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mercurytrinemoon · 4 years ago

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Another post on Moon signs you can drag me for

Before we get into the actual thing, I'd like to say this post initially started as something else but ultimately, what I tried to put across is, sometimes Moon signs aren’t that easy to decipher. It’s easy to grasp overall characteristics of the signs and then learn how to identify their specific traits. But what people seem to forget it that Moon represents the deepest side of us & our inner world - it’s uncommon to really see someone’s side of it unless you really pay attention. Sometimes I’m surprised to see what someone’s Moon sign is even if I know this person well. Meaning, people usually hide that part of them - or they just simply process it internally and others can’t see their emotional reactions. It’s also uncommon for folks these days to fully express their emotional needs so it gets even trickier to pin-point their Moon characteristics. I don't think I have to mention this but, of course, your entire chart should be taken into account, as well as house placement, aspects. Personally, I like to also look at Moon's dispositor.

Let’s start from my friends, Gemini Moons, who, I feel, get a bad rep for not showing their feelings and scanning every emotion like an AI. Nah-ah. I know this one Gemini Moon whose immediate emotional reactions aren’t very cerebral in the sense of processing everything in the mind and intellectualizing it aka, what people like to label as being un-emotional. Instead her reactions are often fast (air energy) but physically expressed through Mercury (Gemini Moon’s dispositor) and Sun (overall identity) – she has them both in Aries. She’s a crybaby who can burst into tears in a matter of seconds. So she’s not something that would stereotypically be assigned to a Gemini Moon. But what I did notice is that all Gemini Moons tend to have this weird look on their face when they’re processing stuff. As if they were about to have a brain malfunction; they stop and have that specific worried look. They also like to either gossip or tell stories (either real or made up lol); they’re great with words - they can talk for hours if they feel comfortable with you. They just crave interaction and mental stimulation. Their quick reactions tend to make them effortlessly witty. Even if they’re a withdrawn Gemini type, they make up for it through social media and technology or just a quiet exploration. My shy Cancer pal with Moon in Gemini is now a brand/website designer and an instagram queen who travels the world. This is great energy for content creators in general. And don’t forget that Geminis need to have their fingers in many pies. It’s because they always have a backup plan… and they get bored easily so they need that chaos around them to feel at home. They like to have options in everything, which is kind of funny cause it’s hard for them to make up their minds and actually choose something. And they store a lot of information in their brains… I feel like it must be exhausting, no?

On the other side of the axis, whenever I see someone with a Sagittarius Moon, I can immediately say “yup, a Sag Moon indeed” (probably thanks to my Sag stellium), meaning, they all seem the same to me. Sag Moons often find comfort in exploration - best if it’s literal travel. They always seem to need to free themselves from their surroundings, family, roots or their own culture to discover something new and exciting, even if it’s only in the imaginary words - through books, movies and other medias. Their happiness always lies somewhere else from where they currently are. Like, I think all Sagittarius Moons that I know have left their parents and went their own paths early on. And they have this yolo attitude. Just like Sagittarius Suns, they’re massive dorks, probably also obnoxious… sometimes in a REALLY annoying way. They’re either a) very wise and curious b) lil preachy and stuck up c) just plain dumb clowns with no filter. But they’re all funny. And they take things lightly, with a natural ease. This means sometimes they may offend other people just because they assume everyone’s as chill as they are; „relax! I was just kidding!” - that’s a phrase you’ll hear from them often… I mean, unless you’re a jokester yourself and you’re unmoved by their sarcastic or teasing words. They have somewhat spiritual or philosophical nature so besides making you laugh, be prepared for deep monologues. They want to believe everything will eventually fall into place. It’s also hard to bring them down - or I should say, it’s hard to make them acknowledge that they're feeling down - they always try to distract or cover it up with a joke, usually a self-depricating one. If Sagittarius Moon (or Sagittarius in general tbh) is telling you that they’re unhappy, then it’s serious.

I’ve noticed there comes a point in life for a Libra Moon where they just have enough. They’re too nice for everyone and one day they wake up and yell about how they have to do everything for everyone and everyone wants something from them and bLah bLah. Makes me think of when Bieber was this overly nice kid and then he was like “I’M NOT TAKING PICTURES WITH FANS ANYMOREEEE AAGhJFJFUWIUq”. Yup, a Libra Moon, everyone. They know how to charm and appeal to people, I think overall they’re easily liked by others. Sometimes it’s simply because they like to kiss people’s ass just to avoid being rejected. That’d be a Libra Moon’s nightmare. They like other people’s company too much. And they thrive in relationships and in a big circle of friends. What they hate is confrontations (like every other Libra placement omg). They may be good mediators when it comes to other people but if they’re involved in an argument they get sooooo passive aggressive. They just don’t know how to handle conflicts - it’s as if their nervous system wasn’t designed for emotional outbursts (because, you know, everything needs to be peaceful and harmonious Venus-style). A fussy or angry Libra Moon will suddenly get loud as they blame someone for something… and then they’ll leave the room cause they’re scared to even hear the other side of the argument. Or, alternatively, they’ll make a doormat out of themselves just to stay quiet and avoid causing any rift. And making decisions? I think it’s common for them to have two different romantic interests and feeling so dramatically torned between them *Alexa play Agony from Into the Woods*. Then when they decide, they have problems breaking the bad news to one of them.

On the other end we have Aries Moons. *deep breath* Listen, I think I’ve said enough about having Moon in Aries (or rather purely dissing it) but last time it made a bit of controversy so why not wreak even more havoc. I have a good description for this one: I will punch you but be gentle with me cause it’s easy to break my fragile heart. So basically, imagine putting Buttercup and Bubbles into one person. And honestly, I need to say this, women with this placement are just hot badasses, look at friggin Angelina Jolie. The queen of badass. The queen of hot. People say because Aries folks move quickly (literally and figuratively lol), they often get bored with whatever got them excited last week... or yesterday. Ha, yeah, right. You get their heart to open up and they’re going to have their eyes for you ONLY, like a lil puppy. Give us treats and we’ll build our world around you. But NOT in a clingy way by any means, we need our space and independence after all. My lil niece is an Aries Moon and ever since I started playing guitar with her, she became my #1 fan or something. That’s the energy. But we get easily bored with day-to-day stuff so yeah, there’s that. Innocent and clumsy yet raw in their emotions - so there’s potential to make mistakes sometimes (or a lot of times) or having this tunnel vision, like „I want this and I don’t care about anything else!”. And then excusing it with some „but the heart wants what it wants” crap (looking @ ya, Selena Gomez). They experience constant inner movement and turbulence that needs a physical outlet in order to feel satisfied. WE NEED PASSION IN OUR LIVES, OKAY?!?!?? now leave me alone

Aquarius Moons aren’t as cold as you might think. People like to describe them as if their Moons actually disappeared from their charts: dEtaCheD, uNeMotiOnaL, tHey fEeL nOtHinG. It’s just they don’t sit and dwell on things, they find solutions to the problems. If something doesn’t make them feel right, they just leave that situation. They do care about other people’s well-being, they’re very sensitive in that regard, they’re humanitarians after all. Yeah, they detach, but from their own emotions - in order to make sense of them. They may seem like snow queens sometimes (and this comes from an Aqua rising) but they’re really friendly and if you pique Aqua Moon’s interest, they’re going to be curious about you. They like new exciting things so if you’re cool enough, you have their attention. Usually they’re pretty progressive as well and can’t stand injustice. That’s why you’ll see them standing up for those who are in need. Uranian energy gives them a specific type of sharp intuition and wit. Idk they’re just cute in a quirky way. But this buzzing, fast energy is a great recipe for anxiety, over-thinking and frequent changes of heart. Similarly to Sadges, they need constant exploration and stimuli. Intelligent, people-oriented (but not people-pleasing! Look to Libras for that), individualistic. They definitely need their own space and independence. Their decision-making is fast and it’s easy for them to just say „screw it, I’m doing this”. My Aquarius Moon friend just casually decided that she’s moving to Turkey cause nothing in our city (or even country) seems interesting or helping her expand… So she was like, see ya suckers, I’m leaving.

Leo Moons shine from within. You’ll spot them from a mile away even if they’re on the shyer side. They’re all lil stars no matter their profession. Very expressive people & easily excitable. Art galleries, live shows, theater - they love a creative environment even if they don’t pursue that lifestyle themselves... One of my Leo Moon friends is an art junkie – suggest taking her to an obscure play at the local bar, a music festival, a weird museum – she’ll say yes in the blink of an eye. And she loves discussing these things. A Leo Moon may not see themselves as artistically inclined, but usually sooner or later they at least try dipping their toes in music, arts, acting, dancing... you name it. They’ll learn a simple 3-chord song on a ukulele and then play it to you in excitement. Imagine a lil kid making you a puff piece and being super proud of it. Sometimes they just need some encouragement. Remember, Leos feed off of praise, that’s their fuel. Doesn’t mean they’re all proud, egotistical people but what it does mean is that they need a lil assurance to gain their self-confidence. I lived with a Leo Sun/Moon for almost 15 years (who’s a musician btw so yeah, a classic creative Leo type) - he did have some issues lol but ego wasn’t one of them. Drama followed him everywhere but I’m pretty sure he disliked it himself. BUT, with that being said, I feel like Leo Moons tend to dramatize themselves internally. People say it’s something Virgos or Geminis would do - because of their tendency to overthink, but Leos can just go straight to a worst-case scenario in their heads simply because they exaggerate everything. So don’t be surprised to see a Leo Moon feeling down and anxious. On the bright side, be their cheerleader and they’ll give that to you in return. They need sparks and dullness kills their upbeat spirit. They need to feel their own heartbeat so the feeling of excitement is crucial for their well-being. Romantic, giving and kind. They’re fixed fire so once they’re set on something or someone, they give their all and are rather loyal.

I feel like my chart low-key tells me I should dislike Taurus Moons but I just want to melt in their arms and just stay there? Like, forever? Low maintenance but a bit slow-moving and stubborn. They won’t settle easily, at least not officially, so you need to have a lot of patience with them. They need 3 things to feel secure and at peace: physical stimuli, time and a stable place they know they can always come back to. And it’s not like all of them are total lazy homebodies, they may be active spirits & travellers but they are going to have a reallyyyyy nice cosy flat somewhere near their childhood place (gotta be be close to their moms, you know). Not necessary materialistic but they may have one thing that they collect throughout their entire life and they won’t. ever. get. rid. of. it. There needs to be at least one constant in their life - like you know when Elton John decided to go to therapy but one thing he stuck to was shopaholism? Very Taurus Moon of him. Also, they’re very affectionate. In fact, may have issues differentiating between affection and passion - this is actually something Taurus Moon and Aries Moon have in common. Pro tip - and this is in regard to all Taurus placements - don’t smell bad when you’re around them (I mean, don't smell bad in general, no one likes stinky people lol). They have a sensitive smell. Doesn’t help that they like to smell everything. EVERYTHING. I swear, Taurus, stop sticking your nose in every single thing!!! You don't need to know how that piece of utensil smells like. Jeez.

Scorpio Moon (shoutout to those who remember me accidentally calling them sporpio last time I made a post on Moons lol). I honestly don’t know what to tell you... I feel like all you hear about Scorpio Moon is 100% true, there’s nothing to debunk here. It’s the Moon of extremes. Prone to jealousy and surpressing emotions; severe trust issues; they’re instigators. I was low-key bullied by a few Scorpio Moons when I was in school so there’s that. Very secretive and private. Scorpio Moon will be like “I’m in control of the situation!!!!” and you’ll just look at them and think, yeah, right, looks like the situation is controlling you. But keep being in denial, sure. Like, don’t get me wrong, Scorpios in general can be TOTAL SWEETHEARTS OMG but ya’ll have issues. Even celebrities who have this placements... Think Beyonce or Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus... I feel like they have issues lol, especially with control and the need for everything to be perfectly the way they want it to be. To be fair, that’s probably why they’re all so influential and high status: it’s either their way or highway. They need constant reinvention; they’re the ones to wake up one day and decide they’re going through a spiritual awakening blah blah. They also like to talk about dark and shocking topics while having casual lunch with you... So like, be warned that you may end up with a depressed mood after talking to them for 10 minutes. And their mood swings... don’t even get me started on that.

I don't know where to start with Virgo Moons... I feel like they're very calculated and nit-picky but they're a lot warmer than Virgo Suns. I think I called them softies in my last Moon post. Very sweet people but prone to anxiety. You gotta experience seeing them having a heart attack over someone mixing bananas with milk or messing with their stuff that’s been put in a perfect arrangement. I saw a Virgo Moon once literally squealing shouting "YOU'RE GONNA RUIN YOUR LAPTOP WITH THAT SUPERGLUE!!!" Highly entertaining to watch, not gonna lie. Gordon Ramsay has his Moon in Virgo - it’s conjunct Uranus and Pluto so that’s an extreme but I think him being fed up with people over small inconsistencies in their food prep is a perfect example of this energy (btw his chart is hilarious, it literally explains EVERYTHING). They're VERY picky with their food as well, just as Virgo Suns tend to be. Like, they’ll only have a specific type of single origin coffee or they’ll be vegan or something. Self-critical over their work, which is a plus... except for when finishing a simple task takes them a few hours because they want to make it perfect. They take everything seriously. This of course doesn't mean they're total bores - on the contrary, Mercurial energy gives them witty approach and a talent for choosing the right words at the right time. Tho they can be a bit awkward or shy with it. Can be as bubbly as Gemini but the grounded earthy energy gives them more practical and almost nurturing nature - earth signs are providers after all and Virgo is the sign of service - helping others is like their second nature. I’ve noticed they often find comfort in devoting themselves to a choosen task - this is why if they pursue something, they’re really good at it. They’re also very likely to dissect their emotions.

I’m not a fan of water Moons in general but Pisces Moon is the best water Moon in my opinion. Maybe because I like Pisces overall. I think it’s like a tweaked Sagittarius Moon - just more internalized, withdrawn & gloomy. But unlike Sag, who has a tendency to be an adventurous optimist, Pisces likes to focus on the negatives instead. Obviously, they can be very upbeat, they’re Jupiter-ruled after all, but there’s somehing whiny about them lol. Just like Sadges, they dream big and have their standards put up sooo high but if there's not much active energy in their charts, they’re often too passive to actually fullfill any of that - or I should say, they’re stuck daydreaming about it, believing it’ll just magically manifest for them... OR they do everything with an apathetic approach. What I do like about them is that they’re funny. And really chill - sometimes to the point of coming off as confused or hazy. I feel like a lot of them would just love to sleep all day... or sit by the lake and just think about the world. Most of them are also compassionate folks - again, maybe a bit too much. Hey Pisces, you don’t have to take everything to heart, it’s okay. On the bright side, they have big imagination and the ability to disconnect and just create. I have a few Pisces Moons in the family: one’s that sleepy artistic type with grand visions, one is an asshole-ish but funny entrepreneur with a questionable work ethic and one is a witty IT guy who’s actually a workaholic and likes to shut in his own world of computers and numbers or whatever he does there... So there’s this factor of tunnel vision, escapism and, on the more negative side, being kinda iffy and almost addicted to the way they want things to be. Once they set their eyes on something it’s done deal…

My issue with Capricorn Moons is that they're often trying to be sooooo mature omg, like, loosen up a bit. It usually starts when they're in their later teens... They can be the most rebellious kid that likes to have fun and suddenly they'll be like "I'm too old for this ugh grow up" *judgmental stare*. My 18-year old niece once literally roasted my sister that she's in her 30s and still doesn't have her own place (well so do I so I guess she also indirectly roasted me as well???). And she was SO deadpan with it. Because she herself wants to be independent and start a family before turning 25. This is classic Capricorn Moon energy. They suck out joy out of everything lol. Of course, OF COURSE, it depends on the whole chart but I feel like worst-case scenario is that at one point in their life (or maybe even a few times throughout it) they go through a massive shake-up that makes them change their attitude and re-evaluate their structures. There's this multi-instrumentalist Yvette Young - she's a sweet, funny Cancer/Leo mix but her Moon is in Capricorn. She used to be a competitive pianist but the pressure that was put on her has led her to severe health issues. Like yes, she’s now an extremely talented musician - thanks to family’s expectations & a rigid schooling system (Saturn) but it did cost her a lot. She has recovered since then but I think it's a perfect example of this energy. It’s very ambitious and hardworking but emotionally demanding in the sense that you have to actually put your emotions aside in order to deal with the rest. Another thing, because Moon can be associated with family, there's often a weird dynamic surrounding this topic. I don't think I've met a Capricorn Moon that had a completely healthy and happy relationship with their fam or one of the family members. Or, alternatively, there can be a strong bond between one of them but usually created in the atmosphere of hardships.

Last but not least, Cancer Moons. I had three school friends with this placement and all of them made this sad, whiny face as they said „oh I don’t knoooow anymoreee” when they were feeling torned or frustrated. To be fair, two of them are water Suns so for them, it added to the mushyness. All Cancer Moons I know are family people or better yet, baby people. One of those school friends is now a guidance counsellor, working with kids; the other turned her instagram into a gallery of her own child after she gave birth. So much kid content, omg. There’s also something very indecisive about them… or I should say, hesitant. They’re not very fast at making decisions. Also, what’s interesting, they’re kind of like walking libraries, they remember a lot – so they store a lot of information in their brains just like air signs but they process it in a completely different way – emotional, obviously. I think this also makes them hold grudges a lot. For them it’s more of a question of „how does it make me feel?” rather than „how valid is it?”. There’s certain stubborness in them in that regard because they don’t keep their minds open. It’s also hard for them to walk away from people and situations, like a crab pinching you with its claws – it won’t let go. Sensitive but not easy to open up; very protective of themselves and their loved ones & they tend to shut down in their crab shells. But they may crave connection and the feeling of belonging. Also very caring and with a big imagination. They’re very receptive of their environment so mood swings are a thing for them.

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mcmoth · 4 years ago

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BOIS

The aro c!Tommy propoganda is done.

Here:

Friends can be Home, too

Summary:

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

'Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

A journey of introspection, self doubt, and realizing you're not alone.

Or read on ao3!

Warnings: swearing, internalized arophobia, which includes self doubt, a bit of self hate, that sort of stuff. Also, this will have like, mentions of attraction and all that stuff, and Tommy gets pretty confused, so if you'd like to avoid that? This isn't the fic for you, ig. Btw, as a reminder, this is all set in the dsmp universe and is not about the irl people in any way.

Now onto the fic!

Welp.

Tommy sure is ready to stab someone right now.

Well, not really. More accurately he wanted to run, or shrivel up into a fucked up raisin, or snap, or just exist in darkness right now. Because there were his two best friends, cuddling on the couch. And he was sat there, next to them, supposed to be enjoying movie night.

It's not like he wasn't happy for them. They can do what they want, he reminded himself, again and again. They're just expressing their love, they're just close, and Tommy has to stop being such a fucking oddball about it. This wasn't weird. It wasn't weird.

And he could even see Ranboo giving him looks, probably about to ask something stupid. But if he made any comment, expressed discomfort, that would just be him being a dick and a weirdo. He's not going to ruin this for them. He just has to… to ignore it. To ignore it. He can do that. Yes.

“You alright, Tommy?”

Tommy's jaw snapped, he could feel his teeth grinding, and the couch was feeling all too small. So with a fast raise to his feet, he stumbled away, throwing a brash “fine" Ranboo's way, something burning deep in the pit that was his chest.

It was fine. It was fine. Why wasn't it fine? What the fuck was wrong with him??

Maybe he was just…

Jealous.

***

“I think I have a crush on Hannah.”

Tubbo and Ranboo stilled. The silence was… bad.

“oh?”

Tommy gulped, anxiously crinkling the chip bag he got from targay. “Y-yeah.”

Tubbo hummed. “I've never seen you interact with her much. When… did that start?”

Tommy's mind buzzed, and he resisted crushing the food in his hands, reclining heavily against the backrest of the bench. “I-I don't know, uh, recently? I guess? She's just… nice. She uh…. Has pretty hair? And she gave me a flower once! That was just, swe- uh, poggers of her, so. Yeah. I just think… yeah.”

Tubbo nodded, head tilting. “Do you think she likes you back?”

Tommy's eyes widened, and he didn't know why he laughed, but he did, and when he responded, he himself was taken aback by the hiss accompanying the words. “No!! She- why would- no- no, I mean… m-ma- I don't know??”

Ranboo swung his tail. “She better not. I mean, how old is she?”

“What does that matter?”

Ranboo stared. “You’re a child. Technically.”

Tommy bristled. “Fuck you, I am a big man! I'll kill you!”

The conversation moved on after that, and Tommy, somewhere along the way, quickly got lost. Head filled with cotton, electricity running through his veins, feeling horribly, oddly, humiliated and strangely… dissatisfied.

They didn't care. And he just felt more confused than ever.

…Why did he even do that?

***

Tommy was walking, grass up to his knees, a lead in hand. When he reached the village, he tied it to a fence, patting his borrowed horse before placing feet on the path, comforted by the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the feel of the sun on his neck. He looked around, at the wooden houses and half stacked stalls and idle chatter. He looked around and he thought.

He thought back to older days. This was… strangely nostalgic. Walking alone, in an unfamiliar town, the vastness of the world enveloping him in it's many potentials. He still wasn't sure when he felt better. Running around on the streets, just trying to survive, noone by his side, weak but naïve, hopeful. Or now, with some people to care for and trust, a place to return to, enough food in his pack, but shouldered with the weight of a dozen betrayals, life slipping past him three times too many. In a sense, he was still just trying to survive. Everything was so different now, yet the same.

He supposes, one thing that remained, was the sense of loneliness.

He grasped the front of his shirt, taking in the beating of his heart, looking at the strangers mingling amongst themselves. At the pairs, at the couples, at the families, sharing laughs and smiles, a contrast to the furrowed brows or tired amusement of shopkeepers and the idle folk visiting them.

He had always wanted a family.

…there was one way to get a family.

Someone to share laughs with. Someone who would comfort you. Someone who would take your hand, or hold you through the night, and never even leave. Someone who promises to stay.

It was a nice thought.

So why was it so hard to conceptualize? To imagine, to picture someone actually coherent, to look at a person and go – yes. I want to be your partner.

...eugh. just that sentence made his whole nervous system do a double take.

But why? Why? Was it the betrayals? Was it some fucked up self conscious mind shit? Was that it? Was he just fucked up in the head? Maybe.

Maybe.

But as it is, he knew he liked girls. He did. He liked them. They were… they were nice. Like Niki, who smelled of baked goods, and had a soft smile, and who had once given him a hug when she found him crying during the revolution, and who looked very nice in dresses. Or Puffy, who had made him a pickaxe when he asked for one, and who opposed Jack in stealing his hotel, and who offered him therapy, and she had really cool horn rings. Or Hannah, with her red flowers, and pretty builds, and the way the nature seemed just a bit more lively with her around, and her laugh was bright with mischievous intent that he could empathize with. They… they were nice. Yeah. Most girls were so nice.

So why… why hadn't he found one that he could. Actually picture doing… anything. In his head. No kissing, no dates, none of that… shmuck. It was just… he could see many girls his age running around, just now, in front of his eyes, many running through his mind as he searched his memories. None of them… no. And he tried thinking of boys, but that didn't… no. Not that either. …Enbies?

No… no, nothing… nothing felt. Good. None of it felt good, he just felt sick, he just felt weird, he didn't even feel dirty per se, but more like he was charting into foreign grounds, into something alien, and none of the thoughts he forced to visualize behind his eyelids, fleeting from how quickly he shut them out, felt like him. It didn't feel like him.

His fingers trembled, his chest felt tight, throat choked, and his head, on his shoulders, heavy and woozy and oh so muddled. He felt his heart race. Was… was that it? Maybe that was a sign. People said heart racing was a sign of attraction. Was there anyone in particular who did that? Maybe he was wrong – he was not lacking or messed up or broken, he just had buried the feelings so deep below his ribs, underneath fabricated doubts and trauma and the disconnect he had with reality and relationships in general, and once he got over those barriers, and just found someone, he would experience that joy that everyone spoke about. That closeness. He just had to… allow himself to get closer. To know more people, know them better.

That was… that was probably it.

But no matter. He raised his eyes, his senses coming back to him like the wind blowing his hair out of his eyes, blinking at the noise around him.

After all, he still came here for a reason.

***

“Yeah, I like these ones the best,” Tubbo said as he handed Tommy the various colored discs. Tommy nodded, smiling as he sorted through them, writing down the names in his notepad, feeling little stones dig into his elbows. Tubbo joined him fully on the ground, laying down next to him. “What do you need these for, anyways?” he blinked, and there was a smirk growing on his face. “Are they for… someone?”

Tommy furrowed his brows, staring at the other. “What?”

Tubbo chuckled nervously, waving his hand around as he stumbled over his words. “You- you know. Like a gift? Are you going to… to try to, get someone?”

Tommy’s stare just became sharper, becoming even more confused. “What??” What the fuck was he talking about?

“You know, like a- a date?” Tommy blanked. “Cause- you know, you've been talking about girls a lot lately, and I just thought-"

“No.” Tommy interrupted, feeling numb. “No, it's not for a fucking girl.”

“Oh.” Tubbo laid on the grass, clearly uncomfortable. He began to tear up the leaf he had picked up. “Sorry, I just thought- I'm not really good at this whole thing… sorry for assuming. W- …what is the reason, then?”

Tommy sighed, thankful for the topic change. “It's for… you know how I’m going to therapy?”

Tubbo hummed in affirmation.

“Puffy suggested that, since I like music, I should like, indulge in that, use it to calm myself or give myself something to do, that junk. So I’ve just been. Collecting, I guess.” He looked over the list again, then closed the notepad and sat up, discs in hand. “I wanna build a place where I just keep all the records, maybe I’ll even sell the ones I don't like. Good business practice, you know?”

Tubbo brightened. “Oh! That sounds really cool! If you need help with the building part, I can help you, by the way!”

Tommy looked at Tubbo's grin, so sweet and infectious, and his heart thawed, thinking of working with Tubbo again, building towards something together. It was a nice thought. “Alright.”

It would be nice to be with Tubbo again.

***

Tommy felt miserable.

This… this was miserable. He didn't know why. It really shouldn't be – it was just music. He was just sorting through all of his music, picking ones he liked, picking ones to comfort him, he loved music, it was fine, it just…

Why did so many of the songs have to be about love.

It made him feel angry and hurt and alone in a particular way that was so familiar and yet so utterly different. Because when he felt alone before, he fought with himself the same, he sunk into the thoughts of being unlovable or broken or undeserving of company, but at least he could understand it. At least he could look back now and think “Dream was a bitch" and that would be some solace. At least he could have hope that even if he was unlovable, he could still love. Love others. Try to seek others. Even if he never got that back.

But now, hearing all the poetics and sweet confessions that were in such abundance, something that sounded so passionate and revered, so integral, it was like looking into another reality he didn't, couldn't, understand, and suddenly, he felt more alien than ever before.

And most importantly, how fucking stupid that was, that the thing that made him feel that way was love.

Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

God….

He laid on the ground, head to the cold floor, the record still spinning. The noise bounced off the dark wooden walls and into his skull, grating and aching. He covered his ears, messed up his hair, breathed in and out. In and out. What was wrong. What was wrong.

The record fell to silence. Then it started back again, as it automatically swapped out. Next.

His fingers felt restless, his whole body did. He tapped his skull, feeling the thumps echo. Breathe in, and breathe out. Breathe-

“-ow will I ever know you enough to love you, if you're hiding who you are?

Don't ask me to explain-"

He startled, his breath catching. This disc was scratchier than the others. It felt different. Something in him drew in the lyrics, head loud. He blinked.

…He's not hiding. Is he? Hiding what? He’s- no. Just- Breathe in-

“-Who are you hiding from, across the table with a penny in each eye?

Don't ask me to explain, don’t ask me to explain-"

His breath escaped, arms trembling as his body froze. He didn't understand. He couldn't explain. He wanted to cry. Something was unravelling.

“I'd like to marry all of my close friends, and live in a big house together by an angry sea,”

He sobbed.

He did, he thought, with surprise, as the tears fell.

“Am I the devil's marbles don't move on without me,

Who will be watching my body when I sleep?

Who will I believe in?”

Something… yeah.

Something happened.

Because suddenly, all that stress, all that confusion, all that loathing, was detangling, and the tears ran deep, ran painful, silent, wheezing screams escaping as the sobs continued. He couldn't breathe. His chest was tight. His head swam, and he felt oh so light headed. Light. He felt light. Happy. He felt alive.

He felt understood.

He- he wanted that! He could- he wanted to live with his friends, with Tubbo with Ranboo. He wanted to stay as friends. He wanted them to protect him, to be able to trust them, to be able to protect them in turn, he wanted to reside with them, he wanted to sleep amongst them, to have them watch over him, safe, he wanted to wake up in the morning and see the sun rise with then, he wanted to have casual dinner with them, he wanted to grow old together with them. As friends. As friends.

Friends.

What a lovely thing…

He could… he could live with his friends…

He could build a family with his friends.

And he didn't even care at that moment that he didn't know how Tubbo and Ranboo would feel about that. He didn't care whether they'd want him at their house, whether they'd want him around at all. He didn't even care, at that moment, if he couldn’t join them.

Because he realized that it was a possibility at all. Just the prospect, just the thought, the realization, that spending your life, being intimate, finding a stable ground, with your friends, not romantic partner, was possible, that it was possible to not be able to feel otherwise, that it was shared by other people, who wrote this song, who sung it, who had thought about it…

It meant he couldn't be that alone after all.

“It's so easy to lie to myself,

And pretend that I could love you, but I can't"

And oh so comforting it was, that he couldn't.

***

“Ey, Ranboo! Bitchboy!”

Ranboo suppressed a smile, an exasperated sigh hissing through his teeth. Tail swishing, he glanced to the other boy, who was down below, standing in the snow.

“C'mere!! I gotta give you something.” He yelled.

Ranboo raised a brow, but complied, closing the window he had been looking out of. After making a quick detour to check on Michael, he made his way down the stairs and stepped out of the doorway and into the light. Tommy bounded to him, big grin on his face. He seemed jumpier than usual. Ranboo smiled in turn. “what is it?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it, instead going to rummage through his bag. What he took out was a… box? “Here, fuckboy.”

Ranboo winced, taking the container. “Don't call me that.”

“Why, what does it mean?”

Ranboo stared. “Just…. Don't.”

Tommy blinked, laughing nervously. “o-okay.”

Moving on, Ranboo inspected the item in his hands. It was medium sized, and made of simple, but elegant, smooth black wood. On the top, there was a leather sign embedded in it, with the word Beloved stitched into it. His ears flickered. This seemed… awfully nice. “What’s in it?”

Tommy scoffed. “Just open it, you twat.”

Ranboo, with a glance, could see the anxious way Tommy was holding himself, seeming impatient and uncomfortable. So he wasted no more time, and clicked open the surprisingly sturdy iron latch after a moment of struggling, and what awaited him inside was…

“…Discs…?”

Ranboo held his breath, fingers twitching as he held the gift. …was it a gift?

Tommy was staring at the ground. “Yeah. You know, I’ve just been traveling around, collecting, and I wanted to…” He seemed to shake himself lightly, hands wringing. “I wanted to give you some, I guess. That… yeah. These are yours.”

Ranboo was stiff, still perceiving the actual gift in his hands, that looked hand made, that was hand picked, that Tommy had worked to attain, just to give to him. His tail curled, and he carefully, delicately closed it's lid and hugged it close to his chest. “I… Thank you. Thank- O-oh wow…”

Tommy scowled. “You look like a fish. It's not a big deal. Just… take a listen sometime, won't ya?”

“Y-yeah!” Ranboo reverently nodded, cursing the way his eyes felt misty. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll definitely listen, and cherish it. Thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy curtly nodded. “Alright. Pog.” And then, he was turning around, walking away with a quick “Share it with your family, too, some day. Bye.” Thrown or his shoulder.

And then, he was gone.

***

Tubbo heard music down the hall.

Ears tilting towards the pleasant sound, he skipped with bare feet over to the source, evening light casting warm glow through the windows as he went. When he arrived, to what was Michael's bedroom, he found Ranboo on the couch, curled gently over their son, head resting on his little head as he seemed to just… listen, wistful. Michael was listening too, letting out a little yawn as he turned his head to snuggle even deeper into his parent's warm embrace. Tubbo smiled softly at the scene.

Quietly, he patted over to them both, Ranboo eventually noticing him and watching him as he did. Tubbo buried a hand in Ranboo's hair, and the other leaned in. “What are you listening to?”

Ranboo didn't rush to explain, letting the comforting silence fill the space. When he spoke, it reminded Tubbo of soft flower petals and honey. “I didn't know Tommy's music taste was so…”

Tubbo blinked, turning to the disc lazily turning on the jukebox near them.

“-But in the end, I don't really care what you think,

Cause the bottom line is you make me happier than I’ve ever been...”

“wholesome.” He chuckled, fondly.

Tubbo hummed, unsurprised. “Tommy gave you these?”

Ranboo leaned more heavily in the couch. “Yeah. I don't know why, but…”

Tubbo's smile only deepened as he thought. Slowly, he replied, “I think he just wanted to show you he cared.”

Ranboo seemed to lose his breath a little, looking up at the other. “You think so…?”

Tubbo carded his fingers through Ranboo's hair, looking past Ranboo's twitching ears. “Tommy doesn't do things like these without reason. If he gave you something, it’s safe to say you mean a lot to him. He doesn't like to show it, usually, but… that I know.”

Ranboo stared at the turning of the discs, breathing softly. His tail curled around Michael. “Oh.”

Tubbo sat down at his feet and joined in.

Hearts warm, they laid there and listened until the sun had cast it's last rays and the jukebox no longer had a melody to spin.

***

Tommy sat behind the counter, feet on the counter, just trying to eat his discount chips while some people were being dumb children.

“Stop throwing the fucking food! I'll have to clean this up later!” He whined, to which Tubbo and Ranboo just threw him a glance, Tubbo’s apathetic and Ranboo's at least vaguely guilty, before Tubbo went right back and threw another gummy worm Ranboo's way.

Tommy scowled. “Seriously. At least pick them up and eat them.”

Ranboo made a face of disgust. “I'm not gonna eat candy off the floor, Tommy.”

“Yeah, some of us don't eat mud, Tommy.” Tubbo added.

“There’s no fucking mud here! It's a clean floor! You can totally pick them up and eat them, what the fuck!”

Tubbo raised his brows, staring. “Okay, then go and eat them, trash boy.”

“Okay, that's it.” Tommy raised to his feet, left his chip bag on the table and ran to Tubbo. Tubbo squawked, crawling onto the armchair he was reclining in to curl into a ball around his bag, but Tommy just threw himself onto the armchair with him, trying to reach for the candy. Which, considering the position, it was more like he was half-tickling, half hugging the other more than anything. “Give me that.”

Tubbo just burst out laughing, trying to hide deeper into the couch, attempting to kick the other away. “St-Stoppp!”

“C'mon, you disobeyed my shop's rules, I’m just confiscati-"

Something hit his head. Tommy stilled.

Ranboo peeked from behind his own candy bag, before digging into it again.

Tommy laid off of Tubbo slightly, raising like a puffed up cat. “Ranboo, you fuck!”

Tubbo laughed again, and Tommy was about to go on a murder spree, only for all the commotion to halt when they heard a sudden 4th voice.

Michael.

“Oh shit.”

Ranboo sighed. “He's awake. C'mon.”

Tubbo sighed as well, rolling out of the couch and dragging his feet towards the source of the oinks. “For the record, this is not my fault.”

Both of the other boys gave him the stink eye, but in the name of preserving needed ceasefire they held their tongues.

Michael was sitting up in Tommy's bed that resided in the backrooms, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and hiccuping. Tubbo reached for him, lifting him up. “Aww, did we wake you up? I'm sorry, little bossman.”

Michael clutched Tubbo's shirt, muttering something in piglin.

“He's asking what all that noise was.” Tommy quickly translated, before turning his eyes back to the kid and saying something soft in piglin back. Michael listened, seeming to quiet a little.

Ranboo, gathering that it was an affirmation, smiled and took one of Michael's hooves gently. “Yeah, we were just having fun. Do you want to have fun, too, Michael?”

Michael’s big eyes widened, and he wiggled in Tubbo's grip. “Ye! Ye!”

They chuckled, and Tubbo transferred his hold of Michael to Ranboo, who led the way in making it back to the front of the shop, chatting with his son all the while.

Tommy bumped his shoulder with Tubbo's as they walked, but didn't say anything further. Tubbo bit back a grin.

The next hour was spent feeding Michael and letting him listen to some new discs. Tommy even remembered he had some records that were in piglin, some songs, some stories, and put them on, which seemed to enrapture Michael quite a bit, immersed in the new voices and tales and familiarity. The three boys let him sit in Ranboo's lap and get lost in his own world, residing on a couch together and quietly chatting, around them comfortingly dark walls, bookshelves and the smell of wood and candles.

Eventually, the conversation steered.

“You know, Tommy, why don't you join us?”

…huh?

Tommy blinked, willing his breathing to restart and for the words to come. “W-what?”

Tubbo looked at him with warm eyes and a trepidant smile. “Like, how would you feel about coming to Snowchester? Live with us?”

Ranboo waved his hand. “Of course, you don't have to! But we just thought, you know, if you'd like a bit more, uh, company…”

“We want to be with you, is all.” Tubbo added quietly.

Tommy's heart raced, and he only blinked more, hands clutching the fabric of his pants. “B- be with me… are you…” he gulped down the butterflies clogging down his windpipes, still trying to understand that this is real. “are you sure…?”

Ranboo grinned, patting Michael's head idly. The piglin looked up at them. “Yeah! You're family, Tommy, after all.”

Tubbo tilted his head. As Tommy was still struggling to respond, he assured, “You don't have to if you don't want to, big man. No pressure.”

Tommy laughed, weak and breathless, but bright. “No, I-I’d- I'd really want that, but…” he gestured, trying to put his worries to sudden coherent sentences. “wouldn't that be… awkward? Like… you two, just, l-lovebirds," he chuckled clumsily, “and then there's… me, just, there?”

Tubbo shared a look with Ranboo, then turned back and laughed. “You won't be a third wheel, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, it's not like we’re really romantic partners, even, it'll be fine.” Ranboo said.

Tommy stilled.

Blinked.

“Uhw- what?”

The other two tensed, Tubbo quickly glancing at his husband before grimacing, thinking deep on how to explain it. “You know, we… we're not really… romantic? We just decided to marry? But we're… not platonic either, it's…”

“I-It's something inbetween. Queerplatonic is the word? I think?”

“It's hard to explain-"

“There's- there's a word for that? And you were- Like. Friends? Living together, this whole time??” Tommy reeled, head in hand.

“Well, not exactly friends, or at least, with how we decide to label our relationship, but… yes?”

“Oh my-" Tommy slumped forwards, now both of his hands holding his head upright, just. Breathing. “Shit. What the fuck. I…” he laughed, wrecked.

Tubbo and Ranboo stared at him, uncomfortable. Tubbo frowned. “Look, if you… if you're gonna say something, I’d rather-"

“No- nono, it's…” he raised his eyes, slowly, like coming out of a cave and into the light. His words tripped upon his tongue, but he was so eager to know. “So you two don't want… romantic partners?”

They blinked. “Not… particularly, no.” Ranboo replied. “…are you okay?”

Tommy laughed. It sounded stilted even to his ears, senses muddled as he was wrapped up in his own head, his own elated feelings, his heart nearly bursting at the seams. “I-I’m not alone.”

Tubbo stared, but then his eyes softened. He sighed, and his smile was immensely gentle, while looking at his friend. “Oh, Tommy…” Ranboo, beside him, wilted the same.

Michael, inbetween them, looked at all three of them silently.

“…Do you want a hug?” Tubbo quietly offered.

Tommy quickly nodded, slumping into Tubbo's side and burying his face in Tubbo's soft hair, not even caring for the way one of his horns poked into his cheek slightly. He held the other, and Tubbo held him. He felt the end of Ranboo's tail drape over his leg.

With a delicate tone and worn vocal chords, he quietly, and simply, admitted. “I'd love that. I'd really love that. Living with you three.”

Tubbo tightened his hold.

That night, Tommy fell asleep not alone, but with his two other closest people, his family. Safe, warm, with that insistent nagging at the back of his chest cavity, that told him he was alone, that he was wrong about himself, that he never even knew himself at all, finally silenced.

He had never felt more at home.

168 notes · View notes

the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

Text

But with you, it’s different...

So, I’ve combined two of my great obsessions: Criminal Minds and Taylor Swift. Pretend the reader is Taylor Swift in the sense that she wrote and recorded the songs, but that’s it. Also, the songs are all out of order and not from the albums so just pretend that’s okay. I don’t reference the albums, but individual songs and yeah. It’s honestly kind of a mess, but also makes me happy. This is part 1! I have most of it written, so I should be able to post the other parts pretty soon. I think there will be 3 actual parts and then a short epilogue! Last thing, Spencer is a little out of character. I (try to) explain that later!!

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader

Word Count: 7940

You weren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen tonight. It was just the usual Saturday night. Honestly, you were looking forward to having a boring two weeks off. You absolutely loved touring and performing and seeing your fans, but it was going to be great to have some time just to write again. Writing music has always helped you de-stress and get your emotions out, and you were supposed to finally have a chance to do just that. However, the universe had different plans. Plans that involved the FBI.

This was your second night in DC. It was the first of some of the bigger cities on your tour where you were doing two shows, so you are even more exhausted than normal. You really only just started the US leg of your tour, but the two weeks off was well earned from the Europe, Asia, and South America legs.

As you begin to perform the second to last song, you start to feel the familiar sadness you get when finishing a show. It’s almost as though the adrenaline rush from the excitement of so many screaming fans is wearing off and you can’t help but feel a bit sorry that the fun is coming to an end. After so many performances though, you’ve learned how to hide the emotions and give the audience your best fake smile. The last song is where you have some real fun, so just make it there.

As you duck off stage to change for the final performance, you can’t help but notice the small group of people conversing, quite tensely, with your security team. They don’t look like the normal fans who would try to sneak backstage, too official. You make eye contact with one of them. He looks to be about your age, but you’ve never been great at guessing. There’s something about him that makes you want to find out exactly who he is right now, but you can’t.

You’re left wondering about his identity as you run back onstage for the grand finale. You feel a genuine smile appearing as you feel the heat from the fireworks and listen to the happy cheers from the crowd. You’re last song goes off without a hitch, but you’re exhausted. There’s nothing you want more than to just shower and sleep, but there’s always a buzz about the cast and crew that prevents anyone from leaving right away.

“Thank you for a great second night DC! Goodnight!” You shout into the mic as you duck back offstage to ride out the post show high. You are still chatting with some of the dancers you’ve become friends with when Carrie, the head of security, comes up with one of the men you saw arguing with her earlier.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you for a minute?” You turn, surprised to see the stern man standing behind Carrie. “Yeah, sure.” You turn to excuse yourself from the dancers, wishing them a goodnight before turning back to Carrie.

“We can go do your dressing room, that’s where the others are waiting.” Carrie says with a nervous smile on her face.

“The others?” You ask confused, jogging to keep up with the brisk pace she has set for you and the stern man. “Who are we talking to?”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions. We will explain everything as soon as we meet up with the rest of the team.” The stern man spoke quietly, but with confidence as he followed behind you and Carrie. Before you could ask anything else, you were being ushered into your dressing room, coming face to face with the other two people you saw arguing with Carrie earlier. The first one you notice is a woman with jet black hair and fierce eyes. The other is the tall, lanky man you made eye contact with.

You’re a little excited to get a closer look. He looks a little awkward at first glance, but you can tell he’s a sneaky sort of attractive underneath the perfectly placed tie and the comfy cardigan. Before you can get too caught up in how good looking these three strangers are, you turn to the stern one and ask “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Your tone clearly indicates the confusion you’re feeling.

“Ms. L/N, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I am the Unit Chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI.” You can feel your eyes go wide as he shows you a badge with his picture and title. Before you can respond, he begins talking again. “These are SSAs Emily Prentiss” the woman gives you a reassuring smile and slight wave, “and Dr. Spencer Reid.” The sneakily attractive one nods his head in your general direction.

The woman just introduced as Emily chimes in “we are here because we believe there is a killer targeting fans of your music. We have been tracking murders for the past two weekends. The first was in Louisville, Kentucky, then Columbus, Ohio, and then two right here in D.C.”

“I was just in Louisville… and Columbus.” You feel yourself beginning to get dizzy as you try to comprehend what the agents are telling you.

“Yes, and now you’re in DC.” The boss man is talking again. “We made the connection this afternoon as you had two shows here in DC.” The room is starting to spin as you listen to the man talk. “After more digging, we found each victim had purchased a ticket to your show. Additionally, they all had social media accounts dedicated as fan pages to you.” Agent Hotchner continues speaking as you nod along, trying to comprehend how this was happening. You don’t even realize you are tuning him out as you begin to sway on your feet. You can see his mouth moving, and the growing look of concern on his face is the last thing you see before the world goes dark.

You can hear a faint beeping as you begin to wake up. For a moment, you are blissfully unaware of the murders before the memory of meeting the three agents comes back to you. You instantly sit up and look around, trying to figure out where you are. You can see a very muscular bald man through a window, talking to someone in scrubs.

Scrubs. A nurse. You are in the hospital.

Your heart rate begins to calm down before skyrocketing again when you hear “Ms. L/N?” from the other side of the room. Turning with wide eyes and a scared expression, you throw your arms up to defend yourself from the unknown voice.

“Sorry! Sorry, uh- I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” Instantly you relax again at the familiar face. You drop your arms back to the bed, shifting into a more comfortable position before asking “Okay, Doctor. What’s wrong with me? Why am I in the hospital?”

He looks at you with a sheepish expression, rubbing the back of his neck before he admits, “Oh, I’m not that kind of doctor. I’ll go get a nurse or someone. Try to think back on what you remember before waking up here.” He shuffles out of the room as you try to replay the conversation with the other agents.

Well, it wasn’t much of a conversation with them doing all of the talking, but still. The unknown man from outside your room window and the nurse he was talking to come into the room with Dr. Reid. The nurse begins checking your vitals as she asks you some questions.

“Hi there. It’s good to see you up. How are you feeling?” She wears a small smile.

“Oh, um, I feel fine. I think. I’m just confused about how I ended up here. I remember talking to the agents at the arena, but that’s it.” You close your eyes as you try to remember more, but nothing comes to you.

“That was only about 45 minutes ago, dear.” The nurse’s kind voice helps settle you. “You fainted while the agents were talking to you. They brought you here. You should be good to leave in a few minutes as long as your vitals are good.”

“Thank you.” You return her kind smile as she marks information on your chart before leaving the room.

“Ms. L/N, this is SSA Derek Morgan.” The Doctor Agent is talking again.

“Please, call me Y/N.” You rub your head, continuing to try to remember more about your condition. Before either man in the room can speak up, a new thought occurs to you. “If I fainted, why doesn’t my head hurt? The floor in my dressing room is not soft.” You look between the two men for an explanation.

The doctor shifts his weight from foot to foot a blush appearing on his face as Agent Morgan speaks up. “That is because Pretty Boy over here” he claps a hand onto the doctor’s shoulder “caught you before you hit the ground.” “Oh, um… Thank you.” You can feel the blush beginning to form as you think about his arms being around you.

“It was no problem, really. Can we ask you a few questions?” He moves on quickly. “Oh sure thing Dr. Reid. Or Agent Reid. Agent Dr. Reid?” You can feel the blush growing as you ramble.

“Just Sp-Spencer is fine.” He cuts you off before you can continue suggesting different honorifics. “What do you remember from what Agent Hotchner was telling you?”

“He said someone was mur-murdering fans of me.” Tears spring to your eyes as you think about it. “That someone was killed in Kentucky and Ohio and then two people here in DC.” You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall.

Get a hold of yourself.

You feel a new weight on your hand before hearing Spencer begin talking again. “Take your time.” You open your eyes to see him patting your hand delicately. He moves back after you take a few deep, calming breaths.

“I’m sorry. I just feel awful knowing people are dy-dying because of me. Is there anything I can do to help?” You choke on the words a bit, realizing the full gravity of the situation.

“Do you recognize any of these people?” Agent Morgan pulls out photos of three women and one man, handing them to you to sift through. He seems to be staring at Spencer, but you just focus on the pictures. You can feel the tears building again as you realize who they are.

“I do.” You take another breath before continuing. “I haven’t met them before, but they are all really active on different social sites. I try to talk to as many fans as I can ya know? They are why I am where I am. Is that why they were killed? Oh god. No no no no.” Your breathe increases in speed as you think about everything that is happening.

“Hey, hey, hey, none of this is your fault.” Spencer is patting your hand again as he tries to calm you down. Just then, the nurse comes back with some paperwork for you to sign in order to leave.

“You are free to go Ms. L/N. Just sign these forms and hand them in at the desk on your way out.” She exits the room swiftly.

“Would you mind coming back to our office to finish talking?” Agent Morgan asks.

“Of course not. Anything I can do to help.” You turn in the forms before following them to a black SUV. Spencer opens the door for you to get in the back before he slides in next to you. You don’t even have the brain power to consider why he isn’t sitting in the front. You just grab his hand and squeeze it, unable to get the thoughts out of your head that this was all your fault.

“This is not your fault. You had no idea what was happening, and now that you do you are trying to help.” Spencer looks at you reassuringly as he squeezes your hand right back. You simply nod back. You don’t trust yourself to speak without crying. You just need to calm down before you get to the office.

About 15 minutes later you pull up to the FBI building that houses the BAU. They must’ve brought you to a hospital near Quantico. They lead you through security up to the fifth floor. You walk through a set of glass doors, passing a few desks before entering a conference room. “Do you need anything? Coffee, water?” Spencer asks as Agent Morgan leaves the room.

“Oh, um, no I’m okay for now.” You stare at your hands as you go to sit down. “Actually, could I get a jacket or something?” You gesture to what you’re wearing as you ask. You haven’t had a chance to change yet, meaning you are wearing a black, sequined romper that is basically a leotard with how short it is. Perfect for performing, but not exactly FBI attire. “Of co-course! I’ll be right back.” He practically runs out of the room.

A few minutes later, he pushes the door back open. “Here’s some clothes you can change into if you want. Or just a sweatshirt.” You look up from your position in the chair, rising to take the clothes.

“Thank you.” You look from the clothes to him realizing you need to change, but are in a room full of windows in an unfamiliar building.

He catches on a few seconds later, leading you out of the room. “The bathroom is this way!” He squeaks out as you both walk down a hallway outside the glass doors you came in. “I’ll wait here to show you back.” You smile as you brush past him, whispering thank you as you close the door.

You instantly take off the romper, sliding on some FBI sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt that smells like vanilla and new books. The scent is oddly comforting. You would think a standard FBI sweatshirt would smell new, but this scent is calming your nerves. You fix your makeup as best you can before heading out of the bathroom. Spencer is a few feet away talking to a beautiful blonde woman. She looks effortlessly gorgeous. She smiles as she notices you, waving you to join them.

“Ms. L/N, it’s lovely to meet you, although I do wish it was under better circumstances. I am SSA Jennifer Jureau, but you can call me JJ. The rest of the team is waiting for us to join them.” She smiles kindly, but you are frozen in place. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

Spencer grabs your arm lightly, pulling you out of your trance. “It’s okay. Just breathe.” He whispers as the three of you start walking back toward the conference room you were in earlier.

He lets your arm fall back to your side before guiding you back into the room behind JJ. You freeze again upon entering the room. You recognize Agents Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan, but are surprised by the other two faces. There is an older man with salt and pepper hair smiling kindly at you. He reminds you of your father. Then there is a very bubbly blonde, in a very colorful dress and matching glasses.

They introduce themselves as SSA David Rossi and technical analyst Penelope Garcia. The unit chief begins to describe the case again, going slower this time given your earlier episode. “We believe the unsub is targeting fans of yours who he believes is unworthy of your attention. He worships you and views his victims as people who are not devoted enough to you.”

You can’t decide how to respond, so you wait for another agent to continue. “Do you know of anyone who might be overly obsessed with you? Maybe they sent you letters that were a bit more personal than normal?” At this point, you decide you are done being controlled by this situation. What happened to those people is awful, but you can’t change it. You need to be strong to help prevent it from happening to anyone else.

“I haven’t finished my fan letters from this week yet. I try to go through as many as possible, but there is only so much time in a day.” At this point you are pacing. Walking around has always helped you with thinking things over. “There is one letter that sticks out from three weeks ago. That was before the murd-” you stutter on the word. “Before anything happened though. Could that be relevant?” You ask, looking hopeful. If the agents are surprised by your change of attitude they don’t mention it.

“It might be. What did it say?” Agent Hotchner asks, the same stern expression adorning his features.

“I don’t remember all of it, but it looked like it was written on a typewriter, so it stood out. It said something about how they wondered if my hair smelled like peaches after I finished a show. I thought it was weird because my shampoo is peach scented, but how could they possibly know that? I figured I must have met them in passing, you know. I meet a lot of fans just walking around the different cities. Something just felt weird about this letter though. Like a bad feeling. I mean, my hair doesn’t really retain the scent of my shampoo all that much. So how could he know that unless he knew what shampoo I use? But actually, I use a personalized shampoo so I can change the scent every time I but it- it must’ve been a lucky guess, right? Maybe I just look like I would use peach scented shampoo” You feel like you are talking a mile a minute, but you can’t get yourself to stop. You practically fall back into your chair as you finish rambling about the letter, looking up to see unmistakable expressions of concern on the agents’ faces.

“What? What does that mean? Oh god- How does he know my shampoo smells like peaches?” You look between all the agents as they seem to be communicating with just their eyes. You resort to taking calming breaths again. They’ll fill you in eventually, you need to breathe. You drop your head between your thighs as you push your chair away from the table. Breathe in for 7 seconds, hold for 7, and breathe out for 7. This always helps calm you down before a show.

You choose to ignore the agents quietly talking to each other again as you focus on slowing your heart rate back to a normal pace.

“Ms. L/N?” You look up exasperatedly, “Please, just call me Y/N.”

“Then you can call me Penelope!” The woman has such a kindness to her that you can’t help but smile back at her.

“What can I do for you Penelope?” She seems a bit surprised, but she responds in kind.

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted some coffee. Or water or anything?” You smile at her kind gesture, rising from your seat.

“Actually, some tea would be wonderful. But, please, let me come help you. These guys seem like they need to talk and it would probably be easier if I wasn’t in the room.” You smile as you walk out the door, leaving the agents slightly stunned at your observational skills in your distressed state.

Penelope follows you out and leads you to what you assume is the break room. “We don’t really have much tea, but I know where the good doctor keeps his private collection.” She whispers conspiratorially as she searches through a small cabinet. “Aha! Here it is.” She presents you with a pretty impressive collection of teas. You opt for the simple peppermint. You have always found peppermint tea the most soothing.

She hands you a mug before gesturing to the Keurig on the counter. You place the teabag in the cup, selecting the largest cup on the machine, and brewing hot water for your tea. The two of you don’t say anything while it steeps. Penelope speaks up when you move to sit down at the small table.

“I just have to say, I am a huge fan of yours.” You can’t hide the smile that forms on your face. You have always loved meeting fans. They are just so sweet and you appreciate them beyond belief.

“Thank you so much!” She seems a bit relieved at your response. “That’s honestly so nice to hear right now. I kind of feel like a mess.” You gesture to the oversized clothes you’ve got on.

“Please, you look so gorgeous right now. It’s amazing. Your music is amazing too. I absolutely love Begin Again! It’s so romantic!” She gushes over the song.

“Honestly, that one took me forever to write. I was in a pretty bad place after a bad breakup, convinced I would never love again. Dramatic, I know.” You roll your eyes at yourself. “But then I saw these two people in a café, and they just looked so happy. The idea of a new love forming so casually right in front of me was beautiful.” You smile thinking about the couple, wondering if they are still together.

“Wow, so you can really right about anything?” She looks while asking the question.

“Pretty much. I mean, they won’t all be good. It could be the tiniest moment or a huge thing in my life. Inspiration comes from everywhere. A lot of songs actually draw from multiple experiences, not just one thing. I could totally see myself writing a song about you.”

“No way! That would be insane.” You smile at her enthusiasm.

“I’m serious! You just give of this energy that is so positive, it’s hard to remember ever being sad. I think it would be about how confident you are. Something like…” you trail off as you begin to hum, setting up your phone to record. “You’re the only one of you, baby that’s the fun of you. And I promise that nobody’s gonna love you like me!” You hum a few more bars before ending the recording.

“That was insane. How do you do that?!” She has a wild kind of excitement in her eyes.

“I don’t know. You just inspired me.” You grin at the shocked expression in her eyes.

“Sing it again!” And you can’t help but give her what she wants.

You hum a bit more of a melody that could work before jumping into the words you already said. You add a few more here and there, but nothing concrete. In your focus on singing, you don’t hear the door open behind you.

“I’m the only one of me, baby that’s the fun of me. Oh oh oh. You’re the only one of you, baby that’s the fun of you. And I promise that you’ll never find another like me.” “I don’t doubt it.” You turn in shock to look at the person behind you, seeing none other than Spencer Reid in the doorway. You don’t notice the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks that you heard his comment, just like he doesn’t notice the matching expression on your face. Penelope though, she notices. And, she can’t wait to tell Derek.

Spencer clears his throat before speaking again. “We’re ready for you to come back in if you’re up for it. We want to talk to you about a plan to keep you safe.”

“Sure thing.” You grab your tea from the table before you and Penelope follow Spencer back to the conference room. You sitting cross-legged in your seat. You feel much calmer after chatting with Penelope. Song writing has always been cathartic for you, and it is reassuring that hasn’t changed.

The agents waste no time getting down to business. “We believe the unsub has broken into your tour bus. If the letter was from him, it would explain how he knows about the peach scent.” Agent Rossi starts.

Agent Morgan continues, “It’s an easier target than a hotel room or your personal home since fewer people would be securing it.” You nod along with them. You are determined to stay strong through this.

“We want to completely ensure your safety, so we think it best to send an agent to stay with you while we work on the case.” Agent Prentiss chimes in. You feel like you’re going to get whiplash looking between all their faces.

“Since we haven’t ruled out people on the crew, we want this to remain as secret as possible. We will inform the head of security on your team, but other than that the agent will be undercover.” Agent Hotchner, stern as ever, appears to be studying your reaction.

“Okay.” You sigh. “Okay, I can handle this. I’ll be fine. I’ll have an agent with me. Who’s going undercover? Do you have a cover story planned?” You look at Agent Hotchner with nervous eyes.

“We wanted to plan the cover story with you to make it as believable as possible. What are you planning on doing for the next few weeks?” You consider what your plans consist of. Honestly, nothing but songwriting.

“I plan on mostly working on songwriting. I usually go to cafes, parks, or anywhere really with people for inspiration. If I already have an idea, I’ll write from my hotel room or from home if I’m there. If any of you have any musical experience, then we could make up a cover story about a new writing partner. Nobody would really question it because I write with new people all the time.” You glance around the room to see if anyone is willing to take you up on your offer. Nobody says anything for a minute. They are communicating with looks again.

Penelope chimes in “Reid knows how to play the piano!” You can’t help but latch on to the statement as you turn toward Spencer.

“Really, that would be so helpful! I normally write to piano or guitar and then add any additional instrumental later in the studio. If you can play, then the story would look even more believable!” You are actually getting excited about this idea working out. You finally feel like you’ve helped them with something. They probably could’ve figured it out without you, but still.

“Yes, I can play. I mean, it’s just mathematics if you think about it.” Spencer responds quietly, like his mind is somewhere else.

“Reid, if you feel comfortable with it, that story sounds like great cover.” Reid nods at Agent Hotchner. “Great. You can go to your place and grab some clothes and anything else you’ll need.” He says to Spencer before turning his attention to you. You watch as Spencer walks out with the rest of the team before turning to meet Agent Hotchner’s eye. “It’s best if we stick to your plans as closely as possible. If the unsub is someone who works with you, he will likely notice if you start changing your behavior too much.” You nod in response, mentally going through everything you do from day to day.

“Agent Reid will stay with you in your hotel room if you are comfortable with it. That is the safest arrangement since he will be close by if anything happens. We will also have agents tail you when you go out in public. We’ll have a rotation of agents in the rooms around yours each night to allow Reid to rest as well. He knows how to contact us, but we will program our numbers into your phone as well for backup. Do not hesitate to call any one of us if something feels even remotely wrong, no matter the time. Do you understand?”

Again, you nod in response. It’s a lot of information to take in and honestly, you’re still thinking about sharing a hotel room with Spencer.

“We will need to see the letter you mentioned earlier if you still have it. We would also like to go through the fan mail you currently have and any new mail that comes in. If you see anything else that feels off or seems suspicious, tell Reid or call one of us. If you remember anything else, tell Reid or call one of us.” He gives you a questioning glance to ensure you are following.

“Basically, tell Reid everything. Got it.” You try to remain lighthearted even though Agent Hotchner’s serious expression hasn’t waned in the slightest.

“It’s good to see you’ve got a good attitude about this. It’s hard to remain calm, but it will help limit any suspicion on the part of the unsub. We don’t want to escalate his plans. Do you have any questions for me?” He gives you a reassuring look as you contemplate everything he’s told you.

“What does unsub mean?” you blurt out, surprising both of you. “Sorry, that was loud.” You cringe. “I just meant, why do you call the criminal, unsub?”

You can see the faintest of smiles on his face as he replies, “Right, we can get pretty wrapped up in a case. It stands for unidentified subject. We try not to assign nicknames or anything to the perpetrators as it can affect their behavior.”

“Right. Behavior.” You try to sound like you understand, but honestly this is so much different from all the detective shows you’ve seen. Apparently, Agent Hotchner notices and explains more.

“We catch criminals by analyzing their behavior and trying to predict what they’ll do next.”

“Like psychology? Nature vs. Nurture and mental disorders?” You ask, suddenly very curious about how this all works.

“Yes, just like that, although we normally go a little deeper.”

“So what can you tell about this unsub? That way I know what to look for.” Agent Hotchner seems pleased with this question.

“The unsub is a man, likely 25-40. Age is the hardest thing to predict, so don’t follow that guideline too strictly. He likely suffers from antisocial personality disorder stemming from negligent parents and has always had trouble interacting with people. He is highly organized, which usually indicates high intelligence, but in this case could be due to the time he spends alone planning. His lack of social skills has resulted in him only working menial jobs. He won’t have worked anywhere for more than a few months before finding a new job since people find him odd or off-putting. He has always felt as though he deserves more because of his self presumed high intelligence. It is possible you met him in passing and any act of kindness toward him resulted in an obsession with you. He doesn’t have the courage to approach you, so he watches from afar or online. That’s how he found his earlier victims. Since you don’t have any shows in the next few weeks, his MO might change slightly. That’s why we want to be so cautious and make sure we can ensure your safety.” You sit quietly for a moment, trying to picture anyone who fits the description. You try to meet the people who work with you, but you certainly don’t know everyone. You were honestly hopeful the description would point you toward a suspect, but you’ve got nothing. “I can’t think of anyone like that, but now I know what to look out for. Thank you Agent Hotchner.” “Please, call me Hotch. Do you have any more questions?”

“Just one, you said earlier that maintaining a sense of normalcy will prevent us from escalating his plans. What plans exactly?” You were nervous to ask this question, wondering if you really wanted to hear the answer.

“We don’t know exactly. It is possible the unsub has been trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but since you won’t be doing shows, it is unclear how he would make contact. Reid and the other agents will be looking for anyone who appears to be in a lot of the same places you are. If you notice anyone more than one time in a day, don’t hesitate to-“

“Tell Reid or call one of you. I got it.” You smile at him again. “Thank you again.” He nods as you both exit the room. Spencer isn’t back from picking up clothes yet, so you aren’t sure exactly what to do. Penelope notices you searching the room and waves you over to her. She is talking with Agent Morgan.

“Y/N! I was just telling my Chocolate Thunder about the song you started earlier. I just need to know, what does this fine specimen inspire you to write?” She sounds so excited you can’t bear to let her down. You study the man in front of you, searching for something to sing. You don’t know why, but there’s a certain sadness in his eye. He hides it well with his masculinity and the clear smirk on his face, but you know he’s been through some shit.

You don’t want to kill the mood though, so you stick to something a little lighter than past pain. “Well, Pen, I have to say he looks like a heartbreaker.” This only encourages the smirk on his face. “The type to love ‘em and leave ‘em.” You have had a song in the back of your mind for a while so why not break it out now. Penelope shrieks as you start humming, drawing a crowd. Again, you set up your phone to record. The rest of the BAU agents crowd around Morgan’s desk as you start singing.

“Magic, madness, heaven, sin, saw you there and I thought, oh my god, look at that face. You look like my next mistake.” That draws a few chuckles as you continue humming. More words pop into your head as you think about past relationships and what the media loves to say about celebrities. “Screaming, crying, perfect storms. I can make all the tables turn. Da dada da da, Keep you second guessing like, Oh my god, who is she. I get drunk on jealousy.” You hum some more, really getting into the flow of the song. “Cause darling I’m a nightmare, dressed like a daydream.” The group claps as you end the recording.

“That was actually pretty impressive.” Agent Morgan smirks at you some more.

“Well, to be honest I’ve had the melody in my notes for weeks, but I just couldn’t think of the right words.” Yet again, his smirk grows.

“I guess I’m just that inspirational.” You choke back a laugh as you roll your eyes. You hadn’t realized the size of the crowd you had garnered. You can’t help but knock him down a few pegs.

“You know what, I changed my mind. Agent Morgan’s song would be called I Knew You Were Trouble.” The entire group laughs at that one, but all the sudden you actually have another idea.

Before long, Penelope is asking you what songs you would write about the entire team.

“Start with Hotch!”

“Well, Hotch is so serious. So it’s kind of hard. His face just screams ‘I’ve been through it and dealt it out’. Maybe something like… your string of lights is still bright to see oh, who you are is not what you did, you’re still an innocent.” Even as you half sing it, the one line feels like it could lead somewhere big. It’s not quite right, but it’s a start.

“That’s so cool. Do me next! And please, just call me Emily.” You nod at her as you think back over your previous interactions.

“Alright, don’t get mad but something just popped into my head and I can’t un-hear it. They say I did something bad, then why’s it feel so good. Most fun I ever had, and I’d do it over and over and over again if I could.” The smile on her face told you everything you needed to know, but so did JJ.

“You absolutely nailed it. That is Emily to a tee.” JJ chimed in. “I’m kind of scared to see what you can come up with for me!” Your head is swimming with lyrics and melodies, but it has been so long since you’ve had this much fun writing music with a group of people. It’s become such a solo activity for you, but these people just have so many stories to tell.

“Okay, let me think.” You pause as you observe JJ. You can tell that she is such a sweetheart from the few hours you’ve known her, but you know you would be intimidated if you went to high school with her. “Sorry to be blunt but, you’re so gorgeous, I can’t say anything to your face. Cause look at your face.”

“Why thank you!” JJ smiles as you defend the lyric choice.

“I know you are so sweet and I of course don’t mean to say you are just a pretty face, but you really do have a pretty face.” The group chuckles again and nods in agreement. “Oh, wait! I’ve got another one. You took a Polaroid of us, then discovered, the rest of the world was black and white. But we were in screaming color.” That one came out of nowhere, but it felt right.

“Beautiful. Okay, okay! Rossi’s turn!” Penelope says right as the man walks out of his office.

“My turn for what?” He looks skeptical of the group, but in a loving way.

“Y/N is coming up with song ideas for everyone! She just did Morgan, Hotch, Emily, and JJ! She did mine earlier. So it’s your turn!”

“Well then by all means, be my guest.” You close your eyes as you think through the words swimming in your head.

“While, Rossi, you have a kind aura. You seem like a parent to this group of rowdy children. Reminds me of my dad.” Again, the group laughs. You begin humming, lightly patting the desk in front of you as you think back on memories of your own parents. “I don’t know why all the trees change in the fall, but I know you’re not scared of anything at all. Don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away, but I know I had the best day with you today.” This tune was softer than the rest, more emotional. Everyone stops laughing as they listen to the soft melody you created.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.” You feel slightly awkward with the new found silence.

“Please, bella, that was beautiful. You really know how to read people.” Rossi hugs you as you blush, thanking him for the compliment.

“That only leaves the resident genius. What would you write about Reid?” JJ poses the question and suddenly all eyes are on you. In all the commotion with the other songs, you didn’t notice Spencer exit the elevator. He walked in soon enough to hear the question. Deciding not to interrupt the conversation, he hangs back to listen to your answer.

You can feel the blush heating up your face, subconsciously hugging the sweatshirt he gave you to wear earlier. After all the short melodies and lyrics you’ve come up with, you are way too tired to put your feelings toward Spencer into words.

“I’ll be honest, it’s been in my head all night.” You begin to hum, knowing this would be a song about how you felt when you first saw him backstage, to when you spoke to him in the hospital room and all the little moments since then. “Your eyes whispered have we met…” you fill in for lyrics you’ve yet to write by humming. “All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you.”

“That was beautiful.” Spencer says from behind you. You jump in surprise, nearly falling out of your chair. You didn’t even realize he was in the room.

He looks sheepish as he apologizes for scaring you. “Are you ready to go?” He asks, reaching out a hand to help you up. The rest of the profilers share a knowing look as you rise from your seated position. They all wish you a goodnight as you and Spencer enter the elevator to head to your hotel. The ride to the parking garage is quiet. You keep humming that same melody, looking for the right words to fill in the blanks.

Spencer leads you to another black SUV opening the passenger side door for you to get in the car. He tosses his bag in the back before getting in and starting the drive.

“Penelope said it was my turn, did you do songs for everyone?” Spencer beaks the silence. You turn in your seat to look at him before responding.

“Kind of. Mostly just ideas of songs. Morgan’s was the most put together, only because it was a song I already started. I recorded the whole thing though. That way I won’t forget any ideas. I can play it for you when we actually start to write some music!” You are honestly surprised by the range of ideas you have.

“Wh-what? You actually want me to help you write songs? I th-though that was just a cover.” All of the sudden Spencer seems nervous and shy. You put the ideas swimming through your head on pause so you can devote all your attention to him.

“Spencer, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come up with any profound lyrics or brand new chord progressions. But, since we are going to be spending a lot of time together, you do have to talk to me. Otherwise it would just be weird.” You try to lighten the mood. You can tell by the way he relaxed his shoulders it worked a little. He nods in agreement as he parks the SUV in the garage dedicated to the hotel you are staying in. You take the elevator straight up to the 11th floor. It’s honestly reassuring to be able to lead him somewhere after everything that happened in the past few hours.

You dig around in your bag- that somehow followed you on your journey from the arena to the hospital to the FBI building and now back to your hotel- to find the room key. No matter what you try, you can’t seem to slide the key card into the slot in the right way. Every time you try, the little light glows red before beeping indicating the door is still locked. After the fifth try, you are about ready to scream.

Suddenly, you can feel the heat from Spencer’s body as he slides up behind you to take the room key. He slides the card into the door, wiggles it around, and then slides it back out. To your surprise, the light glows green and the door unlocks. You must be exhausted to be this shocked at the fact he opened the door. You can’t even seem to force your feet to move. You just stand there like a fool, mouth agape.

“Why?” Spencer turns to look at you with a confused expression. “Why couldn’t I… How did you…?” You just point to the door. He places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the room. He places his bag just inside the door before he turns around to close the door and lock the deadbolt.

Even after he led you into the room, you turned around so you could keep staring at the door. You don’t even realize you started crying. Spencer guides you to the bed and tucks you into the blankets. You know that you are going to wake up in an hour because you never sleep in pants, but you just don’t have the energy to fight him on it. He turns off the lamp, but before he walks away, you grab his arm.

“Can you stay?” You have never heard yourself sound so frail. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. Spencer looks conflicted, but ultimately sits down next to you, his back against the headboard. You lay next to him in the dark, not quite touching. Once your breathe calms enough that you can talk without bursting into tears, you ask “how do you do it?”

“Do what?” You smile at the sound of genuine concern in his voice.

“How do you deal with this kind of stuff all the time? I feel like I’m falling apart. I want to be strong about it, so I can help. But then all of the sudden I can’t keep it in anymore. I just… how do you make it seem so easy?” You feel sniffly again, but you try to focus on your breathing.

“It’s not easy. I hope it never becomes easy. It’s gotten easier, of course, but the minute I stop feeling everything is the moment I let them win. To feel pain in situations like this is human. Somebody wise once told me our best defense is our ability to empathize. It’s a completely natural reaction to experiencing something so traumatic. 70% of adults in the U.S. have experienced some type of traumatic event at least once in their lives. That's 223.4 million people. It would be...” He trailed off.

“It would be what?” You angled your head up to look at him even though you couldn’t see him in the dark.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I tend to ramble. I’m sorry.” He sounded so dejected, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for his hand. You had to shift on the bed a bit to reach his arm, so you ended up leaning your cheek against his thigh, tossing your arm over his lap in a sort of make shift hug.

“I like it. It’s calming… and informative.” You couldn’t help but smile into his leg. “People who complain are just jealous.” That actually makes him laugh, but it doesn’t sound like a happy kind of laugh. More like a self-deprecating one. “I’m serious. You are clearly smarter than everyone else is, and you are sneaky attractive. There is a lot to be jealous about.” You dig deeper into his lap as you squeeze his hand in yours. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is the feeling of Spencer running his free hand through your hair.

You wake up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dark. You can just make out the numbers on the bedside clock to be 4:37. You must have fallen asleep talking to Spencer. Your head was still resting on his lap, his hand in your hair. You untangle yourself from the sheets to rid yourself of the extra layers that woke you up. It takes a few minutes of digging around in the dark to find one of the t-shirts you normally sleep in. In that amount of time, Spencer, still sleeping, rearranged himself to be laying on the bed rather than leaning against the headboard. You stopped for a minute to observe his sleeping form. He looks so at peace compared to the furrow of his brow and the glint in his eye that normally mean he’s thinking too hard.

As soon as you lay back down in the bed, Spencer gravitates toward you. Before long, your head is resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around you. You breathe in the scent of vanilla and new books; the rhythmic pattern of his chest rising and falling lulls you back to sleep.

Part 2

tag list:

@mac99martin

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #spencer #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds x reader

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blueskrugs · 5 years ago

Text

Four Times Fate Brought You to Vince Dunn, and One Time You Found Him on Purpose

I wrote this simultaneously with another Vince 4+1 (coming tomorrow, hopefully!) and yelled to @captainpetty and Erin about them constantly. Sorry guys.

length: 3k words

An Accident You met Vince Dunn for the first time in an emergency room in St. Louis. Normally you worked the pediatric floor, and not on the night shift, but sometimes you floated to the general emergency room for an extra shift because, well, money is money.

You liked pediatrics because dealing with kids was far easier than adults, in your opinion, even when parents could sometimes be just as difficult as a screaming toddler. But at least screaming toddlers could be calmed down with the promise of a sticker or a lollipop.

“Hey, can you pick up the new guy that just came in?” one of the other nurses asked as she breezed past you to handle one of her patients. “I think they said something about him being important around here.”

“Being important” meant that, when you pulled the curtain back to face your newest patient, you came face-to-face with a very drunk Vince Dunn and a significantly less drunk Colton Parayko. You simply raised an eyebrow and moved over to the computer to start charting.

“I’m not really sure I want to know what happened here, but I think I have to ask,” you said, trying to ignore the fact that you were pretty sure Vince was whispering to Colton about you.

“Is there any way, like, our training staff-”

“And Petro!”

“God, yeah, and Petro, won’t find out about this? Because I wasn’t supposed to let anything happen to him, and we have a game tomorrow,” Colton finished.

That really didn’t answer your question, and you weren’t sure how anything that brought the two of them into an ER after midnight was going to be easily hidden for a game the next night. You turned then, properly looked at the boys, took in Vince sitting on the bed with his feet swinging above the ground like a child. His shirt was a little wet with what was probably beer, and, when you looked closer, blood. His left hand was wrapped in a bar rag–that you really hoped had been clean when they got it–that was definitely blood-stained.

Colton explained to you, as you started an IV in Vince’s right arm and cleaned the gash in his palm that would definitely need stitches, that they had gone out in spite of their captain telling them it was a bad idea. Vince had had one beer too many and had ended up on a table, then fell off the table, catching his fall on someone’s pint of beer. By the way Vince winced when you moved his hand around to clean it, you were pretty sure his wrist sprained, too.

You hovered a bit as one of the ER doctors came in and checked out Vince’s hand and wrist. Vince was quiet, but you could feel him watching you as you fidgeted around the small room. By the time everything was ready for him to be sent home, he was definitely more sober himself, but that also meant he was lucid enough to be embarrassed about how he ended up in the ER. You watched as Colton led him out of the ER and to a waiting Uber, and you wondered just how the hell they were planning on hiding his hand from everyone the next day.

At a Bar The second time you met Vince Dunn was, somewhat ironically, in a bar. You had seen him as soon as you walked in, laughing with some of his teammates in the corner, but you diligently ignored him as you headed to the bar with your friend to get a drink. Why would he remember some random ER nurse from over a month ago, when he had been drunk? You shook your head, determined to ignore the loud hockey boys in the corner and have a good night yourself.

You had been at the bar almost an hour and had done a pretty good job of ignoring and avoiding the hockey players in the corner. You headed over to the bar for a second drink, when you felt a hand press against your lower back. You tensed, twisting around as much as you could in the crowded bar to see who was behind you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Vince said, but he didn’t move his hand. He raised his left hand to get the attention of the bartender, and you saw the flash of a still-healing scar on his palm, pink even in the dim light of the bar. “You were that nurse from the ER, yeah? I never thanked you for taking care of my drunk ass that night.” He smiled, then, wide and genuine, hand still warm against the small of your back, and you relaxed a little bit.

You were surprised that he recognized you. You’d heard stories of the younger players on the Blues wheeling multiple girls at once; you vaguely wondered how they kept track of them, much less a nobody nurse he’d met once.

You didn’t say that, though, just smiled back at him as the bartender slid two beers in front of you. You reached into your pocket to pay but Vince grabbed your wrist.

“Nah, this one’s on me. Said I had to thank you, didn’t I?” he told you. You tried not to think about how green his eyes were up close.

You shook yourself again; you didn’t need this. You didn’t need this. Besides, how many more times could you run into Vince Dunn?

In Enemy Territory It was in Pittsburgh, of all places, when you saw Vince Dunn again. One of your brothers had moved out there for work, and you were visiting him for a week, helping out with babysitting his kids, hanging with your sister-in-law. You hadn’t even thought to check the Blues’ schedule; you had no idea they were on a road trip to play the Penguins.

You were standing in line at a Starbucks, your two-year-old nephew balanced on your hip, your sister-in-law still outside with the other kids. You heard the door open behind you, and a loud group came in, but now you were focused on ordering before the toddler you were carrying decided he got bored and threw a tantrum. You were struggling to reach your card one handed when someone else reached past you.

“Add it to ours,” the voice belonging to the arm said. You spun, only to see Colton Parayko looking down at you with a smile. You looked over his shoulder to see several of his teammates shoving each other playfully in line. That would explain the loud group you’d heard come in. Colton was introducing himself to the two year old you were carrying, but you were still watching his teammates. Vince caught your eye from where he was trying to put Jordan Kyrou in a headlock and grinned, immediately letting go of Rouzy. You smiled back, a little caught off guard.

You stepped to the side as you waited. Before long, you were joined by Vince, both of you trying to ignore the catcalls from his other teammates.

“And who’s this little guy?” Vince cooed, actually ignoring you aside from a quick smile. You raised an eyebrow a little bit at his baby-voice.

Your nephew tucked his face into your neck, suddenly shy. “Oh, come on now,” you said to him. “This is Jake, he’s my brother’s youngest,” you explained to Vince. Vince continued to talk to your nephew in that same high, gentle voice, until he was giggling and chattering right back. The barista called your name, and Jake picked that moment to decide he was done being patient and started fussing, very close to crying and screaming. You couldn’t balance two drinks and two sandwiches as well as a fidgeting toddler, and you groaned.

“Here give him to me,” Vince said, reaching out to take him before you could protest. Jake settled immediately, and you glared at him a little. You could hear Vince talking to him more as you scrambled to pick up all of your order. He followed you outside, and you ignored the interested stares of the rest of the guys.

He continued to hold Jake as you handed off your sister-in-law’s half of the order, stood there to chat with her and the other kids, long after Sammy came out with Vince’s drink. He used the same voice he had used to befriend Jake on the other two kids, but he talked and laughed with you and Sarah in the next breath, even teasing her for the Pens shirt she was wearing.

You were doing your best not to think about how that voice was making you melt every time he used it. His teammates eventually dragged him away to get back to the hotel before the game, but not before Vince talked you into exchanging phone numbers.

You tried telling yourself that you were never going to use it.

In a Grocery Store You were pretty sure the universe was laughing at you at this point. Your mom had invited herself over for dinner, and you had nothing in your apartment to cook. Which meant you rushed to a grocery store on your lunch break, and you ended up at a different one than you usually went to because it was closer to work.

Why couldn’t all grocery stores be laid out the same? You were trying very hard to make it look like you weren’t turning in circles as you tried to find everything you were looking for when your phone buzzed. You pulled it out with a huff, fully expecting it to your mom again, but instead the name on your screen read, “Vince Dunn.”

You paused. It had been nearly another month since Pittsburgh, and neither one of you had texted the other one. You were (mostly) perfectly content with leaving it that way, but clearly Vince had other ideas. The screen had gone dark, but it lit up again, reminding you it was there. You read the text, the simple words “you look a little lost.” With that you spun around, and, sure enough, Vince was standing a couple feet behind you, leaning against a shelf with a smirk on his face.

“I don’t have time for this,” you said, turning back around and starting to push your cart in a direction that hopefully ended in pasta.

“Hey, wait,” Vince said, taking a couple annoyingly long steps to catch up to you and put a hand on your cart to stop you. “Lemme help. It’ll be faster. I’ve been watching you walk in circles for like ten minutes.” You blushed as he smirked again, but his eyes were soft.

You wanted so badly to just push past Vince, forget you had ever met him, and then met him again and again, delete his number from your phone, but you also knew he was right; he would probably get you out of this damned grocery store a lot faster than you could probably manage on your own, and maybe you really wanted to spend a little time with him, too.

So you sighed, handed Vince the list you had scribbled on the back of a gas receipt, and let him lead you around the grocery store. He let you rant about your mom, and then about work, only pausing to offer opinions on the food he was putting in your cart. After a while, you realized you had actually managed to get everything on your list, but now Vince was wandering aimlessly around the store, sneaking junk food into your cart. You raised an eyebrow as you watched him slip a package of cookie mix behind the box of pasta. He looked up at you as you leaned on the cart handle, sheepish now that he’d been caught.

“What?I like snickerdoodles,” he said in defense.

You shook your head and pulled the package out of the cart. “I can make better snickerdoodles from scratch, dude.” You looked closer at everything in your cart. “And I don’t like jalapeno Cheetos,” you said, throwing the bag at Vince.

“Is that a promise on the snickerdoodles?” Of course he focused on that.

“I don’t know, maybe. Now go put the damn Cheetos back.”

Vince laughed. You willed yourself to focus on getting out of the store and home to cook dinner, not just kissing Vince in the middle of the baking aisle.

“Don’t knock ‘em until you try ‘em. Thommer’s gotten the whole team addicted at this point,” Vince told you over his shoulder as he went to put the Cheetos back from wherever he found them. You turned around and headed back in what you thought was the direction of checkout. Vince found you again as you stood in line. You had honestly thought the whole Cheetos thing would be the end of this interaction with him, but apparently not.

“Don’t you have your own grocery shopping to do?” you asked, realizing just how much time Vince had spent with you in the store. “Instead of helping some random girl?” you added, allowing the insecurity you were suddenly feeling slip into your voice.

Vince started putting your groceries on the conveyor belt. “Nah, Sammy just wanted some snacks, and he can wait.”

You let Vince load the rest of your stuff onto the belt, you didn’t let him pay–though he fought you on that one for several minutes–and you let him walk with you to your car and put all of your groceries in the trunk.

You were halfway home before you thought to wonder if he actually went back and got snacks for Sammy.

At a Hockey Game When your best friend texted you and asked if you wanted to go to a Blues game with her, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. You had grown up a hockey fan, had found Hannah in high school, and there you two were, years later, still yelling about the Blues over texts and phone calls and in person. Your eagerness had absolutely nothing to do with Vince Dunn.

You also didn’t hesitate to snap a picture of your ticket and send it to Vince after Hannah handed it to you. You didn’t really think he’d see it so close to puck drop, but you still regretted it as soon as the tiny little “sent” appeared underneath the picture.

The game was exciting, and the Blues won, which helped distract you from the anxiety you were feeling over Vince. Mostly. Until he scored a goal, and his eyes swept the sea of blue in Enterprise Center, and, for a split second, you let yourself think he was looking for you.

Until after the game, when you and Hannah were getting up to leave, and an usher appeared next to you, saying your name and telling you to follow her. Getting down below the arena was a blur of people and security, being given neon wristbands and convincing people that, “Yes, I was invited down here by a player, I belong down here,” even if you didn’t really believe that second part was true.

You both hovered awkwardly in the doorway to the room where all of the WAGs and kids were waiting, and suddenly you regretted wearing your Parayko jersey just a little bit. You were thankful to have your friend next to you, though, and you explained the whole grocery store thing to her while you waited. You were starting to debate leaving, telling everyone that, yeah, actually, letting you down into the tunnels was a mistake, that you have no business being there, when you’re wrapped up in a hug suddenly, and there’s Vince, freshly-showered and back in his suit– and this is new, but it’s nice and you let yourself relax into the hug.

Vince pulled back, and he was smiling at you and introducing himself to Hannah, and Colton was standing behind him with a matching smile. You remembered the 55 sprawled across your back, and you knew Colton saw it, but then he was wrapping his arm around your shoulder and didn’t say anything about it.

You weren’t so lucky with Vince. “I’ve gotta get you a new jersey,” he said. You just rolled your eyes and shrugged.

“I’ll sign that one for you,” Colton whispered.

Vince and Colton started arguing over that, and you were starting to think that this is something you could get used to, since this was apparently your new normal, when Alex Pietrangelo comes over to your little group, and you were reminded a little just how not normal this was for you.

“Is this the nurse Dunner won’t shut up about?” Petro asked Colton, who nodded over your head. “You really freaked him out when you texted him before the game,” Petro was talking again, this time to you. “We thought he was gonna go out into the stands to find you himself.”

You laughed, more at the bright blush that was spreading over Vince’s cheeks. “What happened to ‘Petro can’t find out about this?’” you asked.

“That went out the window pretty fast,” Colton told you.

“And I don’t know how you ever thought you could hide eight stitches in your hand and a sprained wrist from me,” Petro added.

“You should have heard him after we saw you in Pittsburgh. He kept looking for you at the game that night, too.”

You smiled up at Vince, who was blushing all the way up his ears now, but he just wrapped his arm around your shoulders and buried his face in your hair. Yeah, you could definitely get used to that. You elbowed him in the ribs a little bit, but his arm just tightened around your shoulders.

He and Colton walked you and Hannah back to your car outside the arena, Colton chirping Vince relentlessly the whole way.

Vince grabbed your hand before you could get in your car. “I’ll text you, yeah?” He looked unsure, which was probably the first time you’d ever seen him nervous around you. “Sammy won’t stop asking me when you’re baking us cookies.”

“I don’t remember saying anything about baking Sammy Blais cookies,” you laughed. “Text me when your next day off is, and we’ll see about those cookies.” And then, because apparently you couldn’t stop doing impulsive things tonight, you pushed up on your toes to kiss Vince on the cheek before climbing into the car.

Your phone vibrated in your cupholder less than five minutes later, and you knew without checking that it was Vince.

#cait writes things #vince dunn #vince dunn fic #vince dunn imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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toovirgins · 3 years ago

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January, 1972

Summary: In Paul's first interview since the breakup of the Beatles, things go slightly awry when a nosy reporter gets more out of him than she bargained for.

Part 1/3 (2, 3)

Paul flashed a blinding grin at the camera, hoping none of the looming anxiety beneath the surface would read. He quickly seated himself in the plushy chair, running his fingers up and down the smooth red velvet of the arms a few times to soothe his nerves. A tad self-consciously, he scratched his jaw, fingers twitching with unfamiliarity against the now smooth skin. This was his first interview in nearly two years.

He had been in a bad way since the breakup. It did no good to mull over it now, but it was hard to stop the same intrusive thoughts from popping into frame—the fuck-all, nothing-matters-anyway attitudes; the gnawing sensation of his own incompetency at the bitterness of feeling utterly lost; the desire to waste his fucking life away drunk out of his mind so he didn’t have to wake up in the morning and remember. What now?

Paul sighed inadvertently, ignoring the curious way the interviewer’s eyes danced over his form. What now? Now, this interview. One day at a time. A nice, simple discussion about the past year—about the success of RAM topping the charts in the U.K. and the slow but steady promise of Wild Life. Family and new beginnings. Peace.

Getting better all the time, right? His stomach did a violent flip at the thought.

Paul jumped a bit as the interviewer leaned forward, brushing a tentative hand across his knee. “Paul? Are you all right?”

Paul blinked. “What?”

She lowered her voice a bit, eyes flicking in the direction of the cameraman. Paul felt dizzy as the red light blinked back at him. “Should we—should we cut?”

Shit. Already off to a poor start.

Slowly, Paul came to his senses, breathing returning to normal (though he hadn’t realized it had been erratic). His chest felt tight as he gave a curt, polite nod, forcing a smile that, to him, felt borderline grotesque.

“No, love. Everything’s fine. Just a bit distracted, is all.” He shot her a wink, hoping to assuage her. Maybe a bit of flirting would do the trick.

He sighed in relief as the reporter flushed, a pleased grin sneaking onto her otherwise hard features. “Right. Well, if you’re ready, we can begin.”

“In earnest,” he beckoned, waving an inviting hand in her direction.

—

Half an hour later, Paul’s face felt utterly plastic from faking so much interest and expression. The poor girl was trying, for Christ’s sake, but Paul had to actually hold back groans at some of the painfully bland questions. Every goddamn thing reminded him of the Beatles, anyway, even if it had nothing to do with them. He felt surrounded by ghosts: the echo of George’s laugh, a flash of fangs; the dissipating vision of the way Ringo bit his lip real hard and furrowed his brow when asked any remotely difficult question; the trace of John’s fingertips on his arms or lightly thumping the back of his head. Things hadn’t been the same for a while, now, as far as those things went; but it was almost like they’d never changed. Everything was rushing back to him as if he’d just woken up from a long nightmare. Only to find that the nightmare was more pleasant than reality, of course.

Paul swallowed hard, fighting the urge to be sick. He wasn’t ready for this.

He wished Linda was there. Paul nearly kicked himself for agreeing to do this alone—he wasn’t sure why they had requested that, anyway, if they were just going to make him repeat the conception of “Yesterday” all over again. He needed her there, needed to distract himself by caressing her and leaning on her and whispering subtle inside jokes in her ear at inappropriate times. He needed to have her, just like—just like he needed—

“On your newest record with Wings, you have a particularly interesting track I’d like to touch on,” the reporter was saying, bearing down on him with a sudden insatiable gaze that should have been frightening, if Paul had literally cared one bit.

“Hmm?” He replied, noncommittedly.

“’Dear Friend’. It’s about John, no?”

Paul tensed.

The interviewer stared back at him, daring him to speak, the lust for truth plainly evident in her eyes, and Paul swiftly understood. Everything had been mere formalities or trust-building exercises up to this point. Everything to get him here: trapped, with nowhere to go, no one to turn to. His mind worked quickly, frantically, pushing the blossoming anger aside to make room for the desperate bid to save himself. He could only think of one solution, and one he was king at.

Paul began to laugh. Not loudly, not absurdly; just casual enough to where the audience would soon be able to read the feigned perplexity in his tone. “John?” He practically scoffed, cocking an eyebrow at the woman with a look that bordered on condescending. “No, love, it’s not about John.”

“Who’s it about, then?” Came the follow-up.

Paul answered too quickly. “Linda.”

“Ah,” the interviewer affirmed, leaning back in her chair slightly. “I see. So the bit about throwing the wine—”

“Celebration!” Paul interjected, his voice much too shaky for it to ring true. “Throw back the wine. Congratulations, and all that.” He mimicked a drinking glass. “Young and newlywed.”

“Mm.”

Paul’s heart was hammering in his chest, so violently he was sure the cameras could see it. He never should have put out the song. He had knownit was too transparent, but had convinced himself it was his own paranoia. The public was desperately searching for anything to drive the wedge between him and John deeper—even if the song really wasn’t about him, they would have found a way to make it so.

So, that’s what the story was. He felt a sudden angered hopelessness, offended by the audacity of the reporter. To coax him out of practical hiding, persuade him to do this huge press event for the “good of his album”, to pull him from Linda and thrust him into the spotlight he tried so desperately to escape, all so they could catch a hope of getting Paul to contradict and expose himself? Like she was some kind of Pharisee?

He could see her eyes working coldly, calculatedly, and he felt the sudden urge to run. His mouth felt sour, tongue acidic against his teeth that were clenched far too hard to be healthy. He had to get out of here.

“You say friend,” the interviewer started, almost cautiously.

“She’s my best friend,” Paul argued.

“What about the fear? What is Linda afraid of?”

“It’s a general fear,” Paul retorted, almost pouting, feeling more than fed up with the increasingly dangerous questions.

“Is what ‘true’, then?”

“All the things he said, of course,” he snapped.

It wasn’t until she responded that he realized his mistake. “He?”

Shit! Paul’s eyes shot wide as he stumbled for an answer. “I-what?”

The reporter narrowed her eyes. “You said ‘he’. All the things he said.”

Paul’s heart was in his throat. He struggled to breathe, mimicking the feeling of having your head barely above water as the ocean closes around your neck. “I most certainly did not.”

“But you did. You said, ‘all the things “he” said’. I presume you’re referring to Lennon’s more public digs, especially in response to RAM. He's far less subtle than you, you know. ‘Too Many People,’ though, that one’s about him to anyone who has ears to hear it and a brain to really listen. So he comes back with ‘How Do You Sleep’, and though you’ve been sitting on this one for quite some time, it feels right to put it out, a spitball to his face, an olive branch in the face of his fire. It doesn’t matter that it sounds like it’s to a lover. Because, in a way, it is—"

“No!” Paul all but cried out, wanting to press his palms so far into his ears that it would crush his skull. The beginnings of desperate tears well up inside of him. “No, that’s not—I’m not—”

“What happened in India?”

Paul froze.

The reporter simply stared back at him, almost expressionless. Paul’s brain had short-circuited at the question, leaving behind nothing but a dull buzz, his thoughts as comprehensive as television static. The buzzing of the studio lights was the only sound for a long time, save the soft pants escaping Paul’s lips as his chest constricted with the effort of not hyperventilating. When he finally spoke, his voice was dripping with a malice that shocked even himself.

“What the fuck do you know?”

Even the interviewer looked momentarily taken aback. She licked her lips almost hungrily. “Is there something to know?”

“No. It’s—nothing happened, all right?”

“That’s the trouble, isn’t it?”

“What? No!” Paul was astounded, flabbergasted, so far past the point of shock he no longer had control over his ramblings. “Or—no. I don’t know. Nothing happened, it couldn’t—”

“Did you want it to?”

“He wanted—”

“What did Lennon want, Paul?” There was an edge to the reporter’s voice, a twinge of excitement at what may be perhaps the biggest story since their breakup.

Paul said nothing. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. A cloud came over him, blurring all thoughts of past and future. All implications and consequences. He was blissfully, numbly empty.

“Paul McCartney, were you in a… a physical relationship with John Lennon?”

The question went unanswered. He simply stared at the woman opposite him, cool and stony. He could tell by the slight waver in her expression that his intent was evident. It was a dare—turn the fucking interview off, or sit here in silence for the remaining half-hour. Give the viewers quite a special.

Her choice.

Eventually, the woman cleared her throat and shuffled the stack of notecards in her lap that Paul hadn’t noticed until now. He let his gaze trail over her lazily as she made to signal the camera cut. As soon as the little red light went dead, she shot Paul an aggravated glare and shuffled off the set.

He only winked, feeling much more hollow inside than before.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #paul mccartney #john lennon (mentioned)#linda mccartney (mentioned)#george harrison (briefly mentioned)#ringo starr (briefly mentioned)#interviews #confessions #songwriting feud of the seventies #beatles breakup #part 1 #part 1 of 3

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struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor · 3 years ago

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I don't get it - what's wrong with the BB interview? Even you've addressed how PTD wasn't that great yet still raced to #1. They could change their rules but to what exactly? It's a popularity chart. If the same people are streaming the same song over and over - is that not precisely what manipulating the charts is? I mean, we're smart and found a great loop hole but how is this great for the boys? Making them think they're more popular than they actually are? PTD was weak, man and I love them??

I'm really glad you asked me this question because I wanted a chance to talk about what I did find insightful about the article. To be honest, when I started reading the article I thought "They're right", but the more I read it the more the lack of professionalism and the clear agenda it had bothered me.

First of all, talking about chart manipulation isn't a bad thing. But paying a group to be on the cover of your magazine and mentioning their achievements only to question them isn't the right way to do it. You think they'd do this with anyone else? Had it been Dua Lipa, the article would've been about her artistry and achievements in the industry, and she would've been portrayed in a positive light. Did BB even treat BTS as artists? To me they were only treated as an interesting phenomenon.

BB could've done an exposé on BTS and chart manipulation, but not like this. It's a bit rich for BB to question BTS only. Instead of opening a discussion about the merit of the charts and the ways the industry circumvents BB's guidelines, the article points fingers only at BTS, implying that, in contrast with Dua or Olivia, BTS are cheating the charts. BB essentially avoids taking responsibility for its own methods and its influence in the industry by saying BTS are the only ones compromising the legitimacy of the charts and their value. It's an easy way to make BB look good and BTS look bad - the charts and the US industry aren't the problem, BTS and the Korean music industry are. Throughout the whole article, the way they talked about the "fascinating" case of HYBE and BTS's success felt more like an insult than a compliment, or even an objective analysis. Anything related to Kpop or Korea was more or less used against BTS.

Second of all, the way they discussed chart manipulation was deeply flawed. They didn't lie about Army's strategies nor were they wrong to question the ethics of mass buying, but they should've done their research first. Quoting twitter users, alluding to "experts", admitting they didn't know exactly how Army operated, etc. is really bad journalism. They want to expose BTS for chart manipulation without proper evidence? The language they used conveyed ambiguity and uncertainty too. They never explicitly stated things, it was all hearsay. What kind of journalism is this?

But, again, even if they had done their research, targeting BTS without likewise exposing other artists on the charts is having a clear bias.

The article was also very interested in HYBE. This is another interesting topic, sure, but HYBE isn't BTS. If they wanted to write about HYBE they should've done so in another article. And it's telling that they talked about HYBE almost exclusively in an unflattering light. What they said wasn't false: for example, they questioned the company's longevity and worth due to their undeniable dependence on BTS - I agree with that, but what about HYBE's success story? BB aren't anticapitalism. They are pro-money hungry companies, and HYBE is certainly smart when it comes to money. Were it any other company, BB would've been all over that. But with HYBE they mention Army, and how HYBE exploited the fan-artist relationship, as the reason behind the label's success only to make HYBE and Army look bad. Artists profit from their fans, but usually no one talks about it; it's bad form. We talk about how cool and iconic Beyoncé is, not the amount of money she made, directly or indirectly, from her fans - or rather, the money she makes from her fans is legit and not worth questioning, unlike the money BTS make from Army. (As an aside, had Beyoncé been on their cover, do you think BB would've questioned the legitimacy of her feminism/activism due to the money she earned from a clothing line made at sweatshops employing mostly woc?...)

I agree that the relationship between BTS and Army is interesting, but streaming is only the tip of an iceberg that BB didn't bother to uncover.

To me, it's clear they had an agenda. The way they spoke about BTS's diplomatic passports, HYBE, Army, the charts, etc. - all of it had a negative connotation and contributed to the narrative of BTS being shady or puppets, or whatever. It was more of the "dark side" of Kpop. Why does no one talk about the dark side of American pop?

Also, like I mentioned, the article tackled too many topics. If you want to talk about HYBE, write an article about HYBE - the company's executives were quoted more than most of the members; it doesn't make sense. And if you want to talk about chart manipulation, that's a separate topic that shouldn't be the main focus of a magazine Army is expected to buy. Who, if not Army, is expected to buy the 7 different editions for each member? Army is supposed to buy an article slamming them and BTS?

There is a time and a place to discuss these things. Most of what was said was legitimate, but the authors twisted the truth to fit their narrative when they refused to do actual research on the topic, quoted fans of artists competing with BTS on the charts, and refused to look at chart manipulation as a whole and how other artists are attempting it as well (they even pointed out that other artists' fans try to do what Army does but less successfully - which is why they are... what, more innocent than Army?...).

Another thing that was unprofessional was the fact that BTS were rarely quoted directly. On the last part of the article, regarding the English singles, I can't even form an opinion on what was said due to the ambiguous, even manipulative way, the section was written. They quote an executive on how BTS compromised with the company and make it seem like BTS were unwilling to release English tracks (which fits their narrative), but they don't quote the members themselves. In the initial article I read they noted that RM remembered the situation differently and quote him saying "There was no alternative", which made it seem like RM was never in conflict with HYBE. But now the article states "RM wasn’t fond of the idea, though he acknowledges it was a crucial way to keep buzz alive during the pandemic. “There was no alternative,” he says.", and now it seems like RM opposed Dynamite at first, contradicting the initial article. This correction only corroborates with BB's narrative. But what about the members that were allegedly in favor of the single? And why is Jin only quoted to share the struggles of recording the song? Why was nothing positive said about Dynamite when we know for a fact they must've said it? It simply wasn't interesting to BB. The members were only quoted when they had something juicy to say, and we were never offered much context or told what question they were replying to, what tone they used or how it fit the real time conversation BTS were having with each other and with the interviewers.

Essentially, although the writers didn't lie about most things, the article was biased, ambiguous, unprofessional and lacking in direction. It was like three insufficiently researched and prejudiced articles in one.

Also, while PTD wasn't that great, there are many not so great songs that make it to n.1 on BB. Being great has nothing to do with your results in the chart. Many artists make songs no one really likes yet we're forced to listen to them on the radio anyway. Fans streaming like it's their job and bulk buying songs isn't right, but at the very least you can say that it is their choice, and it reflects the fans love for their artist even if it doesn't always reflect their love for the song. A lot of American artists have it easy and top the charts with generic songs that the GP listens to without even meaning to - they're just shoved down our throats by their labels. That's chart manipulation too, isn't it? What is BB supposed to represent? Popularity? If so, maybe BTS don't deserve the top spot, but maybe those artists who do only get that number 1 because their labels know how to put them up there. If more artists had the same treatment that artists like Dua Lipa get, then maybe the n. 1 song would be different. Isn't that chart manipulation as well?

#ask #bts #billboard #I hope I expressed myself correctly #this is a long post but whatever #thanks for the ask #sorry for any typos

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watchtower-feed · 5 years ago

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Death Do We Part (Part 15)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 2,700+

You rest your head on your knees as you look at Tim. Your lips tremble as you watch him struggle with his thoughts.

He stares at his hands with narrowed eyes before you hear his broken voice.

“... I don’t know if I want to be Robin anymore.”

The morning dragged on agonizingly slow with Tim hiding in your room, Bruce nursing a drink in the kitchen, and Alfred sitting beside him. But when Bruce’s phone rang and the hospital told him that his son, Richard Grayson, was just admitted into Gotham General, everything sped past like a blur.

The city traffic buzzing through the car’s window. The loud reporters hounding you at the entrance. The doctor’s mouth moving in silence as he reads from a chart, explaining Dick’s condition. You were only picking up words like critical and surgery.

The first thing you became conscious of was Alfred’s hand on your shoulder. “Y/N. He’s going to be okay.” You didn’t even notice your tears until he was wiping them away.

It’s past midnight in the hospital room. Tim is sleeping on the couch. Alfred is in an extra bed. Bruce had just stepped out for coffee. And you’re still awake, curling up in the armchair closest to Dick. You’re holding his hand and looking at the fringes of his hair lying on his forehead. Slowly you loosen your grip to brush them back, but Dick’s fingers curl around yours.

You’re too busy staring at his hand when he opens his eyes.

“Hi…”

You cover your mouth to trap the sob that’s lodged in your throat. “Dick--”

He smiles. “H-hey hey. I’m okay.” He sounds exhausted but he still tries to laugh. “It’s just-- what? Like broken ribs again?”

You frown at him, “One punctured your spleen, Dick. They had to stitch it up during surgery.”

Dick chuckles, “Another one? Man. I swear I get one every other month. I probably passed out on Jason.”

“You were with Jason?” your voice hitched a little but you lower it right away and check on Alfred and Tim.

“Oh yeah… we had a nice little chat…” Dick’s looking at you now while frowning. “So… you’re leaving.”

You pause and then look down when you answer, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Jason since yesterday morning.”

Dick raises one eyebrow and teases you, “The morning after?”

“Shut up,” you snap at him in a whisper, making him snicker quietly. You blush but you can’t help give a small laugh as well.

Dick smiles at you.

“He told me you were leaving and I was hoping to charm the two of you into staying.” He gives you a look, one that’s both sad and disappointed. “But I don’t really think that’s an option, huh.”

Dick squeezes your hand and your voice is a lot softer when you answer, “He killed the Joker, Dick. In front of Bruce.”

“Yeah. He told me.”

“And you almost died, too.”

Dick laughs, “Ye of little faith in me, Y/N. I had those guys--”

“But the bomb. That one was real--”

Dick shushes you. “Jason’s friends got me off the bridge before it went off. Guess you guys were too busy watching Jay and Bruce’s fight.”

Dick slumps back against the pillows and stares at the point where the ceiling and the wall meet. “I hate to say it but Jason thought of everything.”

Tim grumbles in his sleep and you both turn to him. Once the rise and fall of his chest becomes even, Dick speaks again.

“This must be hard on Tim, huh?”

Tim has been tossing and turning in his sleep. When he was in your room, he checked on his wound and was surprised to find that Jason had changed his bandages when he was unconscious.

You watched Tim’s surprised look slowly morph into one of anguish. He didn’t know how to believe that Jason and the Red Hood were one and the same. Or is he just a persona Jason created to do what he can’t do. To protect the hard truths he wanted Bruce to realize.

You close your eyes and slowly climb into the bed next to Dick. He makes room for you and you carefully curl up next to him.

“He told me he didn’t want to be Robin anymore,” you whisper.

Dick pats your head and hums to himself.

“If I was Jason and Tim-- I was them. I was Robin and I always thought… I always saw Bruce as more than just Batman. He was my dad and my friend. He was my protector.”

When Dick’s hand stops moving, you wrap your arms across his chest and hug him tightly. You can feel the even breaths he’s trying to maintain but failing.

“But after what Jason did--” you can hear him clenching his teeth as he speaks, “After realizing that Bruce will always be Batman--to everyone-- more than anything else in the world… it shatters something in you, like you’re not special...”

Before your life turned into this living tragedy, you always thought Batman was just a myth. You’ve seen him sure, leaping and gliding over rooftops from your window and from the streets, but you always knew he was just a man playing pretend. Maybe a police officer finally fed up with the red tapes and the joke that is the Gotham justice system.

You always thought Batman was just another Gothamite who just got sick of being battered and bruised.

“It doesn’t mean I agree with Jason, though.” Dick’s voice is a little lower. He’s giving you a long look with the same sad and disappointed expression. “His heart’s in the right place but Y/N, he’s the one who doesn’t understand.

“When Bruce first brought me in, my parents were murdered by this guy-- Tony Zucco-- just a typical low life mobster in Gotham you know-- no one like the Joker. But when I became Robin, Bruce’s greatest concern was whether I would seek vengeance against that guy.”

Dick’s gaze strays away from you. He’s looking somewhere past his feet, seeing something that’s not there.

“I had him, Y/N. I tied him up and suspended him over a ten-story building, half hoping he would die, or break every bone in his body from that height and live out the rest of his days as a vegetable.

“Then Batman came out of the shadows. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t talk to me-- he just put his hand on my shoulder the whole time, while I stood there and held this man’s lifeline in my hands.”

Dick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath but he doesn’t open them again. The skin at the corner of his eyes crease and there are folds in his brows. When he speaks again, it’s rushed and he sounds exhausted.

“In the end, I couldn’t do it. I dropped him from the third floor. He broke a few bones and that was it. It didn’t make me feel better. Killing him wouldn’t have brought my parents back-- it also wouldn’t prevent another family from ever being murdered…

“Jason thinks he can get rid of evil in the world by killing criminals but he can’t. Because everyone is nursing evil inside of them-- I have something evil inside me.”

Dick’s lips are quivering when he opens his eyes again.

“Batman is the only one that doesn’t because all he wants to do is protect... everyone.”

Bruce has heard enough. He’s been standing outside the hospital room with his hand on the handle when Dick started talking about avenging his parents. Desperately, he wants to go in there and join you and Dick. But the writing on your arm pushes him to visit the rooftop instead.

He steps out to meet Gotham’s foggy air and reaches the end of the ledge when he calls out, “Worried about Dick?” He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t hear Jason’s footsteps approaching him from the shadows, but he knows he’s there. “You should be. He’s here because of you.”

Jason stops abruptly and clenches his fist. “Wrong. He’s hurt because of your self-righteous courtesy toward the psychotic filth of Gotham.”

Bruce turns around. Jason doesn’t have his helmet or his mask. He’s wearing a black trench coat but Bruce can still see the Red Hood symbol peeking from his chest. Bruce lifts one corner of his lips. “How does it feel?”

To Jason it looks like a smirk on its ways to becoming a snarl. Any semblance of a smile on Bruce is unsettling.

Bruce faces him fully with his hands in his pants pockets. “Now that you’ve killed half of the inmates in Arkham, how does it make you feel?” He watches Jason and lowers his brows and his mouth turns into a straight line. “Like it’s not enough. Right? Like there’s still a few more loose ends-- and you just have to be sure.

“I know you went after Penguin and Dent after the club last night. I also know you’re still after Harley.” Bruce eyes his clothes.

Jason tips his head to the side and replies to Bruce with a small smile.

Bruce tries to control the urge to arrest Jason then and there. He tries to stop being Batman for just one second before he loses his son for good. He takes in a breath and releases it like a sigh. He takes out his hands to gesture to Jason.

“If I could give you one last piece of advice. As a father. As a friend. Ask yourself if this is the type of person you want Y/N’s soulmate to be. Do you want her to be with a murderer?”

Jason didn’t expect that. He was ready to have another go at Bruce, maybe their last showdown before he leaves town, but now he just feels insulted.

“Fuck you, Bruce. I just want her safe-- To do a better job than you did for me. Be better than you.”

Bruce shakes his head. “You can do that without taking another person’s life, Jason. Killing people will only put your lives in more danger.” He points to Jason’s chest. “And you-- the Red Hood-- are a testament to that.”

Jason looks down, the crimson symbol on his chest peeking at him from his loose coat. The Red Hood is supposed to be just a means to an end. A myth strong enough to withstand the Bat’s. A new player to hook in the Arkham villains. Not someone who’ll join their ranks.

Jason looks back to glare at Bruce.

“I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

The pause Jason gave didn’t go unnoticed to Bruce.

“I assume you’re here to see Y/N,” Bruce replies. “She’s talking to Dick. She hasn’t noticed your message yet.”

Bruce walks up to Jason and sizes him up. Jason watches as his demeanor changes. Bruce stands taller, his shoulders seem to go wider. Jason doesn’t need to see the cape to know who’s standing in front of him now.

“Leave Gotham before sunrise.”

Jason can see himself reflected in Batman’s eyes. He suddenly looks like a child. The kid sleeping on the streets of Gotham. Scavenging in the garbage just to get by. Stealing to survive.

Bruce sees his own reflection in Jason’s and it terrifies him. He relaxes his shoulders and leaves his eyes half-lidded. Slowly, he lifts his hand and places it on Jason’s shoulder.

“Take care of each other, son.”

Bruce takes back his hand and starts walking to the door but Jason slaps something against his chest. Bruce looks down and sees that it’s an envelope. He looks back at Jason but he’s looking away from him.

“Give it to Alfred… please.”

Bruce smiles. He gives Jason a small nod before he takes the letter and leaves the hospital rooftop.

When Jason hears the doors close shut behind him, he lets the panic settle in. He first feels its claws scratching at his throat on its way up to his mouth, prying it open, making him gasp for air. Jason jumps when the door slams open.

You see your soulmate standing on the rooftop.

“Jason?”

You run to him and wrap your arms around his shoulder, as far as you can reach. He bends down and you hold him tighter. “You’re okay!” you exclaim against his coat. “I passed Bruce on the way here and I thought--”

“Y/N.”

Jason’s voice is shaky. You pull away to take a look at him but he holds you tight against him. You feel it now, the way his lungs are expanding rapidly and his heart is beating hard against his chest. He’s gripping your clothes as he pulls your body closer to him, afraid to let go. Afraid you’ll let go.

“I want to stay…”

The Joker had killed him and it killed you. The League had planned on using you against Jason. Scarecrow poisoned you. But now they’re gone. Dead. The Joker. Scarecrow. Black Mask. Bane. Croc. Clayface. Penguin and Dent.

Jason killed them all.

“You told me to find a better life. Away from all of this, remember? And I wanted that.” Jason hides his face on your shoulder and you can feel his tears seeping through your shirt. “I wanted that for both of us. But how could I do that if we have so many enemies? How could I do that if they can come after us at any second?”

Battered and bruised.

Dick’s wrong. Jason doesn’t have evil inside of him. None of them do. Everyone is just broken. Cracked under the pressure of the city’s heavy fog and manipulated into playing a never ending game of survival.

You glare at the horizon of the drab cityscape. Yellow lights left on all night. Sirens blaring at every corner. Sewer stench wafting toward the roofs. If Gotham hasn’t broken you yet, it will tomorrow.

You hold on to Jason tightly.

“It’s okay, Jason. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not, Y/N. We can’t stay-- I can’t stay.”

“I know…”

You rub Jason’s back to soothe him.

“It’s not just the Joker,” you whisper. “Gotham did this to us. It’s taken something beautiful from us-- our link-- and used it to abuse us. It tore us apart and made us forget who we are.

“We can’t stay here. We need to leave Gotham not because we’re not welcome. But because we need to heal, Jason.”

Slowly, you pull away from Jason to take off his coat. He watches as you unzip his kevlar vest and lets you take it off of him.

You stare at the symbol in your hands and silently thank it. Then you drop it on the floor. Jason is too stunned to stop you when you reach for one of his guns inside his coat. You fire two shots into the vest.

This is something you feel you need to do. Jason got to kill the Joker, the phantom menace that has haunted your dreams and waking moments. You only get this. The barrel is still smoking when you return it to him.

You pick up the vest and walk to the ledge of the roof. You pull back to gather as much momentum as you can and throw the vest out and down into the busy streets. You watch the Red Hood fall to its death until you can’t see it anymore.

Jason holds your hand and you turn to face him. He watches the look on your face, determined and unmoving. As if you hold all the cards and you know exactly where to go. He’s never seen such an expression on you.

He squeezes your hand

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Y/N.”

Just before the sun rises over, you’re already on a bus heading West, far enough away that even Wayne tower’s shadow can’t reach you. You pat the bag on your lap that has some clothes and your new identities.

As the bus crosses the bridge, Jason is watching the subtle pink and orange light peeking over the ocean that meets Gotham harbor. It’s a rare sight and one you’ll both miss. He turns to you.

“Hey,” Jason calls. “Look at your arm.” He takes out a pen. You watch as Jason writes on his arm and finally finishes his last words to you.

I love you.

END.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #jason todd #red hood #superhero soulmate au #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd x reader #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood fanfiction #Red Hood x reader #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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heyheydidjaknow · 4 years ago

Text

For anyone who is wondering why I deleted the chapters, I was very tired and forgot what tenses were, so I had to go back and change it all, and that is a pain on Tumbr. Tumblr also, apparently, either has a character or word limit, so this is our first 2 parter. I know I could just separate them into chapters, but I feel weird about making a whole chapter devoted to a date, so.

Edit: Who was gonna tell me I misspelled Casey?

Chapter 6 Pt 1

Leo sighs. “Okay, the fact that this will be the second creepiest stunt you’ve pulled this week says a lot.”

“Relax.” Donatello draws another line. “If she has a map of the foreseeable future and showed it to me, it obviously makes sense that I should answer in kind.”

“But,” Raphael points out, “this is the most desperate thing he’s done this week.”

“Zip it.” He caps his pen, holding his diagram up and walking off to his newly obtained whiteboard. “Besides, it’s not a comprehensive flow chart—attempting to list every possible conversation thread would be futile. It's simply a visual aid to remember the general actions I should take in any given situation.” Although you have been promising to “teach him a thing or two” about plot structure one on one, a part of him thinks it appropriate to make the first move. It appears to be the gallant thing to do, anyhow.

Mikey hops over the table, following one of the paths with his finger. “How come you have a shark on this one?”

“Oh,” he nods, “that’s in case she decides to go to the beach and gets attacked by a shark.”

“And why are there these Xs on this one?”

“That signifies the end of one of our lives.”

“And the hearts?”

He blushes. “I’m not answering that.”

Raph shudders. “Man, this just feels gross. I can already feel the secondhand disgust.”

“Raphael,” Donatello sighs, “love is a complex enigma that, if not thoroughly considered and tailored, will crumble before your very eyes. I cannot and will not destroy what little relationship we have by being reckless. Besides,” he scoffs, “in what other possible manner could I ask her out?”

“Hey, Y/N,” Leo offers, “let’s hang out.”

“See, that’s too pedestrian.” He gestures to the poster. “Trust in the—”

You slam through the door. Donnie, apparently panicked, flips the board over with fumbling hands. “H-hey, Y/N. Hey.” He stands up properly, clearing his throat. “Hey.”

You point at him. “How do you feel about busting a corrupt disgrace to the title of scientist?”

“Good!” He peaks at his board, trying to steal himself. “Where are we headed?”

“A neuroscientist by the name of Rockwell got mutated.” You start heading out. “Asshole in question is Victor Falco, AKA Feral Falco, AKA The Rat King if we don’t haul ass. He’s at Rockwell’s lab.”

“Awesome. Let’s go.” He runs after you, shooting a thumbs-up back at his brothers.

You are going to murder a man tonight. Probably. Hopefully not. Depends on how hard it is to wreck his shit. You have been stalking the Channel 6 news for about a week now, waiting for the jackass to show up, and now that he has? You are not about to let him become the monster you knew he could and would become.

“So,” Donnie startles you, lost in thought, “how was your first day of class?”

“It was fine. Met Casey, avoided Irma like the plague, all that jazz.” You turn a right.

“Casey?”

“Casey Jones. Hockey player, real bad at math.”

“A guy?” He seems interested in this subject for some reason.

“Yup.” You reach into your bag, wrapping your fingers around your kitchen knife, hands already shaking. If you must kill him, you will make it quick. “My age.”

“Oh.” He sighs. “That’s… nice.”

‘Can I just take him to the police? I don't have any evidence. This is breaking and entering.’

He clears his throat. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“We’re here.”

You look up at the building, sigh. “So we are.”

He moves in front of you, moving to meet you at eye-level. “Is there anything I need to know before we go in?”

You take a deep breath. “The man in the lab coat is the perp. We need to take him down, first and foremost. He may act a fool, but he’s accountable for the mutation of his partner. We either have to incapacitate, convict or, if necessary, kill him.”

He swallows. “This guy is that bad?”

“Not yet.” You start pulling the knife out properly as you push the door open with your clothed arm. “But it’s best to pull a weed out from the root.”

He follows you closely.

You look down at your phone to double-check that this is the offending room. “Here.” You back up, gesturing to the door eccentrically, heart pounding in your chest. “This is the room.”

He approaches you, brow furrowed. “Y/N,” he asks cautiously, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you look sick. Are you alright?”

You nod. “Nervous is all. Haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

He offers a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.” He gives you a thumbs up. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, alright?”

Your knuckles go white around the grip as you try to release some tension. ‘Don’t choke. That’s his job.’ “Yeah.” You return it. “Oh, are you free tomorrow night? I still have to give you that lesson.”

His face lights up. “Y-yeah! Totally!” He grins eagerly. “Should I go to your place? At what time?”

“We’ll hash out the details on the way back.” You look prominently to the lock. “Now, I take it you have some gadget or gizmo to help us open this bad boy?”

He kneels, pulling a device from the utility belt on his hip and sliding it into the card reader. “Of course.”

The door lets out a harsh buzz, the light turning green. You pull your sleeve forward onto your hand, pushing the door open.

The room smells like metal and mold and decay, a certain lethality hanging in the air when you enter. You stay close to the wall, pulling down a lever to illuminate the harsh laboratory in an even harsher light. And there, caught frozen as he pockets a vial, is Victor Falco.

His eyes flicker towards the door.

You tackle him to the ground, shifting your weight back onto his legs, and pin his arms above his head. “Donnie,” you call, stopping his struggling with a knife pressed against his neck, “would you be so kind as to find a few things for me? I can tell you where they are in the room, but I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Uh, sure.” His voice sounds strange to you. Tight. Nervous? Confused? You ignore it for now.

“What is the meaning of this,” the scientist bellows from underneath you. “I demand you give me an explanation!”

“Oh be quiet, traitor.” You press the blade against his skin. “We both know the crime you’ve committed against your partner.”

His eyes widen.

You keep your eyes locked on him at all times. “The first thing you’re looking for is a container of mutagen. When you get to the desk, you should see 2 stacks of drawers.”

You do not hear his footsteps. “Mhm.”

“The bottom left drawer has a false bottom. If you pull it up, you’ll find a canister of mutagen.”

You hear the drawer slide open, the shuffling of papers. “Got it.”

“Fantastic. Now, on the desk should be a flash drive belonging to Rockwell. Grab that.”

“How could you possibly know?” You feel his wrist tense as he clenched his fist. “I was so thorough.”

“I’m psychic,” you lie, smiling coldly. “Be happy I met you here and not in your home.”

“Anything else?”

“Whatever is in his pockets, besides car keys and a wallet. You’re getting new chemicals.”

The doctor does not seem to like that idea. He starts writhing underneath you.

“If you don’t stop moving,” you sigh, bringing the knife up and down quickly, hovering over his left eye, “you, a neuroscientist, will have the pleasure of discovering firsthand if what people say about losing your depth perception is true. See, I’ve always heard that it settles, but I’m more than happy to see it happen firsthand if you’ll indulge me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You aren’t sure.” You chuckle darkly, fingers wrapping tighter still around his wrists. “I don’t need to be a psychic to feel your shaking.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a green blob crouch down, pulling vials from his pockets.

“You’re a child.”

“And yet I’m the one holding a knife to you.” ‘Why am I so calm?’ “You’re selfish. You’re prideful. You won’t try anything because I know you to be cowardly, and you won’t say anything,” you nod, “because, if you did, you would have to admit to breaking into your missing partner’s lab, and deal with the backlash regarding me and my associate bringing that hard drive to the police and letting them connect the dots.” You smile sweetly. “Donnie, would you be so kind as to get some distance between you and Mr. Falco?” You do not look over at him, focused on the current task. “If he pulls anything, you need to be able to bring that to the police.”

“Got it.” A few seconds pass. “I’m by the door.”

You slide the carving knife in that general direction. “Goodnight, Falco.” You grab his hair, slamming his head against the ground once as you leap to your feet. You grab the knife, sprinting towards the door. “And that is our cue to leave.”

Donatello, who is having interesting feelings about the whole thing, appears to have been snapped out of some sort of trance. He nods, and the both of you exit the scene.

You wipe your mouth on your sleeve, shaking as you rest your chin on the edge of the dumpster. “T-thanks,” you smile shakily. “I appreciate it, really.”

“Not at all.” He let your locks fall from his hand. “I imagine it’s hard, what with having hair and all.” He helps you down from your perch on a stack of crates. “Are you feeling alright now?”

“Besides my mouth tasting like stomach acid? Never better.” You sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. “Sorry. The nerves just kinda…” you trail off, cheeks dusted pink. “Well, you get the idea.”

“It’s alright, really.” He smiles fondly. “You were really bold in there. It was really cool.”

“I don’t feel cool. I feel the opposite of cool.” You start down the alleyway. “But at least we stopped a ton of problems in its tracks.”

You hear a primal cry as a large primate lands in front of you.

You look him in the eyes, already tired of this episode. “Good evening, Dr. Rockwell.”

His eyes snap to Donatello, who was already unsheathing his bo staff. You look over your shoulder at him. “Chill out. He’s cool.”

“He’s a giant monkey!”

“Dude, he’s a well-esteemed scientist.” You turn to face him properly, holding his arms out to get some proper separation. “Put the effin stick down.”

“But—” He stops, takes a deep breath, and sheathes the staff. “Alright. I’ll trust you.” He seems almost disturbed by your apparent ease.

You turn back to face him properly, smiling. “Doctor,” you nod, “your partner will be of no concern to you from this point onward. Rest assured; his research has been halted.” Your tone is politely respectful.

The wild eyes of the primate calm. He seems to at least sense the general sentiment. He nods once, leaping up onto the nearest rooftop and disappearing into the night.

You nod in satisfaction, looking back at the stunned Donatello.

“He calmed down so easily.”

“He has a human mind, for the most part.” You shrug, continuing down the alley. “Let’s head back. Man, if you dad knew the kind of trouble I just got him out of.” You giggle at his dumbstruck expression, walking backward to keep facing him. “Well, are you just gonna stand there lookin pretty or are you going to come with?”

His face goes red. He nods once, hurrying after you.

You two walk quietly for a little over a minute. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

“Totally.” You decide to bite the bullet and pull of the manhole cover. “What’s up?”

“Why do you call him that?”

“Call who what?” You start climbing down.

“You know, not call him Master Splinter.” He pulls the cover back on, landing beside you. “You always call him my dad or Yoshi or Mr. Hamato.”

“Well,” you shrug, “he’s your dad, right?”

“I’m not saying it’s a problem,” he clarified, “or that’s it’s incorrect, but most people—myself included—refer to him as Master Splinter.”

You start walking with him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Donnie,” you sigh, “but, if I can help it, I honestly hope I never have to call him that.”

“Why?” He walks beside you, eyes tracing your figure subtlety.

“Didn’t I already say?” You nod back in the direction you guys came from. “You saw how I acted back there. This is only episode six or seven. The trauma I’d have to go through as a ninja here would kill me,”

“But you have the guts for it.” His voice is certain. “You’re strong enough, mentally, to be a ninja.”

You pause, your throat catching. You wonder if he would still think so if he had seen how you had spent your nights.

He clears his throat, blushing again. “I think you are, anyway.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck silently. You feel him seize up under you. “Thank you,” you mumble.

He slowly relaxes, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. He rests his head on top of yours gently. Slowly, he buries his hand in your hair. He is always so warm— he makes you feel oddly safe. This is only the second time you have been this physically close to him, but you don’t think for a moment that he would try anything.

You back off, clearing your throat as your cheeks catch fire. “Sorry,” you smile timidly. “I’ve just been… I’m not usually this clingy.”

He blinks out of his stupor, looking down at you. “Huh? Oh, don’t worry about it.” He grinned giddily, almost drunk. “Y-You are all good.”

You swallow. “I’ve gotta do an introduction type project for school, so I gotta get back home.” You walk back in the direction you two came. “Come to my place at about seven tomorrow. I’ll order food.”

He nods, body relaxed. “Seven. Got it.” He does.

You wave, walking back to the ladder. “Then I’ll see you then.”

He stands there, watching you leave. As soon as he hears the sliding of the manhole cover back into place, he takes a moment to celebrate the victory before starting to walk back to the lair.

‘I got a date!’

Table of Contents

Chapter 5

Chapter 6, Part 2

#tmnt donnie #donnie x reader #2012 donnie #donnie #donatello x reader #tmnt donatello #donatello #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #nyc #x reader #self insert

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anxietysroomsupport · 4 years ago

Note

i found out pushing doesn't work. that's what my sister does when she thinks something's wrong, she pushes that she wants to go to the doctor. eventually our parents give in. i think i mentioned it because i sent an ask here recently, but my joints have been giving me grief lately. several months ago my knees kept feeling like my bones were grinding when i put weight on them for a few days. more recently, in january i think, after spending an hour or two outside, my hips did the (1/?)

(2/?) the same, that night and for the next few days. sometimes it was fine, usually better mid morning, but other times i couldn't put wait on them. it felt like they were grinding, or going to give up on me. it's been happening longer where i feel like if i move the wrong way, something will pop out. i try to sit up and swing my legs and my hips yell at me with slight pain, so even though they would probably just pop, i wait till it stops, just in case. because i don't want to see (2/?)

(3/?) what would happen if they didn't. but recently, a week or two after i started these new exercises (my mom thinks it's related to that, which it may be slightly, but i don't think so completely), modified push ups so i could get better core strength and stuff, my joints have started popping. started feeling like they'll go out more often. and i mean popping loudly. i kneeled earlier in the process of sitting up, and my sister, who was talking and a few feet away, asked me if i (3/?)

(4/?) okay. it only hurt a little, it's more just the sensation of the popping, tiny pain. but my right knee sort of buzzed, like my elbow did yesterday. except yesterday, my elbow hurt. it felt, just from a random movement, like it actually popped out for a moment, or tried to, and my elbows are usually fine. if it's the exercises, i don't want to just give up my hopes. i want to be able to one day walk on my hands. i know i'd never get back into it after this, even if it's not the (4/?)

(5/?) problem. anyways, sorry, there's a lot to say, i'll try to hurry this up. recently after reading something they flared, when it started happening nearly every time i move, then went down a little, and have stayed that way for about a week. the exercises have been making me feel a little stronger, and i just don't think they're doing this. but, i kept mentioning it. my pain. asking if people could hear it. only my sister cares to listen. she always cares. always listens. (5/?)

(6/?) mental or physical health she's there for me. she keeps saying that i really should go to the doctor, so i keep asking. i mentioned the knee thing to my mom. she said she kept researching but couldn't find anything narrow enough to be diagnosable. that i should just wear the shoes that i can't stand, stop the exercises, start up again with walking when my body calms down, as if it will. i can't stop now. but i don't think she'll take me. i think i have to wait till something bad (6/?)

(7/?) especially after the thing i read, i don't want to wait. i don't want to ignore the signs. if i could save myself so much pain, why can't i try? just two or three days ago i was getting into school when my hip started to hurt. the hallways are one way, so i have to walk around nearly the entire school to get to my class, and i only had a few minutes to get there. i just told myself to keep walking. ignore the fact that i could barely put weight on my right leg. i had to get to (7/8)

(8/?) class. but pushing doesn't work. i pushed to go to the doctor. i got in an argument. i had stuff to do and i was starting to cry, so i just said i wouldn't bring it up anymore. i'd stop. my sister's an adult. i just realized i can ask her to take me. if another bad thing happens, i will. if they flare up again, i will tell my parents that i need to go to the doctor. if they won't, i'll ask my sister. i don't want to. i know my mom tries. she said normally she would, but covid. (8/?)

(9/?) but i have to go. maybe it's nothing, or maybe i will have to stop doing the exercises, and break my heart a little bit more as i give up on another goal. but i have to. i have to. i can't cripple myself for life because i wouldn't go. i have no idea what could happen to me one day or some day soon even if i don't. maybe i'm just overreacting and i'm fine and it's growing pains but i haven't grown in 1 1/2 years and it hurts. and i'm so so tired. been reading, sorry it's like prose (9/9).

I sent an ask about my joints recently? Yeah, well, this. yesterday I was hesitantly diagnosed with Hypermobility Syndrome, pretty wide across my body but mainly in my lower body. basically the doctor said, that since it's the best guess, I need to go to Physical Therapy and try to strengthen my tendons and joints. so obviously I'm so glad to have a solution, maybe not be in so much pain anymore, but at the same time, I like being a little bendy. I'm not stretchy, not good at gymnastics (1/2)

(2/2) or whatever, but I do like feeling a little different. so I guess it's just like, what if PT makes it so I'm not bendy anymore? is it like those metaphors where you break a stick, then put a bunch together and can't break it? or am I folding the stick in half, forsaking mobility for strength? and I don't think that a diagnosis for an actual chronic illness has hit me yet, I know I'll be more nervous when my first PT comes in 3 days, but I still feel normal.

Hypermobile anon here, I believe I said I wished it was something a little more for some reason? Yeah, well, good news, I don't anymore. My pain is like, I'm in so much pain, but not actually that much, and I know that I both am and aren't, and it doesn't actually feel like that much, but it is? My point is, tonight's been really bad and I'm starting to think it's good the friend I tend to go outside on walks and stuff with was busy. Also, my mom, in complimenting my drive, (1/2)

(2/2) said that while my sibling was told to do physical therapy to keep their hand working and didn't do it as much as they should, I was doing physical therapy regularly and faithfully to stop my joints from aching. I know my family, mostly my parents, has lots of issues and then just powers through, but you'd think that my mom, who has a bunch going on (allergies, diabetes, random undiagnosable stuff), would understand chronic illness. To her, my joints ache. Sorry, it's not actually too bad.

Hi Anon,

First thing, so so sorry for the delay on this one. And it’s great that you have continued writing in with updates!

Thank goodness you did keep pushing and get your diagnosis (even if it may be a hesitant one)! You really could have ended up struggling for a long time. Arthritis would have been another guess if your doctor hadn’t come to Hypermobility Syndrome.

Hopefully your doctor is treating this seriously, but remember that if any doctor is trying to ignore your concerns, you can very clearly say to them, “If you’re not going to do tests I want it noted in my chart.”

From the advice of a lot of chronically ill folks, it is also strongly recommended to get your vitamin levels checked, especially b12, iron, and vitamin d. These can actually cause joint symptoms if they’re low enough and lots of things can affect your absorption of them.

It is definitely still possible to build muscle and continue to be flexible. It takes quite a lot of bulk to start limiting your range of movement, and physical therapy will probably be gradual enough that you can assess your flexibility as you go.

As far as feeling “normal”, having chronic illness actually is really common! In 2012, the National Health Council stated that roughly 133 million people in the U.S. were dealing with some kind of chronic condition.

It is awful that you’re in so much pain. Your doctor should also be helping you manage that, since strengthening your muscles isn’t going to be an immediate solution. That takes time, but you’re in a lot of pain right now. Anti-inflammatory painkillers can help with joint pain, and heat treatments like warm baths, hot water bottles, and heat-rub creams can be useful too. Beyond that, you might need prescription treatments.

Your mom is probably just trying to encourage you, but it’s small comfort compared to the level of pain you’re dealing with. People will often deal with chronic illness in different ways, especially different generations. It might help to find groups online that are dealing with similar issues, or chronic conditions in general. Places like reddit, facebook, etc will have groups or subreddits dedicated to creating a community, so you can share your experiences and find other people dealing with the same issues. You might ask your physical therapist if there are any in-person or online support groups locally.

You’ll have to find a way to manage your chronic illness, your way. If your mom doesn’t understand it, don’t worry about her. You got this. And your sister’s got your back.

-Kai, bun

#chronic illness #pain #diagnosis #doctors #family #sister #parents #mom #joint pain #hypermobility syndrome #treatment #physical therapy #medicine #long post

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doomedandstoned · 4 years ago

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Spelljammer Reveal Trippy New Vid, Talk ‘Abyssal Trip’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Interview by Billy Goate

Cover Art by Aaron Cahill

Our week of big interviews continues as we meet up with the ethereal doom outfit from Stockholm SPELLJAMMER and premiere a new music video, from their just released second LP, dropped only weeks ago on RidingEasy Records and now the number one album on the Doom Charts.

'Abyssal Trip' (2021) is an enthralling listen from edge to center, with lavish textures, deep thematic content, and unforgettably emotive atmosphere that will stick with you for life. Enjoy it as you read the revealing conversation with Niklas Olsson (guitar, vox) and Robert Sörling (guitar) that follows as we unpack their steller new spin, talk nerdy gear shit, and contemplate humanity's fate.

And now, Doomed & Stoned is pleased to bring you the world premiere of the brand new video for that epic third track, "Among The Holy."

Give ear...

Spelljammer - Among The Holy (music video)

You guys have been a band now for damn near 15 years, maybe longer. Most bands don't make it past two years! What is the "key" to the band staying together for so long and continuing to find inspiration for creating new music?

Rob: I don’t think it’s been 15 years just yet but we are getting there, haha. None the less - that’s a really interesting question! Nik and I started the band much because we share the same taste in music, film and, well, art in general. I think that's the core keeping it all together. Also, there have been a few constellations of band members over the years, all with their own dynamic. I think these kinds of changes, and the new directions of the music because of that, is part of the inspiration. Maybe another reason is that we all live in different cities and because of that sometimes a lot of time passes between rehearsals, writing sessions and such, making us always craving for new Spelljammer jams and songs.

Nik: The craving yes. And another reason I think is the fact that we’ve never really been in a rush to get anywhere. Anything Spelljammer, the music included, takes time. If we had been set on making it, this thing probably would have fallen apart a long time ago.

Abyssal Trip by Spelljammer

How did the theme for Abyssal Trip originate?

Nik: I have always been more drawn to the feelings or emotions you get from a riff or piece of music than to any theme of a lyric. But I would say that any themes came in at the lyrics state, which is at the end of the process. But the themes aren’t that specific to any of the albums. I think I cast a pretty wide net in the beginning and stuck to it. For the next album perhaps we will venture more into unchartered waters. We’ll see.

What fascinates you about the Great Abyss of the ocean?

Nik: I totally get that the word abyss conjures up images of ocean trenches and, yes, the ocean is a fascinating and to a large extent undiscovered place. However, when I wrote that I wasn’t necessarily thinking of the ocean but more the abyss of our own minds. But I think it’s a word that evokes many things, like despair and doom, and it is of course totally open to interpretation.

Is mankind doomed or do we have time to correct our course?

Nik: I’m not as pessimistic of a person as the lyrics may suggest. I think we will be here on earth for a long time. Mankind is clever (perhaps too clever for her own good) even if there are a lot of people hell-bent on trying to screw up everything for everybody else.

Rob: Yes, and considering how ignorant and careless (some) people are acting during this pandemic, at least over here, makes you wonder if there’s any hope at all.

Nik: People are the worst. Ultimately, though, none of it matters because we’re all doomed.

Have you guys seen any good movies/documentaries or read any good books lately that inspired you or otherwise challenged your thinking about life, the present, or the future?

Rob: I can’t say that I’ve seen or read anything recently that challenged me significantly, I guess I’m getting too old to be that overwhelmed haha. The film A Ghost Story though was kind of cool though because it was different, slow and weird (in a good way), and for me it’s always inspiring to read/see/hear something that makes you think, "Man, I wish I had come up with that idea”.

Nik: Absolutely! Punch Drunk Love, Moon, and Office Space are definitely movies like that. I have watched so many movies and series through this pandemic and I can’t remember any of them right now. But I did just notice that there is a season 3 of Loudermilk on HBO! If you haven’t already, see it! I’m currently reading "Homeward Bound, The Life of Paul Simon” by Peter Ames Carlin. It’s a good read about one of my favorite musicians.

For recording this album, what kind of gear did you use and what production/engineering considerations did you have to take into account?

Rob: Since we did a remote recording in the countryside we had to use whatever stuff that we could fit into a couple of cars. I have a couple of old audio interfaces that I linked for a total of 16 channels. I also have a small collection of mics (nothing fancy) and we used them all and the rest was borrowed. We set up the drums in the living room and put the guitar and bass rigs as far away as we could (the adjacent rooms) to avoid bleed and just focused on getting the rhythm tracks done. The goal was to get us all in the same room and to catch the vibe from a relaxed rehearsal kind of situation. The bass rig used was a Orange Terror Bass and an Ampeg SVT 810 and the guitar was tracked through a Reval Mark I and/or Orange TH-100 and a Orange PPC 412. Of course there’s always some unforeseen problem lurking and this time it was the electricity in the old country house.

Nik: I don’t use many effects, just a fuzz. For this one I used a Supercollider from Earthbound Audio. It is exactly what the name suggests. That’s all you need really.

The album cover is amazing! It reminds me, in some strange way, of the creature in the old B-movie Robot Monster (1953). What's the story behind the artwork?

Nik: It definitely has a B-movie vibe that I really like. I’m afraid I can’t really tell you much about it other than the artist name is Aaron Cahill and you can find his stuff on Instagram under the name nghbrs.

I filmed your first US appearance at Psycho Las Vegas in 2016. Fans want to know: do you have ambitions of returning to North America once the world sorts out this pandemic?

Rob: Yes, that’s our first and only US appearance so far and we wouldn’t mind at all returning to Vegas or any other part of the US. For now it’s really hard making any plans at all. In fact, you would think that this kind of isolation would enhance creativity, and maybe for some it does, but for us it’s actually been the most unproductive period so far for Spelljammer. So I’m hoping that by the time this thing blows over we get the inspiration back both for writing/recording new music, and in time hopefully revisiting the US!

Nik: I agree, playing at Psycho Las Vegas was a blast. I hope we get another opportunity to come back some day.

Spelljammer at Psycho Las Vegas/a>

Some Buzz

“The vastness of everything is something that I think about a lot,” says Spelljammer bassist/vocalist Niklas Olsson. And it certainly shows in both the expansive, sludgy sounds and contemplative lyrics of the Stockholm, Sweden based trio. Following a 5-year break between their previous album, Ancient of Days — perhaps fittingly spent pondering said vastness — Spelljammer is back with an album that perfectly bridges the band’s earlier desert rock leanings and their later massive, slow-burning riffs.

'Abyssal Trip' (note: carefully reread that album title) takes its moniker from the perpetually dark, cold, oxygen-free zone at the bottom of the ocean. The 6-song, 44-minute album fittingly embodies that bleak realm with rumbling, oozing guitars intercut with dramatic melodic interludes. The songs take their time to unfurl, making them even more hypnotic. Likewise, the lyrics take a poetic approach to establishing the sonic scenery.

“The lyrical themes we address, like the ultimate doom of man, and the search and longing for new and better worlds, are still there,” Olsson says. “The concept of something undiscovered out there in vast emptiness is pretty much always present.”

The recording process for Abyssal Trip differs from previous releases in that the band — guitarist Robert Sörling, drummer Jonatan Rimsbo and Olsson — opted to capture the performances while holed up in the mental bathysphere of a house in the countryside near Stockholm. “The songs benefitted from the relaxed environment of being away from everything,” Olsson explains. Indeed, the album sounds confident and meticulously arranged, afforded by the band’s isolation. Sörling mixed the album and it was mastered by Monolord drummer Esben Willems at Berserk Audio.

Album opener “Bellwether” begins dramatically with a very slow, nearly minute-long fade in of rumbling distortion setting the stage for heavily distorted bass and guitar plucking out the lugubrious riff for another minute and a half before the drums begin, and likewise equally as long before vocals gurgle to the surface. “Lake” abruptly shifts gears, opening with an unusually fast gallop before rupturing into thundering doom that soon drops into a clean-tone Middle Eastern melodic breakdown.

The title track serves as the album centerpiece, opening with ominous film dialogue about blood sacrifice that launches into pummeling, detuned guitars rumbling over gut-punching drums and howling vocals hearkening to the proto-sludge of Pink Floyd’s “The Nile Song.” The dynamic relents briefly for a slow building clean guitar melody before all instruments lock into a jerking riff topped off by a trilling Iommi style lead. Throughout, Abyssal Trip is, just like its title suggests, an epic tour through desolate zones which yields much to discover.

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#D&S Debuts #D&S Interviews #Spelljammer #Stockholm #Sweden #doom #metal #doom metal #music video #HeavyBest2021 #RidingEasy Records #Doomed and Stoned

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antialiasis · 5 years ago

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Jesus Christ Superstar: all of my thoughts

Allll right, this will be me watching my way through Jesus Christ Superstar 2012 (the arena tour with Tim Minchin/Ben Forster) and rambling about e v e r y t h i n g as I go, prompted by me having a lot of thoughts approximately every two minutes while watching it on YouTube/rewatching it/listening to multiple other JCS productions in between. Unusually for me, there will be very little complaining. This production is not perfect but that's not really what I'm here to talk about right now, shush, let me just go on about why I love this musical, at incredible length.

(I will be talking both about particulars in this production and about JCS in general as a narrative, without explicitly distinguishing the two, but please rest assured I do know which is which. I am pretty hardcore, I have seen five different productions live (including the 2013 leg of the arena tour) as well as the movies, listened to a lot of different Gethsemanes, I know this show.)

(this will also jump wildly between deep intellectual analysis and just me shamelessly appreciating the whump content, please bear with me)

can I start off by saying I really love the band and instrumentation and arrangements in 2012

The JCS overture is really long but I love it and it's always fun to see exactly what they do with it when it's staged. This production goes with showing Jesus's followers as protesters clashing with police, following news headlines, and then, during the calm choral "betrayal leitmotif", they're all gathered around Jesus staring at him in the most ominous way - then, as the first notes of "Heaven On Their Minds" play, Jesus closes his eyes and shakes his head a little, as if snapping out of a thought - as if he just felt the coming of betrayal. Neat.

Anyway, "Heaven On Their Minds"! This is such a good song. When I first saw JCS, as my school's production in 2005, and it opened not with Jesus but with Judas, presenting these totally reasonable concerns that he has about Jesus, I was already so intrigued by where this was going. Judas is the actual protagonist of JCS; one of the main narrative things it's doing is telling these events largely from his point of view, imagining how what he did might be interpreted to be sympathetic and understandable. This is why he gets the opening number and the final proper song with the show's closing musings. If you put on JCS and treat it like it's a story about Jesus with Judas as a side character, you're doing it wrong.

The iconic opening riff of “Heaven On Their Minds” is what I’m calling the “Agony” motif in my musical motif chart, because the places it recurs are the moment Judas resolves to hang himself in “Judas’s Death” and... “The 39 Lashes”. Originally I connected it to Judas, but “The 39 Lashes” has nothing at all to do with Judas; instead, the one thing that connects these three occurrences of the motif is pain - which really rather underlines how painful it is when Judas’s mind clears and he sees what lies ahead.

So, Judas: he was one of Jesus's closest friends, and a real, true believer in what this movement was originally about: charity, compassion, noble ideals. But lately, he's seen it turn into more of a cult of personality around Jesus himself - you've begun to matter more than the things you say. Now they're all thinking Jesus is the messiah, the Son of God - and worse, it's like Jesus is starting to believe it himself.

(Tim Minchin does this little frustrated eyeroll on you really do believe this talk of God is true, and I love it. I know his vocal performance is not to everyone's taste, and I get why especially with the unwarranted autotuning on the official recording, but I just love his actual acting here, his expressions and body language, so much. I was watching him for most of the show when I saw this live, because I usually spend most of JCS looking for whether Judas is doing something interesting in the background, and it was choice. Unfortunately the editor for this official recording isn't quite as interested in what Judas is doing in the background as I am, alas, and there are a lot of bits where I'd like to get a better look at him but we don't, but there are still some very good reactions.)

So, the reason this is bad, this whole messiah thing, is not only that calling Jesus their king might rub the authorities the wrong way, but also that now they're all expecting Jesus to up and free them from Roman oppression. Which is just not a thing that he can do! Judas is worried if Jesus doesn't deliver his followers will turn against him (and they'll hurt you when they find they're wrong). He's worried if Jesus actually does try anything, or heaven forbid, his followers just do it on their own - Jesus's words are already being taken out of context and twisted to justify whatever the speaker feels like - if they step so much as a toe over the line, that'll be all the excuse the Romans need to regard the Jewish community as a whole as violent insurgents or a delusional cult and bring in the army. This movement used to be a beautiful thing, but it's become an existential threat with the potential to get them all killed. And - when Judas tries to voice these concerns, Jesus brushes them off. He won't listen. Things are spiraling out of control, and Jesus won't do anything about it.

(Note, by the way, that a big part of Judas's worries is worries about Jesus in particular getting hurt.)

(Judas is very focused here on the future, all these things looming on the horizon that could happen if things continue as they are - so when we transition abruptly into the upbeat "What's the Buzz?", where Jesus tries to get his followers to think less about the future and more about the here and now, for all that it feels like a musical and textual non-sequitur we're actually kind of staying on theme.)

Jesus hasn't been doing anything about things or listening to Judas, and is very focused on the here and now, because as it happens he knows (or at least believes) that in a few days he is going to be tortured and executed, and really he doesn't entirely know what's going to happen after that, and this is pretty terrifying and stressful and right now he's dealing with that by trying to not think about it.

Why are you obsessed with fighting times and fates you can't defy? He basically means this at this point. Why would you try to fight inevitable fates? That’s pointless; it’s not like Jesus would ever do that. You just don’t think about them. Jesus is fine. It’s fine. This is fine.

(Mary is the one person who’s actively helping Jesus take his mind off things and stay in the moment. Emotionally he really needs to just relax and think of nothing and be told everything's all right, and Mary's the person who provides that. She alone has tried to give me what I need right here and now. I contend that this is the main point of Mary's role in the first act of JCS, more than her infatuation with him.)

Buuuut of course Judas has no idea what's behind this. As far as he can tell Jesus is just kind of hypocritically wasting his time on hedonistic indulgence, like the whole Son of God thing's just gone to his head, and like everything else about the situation, it's concerning, and he tries to speak out about it, in “Strange Thing, Mystifying”...

...which prompts Jesus to lash out. There was a sort of frustration behind some of his lines in “What’s the Buzz”, but he still just seemed to be preaching a general philosophy of staying in the here and now. At Judas’s criticisms, though, he's defensive and confrontational, exhorting him to not throw stones... and he's not done: I'm amazed that men like you can be so shallow, thick and slow! There is not a man among you who knows or cares if I come or go!

That's a total strange overreaction, especially since he starts out addressing Judas but then goes on to "There is not a man among you", when nobody else was saying anything, much less anything implying they don't care about Jesus. So, obviously, this isn't really about what Judas just said. What this is showing us is that Jesus has a lot of pent-up frustrations and concerns, too, and he's in a strangely delicate mood. It's kind of an odd sequence watching it for the first time; this lashout is weird! I thought it was weird when I first saw the show! But that’s the point. It’s here because it is weird, because Jesus is not as fine as he seems.

(This is what almost every song with Jesus in it in Act I is about. It's a series of incidents - many of them based on actual bits from the Bible - of Jesus lashing out unexpectedly and/or being strongly disillusioned with his followers and vaguely, bitterly alluding to his upcoming death. The weight of anticipating his own execution is taking a real psychological toll on him from the start, and this is all building towards where all those fears and doubts and worries and anger come out in "Gethsemane". It took me the longest time to properly notice this, that Jesus isn't just sort of being a drama queen out of nowhere here; these events are being presented like this to connect them into a cohesive speculative narrative that this was all just manifestations of Jesus's anxiety about the fact he believes he's going to die in a few days and he's not sure what he's really accomplished.)

While the apostles join together in a chorus of No, you're wrong! You're very wrong!, Judas silently pulls out a cigarette, because 2012 Judas smokes to calm his nerves and I love it. The nerves don't stop him rolling his eyes again in the background at Jesus's Not one of you!, though. (Jesus has probably been having these weird, oddly self-pitying lashouts for a little while now - it feels like a "this again" sort of eye-roll.)

Judas tries again to confront Jesus during "Everything's Alright", even more emphatic, but in a more sincere and genuine way - he really wants to get through to him. No, seriously, Jesus, why are you wasting expensive ointment on your feet and hair when the poor are starving - you know, the thing this movement was supposed to be about. Mary, probably a bit higher in emotional intelligence than Judas, can obviously tell that Jesus is just pretty stressed out right now and really needs some rest, and basically just tries to get Jesus to ignore him until he goes away - but Jesus responds to him anyway. Starts calm, but there's an oddly defeatist quality to what he's saying - there’ll always be poor people, we can't save them, look at the good things you've got... and then he launches into another bitter lashout: Think while you still have me, move while you still see me - you’ll be lost, you'll be so, so sorry, when I'm gone. Strike two on Jesus-is-not-as-fine-as-he-seems.

(Seriously, though, at this point it'd be reasonable to be pretty alarmed; from an outside perspective, these lines sound kind of suicidal. Perhaps that’s why Mary immediately steps in again to try to calm him down.)

Meanwhile, Judas silently backs off. What he takes away from these two confrontations is that Jesus isn't really happy either. He's not actually thrilled with his followers or what’s going on; he just seems to feel helpless and unable to change anything at all, and has apparently just resigned himself to it, instead of even trying to fix it.

I love how gloriously ominous the "Hosanna Superstar" bit of "This Jesus Must Die" is. It really makes this upcoming cheerful song sound like an omen of doom and horror, the way it feels to the Pharisees. It’s the same melody as “We need him crucified” in “Trial Before Pilate” - apt, since the crowd’s devotion to Jesus is the real problem that causes the Pharisees to believe they need to get him killed.

Thus, the Pharisees have basically the same concerns Judas does - Jesus's mass of fans is growing out of control, they're blasphemously insisting he's their king, and it's only a matter of time before this brings the wrath of the Romans down upon the entire Jewish nation. They only go a bit further by believing the only way to properly quash this movement is to put Jesus to death. (Which is kind of dubious - surely there's a danger that martyring him will just make people more devoted - but I appreciate that they, too, get basically sympathetic motivations. It’s the oppression of the Romans that’s the real enemy here; they only see Jesus as a real problem because of how the Romans might react.)

By "Hosanna", Jesus has recovered his usual composure and passion. This is the one Jesus song where he does genuinely seem to be doing all right, and in that way it serves as a good contrast to literally everything else in this musical. In it we see a glimpse of the preacher and activist that he’s been for these three years, almost bursting with glee as he tells the Pharisees they're not going to be quiet at all thank you very much. He preaches his message to the crowd: There is not one of you who cannot win the Kingdom - a kind, positive echo of yesterday's angry lashout. He loves this, and he still loves this movement. This is what it's all supposed to be about.

...only, of course, for some people to yell "Hey, J.C., J.C., won't you die for me!", and he turns his head, his smile fading just a little (I wish the camera stayed on him a little while longer here). But he recovers and carries on. Ha ha, yeah, he'd die for you.

Jesus's own rally leads directly into Simon's rave, full of adoring fans begging Jesus to touch and kiss them. Same enthusiasm, but more obviously a product of that cult of personality that Judas was worried about. And there in the middle of it is Simon, so bright-eyed and enthusiastic about the whole thing, telling him about how with his probably over 50,000 followers, he should add just a smidge of hatred towards the Romans, and you will rise to a greater power, we will win ourselves a home! He's one of those who want Jesus to be leading a violent revolution to free them.

I like how the first portion of "Poor Jerusalem" echoes a slow, somber version of the same melody as "Simon Zealotes" as Jesus laments, almost to himself, that none of them, nobody at all, understands power, or glory, or anything. This time Jesus isn't really angry, just kind of exhausted and contemplative. Nobody really seems to get his message; these poor misguided people won't get the revolution they're hoping for; Jerusalem itself is doomed. The city wouldn't be willing to do what's needed even if they knew.

To conquer death, you only have to die is one of my favorite lines. I’m an atheist, but as a kid I remember being taught at the Christian summer camp I went to that by dying himself, Jesus conquered death. That idea is twisted and presented the other way around here: to conquer death, you only have to die. Only. An darkly ironic presentation of it as if it were easy. It’s not as easy as Jesus would like it to be - but he truly believes that it’s what he must do.

"Pilate's Dream" has the same melody as the second half of “Poor Jerusalem” - because both Jesus and Pilate are contemplating an unsettling future that they have seen.

I do think it's a little wrong that 2012 Pilate chuckles at the end of "Pilate’s Dream”, though. The whole point of this song, as far as I can tell, is that he's unsettled by this dream, and it's probably part of why he's so reluctant to sentence Jesus to death later, so I think it's an incongruous choice to make it seem like he just sort of brushed it off as nonsense.

As I mentioned before, the arena tour staging includes Simon buying a gun during "The Temple", a really chilling detail that I liked a lot and that is in no way discernible in the official recording. Maybe the editor didn't notice, maybe it just wasn't very clear in the footage they got anyway, maybe it's some sort of ratings issue where showing a gun for a few seconds would just be too much (while the lengthy, brutal torture and execution scenes coming up are totally fine). Obviously it doesn't mean anything for the later narrative or anything (especially since the actual narrative is taking place in 33 AD and guns don't actually exist, regardless of the staging choices of any particular production), but it’s a nice way of using staging to lend further support to the overall point of how Jesus's followers variously fail to understand his teachings - it strengthens both Jesus’s and Judas’s concerns.

When Jesus and Judas arrive at the temple, they're arguing once again, though we don't know what about. Given the way Jesus is striding towards the doors and Judas is trying to hold him back, I imagine Judas is worried that doing something like running into the temple and breaking tables and screaming is the sort of attention-grabbing, polarizing stunt that'd be a really bad idea, and Jesus is upset and doesn't care.

(The bouncer doesn't let Judas in. I'm guessing Jesus tells him Judas is harassing him or something, within the staging-narrative where the temple is a nightclub that has a bouncer.)

So Jesus goes and smashes a table and yells at everyone to get out. This is probably where Jesus begins to alienate a lot of people, who were having a great time at the temple only for him to come in and have a breakdown at them.

(He's so angry, breathing hard, fists clenched after everyone's left. This isn't really about the temple either. He's really begun to realize how many of his followers don't get it at all, and he doesn't have time to fix that. He's been trying for so long and he's so tired.)

The leper bit makes a pretty similar point. Jesus wants to help all these people, and tries - but there are too many, and they're crowding him, and he's not going to be around to help them for much longer - so he desperately tells them to heal themselves, and they leave, probably thinking wow Jesus is kind of a jerk.

I'm sorry, I don't have anything to say about "I Don't Know How to Love Him", love ballads are pretty consistently my least favorite song in every musical, I like and appreciate Mary but my investment in this song pretty much begins and ends with its role in setting up the twisted reprise in "Judas's Death"

I enjoy the fourth-wall-leaning audacity of having the guitarist spotlighted on stage playing the solo before "Damned For All Time", and Judas is looking at him like "who are you, go away", and keeps looking evasively back at him while he's slowly getting the Pharisees' number out of his wallet and calling it. (It also helps show Judas feels pretty guilty and shameful about doing this, and works better for that than having extras on stage - if it were extras, we might expect that them witnessing this could actually mean something later, but when it's the guitarist, it's obvious he's just serving as an anonymous stand-in for a hypothetical random stranger who isn't literally part of the story.)

I like the shot of Judas looking into the security camera outside the Pharisees' building. (That’s decidedly not the same hairdo Tim Minchin has on stage, though.)

Judas opens his talk with the Pharisees, without even greeting them first, by frantically justifying himself, talking about how this is weird and hard for him but there was just nothing else he could do, he's not hoping for a reward or anything, he's been forced to do this, he's not a dirty traitor, please don't think that. He really doesn't want to be here. But here he is anyway, because Jesus can't control it like he did before - and furthermore I know that Jesus thinks so too, Jesus wouldn't mind that I'm here with you. He's seen Jesus over the past few days and he's pretty sure he has this figured out. Jesus can see just as well as he does where things are headed - it's just he's helpless to control it and doesn't know what to do about it. So this has to be done. He'd probably want Judas to bail him out of this, just get him arrested and the movement shut down, for everyone's sake. (Jesus is so self-sacrificing, after all.) Right? He'd be fine with this. Right? (Judas is fine.)

("Damned For All Time" is just Judas wildly word-vomiting trying to placate his own guilt and I love it. He's legitimately afraid of where things are headed if he doesn't do this, and thinks it has to ultimately be the right thing, but that doesn't make him feel any better about it.)

(I like how Caiaphas just sort of coolly listens to him ramble his head off like this while he sips his drink.)

Judas goes for a cigarette again (calming those nerves), and Annas helpfully lights it for him - prompting Judas's next ramble. Annas, you're a friend, a worldly man and wise - Caiaphas, my friend, I know you sympathize. It's not like he's selling Jesus out to anyone unreasonable. Annas is nice! We three, we get it, right? You get it. We're the people who can see when a difficult thing just has to be done, did I mention I HAVE to do this and this is not about money - only for Annas to tell him to cut it out with this blather and excuses and just give them the information they want. And also, they'll pay him handsomely!

I don't need your blood money! Judas says, then I don't want your blood money! Sometimes these lines are reversed, which sounds better - there's something more satisfying about the vowel in need than in want - but I think textually this original order is important. First he's sort of polite-ish-ly declining, saying no, he doesn't need any money, but then when they insist, he declines more firmly, that he doesn't want it either. (I love the way he shoves Annas's hand away.) It's so important to Judas's own principles that he came here because he thinks it's right, not because he wants payment; the idea of being paid makes it way worse.

...But then Caiaphas grabs the cigarette out of his mouth (leaving him a bit shaken with nothing to hold onto anymore) and goes well, you can give it to charity, or to the poor; they understand that's not why he's doing this, but they'd still like to pay him a fee. And that's the reason he ultimately does take the money: because just a few days earlier he was telling Jesus off for letting money be wasted when it could have gone to the poor. How could he do the same?

(Judas is not doing this for the money in this show. He is not being tempted by the money. He was not going to take the money until he was told he could give it to charity. One of the professional live productions I saw just did not understand this at all, and no. Judas is the protagonist! He is not here for the money! It's done right here, with the Pharisees just throwing the money at him after he names Gethsemane, and him not even reacting, just slowly picking it up afterwards. Tim Minchin gets Judas.)

I like to think the Well done, Judas / Good old Judas chorus is sort of the voice of the Divine Plan, such as it is, which he's now done his first part in.

"The Last Supper" has slowly become one of my favorite parts of the entire show, and I particularly enjoy it in this particular production.

Judas walks in and doesn't look at Jesus at all - can't quite bear to, at the moment. Jesus looks after him, knowing exactly what's going on... and that's when he starts in on The end is just a little harder when brought about by friends.

Jesus has a drink of the wine, which I like a lot. This definitely is a drinking sort of moment. I like the idea of him being a little inebriated in this scene.

For all you care, this wine could be my blood. For all you care, this bread could be my body. The end... This is my blood you drink, this is my body you eat. Judas reflexively rolls his eyes again - Jesus off on one of these weird sorts of rants yet again. (As with so much, I love that Jesus Christ Superstar takes this bit of the Bible and lets it just be a weird thing to say, recontextualizes it as an empty, halfhearted statement that he doesn't feel like his followers even care hours before his impending arrest, instead of treating it as something profound and meaningful. Again and again, Jesus is portrayed less as a noble profound religious figure and more as just a person haunted by mounting dread and anxiety, and I love it so much.)

Jesus sort of tries to make this into a nice, comforting thing, to ask them to remember him when they eat and drink - but it doesn't work. It's happening tonight, and here they all are, these people, his supposed followers, who don't understand a thing he's said, ever, and Jesus just breaks. I must be mad, thinking I'll be remembered! Yes, I must be out of my head! Look at your blank faces! My name will mean nothing ten minutes after I'm dead! (Judas looks up vaguely, kind of concerned - Jesus, this is further than he usually goes.) One of you denies me, one of you betrays me! And that's when Judas really looks up. Jesus knows.

There's a pause, a commotion, and Jesus is going to just retreat and leave it at that - but no, then he keeps going. He calls out Peter specifically for being about to deny him three times, shoving him, and then yells about how one of my twelve chosen will leave to betray me! At which Judas finally stands up. Cut out the dramatics! You know very well who! It's obvious that somehow Jesus found out. (Maybe Judas thinks the guitarist might have told on him.)

Judas's surprised You want me to do it? when Jesus tells him to go do it delights me. Judas, I thought you knew that Jesus totally wanted you to do this. It's almost like you didn't really know that at all and just convinced yourself of that to feel better about it. (Obviously, though, Jesus clearly doesn't actually want it so much, does he, the way he's shouting.)

Judas tries to explain himself but Jesus doesn't care - he doesn’t want to hear about why one of his most trusted friends wants to betray him to the authorities, not when this has to happen and he can’t prevent it. Judas is really nervous and defensive and hurt by his hostility, declares he hates Jesus now. (You liar, you Judas! Jesus says, which is kind of hilarious and also - yeah, he's a liar, he doesn't hate Jesus at all.) You wanted me to do it? What if I just stayed here and ruined your ambition? Christ, you deserve it! Judas still kind of wants to just stay and cancel the whole thing, even if it's simply justified as petulant spite. But Jesus tells him to just go already; he just wants to get this over with, as quickly as possible, because it hurts.

Judas is near tears as he turns away to get his things. The apostles have no idea what's going on, singing, some of them trying to see if Judas is okay, which suggests they have no idea what they were even talking about - whatever this 'betrayal' is supposed to be, it doesn’t cross their minds that Judas is about to get Jesus arrested.

Judas trudges up the steps, batting them away, still on the verge of tears - only then he stops, his face changing. And he throws down his backpack and turns for one final confrontation with Jesus. You sad, pathetic man! Look what you've brought us to! Our ideals die around us, and all because of you! This is still about their ideals for him, after all. And yet, saddest of all, someone had to turn Jesus in - like a common criminal, he first says, but then, like a wounded animal, someone helpless to help themselves, who needs to be pitied and put out of their misery. Jesus could have done something. Jesus could have put a stop to this. Why does he have to do it? (Why does he have to do it?)

Every time I look at you, I don't understand why you let the things you did get so out of hand. You'd have managed better if you'd had it planned. Why? Jesus does have a plan, of sorts, of course - it's just that this is all part of it. Judas doesn't believe Jesus is actually the Son of God, or that he could possibly have a "plan" that involves dying for some grand cosmic cause. As far as he can tell Jesus's actions are just bizarre and pathetic and self-defeating, and he's been saddled with the unfortunate, dirty job of saving Jesus from himself.

(Judas presumably still doesn't realize that the Pharisees plan to literally have him killed. I doubt he'd be doing this, or at least not in this way, if he knew.)

In the wake of this final confrontation, Mary hugs Peter, who Jesus just shoved and accused of denying him. She considers going to Jesus too, but Peter convinces her they'd probably best leave it alone. Peter himself seems to be considering going to Jesus, but then doesn't. Everyone dejectedly goes to sleep. Jesus is alone for tonight, his apostles alienated, his right-hand man gone as Jesus must wait for him to return with soldiers and set the dreaded end in motion. This must be the loneliest, most awful night of his life.

Jesus rubs his hand hard against a stair as the apostles are finishing their song - an agitated fidget that I am far more fond of than I should be. As he realizes they've all gone to sleep, he grips it instead, something to hold on to. Will no one stay awake with me? Peter, John, James? He just sounds broken and like he's about to cry. Which is good. He sings all of Gethsemane sounding like he's on the verge of tears and that's exactly how it should sound, do not at me.

(Please bear with me as I go on about this Gethsemane because it's my favorite one ever at this point, haters to the left)

See, when I first saw this production (I saw the official recording once before I realized it was still on and I could see it live), I didn't really like Ben Forster's Jesus for the first half! He seemed sort of over-the-top and I wasn't the biggest fan of his voice and all in all I was ehhh on him. But then he did "Gethsemane" and I just felt it to my core in a way I'd never felt it before, and it floored me. I've watched and listened to a lot of versions of this song. There are better singers who make it more pleasant to listen to - but they tend to be very dignified and Jesus-y about it, like this poised religious figure just having a brief moment of vulnerability and emotionality. Even the performances specifically praised for being emotional tend to be the ones that just make it really angry. And I've seen a lot of great ones of both varieties! But Ben Forster just makes it so raw and human. Like this terrified, exhausted, desperate human being who's spent the entire preceding hour of this play dreading this thing that's coming, his resolve finally faltering in this moment of agonizing solitude as his doubts and fears and frustrations finally come pouring out, how much he wants to call the whole thing off, begging to either not have to do this or at least be properly convinced why he should. It's what made me properly start to look at Jesus's character progression during this story in the first place and notice all the buildup about his fragile mental state that's always been there in the lyrics. This is the “Gethsemane” that made me really, truly care about Jesus.

he's rubbing the stair again at the beginning of the song, I'm sorry I love fidgets and nervous gestures you guys

I've never heard anyone emphasize three years the way Ben Forster does, and the desperation of it hits me in the heart. Weren't these three years enough?

Let's talk about You're far too keen on where and how, and not so hot on why, which is pretty key to this show’s interpretation of Jesus. He and the Almighty are definitively not the same entity here; Jesus knows or believes he knows a lot of things about how this is all going to play out, and even some of the future beyond that (in "Poor Jerusalem"), but he doesn't actually understand what his death is supposed to accomplish. He knows that he's going to be crucified and it's going to happen because Judas betrays him and so on and so on, and that this is all supposedly very important, and Jesus has been willing to accept that without question, but really he doesn't know the whys here and never has, and as much as he's just never questioned it anyway because of his absolute conviction that this is God’s plan, he can't not do so now, when he's going to have to suffer an agonizing death in the service of these inscrutable goals, not sometime in the vague far future but soon.

(Technically, for all we know, Jesus isn’t the Son of God. God doesn’t answer him; the song is a monologue. Jesus has suspiciously specific knowledge of the future but that’s about it as far as actual concrete evidence of his divinity goes in this show. But what matters is that he believes this is what God wills.)

His initial All right. I'll die. Just watch me die! is so spiteful, only for the following lines to just turn into this anguished scream, and it kills me

I love the way he collapses on the stairs, and just finally breaks down and starts crying, and there's that agitated rubbing of the stair again

The second three years is just exhausted and my heart still breaks for it. These have been a hard three years. Seems like ninety.

Why then am I scared to finish is probably my favorite line in this. He just sounds so broken and desperate and actually scared, and his body language is so tense and agitated and desperate; he's so angry at himself for being scared when this has been the plan all along and for some reason now he just can’t seem to go through with it.

And then he has that realization. What I started? ...What you started. I didn't start it! This isn't his plan. He's just a cog in God's machinery. It's a fixed, unavoidable fate, isn't it? And he finds a kind of desperate acceptance in just thinking of it that way - at least for a moment (before I change my mind!). But it's a spiteful acceptance. He's addressing God now. I will drink your cup of poison, nail me to your cross and break me, bleed me, beat me, kill me, take me now! Because it's you who are doing this. It's your cross, you who are killing me. Note the contrast to earlier: Let them hate me, hit me, hurt me, nail me to their tree. It's not actually the people who are responsible for any of this, even if they’ll technically be the ones to do the deed; it's God's plan, his cross, his crucifixion.

I love how he looks so tense standing there afterwards while the audience is applauding, because he's not actually waiting for applause, he's waiting for the soldiers to arrest him and set him on the path to his execution. Arms spread at first, in a come at me sort of way, but then he just clenches his fists at his sides, eyes closed, still waiting.

There he is. They're all asleep, the fools. Implying Judas wouldn't have just gone to sleep, if he'd been left there. AU where Jesus has literally anyone to comfort him, instead of standing there alone desperately pleading to God to not have him killed. Hnngh.

The kiss is just as it is in the Bible, of course. But there, it's presented as a sort of extra nasty element of this betrayal, that he'd be betrayed with a kiss. Here, it's more like Judas just wants to say goodbye, one last time, and does it in this kind of tender way.

And... Jesus breaks down crying, clings to him, pulls him into a hug. Because of course he does. The reminder that Judas still cares, memories of everything they've been through together, and the knowledge this is probably his last chance at some kind of comforting human contact? Of course he does. He just wants to not be alone, for a few seconds, before the end.

At first Judas just sort of lets him do it, but by the time the soldiers come along to separate them, Judas is clinging to Jesus, too. Ohh, my heart.

The apostles wake up at the commotion and are immediately on their feet to fight off the soldiers. There is not a man among you who knows or cares if I come or go, Jesus said, a few days ago; now here they are, worrying for him, wanting to save him. But he has to stop them. He mustn't be saved, and they'd only get themselves hurt. Put away your sword - don't you see that it's all over? It was nice but now it's gone. That exhausted resignation.

Why are you obsessed with fighting? Stick to fishing from now on. He doesn't sound angry here - it's just kind of a gentle rebuke. He's touched that they tried. I like that he plays it that way; it'd be legit to make it angry, but in the context of how Jesus has spent a lot of time feeling like they don't really care at all and in this moment it finally becomes clearer to him that they do - not to mention that this is basically his final goodbye to them - it makes sense to let it be kind of tender.

From this point on, Jesus has to just quietly accept his fate. He's very silent, barely says anything - because now things just have to play out how they play out, and nothing he says will change anything, nor should change anything.

The reporters asking questions here (to the melody of "The Temple") are one of the relatively few major anachronisms baked into the actual lyrics as opposed to any particular production. They're not really reporters; it's kind of a representation of some of his previous followers watching this as a kind of spectacle, expecting him to make a dramatic escape or fight back, excited by what's happening (you'll just DIE in the high priest's house!), rather than sympathizing or caring. These are the people who are going to ultimately turn against him as a mob and pressure Pilate into crucifying him.

Caiaphas asks if Jesus is the Son of God. Jesus says That's what you say, yet another line based directly on the Bible. Growing up I always just found that kind of a silly thing for him to say - why won't he just stick to his story instead of suddenly acting like he never said such a thing? But it makes real sense here. Again, Jesus is resigned to his fate, to passively letting this happen. He's not going to deny it or try to get out of it, because he can't and mustn't. But he has no desire to speak up about how the rocks and stones will sing for him right now, or actively provoke them and give them more reasons to persecute him. He's just going to stand here and let things happen until it's over.

(also, he probably doesn't really feel so much like the Son of God right now)

Judas, thank you for the victim! Stay a while and you'll see him bleed! In this production, Caiaphas and Annas both say the last sentence together, but originally it's just Annas, which has always led me to feel that where Caiaphas is pure cold pragmatism and just believes this is what needs to be done for the sake of the nation, Annas is bit of a twisted son of a bitch. He's obviously intentionally twisting the knife here, because he thinks Judas's conflictedness about the whole thing is a bit pathetic and hilarious and likes to see him squirm.

(let me complain again about the editor not letting us see Judas's reaction to this line)

Peter's reluctance to throw his phone on the fire is a mood

also him threatening the homeless people with a broken bottle when they keep pressing him on whether he was with Jesus, before Mary takes it off him, is something I enjoy

Pilate and Christ probably takes place at Pilate’s gym in this staging to show Pilate hasn’t even made time for Jesus in an official capacity - he’s just being unexpectedly brought before him in his off time, hence why he’s particularly dismissive here.

Jesus barely looks at Pilate. Another dispassionate That's what you say.

How can someone in your state be so cool about his fate? An amazing thing, this silent king. Of course, Pilate doesn't understand any more than anyone else that Jesus being crucified is the plan. Again, Jesus is just letting this play out.

He does look up when Pilate declares he should go to Herod instead, though. It must be torture for him having this drawn out further. Poor Jesus, having to suffer through a comic relief number when he just wants to get this over with.

Jesus does look at Herod as he's making all these offers of letting him free if he'll just perform a miracle. It's got to be a tempting thought despite everything. But no, he must still sit there and let it happen.

"These results are for entertainment purposes only and do not reflect any real votes. The outcome is predetermined by the character of King Herod who clearly is going to find Jesus guilty of being a fraud otherwise it would be a very short Act 2." Going all the way with that fourth-wall-breaking.

the bit where they put the hood over Jesus's head sure hits some specific button I didn't realize I had

Judas there with his head buried in his hands in the background towards the end of "Could We Start Again Please" ohhhh

I feel like the usual implication with the abrupt opening of "Judas's Death" is that Judas has just been seeing Jesus being beaten, whereas here he's explicitly sitting there with the apostles contemplating what he's done and just gets up and freaks out when Caiaphas and Annas happen to walk by. I like him punching Caiaphas, but the way he just goes from zero to sixty there does feel a little weird. I don't care, though, Judas in the background during "Could We Start Again Please" is worth it.

For all that Judas is mortified by the way Jesus is being made an example of, he can also see the way his name will forever be associated with treachery, and none of his good intentions meant anything at all in the end. He’s wracked with guilt at what he’s done, but additionally all he can see in the future is being vilified and reviled, blamed for Jesus’s murder.

Ugh Annas kicking Judas while he's down he's such a bastard

Tim Minchin goes so all out on making "Judas's Death" just ugly anguished screaming and crying and I am so here for it.

Judas has never believed in the divinity of Jesus, but Jesus has some strange, intense, frightening quality that both Judas and Mary can feel, and just before his final breakdown, although Judas is telling himself that He's a man - he's just a man!, he seems to be starting to feel that that's not quite true: he starts to wonder if Jesus will leave him be after his death, and then right after the "I Don't Know How to Love Him" reprise is where his mental state takes a turn as he realizes God is behind all this, that perhaps the whole thing was planned.

The projecting images of Jesus' torment up onto the background screen as Judas is despairing is also very good - Jesus hasn't even been sentenced yet but he knows where this is headed and he sure is imagining it and feeling responsible for it.

Judas, like Jesus, concludes here that it's God who orchestrated all this and he never got a choice. In his case, though, it's serving as a way of running from his guilt. We got to hear all about his reasons for thinking this was the right thing to do, after all - it's not as if he was literally controlled into anything. He didn't realize he was dooming Jesus to a horrible death at the time, but he still did it of his own free will. And it isn't a real comfort - all it means is that in his final anguished moments he has someone to scream his despair at. You have murdered me!

(hang me from your tree)

the particular scream and sob that he does as he kicks the box out from under him hits my buttons very hard hhhh

Poor old Judas, so long, Judas, goes the Plan chorus. There's a pretty callous quality to that, appropriately enough for a very callous Plan involving a lot of suffering.

Please give my compliments to the sound designer who makes a point of turning on Jesus' microphone so we can hear his strained breathing before "Trial Before Pilate" begins

Jesus's resolve to say nothing of substance is breaking by this point, and he actually answers Pilate's "Where is your kingdom?" I have got no kingdom in this world, I'm through, through, through - there may be a kingdom for me somewhere, if I only knew. It's probably pretty hard to feel like he's headed for a triumphant resurrection right now, and the fact he's spilling those doubts to Pilate in a moment of frustrated honesty is pretty tragic.

(Some versions, including the 1973 movie, change this lyric to if you only knew. No! Bad! The whole point here is Jesus doubting it! If you want to change it you should not be putting on this show!)

Then he's a king? It’s what you say I am! I look for truth and find that I get damned! This frustration coming out here is so good.

Pilate's frustration is very good too - just dripping off every line. This mob of people insisting he sentence this harmless fool to death (one who reminds him uncomfortably of this dream that he had the other day), crowing about Caesar all of a sudden like they're oh so very concerned with protecting Caesar's authority.

As Jesus once again refuses to talk, there’s a brief mournful instrumental interlude before Look at your Jesus Christ - this is a slowed-down version of a bit of “Prescience”, the motif from “Pilate’s Dream”. He remembers that unsettling dream, consciously or unconsciously, and feels sympathy and pity for this strange man before him. After that is when he begins to argue that Jesus hasn’t committed any crime and there’s no reason to kill him.

can we appreciate that Webber and Rice went and made a song called "The 39 Lashes" that's literally just Pilate counting excruciatingly to 39 while Jesus screams in pain

can we also appreciate Jesus writhing on the floor after rolling down the stairs, Ben Forster really goes for it in acting out all this pain and torture and I love him for it

Why do you not speak when I have your life in my hands? asks Pilate, and Jesus just about musters the energy to say, You have nothing in your hands. Any power you have comes to you from far beyond - everything is fixed and you can't change it! He's kind of desperate to make Pilate understand this. Pilate keeps on trying to get Jesus to say something that'll let him release him, but that can't happen, because this must be so. Pilate needs to just play his part and get it over with, please get it over with.

And so, Pilate has to appease the mob and let him die, even though he doesn't want to at all, and tries to wash his hands of it. Much like in his dream, though, he'll in fact be remembered as the guy who sentenced Jesus to death. Clearly didn't wash your hands well enough, Pilate

It's such a delightfully bold creative decision to place an upbeat number like "Superstar" right here as Jesus is about to be crucified.

It's fascinating to see the differences in how this song in particular is staged; it's so abstract and disconnected that different directors really go nuts with it. Some productions, including the 2000 movie, imply Judas has come out of Hell to taunt him; the movie in particular makes a point of having Judas lazily, cruelly stand on the cross while Jesus is trying to carry it, grinning at his agony, surrounded by scantily clad demon women, though he has a moment of doubt and guilt as Jesus stares at him. (That movie generally posits Judas as not in control of his actions at all - so God is apparently basically just making him do this as part of his torture in Hell, which is delightfully twisted.) Others (including this one and the 1973 movie) have him among angels, as if he's descended from Heaven. In the 1973 movie Carl Anderson seems largely to just be singing it to himself - it cuts to Jesus carrying the cross a few times, but Judas isn't there.

Here, "Superstar" feels a bit like a delirious hallucination Jesus is experiencing. Judas descends on the stage lights that are about to form the cross (what an entrance) and performs the song surrounded by angels while Jesus is being affixed to the cross; they look at each other, but Judas doesn't really interact with him. There's definitely no taunting; Tim Minchin plays it in a very good-natured way, not even the kind of angry questioning of Carl Anderson in the 1973 movie. Effectively, despite the hallucinatory vibes, the way it comes across to me is Judas really is actually there in spirit, from a timeless afterlife, having had an eternity to think and come to terms with and understand what Jesus was doing - and finally just asking him some questions, without judgement. Is he what they say he is? What does he think about Buddha and Mohammed? Why didn't he choose a different time period where it would've been easier to spread his message? Did he know his death would inspire millions? It's all a sort of musing, fourth-wall-leaning modern perspective, not hostile, just curious.

Also this version just makes me happy because Judas seems happy and mentally at peace in the afterlife and who doesn't want that

Anyway, from that to Jesus crying on the cross. And I mean crying. Once again Ben Forster delivers the human suffering element of this story. "The Crucifixion" is a weird, weird song, chaotic and noisy and kind of offputting and tends to feel sort of inappropriate for the mood; in this production you don't even notice because the staging is so brutal. There's no cool symbolic dignity to this; Jesus is just crying and screaming and sobbing the whole time, yelling the disconnected final-words lines in an agonized, delirious haze. You actually believe you're watching a man dying in agony, God damn. It hurts and I love it.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? is the most gutwrenching line, of course. (And straight out of the Bible, lest we forget - I think it’s fascinating that in the likely oldest gospel of Mark as well as Matthew, this horrible, heartwrenching, human cry is all he says on the cross, while the gospels of John and Luke instead each feature their own disjoint sets of more profound-sounding sayings. It’s hard not to wonder if the other lines might be inventions by those gospels’ human authors or their sources, people who perhaps just didn’t want Jesus’s final words to be something so achingly desperate and vulnerable.) He's done all this to carry out God's great plan, and yet in this moment, in the middle of this nightmare of slow, unending agony, he feels certain that God has abandoned him and he's just dying, alone, pointlessly, for nothing. Ow, my empathetic heart.

You can hear him feeling death approaching at last and the relief he feels at that realization just before It is finished and Father, into your hands I commend my spirit

(it's easier to believe again when his suffering is finally, mercifully about to end)

Ben Forster also does a very good job not visibly breathing when he's playing a corpse. On this blog we appreciate the little things.

I've always found it pretty neat and interesting that Jesus Christ Superstar does not include the resurrection or any allusion to it at all; he just dies on the cross, they mourn and carry him away, and the show ends. Again, the only thing in this show that’s at all supernatural is that Jesus seems to know the future, and even that is fairly ambiguous. It's a story about human suffering, and it's a hugely compelling story without him rising from the dead at the end, which'd just kind of cheapen it. You can imagine that he did, but this ending invites you to contemplate that this story is just as meaningful if he did not.

In conclusion, Jesus Christ Superstar is one of my absolute favorite things and the 2012 arena tour is my baby

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

#jesus christ superstar #ramble #review #character analysis #my buttons #holy jesus this is long #8500 words of JCS rambling #which is almost as much as I wrote about episode four of Breaking Bad

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bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

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The multiverse trip trope, with the canon Batfam ending up in a No Capes AU, where their counterparts, being equally hyper-competent but having no secret identities to hide or vigilantism as the primary focus for channeling their energies into....are equally ridiculous to all vigilante versions of the Batfam, but in vastly different ways.

With no need to hide his athletic abilities or to try and distance himself from immediate association with his past acrobatics, Dick focuses his time and efforts on gymnastics after Bruce takes him in. He’s an Olympic gold medalist before he’s twenty, hailed for practically reinventing the nature of high-bar routines thanks to his innovative ways of melding elements of his former acrobatics with his gymnastics regimens.

Because of his many medals and natural charisma, he’s also a highly sought after brand face, asked to endorse or act as a spokesmodel for all kinds of things. He takes a particular savage joy in having his revenge on society as a whole, for the grief they gave him growing up, between the jokes about his circus background and ‘garish’ ensembles he patterns after his old costumes. Each year, he himself quietly seeks out talented designers who because of their backgrounds and the elitism of the high fashion world, are only able to advance so far in that industry.

Acting as a silent investor for them with the funds from his endorsement deals, he charms his way through backroom deals and opens the necessary doors to get his designers into the high profile fashion shows that can make designers’ careers, allowing them the much needed opportunities to showcase their designs and get them out into the world and in front of potential buyers.

But in addition to their own designs, Dick then commissions the designers he patrons, to design for him the most absurd things they can come up with. The kind of high fashion wtf’s that Ugly Betty’s wardrobe department could only dream of making, and then making into a punchline. Design for me an outfit you wouldn’t even inflict on your most hated enemy, Dick says to them.

And each year they do, and Dick models those looks personally. Then he sits back with his siblings and cackles with malevolent glee as the snobby ‘it crowds’ of his generation later turn out in droves to purchase his ‘signature looks.’ Strutting around town in imitation of the poise and charisma he pulls off effortlessly - but those, no amount of money can buy, and given they’re the only reason Dick Grayson alone can get away with wearing this stuff and still look as good as he does when doing so - well, the socialite circles inevitably end up looking utterly ridiculous. The harder they try and sell it with artificial confidence that Page Six and talk show hosts see right through, the more they get shredded to pieces with scathing jokes and headlines that put anything they ever managed to come up with to shame.

Meanwhile, the revenue from their frenzied purchases of these ‘must-have’ looks of the season? More than enough to launch the careers of Dick’s designers, right up to the A-List, where Dick leaves them to do what they want and make the most of it, with his eternal gratitude for humoring him and his rich kid eccentricities. (Not that his designers haven’t all since long figured out the joke and gotten vindication of their own out of it, as the designers and buyers who tried previously to shut them out because of their humble backgrounds, now all rush to try and rip off their more out there and high profile ‘Dick Grayson Looks’ with their own versions, over-saturating that particular market demographic just as people start catching on that these designs were always doomed to fizzle without Dick wearing them himself......leaving Dick’s designers with an open, uncluttered path right to the demographics they actually want to sell to, with the designs nobody’s attempted to imitate yet because they were too busy keeping eyes glued to Dick’s peacock ensembles).

Bruce has long since given up expecting he’ll ever understand his various children without them making an effort to translate first.....so the first time he walks in on Dick, Jason and Duke watching E! with a focus they’ve never displayed for sports, and with the coffee table covered in so many papers and flow charts and graphs, the den looks more like a War Room rather than just three of his boys watching Entertainment Tonight with frightening intensity.

Bruce just waits in the doorway for them to notice him and arches one eyebrow when they do. Oh, there’s a point to all of this, he’s sure. But damned if he can figure out on his own just what the hell it might be.

His eldest just beams at him with his thousand watt smile.

“Love me or hate me, they all want to be me,” Dick sing-songs. Then he shrugs innocently, as though that explains it all.

It doesn’t, Bruce is fairly certain.

“Why?” He asks somewhat plaintively, after his struggle to select one of the many, many questions buzzing in his head glitches on that one syllable and refuses to budge until he at least voices that much.

“We’ve been over this, B. Its part of our Twenty Seven Step Plan to Destroy the Upper Class,” Jason says impatiently, still jotting notes in pen on one of the graphs, eyes still locked on the TV. “God, its like you never listen, I fucking swear.”

“That running joke you two had when you were in high school?” Bruce asks blankly, focusing on his two eldest. Duke is paying absolutely no attention to him any way, leaning over to cross something out on the same graph Jason’s working on, scrawling some kind of correction while Jason nods like that makes total sense in whatever bizarre arithmetic they’re all working off of.

Dick sighs in the fond manner of a parent whose child has just done something particularly endearing. “You gotta admit, its kinda cute he still thinks we’re joking when we talk about class warfare.”

“Eh,” Jason grunts noncommittally. “Benjamin Button he is not.”

“If you boys don’t mind, could you do me a favor and make sure to clarify when you’re making fun of me? I have trouble spotting the insults otherwise,” Bruce says dryly.

“But that’s what makes it fun!” Duke says, beaming with his own version of Dick’s thousand watt grin. Equal in intensity, but where Dick’s tends to burst into being all at once like a supernova, Duke’s tends to sneak up on you, slowly increasing the illumination until you realize you’re blinking spots out of your vision and it hits you that you haven’t been able to see anything but blinding luminescence for awhile now, and you don’t even know for sure how long.

“Well how about just this once, you boys take pity on me and cut your old man a break,” Bruce says, still in tones as parched as Saharan dunes. “Explain what I’m looking at here as though I’m five.”

“Christ, B, you’re not freaking geriatric,” Jason mutters. “You’re only in your forties, its way too soon for you to try and milk the senility angle.”

“We’re documenting record of public reactions to the latest fashion crimes of Gotham’s A-List,” Dick cuts off Jason, taking the aforementioned pity on his father as he provides an explanation that is in no way helpful.

Bruce squints at the screen. “But aren’t those the same outfits you wore during your Fashion Week thing last month?”

“Well yeah, but on me they look good,” Dick shrugs.

“Don’t gloat,” Jason says to his brother. “It’s tacky.”

“Facts are facts,” Dick says without a hint of apology. “Lying in the name of false modesty would be the true dishonesty.”

“Incredible. You even manage to put a pious-sounding spin on being an egotistical shit,” Jason marvels. “How do you do that?”

Dick shrugs again. “It’s a gift.”

Bruce clears his throat. “And what’s all this documentation for, anyway?”

“Dick’s book,” Duke says matter of factly. Bruce would be flattered by his children’s apparent belief he can intuitively leap from one esoteric comment straight to an epiphany like some kind of goddamn gazelle - if he weren’t still so lost.

“Dick has a book? Since when? I thought Jason was the writer in this family,” Bruce frowns. “And I’m quite certain there was a big to-do made when you were all much younger, where it was decided that each of you would focus yourself on distinct pursuits not overlapping with any other siblings’, so as not to kill each other in your inevitable quest to be number one.”

“Well first off, Dad, if you couldn’t handle a little competition between your children, you shouldn’t have adopted competitive children,” Dick lectures absently, still scribbling away at those damn pages.

“Its not like you all came labeled with future character traits,” Bruce says crankily. They ignore him.

“And secondly, upon discovering that the agreement we all signed was the end product of carefully dropped hints aimed at making us believe we all came to the table of our own volition, when in fact, they were merely the machinations of the mastermind known as our meddling father,” Jason intoned, finally looking up at Bruce to raise one eyebrow at him significantly, “the Treaty of Wayne Manor’s South Family Room circa 2012, was thus deemed by all signatories to be fruit of the poisonous tree, and subsequently rendered null and void.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “How did you figure that out? And why are you suddenly talking like a Bond villain?”

“Well it was mostly more of a theory until just now,” Dick beams at him. Dammit. You’d think he’d know better than to walk right into things like that by now. “But Tim had a hunch pretty much from the start, except then we all ended up branching out towards different interests anyway so it didn’t seem to matter that much, and we figured why not let you keep thinking you got a win there, you know?”

“I have the most thoughtful children.”

“We do try,” Jason hums.

“We try,” Duke snorts. “You add snarky commentary.”

“That was implied.”

Duke rolls his eyes and rolls right past that. “And Jason’s talking like that because he’s got that book tour coming up in a couple weeks, and he’s test driving new Eccentric Author Aesthetics.”

“Gotta give the people what they want,” Jason shrugs. “My fanbase expects the precociously grumpy darling of the New York literary circuit to be baffling and unpredictable, I give them baffling and unpredictable.”

“And here I thought you’d said you hated your fanbase. And rather then giving them anything, last I heard you were claiming to be withholding your sophomore manuscript just to spite them,” Bruce says. His voice is still lost and wandering in the desert, not a hint of precipitation to be found. “In fact, I distinctly recall wanting to take you out to celebrate the rave reviews of your debut novel, the week of its release. Only you were busy having a diatribe about how ridiculous the reviews were and how nobody had any business calling the barely coherent linguistic finger paintings of an emotionally stunted twenty-one year old the ‘next great American novel’ and it called the entire slate of reviews’ credibility into question as any brains capable of producing thoughts that erroneous should be required to display a count of their individual brain cells before anyone even considers viewing any thought produced by them as potentially being credible.”

“And you thought he never listens,” Duke snickers at his older brother. “Sounds like a direct quote to me.”

Jason just shrugs again, not remotely moved. “Yeah but I hate everything, so its not like that really means anything. Also, I’m full of shit. I thought everyone knew that.”

“He’s not subtle,” Dick informs Bruce.

“Subtlety’s for losers,” Jason defends himself. “Like tact.”

Bruce clears his throat again. “Back to the matter of Dick’s book?”

“Oh, right!” Dick chirps. “I have a book. Well, will have. This is research for it.”

“So you are taking up writing after all?”

“Hah!” Jason barks out loudly. “Dick can’t write for shit. He can’t even write a thank you card, forget about a whole fucking novel.”

“Umm, I can write, I merely choose not to,” Dick sniffs pointedly. Then he rolls his eyes in disgust. “And Jesus Christ, chill, Prince Passive Aggressive. I can’t believe you’re still making such a big deal about that. Let it go already.”

He and Jason both shoot quick looks over at Duke about two seconds after Dick’s last sentence. Duke looks up just in time to catch their glances darting away again.

“Hang on, why did you both look at me, like you thought I was about to start singing that stupid song from Frozen?” Duke frowns at them suspiciously. “You guys do know that I’m not Stephanie, right?”

“Yeah but you have been hanging around her an awful lot lately, and she’s contagious,” Jason points out. Duke’s frown deepens for a moment, but then it wings out of sight and he shrugs, perfectly at ease again.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Anyway, its Dick’s tell-all book on Gotham high society,” Jason continues on. “I’ll be the one actually writing it of course. He’s just the pretty face getting slapped on the cover, but I mean, that’s the only reason people are gonna wanna buy it, so I’ll probably just phone it in anyway.”

Bruce focuses on the only part of that reveal he can handle at the moment. “Jay, you’re not remotely capable of ever phoning something in.”

“How dare you accuse me of having a work ethic. Rude and disrespectful. My reputation isn’t built to withstand that kind of slander.”

“And feel free to mock all you want, but my pretty face on that cover is what’s going to earn me my first SCPF,” Dick announces loftily.

Duke looks up. Opens his mouth. Shakes his head. Closes it. Looks back down. Sighs. Looks back up again.

“Not that I don’t know better than to ask, but what the hell is an SCPF?”

“My version of an EGOT that I just made up while Jay was being offended by a compliment to his work ethic. Spokesmodel, cover model, print model, fashion model. The four cornerstones of the modeling world, which I will then have conquered, leaving me free to move on to other endeavors.”

Jason studies his older brother gravely. Then he shakes his head.

“Even as a complete and utter joke, that combination of words disgusts me. You make me physically nauseous sometimes, you know.”

“Another gift of mine, I suppose. I have so many,” Dick muses, leaning back and examining something on the chart he was scribbling on, as if trying to take in another angle for some no doubt ridiculous reason. Why were his children like this.

“Before this migraine finishes settling in and pitches its tent for the night, anyone care to tell me just what exactly this tell-all will be telling?” Bruce sighs. It was never too early to start damage control when this particular combination of his kids were conspiring together.

“Oh, everything,” Dick says breezily. “Who had affairs, who embezzled from their companies, who bribed or blackmailed or bought off this or that. All kinds of juicy sordid stuff, real page turner stuff, you know? You’d think important people would do a better job of keeping high stake secrets all hush hush instead of dropping them all willy nilly at various galas over the years, but c’est la vie.”

“Its almost like there are potential hazards to condescendingly assuming the uneducated circus brat someone adopted as an obvious PR stunt, like, just can’t understand a lick of what people say around him, what with his thick foreign accent obviously conveying he just don’t know English words so good nope, nope, nopers,” Dick concludes merrily, a familiar sparkle in his eye. One that usually heralded social cataclysms to come.

“And so you’ve taken it upon yourself to warn the public of those potential hazards. Good for you, son,” Bruce says sardonically. Despite his best efforts, the corners of his lips keep tugging stubbornly upwards.

“Just trying my best to give back to the community that’s given me so much,” Dick shrugs in the closest approximation to an ‘aw shucks’ vibe that Bruce has ever seen his son manage in as long as he’s known him. Jason reaches over and smacks the back of Dick’s head.

“Hey!” The elder brother snaps back, rubbing the back of his head with wounded dignity. He glares at his smirking brother.

“My bad. I thought you were against false modesty. Just trying to help keep you honest, bro.”

Dick narrows his eyes at him. “Touche,” is all he says.

“Last question before I give up and admit defeat,” Bruce interjects before that escalates. As tends to happen in moments like the previous. With no limit to how long or how far that escalation might last. By his count, his two eldest boys were somehow still engaged in four entirely different extended, longterm feuds they seemed somehow able to treat as separate and distinct from each other, with one of those stretching all the way back a good ten years, and still no end in sight as far as anyone knew.

How did they determine what fights would end in minutes and which warranted stretching out over a course of years? Bruce really couldn’t say. How did they manage to stop and start the same argument off and on for all that time, without letting the last-addressed state of the argument affect how they interacted when their fight was back on ‘pause’? No idea. How did they seem able to treat each different matter they fought about as its own distinct entity that had no bearing on anything outside that particular argument, with no overlap or cross-pollination as far as anyone else had ever been witness to, and why did they even bother doing so in the first place? God, Bruce dearly wishes he knew.

Unfortunately, for all that his entire horde of children often at times seem to exist on a wholly separate and private plane unreachable by the rest of humanity, Bruce’s first two children to fill the halls of Wayne Manor with laughs, screeches and occasional declarations of war and an intent to maim, dismember and murder -

Well. They at times seemed to possess a language and extra senses unique just to them, and baffling to the entire rest of the world and their own siblings as well.

Oh well. At least Bruce could take some small comfort in Duke’s occasional glance of wary confusion, thrown towards one or both of his brothers when they weren’t looking.

“Yo, this is Planet Earth, hailing one eternally out of touch bachelor billionaire way up in the atmosphere,” Jason sharply cuts into Bruce’s distraction with a snap of his fingers. “Are you trying to milk the senility thing again? We’ve been over this. You need at least another decade of mileage before we’ll validate your senior citizen card.”

“Right.” Bruce rolls his eyes at his son, but shakes his head to clear it nevertheless. Ah, yes. “Yes. Indulge me, please. What exactly does what you’re watching have to do with Dick’s....tell-all, and how does whatever all of this is count as research?”

“Oh, we’re just keeping record of public shaming of every snobby rich jackass to buy one of the fashion monstrosities Dick wears at Fashion Week, only to then look utterly ridiculous and absurd when they try and wear it in public and everyone points and laughs,” Duke chimes in.

“I see,” Bruce says, his lips twitching again. “And this of course all ties back into class warfare and...what was it again...oh yes, the Twenty Seven Step Plan To Destroy The Upper Class?”

“That’s right,” Duke nods.

“I even know what the title is going to be already,” Dick smiles with bared teeth. “I’m going with: ‘Weapons of Choice.’“

“Of course, as I keep explaining to him, nobody gets final say on the title of their book, and there’s every chance the publisher will end up changing the title to something they pick,” Jason says with a pointed look at his brother.

Dick’s willful obliviousness visibly deflects Jay’s arched gaze long before any point can hit and make an impact. “And as I keep explaining to him, if they try and change the title, I will simply explain to them that they are incorrect and it already has the perfect title and one can not improve upon perfection.”

Jason strangles a gutteral, incoherent growl before it can fully escape from his throat. “I want to throttle you.”

“I know,” Dick says sunnily.

“Well, as long as you’ve thought this through, which you clearly have, I have no doubt you’ll get the results you’re after,” Bruce says. Doubtfully. Though of what, he’s not entirely sure. His sanity, thinking that yes, half a dozen precocious, willful and utterly incomprehensible children, that’s the ticket, exactly what my life needs. Yes, that was probably the matter actually in doubt.

“Ugh, B, you’re not getting it,” Dick complains. He exchanges frustrated glances with his brothers. “He’s not getting it.”

“It’s not rocket science,” Jason says patiently. “Basic rule of street fighting....the most effective takedowns come from aiming at someone’s weakest point. Whenever possible, go for the throat. What’s the equivalent of the throat as far as Gotham’s upper class is considered? Public image.”

“Destroy their public image, destroy them,” Dick finishes cheerfully. “They crack, get egg on their face like the nursery rhyme says, and bam, Humpty Dumpty has a great fall and all the queen’s knights working as a team still can’t put them together again and while they’re distracted the pawns can slip past them and become queens!”

Jason stares at him. “I know what you’re doing and its not going to work.”

“What am I doing?”

“Deliberately mangling the fuck out of a bunch of different well known sayings that you know perfectly well how they really go, while doing that thing where you act like you’re the most airheaded ditz to ever live and have a brain that runs off of helium instead of oxygen like the rest of us. Because you know damn well how obnoxious that is to anyone who knows exactly how intelligent you really are and that you actually have a mind like a steel trap that remembers fucking everything, no matter how inane, which is fucking rude, because that’s wasted on you and also, stop it. I told you. Its not going to work.”

“Oh Jay.” Dick tilts his head to the side and grins wider. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Uh huh,” Jason says, unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing?”

“That thing where I trick you into believing I’m doing the more obvious seeming thing and then annoy you with my fake airhead routine until you end up flattering me and paying me compliments when pointing out why my airhead routine could never work on you and is thus just annoying,” Dick says brightly.

Jason’s eyebrows inch incrementally together with the slow, ominous scrape of stone grinding across stone. Dick is entirely undeterred, and simply shrugs again with a painfully fake display of innocence.

“Its dinner time and my ego needed feeding. Thanks for that bee tee dubs, it was getting hungry. Nom nom.”

“Yeah,” Jason says casually, after a good ten second pause. He nods decisively. “Okay, I’m going to murder you now.”

He lunges for his brother, but Dick’s resting pose is the equivalent of anyone else impatiently waiting at the starting block of a race. He’s up and on his feet, gracefully dancing out of range of his younger but bigger brother’s wider reach, and has darted halfway towards the other exit to the room by the time Jason finishes scrambling to his feet. Not that any of that delays the younger man from taking off in a dead sprint in pursuit of his laughing sprite of a brother the second he does.

Bruce stares after them for a moment and then shifts his gaze down to Duke, who’s still seated contentedly on the floor, blithely unaffected by Dick and Jason’s mad dash out the room as he continues scribbling down notes.

“I will pay you all the money I have, not to grow up to be like them,” Bruce says in the gravest possible tone he can manage. “You don’t even have to wait til I’m dead.”

Duke sighs and shakes his head. “B, c’mon, man. I’m clearly on Team Class Warfare. I’m insulted you think I can be bought.”

Bruce frowns. “You all are way, way too fond of this trolling thing you do.”

“Mmm. Agree to disagree.”

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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 4 years ago

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Commodore Norrington x Reader Fic! Chapter 2

Dearest Readers: If you are in Galveston or the coast of Louisiana, please make sure you are safe! Please, no one worry about me, I’m in Oklahoma, safe from Hurricane Laura. I know a lot about Galveston because I visit regularly, and it’s where my grandma was born and raised, and grandpa was stationed in the Coast Guard. A lot of my family history took place on the island!

Title: The Same Water

Genre: Romance, Supernatural

Rating: General Audiences thus far.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, drowning, and racism.

Summary: Commodore Norrington washes up on the shore and you must find out why.

Notes: I intentionally kept the main character ambiguous (but female) so readers can fill themselves in!

The next morning, Jericka and I visited the man. We sat mostly in silence. I barely registered the bustle of the hospital and the beeping of the machines he was connected to. I was still buzzing from yesterday. I was still in a bit of shock about what had happened and was trying to process it. He was on an IV drip of saline, a nasal cannula, and a heart monitor.

“Good morning, ladies!” Dr. Greg said, cheerfully, a chart in his hand. “So, I ran his blood sample, and it yielded interesting results. This man has no titers for anything we currently vaccinate for, but he has antibodies for smallpox. Thus, I can assume he was never vaccinated but survived smallpox.”

Jericka whispered in my ear, eagerly, “I’m telling you! He was a part of that mess my nana told me about! I bet he was the Admiral! What’s the more likely scenario here?”

“I dunno. Maybe he’s Amish or something,” I shrugged. I turned back to Dr. Greg, “What do you think it means?”

“Logically, I would say his parents didn’t believe in the efficacy of vaccinations.” He answered.

“Or they weren’t invented yet,” Jericka muttered.

The man started coughing. Dr. Greg rushed to his side.

“It’s okay, sir, we’re taking care of you. You’re at the University of Texas Medical Branch. My name is Dr. Greg. We’ve got you on supplemental oxygen and IV fluids.” He said in a calm voice as he checked the man’s vitals manually, even though the machines were monitoring him. “Can you tell us your name?” He asked.

“Norrington…James.” The man answered, and I was able to register an English accent. He opened his eyes, still confused.

“Good, do you know what day it is, James?”

“May…1729.”

The doctor chuckled, “No, not quite. Do you know who the president is?”

Norrington had slipped back into unconsciousness. Dr. Greg continued to check over him before saying, “He’s getting stronger. I expect him to be in and out today, but tomorrow is a new day.”

After Dr. Greg left, I scrambled to my phone.

“Google his name! Google! Google it!” Jericka ranted.

“I am, I am!” I said, typing the name.

I hit pay dirt. He had a Wikipedia article and dozens of other sources. “James Norrington was an officer of the British Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company. Bewigged and resplendent in his uniforms, Norrington owed his allegiance to King George II. Norrington took pride in his service to others before himself, showing a strong dedication to the law, until the occasions of pursuing the right course that demanded acts of piracy.” I read it aloud.

I continued scrolling with Jericka watching. I skimmed the article. It talked about his early life in London, the notable battles and commendations he earned. I scrolled back up to the biographical information bar. I had purposely ignored looking at the painting of Admiral James Norrington because I wasn’t ready to confirm if the man in the hospital bed was him or not until now.

I stood up and held my phone up to his face against the painting on the article. Jericka’s eyes widened, and my heart raced.

“It’s him,” I said.

“Am I in the colonies?” He asked, not opening his eyes. I must have jumped a foot back, not expecting him to reawaken so soon.

“Yeah, well, sort of,” I answered.

“The colonies declared independence in 1776. There are fifty more called the United States of America. It’s currently the year 2020.” Jericka explained.

“Do you understand what’s going on?” I asked gently.

“Indeed,” He answered and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes.

“You’ve must have seen some things if you’re taking this news so calmly,” Jericka said.

Norrington remained quiet, the far-off look of stoic contemplation on his face. Jericka and I gave him his space to sort it all out but stayed close to keep him company. Dr. Greg returned a little before lunch to check on him and was happy to see him awake. He pulled us aside into the hallway after a quick examination of Norrington’s reflexes and cognition.

“I am releasing him into your care tomorrow. If desired, of course. We’ll continue an investigation, maybe he’ll turn out to be a missing John Doe, but since no foul play is suspected, it’s not likely to go anywhere. Here’s some information about services that can help him.”

I took the information, “I’ll take him. I have an extra room.” I didn’t even look at them. I wasn’t about to let him get lost in the system and fall through the cracks. This was something extraordinary. I couldn’t bear for him to be treated like a freak show.

When the nurse came in with lunch, Jericka and I excused ourselves to the cafeteria.

“We’ve got to get him some clothes. He can’t run around in that hospital gown, and his uniform is at the police station being tested for fibers and whatnot.” I said, toying with an empty bottle of water.

“Dang. How do we dress a high-class guy from the 1700s?” Jericka asked, eating a bag of chips. “Whose closet do we raid? Our dad’s or our grandpa’s?”

“I dunno, but the Coast Guard Station over on Fort Point Road is looking pretty good. Think they’ll let us use their uniforms?” I joked.

“I’d think he’d miss the brocade and feathers,” Jericka said, popping a chip into her mouth.

I sighed, “Well, I’m heading over to Houston, maybe I can find something. Can you sit with him?”

“Yeah, of course.”

As I drove over the causeway that connected the Island of Galveston to the mainland, I thought about how I would explain things to Admiral Norrington. How would I explain a car? Electricity? I barely knew how such things worked. Maybe I needed to get him a book.

I had to guestimate his sizes; I didn’t want to embarrass him by outright asking him. I could tell he was very reserved, even for someone from his time. I went for conservative styles and patterns, quality, and modesty. Even men back then tended to cover up. I had to balance the Texas heat against it. I made sure to have a fair amount of navy blue, gold, and white.

I found several outfits that I knew he’d look good in and hoped he found comfortable. He was a very handsome man with aquiline features, short chestnut hair, and beautiful eyes. I suppose the powdered wig he wore in his portrait did not make it.

After procuring his clothes and other sundries, I zipped over to Barnes and Noble for a history book. I settled on a hefty book by the Smithsonian that spanned the dawn of humanity up until the present day; well, 2015.

On the way back over the causeway, I had to wonder about what I would do with him come Monday when I went to work. Would he be okay on his own? Should I take the day off? I didn’t want to smother him or disrespect his abilities. Maybe it was a good thing he was a high-ranking military man, they were logical, right? He would probably be okay.

I found Jericka in the hallway upon arriving back at the hospital, “Has he said anything?”

She shrugged, “Not really. He’s still processing everything. They’re taking him off all those machines and IV right now.”

After the nurses left, Jericka and I entered his room. He was looking at his hand where the IV was.

“Hello, Admiral. We never got a chance to introduce ourselves.” I introduced myself and Jericka. “Tomorrow, you’ll come home with me if that’s alright with you.”

He nodded, “I suppose that is for the best, but don’t call me Admiral. James will suffice.”

Jericka and I were surprised that he didn’t want to be addressed by his title. I decided not to question it. “I got you some clothes and this,” I said, pulling out the book and handed it to him. He looked at it with interest and immediately started flipping pages. “It’s the history of the world. Of course, you can ask either of us anything.”

Jericka nodded earnestly.

“I appreciate your charity,” Norrington replied. “I endeavor not to be a burden.”

“No, no, no! Never think that.” I said.

“Yeah, you’re stuck with us.” Jericka teased.

Jericka and I vowed that nothing would happen to this man.

James was released the following evening. He was dressed in the new clothes I bought for him. He looked perfect in them and didn’t seem to mind them. I must have done well!

As we were walking out of the hospital, there was crowding at the door. It was a going home celebration. James and I smushed ourselves against the wall, waiting for the ado to die down, and we could leave.

A patient was wheeled in from the opposite corridor. We watched as a nurse wheeled him to the edge of the entryway. On new titanium legs, this man stood and walked out with his family. He was in the Navy; I could tell by the signs his family and care team were holding.

I could tell this experience moved James, he wanted to say something to the young soldier but thought better of it.

I purposely kept the car ride as underwhelming as possible. I turned the radio off and kept the A/C blowing gently. He seemed to be taking it all in stride, learning from my actions.

James mostly watched the water as we drove the short drive home, occasionally interested in the wide range of vehicles on the road; cars, trucks, vans, golf carts, motorcycles, and four-seater bikes.

“I see that the seagulls and pelicans are just as intrusive as always.” He commented, watching a horde of seabirds steal tourists’ food.

I giggled, enjoying the familiarity. We had something in common, and it was a link to his past.

Home was a raised bungalow on a heavily tree-lined street.

James looked at the stilts it rested on, “For flooding?” He asked.

“Exactly. Galveston has had several bad hurricanes hit, but the house has weathered them all. It’s up high enough that you can go around back and see a bit of the Gulf.”

I showed James to the guest room and how a modern home worked. After dinner, I gave him his space. Around midnight, I heard a door sensor chime. I found James sitting on the balcony, watching the ocean ebb and flow. I sat down across from him.

“How are you doing?”

“It’s overwhelming.” He answered, “I have so much to learn, new vocabulary, all the major events. I cannot fathom how much progress I have missed, but the ocean is the same, and I take comfort in that.”

“Well, if you’d like, we can get out on the water tomorrow. I’ll show you around the island.”

“You know how to sail?”

I laughed, “No, my boat has an engine, but I assure you that the art of sailing by wind has not been lost yet.”

For the first time, I saw a genuine smile on his face, “I’d like that.”

I endeavored to make him smile that cute boyish smile as much as possible.

#commodore norrington #James Norrington #pirates of the caribbean

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