in my head, how they’ll get in the car and we, the audience, will recognize the camera angle, the same lines and dean’s grumpy mood, and we’ll anticipate what comes next. but sam isn’t that kid anymore and he’s not peeking at dean to gauge what his mood is and how much of a shit eating grin he should wear when being an annoying little brother to cheer dean up. now he’s looking out the window, leaned back, they’re not looking at each other. this shot is a minute or two long, uninterrupted. dean turns on music but neither are singing along or doing anything to lighten the mood. 

s1-5: sam gets hooked on demon blood, dean has an alcohol problem. when sam goes through withdrawals, dean decides to quit drinking and joins him because he wants to be supportive, and he realizes that when he drinks two beers for breakfast there’s a problem

s6-10: sam takes painkillers, anti depressants and anti psyhosis meds to numb himself from the phantom pains and reduce post-cage effects. dean started drinking again after sam jumped and still does, but started smoking in addition because he still drives a lot and doesn’t want to die in something as pathetic as a car crash. 

there a scene in an episode in the first half of s8, when sam has decided to stay with dean instead of amelia, and dean has rejected benny in favor of sam, and then the brothers sit in a couch watching tv while drinking beer and neither of them look particularly happy about it - that’s how their relationship is a lot of the time. they know they’re fucked up and neither of them will ever be truly happy when the other’s around, but they owe each other so much and they don’t have to explain themselves to each other the way they do to others. they know each other so well, each other’s traumas and the things they’ve done, it feels fake and exhausting to try to be something other than the veteran hunters they are. misery loves company; they are miserable together but would be far more miserable apart and living a normal life. they do love each other, but neither of them are particularly happy as the show progresses. family is hell and so is the lack of it. 

OK OK i mentioned it in part one, how i had my own very specific idea about how jack should come to be and here it is. long winded but (might just write a damn fic): 

after lucifer was cast back into the cage, he is stronger than he has been in a long time (being in his true vessel helped him stretched muscles he forgot he had. and fresh air.) sam is pulled out of the cage and it leaves a rift in the magic and chains - the binding is weaker and lucifer must act fast to get out before it heals. the cage is still strong enough to hold two archangels, so lucifer has to become weaker somehow to slip out through the cracks. he can’t get out of the cage, but souls can come in. demons bring themselves and human souls as tools for lucifer to use. there’s not much he can do here - consuming them, eating them, touching them, dissecting them doesn’t give him what he wants

eventually lucifer realizes he must do like azazel and create something new of two halves, like when he created demons. he begins melding his archangel grace with a human soul. he tries with demons, but his archangel grace automatically purifies them and leaves them too weak. he must try with a human soul who is good. he finds the soul of kelly kline, who sold her soul to save a loved one. with her, the merging, works. 

he has another self, a twin, a son, who’s half human and half archangel. half lucifer. the old lucifer will die but that’s ok, his desires, presence and self will live on in his new creation. the new lucifer barely makes it out of the cage, only able to due to its human side. on earth it creates a body for itself and takes shape, no longer a form of pure power and energy akin to the sun itself but now a person, reminiscent of kelly kline on earth and lucifer in heaven. they name themselves jack. jack searches for familiarity and finds it in sam, their old self’s perfect tool and another hybrid. jack finds a mentor in castiel, a younger brother and fellow angel with human elements. they do not find anything in dean, the key to his former self’s doom.

jack’s powers: their powers are like and unlike the angels because he is half archangel. jack has wings but sometimes they don’t work, or they’ll end up somewhere else entirely. their body is their own, not a vessel, so jack can’t possess people. doesn’t talk but people “know” what they’re saying or want because jack emits their emotions and thoughts to people they’re talking to like a radio tower. jack can also have this empathic connection and communication with animals. his mood affects the weather. immortal. reads minds. can remove a soul from a body and send it to heaven/hell by touching it, with practice they don’t need to touch a body. 

other stuff about jack: the human/archangel nature means jack only need sleep and food once a week or so. eats only nougat and raw meat. because jack is a kid they nap a lot. levitates when sleeping. never blinks, stares intensely at everything. their eye colour changes based on their mood. eyes glow in the dark. normal humans who look at jack for too long experience memory loss, fainting spells or migraines and eye contact for more than 10 seconds give vivid hallucinations of their worst nightmares. always barefoot, often floats like 10 cm off the ground because they find it more enjoyable than walking. wears the wildest clothes they can find, nothing matches and nothing is weather appropriate

i have a very specific image of jack in my mind; they look like delirium from the sandman comics with the hair that looks like it’s underwater and the fishes floating around their head, here and here are examples. in live action this would look not good or maybe even ridiculous for sure but in animation... endless potential for angels and monsters to have super interesting designs sigh

castiel’s arc should end with him going from blind soldier, to the unwilling ruler of heaven, finding a place on earth with sam and dean, becoming closer with humanity and eventually a father of three (the hybrids). 

[red-the-dragon-writes]

Writing Meme Time

fList the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have  less than  20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 writers!

I was tagged by @chokopoppo (admittedly, on my main blog lol) and then by @verifiedhawke lol. [fingerguns]

 tagging: @megatronismegagone, @wodneswynn, @whirlibirb,  @quetzalpapalotl, @severeannoyance, @cleverthylacine, @morethanmeetstheass, @dragon-swords-prophecies, @soundwavereporting​, and @greatshell-rider :D (only if you want to though!!)

I’m not going to go through my google drive or my scrap folder for unposted works, because I honestly have so many and I don’t have the patience to be like “yes so this one is untitled unposted oc story #417″ so these are all just going to be lifted in posting order on ao3, even though I like. definitely have stories that are more recent that are not on there. I am too disorganized. I’d have to open like seventeen different folders labeled “nonsense” in several different scrivener files and sort out my random class notes from the actual stories and etc and it would be a nightmare.

Cut for length!

Confusion - a Written in Blood side story/deleted scene - Rex had woken from a nightmare.

Written in Blood - original work in the fanfic way - It started on the day that Rex came in to find out that Felyx was going to be executed.

gifts from a good friend (NSFW) - a Written in Blood side story/deleted scene - Rex had assumed, when he was younger and less familiar with the ways the world liked to fuck him over, that he would just never be interested in sex, ever.

Bite Down (NSFW) - continuity soup Transformers - Megatron squirmed against the strange dust of the Earth’s moon, pinned.

Collusion - a Written in Blood side story -  “Felyx, I need to speak to you,” Merox said, catching Felyx by the arm.

sowing the seeds that will be reaped - a Written in Blood side story/prequel - Deillen took one look at Rex and then put her head in her hands. 

Marquis Gwaire Cemric’s No Good Very Bad Awful Week - a Written in Blood side story - Gwaire Cemric was having a very strange week. 

we became such strangers now, fading out - IDW1 Transformers - They didn’t really talk to each other, after those last miserable days on Earth. 

anakin has a headache - Star Wars TCW - Anakin and the 501st wrapped up their post-mortem on today’s skirmish and Anakin immediately went back to his hab. 

Anyone down to take couple's therapy with me and see at what point the therapist realizes we don't even know each other? - IDW1/g1 continuity soup Transformers - The red seeker was waiting outside of the therapist’s office.

Death - Star Wars OT - It isn’t as though you or your squadmates are cowards.

A Growing Awareness - IDW1 Transformers - He wasn’t sure, exactly, when he’d started realizing that something was wrong. 

Revels (NSFW) - IDW1 Transformers - Megatron wouldn’t come for you?

the drabble where I do write graphic violence (NSFW) - IDW1 Transformers - Seams were a lot of things. 

Waste - IDW1 Transformers - The final blow dropped your enemy.

Crystal Clear - IDW1 Transformers / Star Wars PT crossover - The Force squalled around Darth Vader and his speeder as though it were a living thing, twining its intangible coils around his throat like a noose, spilling fear and pain and sorrow into the very atoms of everything around him.

Vision - The Bifrost Incident (Mechanisms album) - The Ratatosk tore itself apart as she had seen a thousand times, in dreams that she had dismissed as the product of anxieties that her subconscious wanted to make known.

lord megatron needs to iron out his command structure or else nonsense like this will keep happening i guess - continuity soup Transformers, listed as IDW1 but like, mostly inspired by TFP  - “I am going to be the second in command,” Starscream said, smirking. 

Rust - continuity soup Transformers - Optimus Prime was dead.

First Impressions - IDW1/TFP continuity soup Transformers - Starscream settled into his new room with relative ease, but also great annoyance.

Favorite line: probably “Optimus Prime was dead.” Lotta solid weight to that line. Not a lot of stunners here, though, honestly; those usually come at the end of a paragraph, and that was one of the only ones that was a one-line paragraph haha.

Patterns: so the first thing I noticed was that 90% of these were the first line to a paragraph that just fucking throws information at you. Between my habit of just never describing anything ever, and not wanting to explain anything, I have a ton of “here is where everyone is and who everyone is. caught up? cool, now here’s the story” tell-don’t-show starting lines. When it isn’t that, there’s generally nothing that needs to be stated in that manner because it’s either a character study or otherwise a really cerebral thing that mostly just talks about a characters’ thoughts during an event.

Outside that, my writing style in general is very “here is the thing. this is the thing. i will tell you the thing. now that you know the thing, i will tell you what happens after” and then you can like guess what the characters are feeling or what things look like, because I don’t really do description. So it’s pretty in line with what I got lmao.

this was fun!

[mosaicofdreamsanddragons]

Scholarly Pursuits

Tang enjoys an evening of scholarly pursuits. At least that’s what he tells the others. They don't need to know about the heist. 

Or: Upon the fear that MK might be under the circlet’s curse Tang resolves to find the activation spell and destroy it. 

Link for ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446992

It had started with a Monkey King story, as so much in Tang’s life seemed to nowadays. MK was cleaning up the mess his clone had left in Pigsy’s shop and he’d seemed so down Tang had offered a story. MK’s morose “Anything that doesn’t have clones in it,” was to be expected really. Poor kid had been through a lot.

He ran through all the stories he knew in his mind for one that didn’t involve clones or a duplicate and replace. “How about the time Monkey King attained immortality for the first time? Or perhaps how he met one of his friends?”

MK looked up from where he was sweeping. “What’s the first adventure he had with the Monk?” he said.

Tang smiled and began a story of a Monk who freed a Monkey from under a mountain, their initial clashes with a tiger and bandits, and the resulting fight over the Monkey’s viciousness that split their company until a mysterious old women who was far more then she seemed provided a hat which tightened on command. The story had its desired effect as MK had all but forgotten the broom and the now spotless floor, in favor of perching near Tang and hanging onto his every word.

“Did the circlet work cause of what was said or is it based on who said it?” he said pulling out his unauthorized autobiography and scribbling something down.

“Well…” Tang began but he was cut off by an annoyed shout.

“Stop distracting the kid!” came Pigsy’s angry voice as he stomped into the room, only to do a double take at the spotless floors. “Hhhnf,” he said. “Good job kid, you get the rest of the night off.” MK let out a happy squeal of delight and rushed up the stairs leaving Tang alone with Pigsy.

“Take out tonight?” Tang suggested but Pigsy was not listening to him.

“A circlet that tightens upon command?” said Pigsy. “Any chance that’s going to bother him?”

Tang did not let his shock at Pigsy asking for his knowledge on Monkey king stories show on his face. Instead he pushed his glasses up and smiled. “He’s not wearing one is he? So it’s irrelevant.”

Pigsy huffed and moved off, “I suppose it’s not like anyone remembers how to activate it now,” he muttered.

And Tang’s blood ran cold.

Pigsy continued on oblivious. “How can you even be hungry when you spent all day….” But the words had muted into white noise, taking a backseat to the cacophony in Tang’s brain.

Because Pigsy’s assumption was wrong. Someone did know how to activate the circlet. Tang knew, he’d learned it.

…and that meant others could too.

“…And we aren’t getting takeout when we have perfectly good leftovers!” Pigsy’s indignation finally blasting through the bombshells in Tang’s head.

He nodded and followed the pig, taking care to keep his trademark smirk on his face. No point in worrying him further. And it’s not like the kid had been wearing a circlet at any time. There was nothing to worry about.

  When he’d still been young and naïve, before he’d packed his bags and gone as far west as his meager saving would send him (only two cities over and right into Pigsy’s noodle shop) he’d attended university and managed to secure a job working under a professor in charge of the archives. Aware of his fascination with the Monkey King and thrilled to pass on the love of folklore studies to another, the professor had one day shown him an old papyrus, “And this here is the spell to activate the Monkey King’s headband.”

“Really?” said Tang committing the words to memory. “Does it work?”

“Of course not!” said his professor. “That’s just a story. But this does show us the importance the myth had in the past….”

He was huddle against Sandy and Mei watching MK return to life for the second time in one day. He burst from a stone, just like all the stories, looking exactly how Tang had always envisioned the Monkey king: hovering in the air in front of the sun, wielding a staff, and a faint glowing band across his head.

This was not a story.

This was not a dream.

This was a memory.

   He sat bolt upright and all sense of sleep gone. After checking to make sure he hadn’t woken Pigsy, he slipped onto the balcony to think. He let the cool night air chase any last remnants of sleep from him; he would need his whole mind for this.

The facts were simple. The Monkey King’s circlet caused terrible pain when activated. Tang had seen the fragments of an ancient paper with writing on it and been told it was the activation spell for the circlet. MK had appeared to have a circlet on his head during his first fight against the demon bull king.

It was the unknowns that were less straightforward. He didn’t know if the Monkey King’s circlet could be activated by anyone with the spell or if the speaker mattered. He didn’t know if anyone else had attempted to learn the spell since he’d seen it in a dusty archive. He didn’t know if MK really even had the circlet on him or if it was just some cool aesthetic he’d created with his own powers in the heat of the moment.

And MK knew and worked with the actual Monkey King. Surely he would know if his successor had inherited his circlet. And surely he’d do something about it? Right?

Tang felt his hands clench on the cold iron balcony railing. He stared at it for a moment and then took a deep breath and forced himself relax. His fingers uncurled and he tucked them into his pockets before lifting his gaze to MK’s balcony.

Fact: He’d memorized the words within moments. That information was still out there and easily accessible to any enemy who could fool a university’s security system.

Fact: Tang could not afford this risk, not with MK at stake.

“But what can I do about it?” he wondered aloud. “It’s not like I can pull of a heist by myself.” A rustle in the trees caught his attention and he froze realizing what he’d just said aloud. He scanned the area for eavesdroppers (or worse, Pigsy) but there was only an orange bird rustling around in the plants on a nearby balcony. He had avoided trouble this time but the warning was still there. If he was going to do this, no one could possibly know.

  All good heists require plans. And the best require simple plans with straightforward execution so when it all failed in the third act, he could still figure his way out. The barebones of this plan was simple: get into the university, hope the passcode for the archive vault hadn’t changed since he was a student, destroy a priceless piece of ancient papyrus, get out. He could take the bus.

Then the morning news caught his attention and he had a better idea.

“Mei,” he said sliding his phone over to her, “Could you do me a favor?”

“Sure!” she said glancing curiously down from the top picture to the article beneath it. “What do you need?”

“Could you sign up as a last minute competitor at this race for me?” said Tang.

Mei skimmed the details of the race. “I don’t know,” she said brow furrowed. “This is in the next town over and I’m not familiar with the track.”

“It could be good practice for the big race coming up,” said Tang, “or you could do it just for the fun of racing. Either way I was heading into the town and I figured why not head in together?”

“So you need a ride?” said Mei.

“And to test out my Mei merchandise,” he said holding up the flags he’d made for her. He’d been working on a hat too but she didn’t need to know about that disaster until he managed to fix it.

She looked from his tiny Mei flag and back down to the phone. “I guess it could be fun.” Her smile returned and she bounced on her chair. “Yeah. It’ll be fun!”

Tang smiled as he closed his phone on the picture of his old professor standing next to the judges in a crowd shot. His old professor was not a racer. But his old professor’s spouse was on the panel of judges for this competition. Which could very easily mean he’d be there for support. And he would know the new passcode for the archives. If there was a new passcode. The trick would be to get him talking.

And he had just the conversation starter.

  “Sandy,” he said greeting the tall blue river demon. “Could I by any chance borrow one of your therapy cats for a little trip?”

“Where ya headed?” said Sandy. “Not all of them like long term travel.”

“Mei’s got a race in the next town over,” Tang explained.

“Say no more!” said Sandy cheerfully. “Therapy cats are excellent for pre-race jitters! This is the track she doesn’t know right? The one she signed up for last minute?”

“The very same,” said Tang.

“Ordinarily I’d say you should take Mo,” said Sandy. “He’s the best for differing travel, but he’s got a vet appointment. Don’t worry though, I’m sure one of the others would be willing to help.” He started shifting through his many cats, asking them if they’d like to accompany Mei.

Tang glanced about the room. He’d need a cat that was nondescript in case this went poorly, but it would need to be able to help Mei with said pre-race jitters. He should probably just leave this to Sandy, he knew his cats best and…he felt something brush up against his legs. A fluffy orange cat looked up at him, golden eyes meeting his. He reached down to pet it but it darted off, only to turn back around and look at him like Well? What are you waiting for?

If Tang did not know Mo, this would be strange cat behavior. But he followed the cat into the kitchen…oh it wanted food. “I don’t know where Sandy keeps the cat treats,” he said.

The cat gave him what can only be described as a dirty look before hopping on the counter, grabbing a something from a basket, and placing it down in front of Tang.

“Do you want me to play?” he said reaching down and picking up…Sandy’s wallet. The cat was a little pickpocket. The cat could fetch wallets, wallets which might contain things like passcodes to old archives. He met the gold eyes of the orange cat as it smirked, smirked!, at him. You ready for a heist? it seemed to say.

“Sandy,” he said lifting the cat up. “I think I found the perfect one.”

  Mei loved the cat. “Just look at its little green stripe!” she said. “It matches my jacket! He’s the perfect little mascot!” and the cat seemed to like her happily playing with him to calm herself down. He even put up with her dancing around with him in a fit of pre-race jitters and had greatly enjoyed the ride over.

“He sure loves to race!” she grinned, setting the cat on the front of her motorcycle. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait with Mr. Tang!”

Tang smiled as he accepted the cat and waved Mei over to the starting line. Then he joined the booth with the friends and family of the other competitors, right below the judges. Time for part one of the heist.

“Okay,” he whispered to the cat. “It’s all up to you.” The cat looked at him and flashed the smirk it seemed only to display around him. Then it darted up the stairs towards the judges box.

As Tang watched the race he tried to keep his focus on how Mei was doing and how well she was taking these curves despite being new to the track and not on how he’d just hitched his heist on a cat being able to steal the wallet of his old professor. But he held his ground.

Mei was baited into taking a turn wrong by a more experienced racer. The centripetal force caused her motorcycle to teeter. And Tang felt his anxiety well up inside him. He leaned forward. What if the cat was just a cat and he was imagining all of this? What if his professor saw him and realized his aim? What if Mei didn’t make the turn and it was all his fault for suggesting this fun family outing during a heist?

Mei threw herself to one side causing her whole motorcycle to right itself and zoomed ahead. Tang let out the breath he’d been holding into a cheer before falling back into the chair he didn’t realize he’d risen from.

Only to land on something. He shifted his weight to find a leather wallet. He glanced up to see the cat a few seats above him grinning at him like Why are you so surprised?

He turned this attention back to his find and carefully flipped the wallet open, credit cards, debit cards, ID, coupons, ah ha!

Slipped behind a faculty ID was a small piece of paper with a 1410 written on it. He smiled…

…and slipped the paper back into the wallet.

The cat batted him with its paws. Why did you do that?

“Less…” he glanced around at the cheering fans around him, “…obvious” he whispered.

The cat looked at him. Then it batted the wallet through the gaps in the stands until it fell to the ground below them.

“What did you do that for!” he whisper-shouted as the crowed around him roared.

The cat innocently licked its paw and rubbed its ears. Less obvious he could almost hear innocently repeated back at him.

It…was a good point. This way the professor would not even have to know he was here and the crime wouldn’t be traced to the disappearing wallet. He’d just assumed it had fallen from his pocket to the ground below. Tang could work with this.

Mei pushed the racer who had tricked her out of the track. Tang rose to cheer, loosing himself in the race. All he had to do now was wait and support his kid.

Mei placed bronze. Tang was thrilled. Bronze on a track she hadn’t even prepped for! He ran down the stands to give her a congratulatory hug. She excitedly jumped around the track, bonze metal swinging, and he found himself swept up in her joy. The cat decided to celebrate too by stealing his flag and running around waving it in the air and sticking it in the faces off all the other contestants.

Eventually though, Mei had to head back and grabbed the overexcited kitty. “You sure you don’t want a ride back?” she said.

“No I’ve still got some scholarly pursuits in this city,” said Tang. “Go enjoy your night of celebration with the others. Pigsy said he’d have the race playing at his store, so they’ll be ready and waiting for some celebratory partying.”

Pleased at the prospect of some fun at home, she headed off bundling the cat into the motorcycle. It was less then pleased and when it finally gave up on struggling it looked back at him with big sad eyes How could you abandon me partner? He ignored it. Between the cat’s sadness and Sandy’s wrath, he’d take the former.

He waved and turned back to head towards the bus station. A glimpse of golden shimmer caught his eye but he ignored it. He was on his own now.

It was up to him.

  The only person who noticed the cat turn into a hair upon its return to Sandy’s home was Mo. Mo, being used to this nonsense by now, just went about his day as normal.

  The bus ride to the next town over was uneventful and that gave him time to plan. He’d made it this far without drawing attention to himself, no point in loosing that now, so he bought an obnoxious sweatshirt that screamed college student to the skies and a hat he could pull over his eyes. Then he took off his glasses slipping them into a bland backpack and braced himself for the future headache.

He would like to say he looked the part. But after all these years all he could hope for was that he’d be mistaken for a professor or that no one got close enough to determine his age.

The school was laid out the same way he remembered it and it was quite easy to get into the library above the archives, find a book to read, and head down to the basement to use the reading nook set up there. Conveniently able to watch the comings and goings by the archive door, while looking the very picture of a diligent student seeking a quite study spot.  

So convincing in fact, actual college students had the exact same idea. There were four or five of them sitting in the nook. Well then, looks like this was a game of patience. Fortunately for him, while he had never attempted a heist before, he was quite the expert on waiting games.

Nearly five hours later most of the students had headed off towards the main floor and the remaining two were getting antsy. The silver one’s leg wouldn’t stop moving and the gold one was nervously glancing at the archive door, and then at him, and then at the exit.

Finally the gold one turned and whispered loudly to the silver one, “I don’t think he’s going to leave. Should we knock him out?”

“Can you do it quietly?” said the silver one “What if someone hears?”

Hmmmm. He could use this. “Gentleman,” he began. “It seems we are about the same business tonight. Perhaps an unlikely truce? I don’t ask what business you have with the archives, and you don’t ask what business I have.”

Silver and Gold looked at each other. “You just had to pick today for this” “Excuse me you said no one ever tries to rob places on weekdays!” “Well now we’re in the middle of another person’s heist!” “I know that I have ears.” “What do we do?” “We could team up” “No way! That always leads to betrayal!” “We could just continue like we never saw him?” “Yeah, we’ll just pretend we never saw each other.”

Tang took the opportunity to head over to the archive and type in the passcode. The door slid open but the noise caught the attention of Gold and Silver and they darted in behind him. He’d hoped they wouldn’t notice but as they wandered away from the books and over to the museum pieces he figured he might as well just get what he came for.

Even after all these years, he still remembered where the band-tightening spell had been. Reaching into the vault he withdrew the fragile paper from its spot among the rare books. Carefully he put on his glasses to read the lines, he couldn’t risk destroying the wrong paper, that would mean the loss of a priceless piece of history. Even this one was a priceless window into the past an…bang!

He could hear Gold and Silver arguing behind him. Something about not being able to carry all of whatever they were after. Gold and Silver two thieves that could easily walk over here, read the spell, and be able to hurt his boy. He took of his glasses and slipped them into his backpack, removing what had been in there before: a lighter.

It was a tad old fashioned but it did the trick. The flick of a cap and the paper burned to nothing in his hands.

Then the fire alarms went off.

Tang slammed the door to the books room closed so they wouldn’t get damaged by the sprinklers and sprinted for the exit. Gold and Silver followed hot on his heals but couldn’t quite keep up with the five large objects in their arms. Tang dove thought the door but they weren’t going to make it. So Gold dropped what he was carrying grabbed Silver and leapt through the door with a hint of magic.

They barreled into Tang but he barely registered that they were still holding on to a calabash. Instead is focus was on sprinting to the exit.

He burst from the building into a massive panicking crowd of college students rushing about like someone had yelled there would be free food but failed to give directions.

He could use this. He let himself match the frantic paces of the students and let the crowd provide cover to slip through an old hole in the fence towards the dorms. One he’d used many a time as a student late for class. He was pretty sure it had a gap in the security system too, as it had never been fixed. So he slipped through and stepped to the side, throwing off his college sweatshirt and his hat and pulling out his glasses.

Tang walked to a bus stop and took the next bus home. It was an uneventful ride.

  That night the robbery was all over the news. He watched the broadcast while eating noodles at Pigsy’s shop. “While no clear leads have been found. It is suspected that two of the culprits appeared in this photo taken moments after the crime.” Tang looked up to see fuzzy photos of Gold and Silver sprinting into the crowd. “A third accomplish is suspected, but while discarded clothes were found matching the image above, it is unclear if its tied to the case or not as all footage from the heist itself has been replaced with footage of this bird.” A video played of golden bird with magnificent red and green feathers preening in front of a security camera while a loud bang could be heard in the background. “Donors to the archive, including the Long family, have called an investigation of the security …”

Tang smiled smugly to himself. Nothing like a job well done.

[kureis-writing-hell]

Cleaning

First || Previous

Nao figures out that normal counsoling he was taught wasn't going to work woth Chisaki. He's changing his aproach. And Kai seems to do so as well. Prompt taken from this list.

In which Chisaki Kai goes through therapy!

When Nao came for his meeting with Chisaki he was stopped and told to wait. It worried him at first but then he was told that it was a cleaning day and he came while Chisaki’s cell was still undone. Not having much to do he went to the observation room, curious of how the process was executed in a prison like Tartarus. Having a permit and already being recognized by most of the guards, Nao entered the room.

And almost took a step back.

It wasn’t the fact that on one of the screens he could see an inmate being held down on long, metal rods. It wasn’t even the fact that he could see another inmate being stripped in their cell for god knows what reason. It was the fact that his patient, Chisaki, was cornered by two guards and looked detached while the third aggressively changed his sheets. Nao held back the urge to turn around and storm there, to yell at them for treating Chisaki like that. It took Nao over a month for the man to finally start opening, it was a huge progress and now Chisaki looked like he was going to shut down again.

"Nao! Hi!"

Nao flinched and looked at the guard that greeted him. He smiled at the other man and made a little wave of his hand.

"Hi. Sorry, I was told to wait."

"Yeah but they're finishing. I think you can go now." The guard waved at him and Nao nodded. Without a word he left the room.

If it wasn't for the confidentiality agreement the first thing Nao would do after leaving the Tartarus was spill everything he saw till now. The terrible treatment of the inmates, irregular meals, showers and how violent guards could be. How most of those people needed help from professionals, how broken and sick they were. Nao understood they were horrible criminals, he knew their cases from TV and couldn't fathom doing most of their crimes, yet he could see humans in them. Contrary to most of the guards here.

And most of the people outside - he reminded himself. Even if he broke the agreement and spoke about the inside of Tartarus he knew no one would really care. All they cared about was themselves and their safety. Understandable, but nonetheless annoying.

With a growing lump in his throat Nao went down the corridor, nodding to the guards that passed him. He forced his thoughts to think about Chisaki, how to approach him now. Nao was sure he's going to be difficult again.

A guard standing under Chisaki’s cell greeted him with a scowl. After a routine check of his belongings, the last one from plenty he got on the way here, Nao was let inside.

Chisaki was standing in the same corner that Nao saw him on the camera. He flinched when the door opened but didn’t do anything else.

“Hi, Chisaki.” Nao smiled at him.

The other, younger man took a moment to look up. Then he took another moment to recognize Nao and it was obvious. His wide eyes relaxed and he breathed visibly.

“How long…” he started but then trailed off.

“Two days, like always.” Nao kept smiling. He didn’t want Chisaki to notice his previous anger.

“There were… guards here.”

“Yeah, they just left. They changed your sheets.”

Chisaki looked at the bed, cringed and then visibly relaxed. He leaned heavily on the wall. He nodded at Nao and the hero took it as his cue to start their routine. With a huge relief.

“Do you want to talk about something today?” asked Nao when they were done, with Chisaki sitting under a wall. He readjusted the new sheet the way the former villain asked him to and was sitting on the bed.

And Chisaki made a pause. Normally he immediately answered, with a no. Normally Nao had to nudge him to have a simple conversation about his likes and dislikes and even that didn’t always work.

“I want to leave this place,” finally said Kai. “I want to see the boss. But I don’t, I don’t know how.”

Nao considered his hunched position, the way he didn’t look at him. Chisaki was a big man, muscular and for sure strong. They were probably the same height and Nao usually stuck out in the crowd in Japan himself. Yet right now that big, strong man looked small and lost.

“Do you understand why you are here in the first place?” asked the hero. They didn’t talk about this before and he wanted to know what Chisaki thinks about his situation. He needed to know where he should start.

“Of course!” There was a click in the walls and Chisaki stiffened. Nao waved at the camera to let the guards know he had the situation under control. After a moment he looked at Chisaki and the former villain continued, quieter. “I’m not an idiot, I know why I’m here.”

“I didn’t say you’re an idiot, you’re not,” agreed Nao. “But I still want you to tell me.”

Kai chewed on his lower lip not looking at Nao. He obviously thought hard about his answer for a bit. His jaw tensed, he licked over the bruise he made on his lower lip and Nao wondered why he struggled so much with the answer.

Then, he realized Chisaki could be thinking what Nao wanted to hear. He wanted to believe in the man, but at the same time he knew Chisaki just wanted to get out to see his former boss. And the word “manipulative” from his files became uncomfortably obvious for the hero. He still waited in silence.

“I- Because of… Eri. And the league.” Chisaki still didn’t look up at Nao.

Nao sighed and brushed his forearms, even though they were covered with his turtleneck. It was a tick he never managed to get rid of, a nervous one. This was going to be a difficult discussion.

“Can you elaborate on that? What do you mean it was because of Eri?”

Chisaki looked uncomfortable. To the point Nao wondered if he should change the topic. But before he could propose it Kai answered.

“If she didn’t run… that kid, no one would find out. Till now everything would be done, boss would be fine, my plan would work, my arms-” he looked at his stumps and cringed, shook his head and started brushing his shoulder against his chin. Nao quickly realized it was his mysophobia kicking in. “She just couldn’t sit down for a little bit longer to make it better for everyone.”

Nao wanted to bite his nail but the glove that he wore stopped him. Instead he brushed his chin and scratched his ear. He knew he’s not a good person to do this and couldn’t understand why Rei, his boss, wanted him to lead Chisaki so badly. He was still a newbie and Chisaki obviously had some real issues he didn’t know how to handle. Also Nao didn’t have the most… therapeutic approach. All he wanted to do after hearing shit like that was to stand up and shake Chisaki till he realized what he was saying. Rei always seemed so composed when dealing with criminals and he just couldn’t do the same, he was salty, hot headed and most of the time spoke without thinking.

He sighed, already hearing Rei’s scolding once he was going to call her at the end of the week.

“Is this what you really think?”

“...yes.”

“Let’s think about it then.” Nao’s smile got sharper, he heard his inner voice whispering to him to yes, tell this man everything, make him feel like shit. He shushed it away. “You experimented on your boss’ granddaughter while he was under coma, induced by you. You planned, no, you started to sell drugs that would greatly mess up the world. Not mentioning organized crime. Did that girl make you do all this stuff?”

For a long moment Chisaki was looking at Nao as if he didn’t recognize the hero. When Nao started questioning himself and scolding himself for his long tongue, the former villain spoke.

“She didn’t…” he said slowly. “But, but she couldn’t understand, she- This is bullshit!” Even Nao jumped at the sudden outburst. This time the clicking in the walls didn’t follow. “Why are you even talking about this?!”

“Why?” Nao sighed. “Because I want you to realize you won’t get anywhere with that attitude.” He watched how Chisaki’s anger shifts into despair. “This is not ‘helping prisoners get out of prison’ program, nor ‘make a wish’. It’s a redemption program, where you’re supposed to understand the mistakes you did, come out with a way to better yourself in the eyes of society and be able to live a normal life. I’m here to provide you help, not lead you by a hand.” Kai was biting his lip again, not looking at Nao. He looked shaken, angry in some way and depressed. Nao brushed his face, unhappy for yelling at his patient.

“This is why I was opposed to Rei’s decision to put me as your counselor. Your case angers me. You’re too proud and honestly, I’m surprised it took me so long to snap. But then we didn’t really talk about this before, right?” Nao laughed, to relieve his own tension, and noticed that Chisaki looked at him. “Anyway, I enjoyed meeting with you, I really did. You can be enjoyable, honestly, when you’re not like that.” He waved his hand in the direction of Chisaki. He wasn’t giving up, he didn’t want to give up. But he stepped over the line and assumed that was what he was supposed to do. “But it’s obviously not working. I’ll call Rei and tell her to send someone else. Unless you want to end this here-”

“No!” Kai jolted up, straightening his hunched position against the wall and cringing at his arms. He looked back at surprised Nao. “I don’t want anyone else and I don’t want you to stop coming. This is- you’re right. You know I decided on this only to get out of here, I need to see my boss. I don’t care about Eri, about what happens later to me I just, I need to apologize to him.”

Manipulative, full of himself, with anger issues and radical world views. Hopeless case. Nao had the words before his eyes. He didn’t have to know this beforehand to quickly realize it on his own. But, what he saw now, was a broken, desperate man in need of help. And he wanted to help him so badly. Not only to lessen his guilt against the old Shie Hassaikai boss. He wanted to find him a purpose to continue living.

He didn’t want to think about how much he could relate to Chisaki right now.

“Okay.”

“...okay?”

“If you don’t mind then sure. But it’s gonna work on different rules now.” Rei was going to kill him. “I’m not gonna be your nice therapist anymore. I’ll visit you as myself from now on.”

“Did you visit me as someone else before?”

“Yes and no,” chuckled Nao. “Let’s say… Nao is more professional and has a better approach. Nikodem is going to slap your head for saying dumb shit.”

“Ni...kodem?”

“That’s my real name. You can keep calling me Nao though, it’s shorter.”

Chisaki nodded, said Nao’s name again to himself and looked down. Nao tilted his head lightly.

“Why do you even want to come here?” he asked, not looking up.

“Because you asked me to.” Nao shrugged. “And, eh, Rei’s gonna kill me. I can relate to you. A little bit.”

“What?” Now Chisaki was the surprised one. He lifted his head.

“She got to me when I was in jail. I did some shit before, too. Looking at you right now… I can imagine myself if she didn’t get involved. Assuming I would still be alive.”

“In jail…” Kai blinked, frowned and looked to the side. “But you’re a hero now.”

“Sure, because I went through the redemption program. And it was different for me too, to be honest.” Nao scratched his chin but quickly shrugged. “It took me almost two years to be able to leave the jail.”

“What did you do?”

Nao blinked, finally catching Chisaki’s eyes, then smiled. He leaned back on the bed, supporting himself with his hands.

“You really want to know?” Oh, Rei was totally going to kill him.

“Yes.”

“Well.” Nao looked at a watch he had hidden under one of long sleeves. He still had some time till his hour with Chisaki passed. “This… is kind of a love story, to be honest.”