#maybe this is something to bring up in therapy

[bat-mom-writer]

Impulses

Bruce Wayne(Husband) X Reader(Wife)

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

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

Rate: Loving Bruce, the very small almost of angst

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

"Of course."

"Then why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[penpatronuswhump]

I’m angry at Eddie.

Right now I want the version of him who raised his voice when Chris stayed up late to play video games (and - for once - it’s not just because he was totally hot when he was so stern).

Moving to El Paso is - forgive me - a cowardly choice. He’s actually running away from his responsibilities, not relocating closer to his son.

He’s acting like Shannon, actually.

He’s letting his parents win. They’re spoiling Chris.

And Eddie is - forgive me - being a poor role-model for his son.

Has he even once asked, “When do you want to come home” or said “I want you to come home” to Chris? Let alone something like, “I will be picking you up and bringing you home on Saturday and, no, that is not up for debate”?

It’s been enough time. He’s given Chris enough space. Now is the moment when he should inform his child that he will be returning home where they will go to therapy together and work out their issues as a family.

And when his parents put up a fight, he should say, “I am picking up my son. I do not need your permission to bring him home. Chris is returning to LA.” And when they fight harder, he has his rights.

I want to shake Eddie and remind him that he’s not powerless. He is the authority in this situation. He is Christopher’s father. Chris is a child and it is Eddie who decides where he lives.

Coddling Chris, being overprotective, letting him call the shots and not talking about what happened is only making things worse. It will be painful to talk to Christopher about Kim and Shannon and his grief but that’s better for them both. Eddie wants to avoid that pain. I get that. But in doing that he’s teaching his son that we just ignore the elephant in the room instead of confronting it. Frank would not approve! Ha.

Eddie should inform his parents and son that he’s on his way to El Paso to bring Chris home. He should put Buck in his truck and drive.

And Chris will be mad. But, later - maybe years later - he’ll understand that was the right choice.

[gotwcird]

why does it feel like the universe is testing her? for what, she doesn't know, but what she does know is that her limbs are straining, wanting nico closer. to feel him pressed to her, lips on skin, hands skimming over the bend of her spine. yet, she knows, they can't. ( even if the back of her head complains, pointing out that they're alone, truly alone here. ) still, even just like this, star feels okay. telling him something she didn't even admit to herself until right then. and maybe that's what matters. "i hate him." knows she brought him up, but wants to drop the topic altogether. feels anger well up in her throat, for the years of torment, before during and after their relationship. for the years she spent avoiding it, never facing it head on. for bringing it up when she's with nico right now. ( maybe it's time to try therapy again. )

he laughs and suddenly she feels better. his laugh could cure her, probably, from anything. any ailment or issue. plus, the impression of him is still there, on her lips. pulsing pleasant and present. she feels it drive her heartbeat faster, almost pounding, the smell of him lingering in her senses. 'are you okay ?' "why wouldn't i be? i'm here with you," she replies, smiling softy. and it's no lie. she doesn't feel the dread she'd so adamantly ignored before this, keeping her away from a place she'd cherished and let herself breathe in. she stares at him silently for a few long moments, dark eyes skimming over his features, taking him in. she feels her chest squeeze in a specific, overwhelming way, a mess of words jumbling in her head. how is she supposed to evr be normal around him?

"i'm sorry." the apology comes first because byeol knows what she's about to do. knows she can't hold herself back anymore, feels everything in her being surge her forward, wanting — needing nico. she leans up, squeezing his hands, allowing the tension to still between them; thick, heady, and present. then, finally, star brushes her lips to his. slow, but solid. gentle, yet greedy. "'m sorry," she whispers the apology again against his lips, hands slipping from his so she can snake her arms around his neck. knows she shouldn't be doing this, knows they're at work. but she can't help it anymore. "sorry." she murmurs the word weakly as she opens her mouth, tongue seeking out his. she's just a woman with her lover, standing beside a beautiful fountain.

her hand in his feels like home . their fingers intertwine as if they were made and born to only do that . they're alone , and he knows it , but nico still feels so risky . he feels unsure . unmoored . there are bells ringing in his head , telling him to slow down and remember his job . this is such a risky path to go down when it could mean any harm happens to star . but the very idea of harm coming to her makes his body rigid and stiff . HE COULD NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN . never . the fountain in question is nice , but he can't quite admire it in the way that he's been admiring star in that red dress all night . as soon as he helped zip her into it , all he wanted do was rip it right back off , cover her bare skin in kisses .

a noise leaves nico in surprise . everytime he finds out a little bit more , he realises how much PAIN star has endured . every story ends with a sad , aching end . nico's brow furrows at the way she explains catching her ex with someone here . he looks around the fountain in question , frown becoming even more apparent . NICO HAS MADE IT CLEAR , the way he feels about her ex . he knows there's no point in repeating it . it'd feel like kicking a horse when it's already down and star has suffered enough . nico watches her move around the fountain , fingers mopping up some drops of water . he hums at her mentioning it being a bit much . EVERYTHING in star's world is a lot , all the time . he can't imagine living it for even one day , let alone an entire lifetime . everytime he comes home to his shitty one bedroom apartment , he almost laughs at how different it is. how different it feels . he used to think his apartment was a prison , but he looks at star's life : lush , rich , shiny and expensive . . he can't help but sometimes think it's the exact opposite . star's sudden words make him look at her again , once he's done another cursory , periphery check . still alone . still safe . still quiet . STILL JUST THEM . " . . . i'm sorry . about your ex . " he says finally . " i hate that he treated you that way . " an understatement . nico swallows and carries on . " i know that . " because he does. star is always nothing but thankful . she wears all of her emotions on her face . he can see the lightness within her that he's here , and he likes that he can do that . by , admittedly , not doing very much at all .

star moves closer to him , eyes wide and raw . emotions dance in her pupils . his own gaze stays locked right on her , watching her carefully , unsure of her next move . sometimes he isn't quite sure if he's meant to be watching HER or watching OUT for her . she moves up and presses a kiss to his cheek . nico closes his eyes , allowing the feeling to wash over him . her scent infiltrates his nose . her lips move gently , and again - it takes everything within him to not move his mouth to hers . they both stay still . together . then she moves back , and a quiet laugh leaves him . " it's okay . " nico mumbles out , hand going to hers to stop her from wiping or feeling bad . he intertwines their fingers again and lets it drop by their side . " it's okay . " nico repeats . " are you okay ? "

[inkykeiji]

CLARI BBY WHEN ARE WE GETTING A NEW GOJO FIC?

HEHEHE I DUNNO ANON BB uhhh i’ll probably feel like working on it when season two starts airing!!! i have a great idea for a gojo fic that i love so much that i definitely do want to finish,,, at some point,,,,,, hoping seeing him animated again will help motivate me to get it done!

[cent-scratchnsniff]

it was just going to be a few warmup doodles but then she infected the rest of the page like the ever eternal and spreading spores. hod!!! hod. hod :)

[royaltea000]

How (if at all) has Temp changed after the whole "being burned at the stake because the french were salty" deal

Well for one I think he has a big fear of fire now naturally and (I forget to draw this constantly but) burn scars over half of his body not just on his face. He’s kinda self conscious about em and has his bad confidence days but he’s learning how to love himself more these days and it’s getting better :)

I also wanna go the really angsty route and say that because of the smoke inhalation damage to his lungs - he can’t sing beautifully like he used to and even his speaking voice is raspier and a bit quiet now

He and France are very cold and barely civil to each other now - everyone knows not to leave those two in a room together alone. More often than not Gil ends up being the default mediator between em lol

[ultimateaclrecovery]

I’ve been asking the boy to come meet the pony fairly regularly since the start of the year and it’s been nothing but excuses (some legit others … less so)

And while yes this planned the cliche 30 business days but the contrast is staggering. Like my one friend suggested it to me and the other responded so enthusiastically and yes she rode horses and they both have dogs and thus are more animal people and both live closer to the barn but like still.

Also I am now excited for my friends to meet my pony!

[scholarhect]

i don’t understand what people are supposed to talk to their therapists about. my therapist just wants me to apply to jobs. this doesn’t feel right

[thedressagedraft]

I need a tranquilizer after all that, tbh.

[sourkitsch]

Two things that are true at once:

I am not nearly as mentally ill as I’ve convinced myself I am

I am far sicker than I’ve convinced my friends that I am

[diari0deglierrori]

Can’t this day be over already I just can’t stand seeing the date all the time and being reminded of it all again

[crabs-but-better]

yeah reading Stephen King’s memoir (has never read a SK book, memoir was a gift) and well he talks abt substance and alcohol abuse a lot and I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently since I know that my family has a predisposition to alcoholism and I am so…I’m not sure. Scared isn’t the right word. I perceive the future in this way that I just know that I’m going to end up somewhere I do not want to be. Even with the knowledge that it may happen. And it should be scary I think, I feel like I should be scared. So why aren’t I?

[pissfizz]

AGH

[cowardlycowboys]

28

28. How are you, really? I dunno ok i guess the normal really I suppose of I have to kill myself I have to kill myself everyone hates me and is out to get me everyone is gonna leave and betray me followed immediately by oh I'm so loved I'm so loved! things are ok and good!

[yobirinn]

every time i create something i enter this state of "oh no. ive done something i can never replicate. i mustnt touch it again" except i do, and every time i finish touching and retouching it, i enter the exact same state of thinking ive fucked up by doing something so good that it must be my peak. but somehow its never my peak. i think that says something about creating, or maybe about myself

[justonefeather]

Thinking about how sometimes I shake when talking about upsetting things? I feel fine otherwise in the moment, like I'm lucid and not dissociating, sometimes it doesn't even feel like it's something hard to talk about mentally. I often chalk it up to being cold or something, but it happens even if it's warm out, so like. Maybe it's me. But. Why? If *I'm* ok with talking about it why am I basically shivering for no reason??