#they’re fine outside of the invasiveness

[the-faultofdaedalus]

see i can’t look at that post about delicate pretentious picky rose vs chill survivor dandiliom anymore because you know what does grow fucking everywhere? rose. you know what there’s like, maybeee a couple dozen of in a hectare? dandelion.

respect the rose listen there’s Good Reason why malificent chose to make THAT plant her impenetrable wall. multiflora will live forever and will tear you to shreds while doing it.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Wonderstruck

Pairing(s): Diana of Themyscira x F!Reader

Summary - Bruce introduces you, his oldest friend, to the one superhero friend of his that you haven’t met yet.

Warnings - First meetings. Reader has social anxiety. Fluff. Humour. Bisexual!Reader.

Word Count - 1.5k

“Are you sure about this, Bruce?” you ask, looking yourself over in the mirror, frowning. You’re still unsure about the outfit you have picked out for the party tonight. “It’s been forever since I’ve been to one of these things.”

Bruce chuckles and gently pulls you away from the mirror, turning you to face him. “You look great and keep in mind this isn’t a fancy party filled with upper class dickheads. Just friends and family.” 

You know that he’s right. This is supposed to be a more laid back type of party. Even his outfit is laidback. A black shirt and slacks instead of the usually suit and tie. It hasn’t stopped you from working yourself up though. Your palms are sweaty and your heart is thumping hard against your ribcage. Already your mind has conjured up and played out a bunch of scenarios. Each one going worse than the last one. It’s more than enough to make you feel like running back to the safety of your room.

Being one of your oldest friends, and therefore knowing you the best, Bruce can see every little sign of your anxiety building up and threatening to consume you. The rough feeling of his calloused thumb against your cheek helps with grounding you. 

“Breathe,” he reminds you. “Everything will be fine. You do know most of them.”

“Except for the one you seem most excited for me to meet,” you reply. 

“I just think that the two of you will hit if off,” he shrugs. 

“So you’re playing matchmaker now? What, did you get bored of your cowl?”

“Everyone needs a hobby.” He links his arm with yours and begins to lead you toward the manor’s garden, where everyone else is. “Besides, if you really do start to panic you know that either I or Selina will step in and whisk you away to a quiet room.”

“I know and I’m so grateful to the both of you for that.”

Since your diagnosis, the both of them have gone above and beyond to make sure that you feel safe and supported whilst you seek help and figure out how to manage it. Even being miles away from them, you haven’t been left to feel like you’re all alone. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to repay them for all everything they’ve done for you.

Before you know it, you and Bruce have reached the doors to the garden. They’re wide open, letting the summer air into the manor and you could easily hear the conversations going on. Taking a deep breath, you let him lead you outside. 

He’s right. You do recognise almost everyone and they recognize you, despite the fact that it’s been a few years since you last saw any of them. Barry gives you a toothy grin and waves while the rest take a more reserved approach. A smile here or a small gesture of their hand or head there. Doing their best to not overwhelm you. 

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Selina says as she pulls you away from Bruce and into a hug. You hug her back. Thankful to see your other old friend after so long.

“It’s good to see you, Selina.” 

She smiles at you as she pulls away. “Diana’s over there.”

“Thank you,” Bruce tells her. He leans in close and presses a kiss to her lips. You’re glad that the two of them finally stopped dancing around their feelings and actually got together. They deserve to be happy. Though that very thing is probably why Bruce is playing matchmaker with you right now. He wants you to be happy as well. Like he is.

While you have never met Diana, you have seen her on the tv and the web. Various news reports and footage that spreads across the internet every time that the Justice League stops some alien invasion or super villain attempting to take control of the world, again. In truth, you’ve always had a bit of a crush on her. Thing is you never thought anything would ever come of it until Bruce decided to start introducing you to aspects of his superhero life. Though, now that you think about it, you probably should have suspected something a month ago when he kept bringing her up. 

“Diana. This is…” Bruce introduces you to her. You feel your mouth go dry. She’s even more stunning in real life. Long black hair, the ends dip dyed blue, a red tank, blue jeans and her silver bracelets.

“Hi,” you just about manage, hating how pathetic you must sound. All you want is for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. At the same time, you know now that running away from everything constantly isn’t a way to live.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says. “Bruce has told me a lot about you.” 

“Same here,” you reply. 

You both side eye Bruce, who’s doing his best to act completely innocent, like he hasn’t been planning this meeting for ages, but his act is completely transparent. Before either you or Diana can say something, there’s a loud crash. You all turn to where his two eldest sons are suppose to be helping Alfred with setting up the grill, but only seem to be making an absolute mess of it. A long, drawn out and tired sounding sigh leaves Bruce as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“If you’ll excuse me.” 

You and Diana both chuckle as he walks away and both of his sons scatter when they seem him approaching. 

“So, Bruce is playing matchmaker now,” she says, drawing your attention back to her.

“Apparently. He’s happy so everyone else has to be as well. Which is better then him making everyone else miserable.” 

She nods in agreement. 

With the ice now broken, the conversation between the two of you flows easily. Bit by bit your anxiety slowly starts to dissipate and you are not over analysing every last thing that you say. Diana is completely intrigued by your job as a wildlife photographer and the various situations you have managed to get yourself into during your job. From close encounters with the very animals you’re photographing to poachers and trophy hunters. The mention of the latter two visibly angers her and you share her sentiment. They had not been fun encounters at all.

“And you got out of those situations unscathed?” she asks. 

“Mostly. Selina taught me how to defend myself while we were growing up on the streets,” you reply.

“And the men who attacked you? What happened to them?”

“Most of them are behind bars–” you gesture toward where Bruce and Selina are–“Their handiwork as soon as they found out what happened. They’re now trying to forbid me from travelling to the Amazon Rainforest because of it.”

“What if I was to come with you?”

Her offer takes you completely by surprise. You have only just met each other and she’s already offering to travel to a rainforest with you. A trip that’s bound to last a few weeks. 

“I’m sure that it would soothe any fears they have and it would be an opportunity for us to get to know each other without so many other people around,” she continues. “If you want me to join, of course. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“I mean, I’ve only ever gone with colleagues on these trips, but I think it could be a lot of fun if you came along. It would also stop Bruce from constantly blocking me from charting a flight.”

She nods. “It’s agreed then. We’ll go together.”

Afternoon quickly turns into evening and one by one the rest of the leaguers say their goodbyes and leave until it’s just you, Diana, Bruce and Selina. The four of you have long since come inside and have settled in one of the lounges. 

You decide that now is the perfect time to mention what you and her talked about earlier. As soon as you mention the rainforest you can see Bruce visible tense until you say that Diana has offered to come with you. He relaxes at that and even looks a little smug. Sometimes you could really deck him, but you would really rather not break your hand on his face again. 

“It was an absolutely pleasure to meet you,” Diana says. The two of you are standing outside of the manor to say your goodbyes. It’s got quite late and your social battery is so drained you’re ready to curl up in bed and never leave it ever again.

“Same here. I’m glad that Bruce managed to talk me into coming today.” 

“As am I. You’ll text me the details?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

You wave goodbye to her and watch until she reaches the end of the drive, then you’re turning away and heading back inside. Bruce is waiting for you, leaning against the bannister of the grand staircase, grinning.

“I told you the two of you would hit it off.” He sounds as smug as he looks.

“Oh, shut up.”

[eretzyisrael]

This account, first published in JewishNews, is written by an anonymous London-based Guardian employee who has family living on a kibbutz in southern Israel. It offers a look at life in the newspaper’s offices in the days since Hamas’s attack on Israel.

I wake up on October 7 to a text from my brother-in-law: “Thoughts are with your family in Israel. I hope everyone is safe.”

I check the news. Hamas has entered southern Israel. They’re in a kibbutz. My partner’s family is in that kibbutz. His cousin is nine months pregnant. He’s in contact with them; they’re in the safe room. Terrorists are outside.

I check social media. Reports of hostages, maybe three. I check again; perhaps ten.

There has been a massacre at a music festival. I look at the video. Who do I know there? I check social media again; there are videos of hostages. I look at their faces. Do I know them?

We lose contact with family in the kibbutz. I tell myself that the phone lines are down because the IDF are there. I watch Hamas footage as it is coming out. I go on Telegram for the first time in my life and I see a room full of bodies covered in blood. I see children gunned down. I see the bodies of raped women. I see families holding each other as Hamas livestreams atrocities. I look for people I might know.

My partner and I walk 30,000 steps. There’s nothing we can do. Late that evening we hear that his family is safe but their house is gone, neighbors are dead.

I don’t understand. I could have easily been there and part of me thinks I was.

I look at the papers the next day. The newspaper I work for has a tank on the front page: ‘Hundreds die and hostages held as Hamas assault shocks Israel’—victorious terrorists hold a Palestinian flag. The subheading reads ‘Netanyahu declares war as 150 Israelis die. 230 Palestinians killed in air strikes.’

I don’t understand. I know people, Israelis, who were murdered. They did not “die,” as if in some kind of accident. I saw footage of terrorism. It was not an “assault.”

The front page of The Observer, The Guardian’s sister Sunday newspaper, on October 8, the day after the Hamas massacre. (via The Observer)

On Sunday, we get more information about what happened to my partner’s family, about how Hamas set the family’s house on fire when they thought it was empty, how my partner’s cousin screamed for her life when the room filled with smoke, how her husband had to pin her down to stop her cries, how Hamas laughed when they realized the family would need to crawl out of the room, how they refused to leave the burning building. We hear that they somehow survived and walked out through pools of their neighbors’ blood, pieces of dead children littering the street; kids who’d been playing on a Saturday morning.

I’m safe, I’m fine, but I can’t comprehend the color of the sky or the rustle of the trees. I look around at people enjoying their Sunday and I think: Do they not know what is happening? I check the news again and see there are more hostages. I look through the names.

There are still terrorists in Israel.

I listen to the radio, one Israeli interviewee and then one Palestinian. I can hear that the interviewer is struggling as defenders of Hamas justify terrorism. I don’t understand. Is this how they reported the Russian invasion of Ukraine? Did they platform Putin’s people?

I check social media. A friend has posted: “They’ve broken out of jail.” Another has said: “Today is a day of celebration,” and someone else has shared an infographic of “Settler colonialism for beginners.” My old flatmate tells her followers she will be at the demonstration outside the Israeli embassy and she invites people to join her.

On Monday I go to work. How are your family, a colleague asks. When I answer, she squirms. Can’t they just leave, my colleague says. No, they can’t actually.

I look at the morning newsletter for the newspaper I work for. It breaks down the number of dead Palestinian children. It does not mention dead Israeli children.

My group chats are exploding as family and friends work out what has been happening, who is alive. I go back to the news. I type the name of the kibbutz into the wires. Nothing. I read how Hamas invaded “settlements.” They’re not settlements! They’re small, pre-state kibbutzim.

I find out that a friend of a friend was at the music festival and is missing. I’m shaking at work.

I see a colleague who had posted about “decolonization” all over social media over the weekend. They’re laughing with the rest of their team. They’re having a great day. I used to love their podcast, full of hot takes and celeb gossip. Now they’ve evolved into an expert on the Middle East. It doesn’t look like their family is in the middle of it, though.

No one else at work speaks to me about it. I nod my way through conversations about fonts and I stumble home.

I go back the next day. I look at the front page. A photo of Gaza and “violence escalates.” Israelis “dead” but Palestinians “killed.” If they can’t empathize with the Jews now, they never will.

I email the editors. I tell them that my newspaper’s coverage has been upsetting. They tell me that their thoughts are with my family but they stand by the paper’s reporting.

I hear colleagues complaining about the newspaper’s “American readers. They’re always accusing us of antisemitism.” They’re laughing.

I leave work early to go to a vigil outside Downing Street. People quietly weep. Everyone there is Jewish.

I’ve seen on social media that I know people going to a demonstration. Later, I see photos of it: people on lampposts, red flares, Jews hiding inside, the Israeli embassy boxed in. All kinds of people are united in the chant, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” In Sydney, they are shouting: “Gas the Jews.”

On Tuesday, I find out that my friend’s friend at the music festival is dead. I remember the day I’d spent with him on the beach in Tel Aviv last month. He’d gotten back from South America and was excited to travel again. He had been gentle and sweet. I don’t understand.

On Wednesday, I go to work again, and the next day, and the next day. Finally, the pictures from the kibbutz come out. I look at all of them. I rewatch the footage. I bear witness. No colleague asks me how I am again that week.

I go to synagogue at the weekend and cry with my community. The rabbi holds space for pain. I say Kaddish for the boy at the music festival I will never talk to again.

Back at work I see someone pointing to a photo of the Israeli flag burning in the newspaper. They laugh, “This is my favorite picture.”

I remember telling my family that when I next went to Israel I’d lie to my colleagues and tell them it was Spain. I’d lie because my colleagues had said to me of Israel: “You gotta go while you still can.”

Now another colleague asks me what I think of Netanyahu. Do I hold him responsible? I explain that I have protested against Netanyahu but the only people responsible for October 7 are Hamas. She keeps asking me about the settlements. I tell her they’re bad but she won’t stop. “Don’t you think Bibi has a lot to do with this?” I ask her if she has family in the region. She does not.

I’m on social media again. Friends share infographics from Jewish Voice for Peace and heavy-hitting images from the Gaza Health Ministry. I don’t disagree with what they’re posting but they said nothing when October 7 happened. I start unfollowing decades-old friends.

In the days that follow, my synagogue receives a bomb threat, my local rail station has photos of missing children ripped off, I hear of more friends of friends who have been killed. I hear of others who are now enlisted. I hear that a synagogue president in America has been stabbed to death and synagogues all over the world have been vandalized and destroyed.

The newspaper I work for is covering the bombardment of Gaza and I watch in horror. I think that Israel must defend itself. Yet when I say this, people will tell me I am justifying the murder of children. They will tell me it is a genocide.

As the events of October 7 draw on collective Jewish memory of pogroms and the Holocaust, the newspaper I work for will dispel that myth, publishing a piece entitled “Israel must stop weaponizing the Holocaust.” Am I wrong to connect our grief today with that of our past?

In the weeks that follow, I will apply for other jobs and speak exclusively to Jewish friends and family. I will hide myself away from the streets of London and the waves of social media.

I will not forget the photos and videos I saw on October 7, but I start to think about how this day will be marked; how my children’s children will take part in a new commemoration, where we will remember not the Romans or the Persians or the Nazis but Hamas, and how we survived.

Intergenerational trauma has been retriggered but now is not the time to dwell on our historical violent oppression. Now is the time to rise up, speak out, and defend our right to exist. Now is not the time for colleagues to dismiss Jewish pain or publish inflammatory op-eds that will spark more violence.

I will keep applying for other jobs.

[frogsinflannel]

Oh my god! Something I want to say to you is that you made my entire morning 🥹 and you are so so sweet and I see you like spn TOO! 😍

And I know it didn’t give the option to request a story BUT I am going to do one anyway so I can get that good fluffy angst you said you could write 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Buck butt dials Tommy while babysitting Jee

I think you can squeeze some of both out in there 😂🫶

Aww it's nice to know I could spread a little bit of happy! I'm glad. And haaaa, yes, spn is my special interest/hyperfixation/the fandom that just won't quit.

Thank you for the prompt! I love it. I wrote a lot of this while in the waiting room at the vet's, so I make no promises about the quality. Also oooof, writing kids. How does Jee talk in canon? I could not tell you.

#

Tommy groans and presses his face further into the couch cushion. If anyone—and he does mean anyone—needs anything they’re going to be shit out of luck because he’s cutting himself off from the whole damn world until his next shift.

But it’s fine. He’s fine. Everything is real fucking fine.

And then the phone rings.

The temptation to ignore it is strong, but there is the chance it’s something important. And if it’s not, then he can hang up unceremoniously. Maybe that’ll be fun. (Yeah, things are so “fine” that his bar for fun is on the ground.)

He grapples for the phone where the default ringtone is blaring on his coffee table. Without giving the screen more than a glance he answers, pulling himself upright.

He rubs the back of his neck and sniffs. “Hello?”

There’s nothing but muffled noises from the other end. Great. Tommy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Hello?” He tries again, gruffer, voice pinched with anger.

And then a bright voice lets out a bubbling laugh—a child’s easy, cascading giggle. And oh goddamnit, he thinks. He knows that giggle.

“There you are!” another voice says, and it’s so familiar, so dear, that his whole chest squeezes. “What are you doing, huh? Thought you could steal uncle Buck’s phone?”

“For pictures!” Jee-Yun says. “I wanna show mama the cookies.”

“Well we can’t take pictures while they’re still in the oven. We’ve got to let them cook.”

Tommy’s heart plummets down into his gut. He knew it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he would have to hear Evan’s voice again, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. And he hadn’t expected him to sound so happy and open. Tommy had braced himself for cold or indifferent, maybe even some repressed suffering or quiet with a splash of bruised dignity. He'd been ready for that. The usual b-roll of disparaging self-talk was already set to play.

You hurt him. He's better off without you. You knew it wouldn't work out and look what you did, you tried again anyway.

He had not been prepared for a reminder of why he'd cared for Evan so much in the first place. That buoyant smile he wore, the sparkle in his eye, that heart so big it threatened to tear the very seams of him open. Tommy had done one better and taken the seam ripper to Evan himself.

He should hang up. His hand clenched tight around his phone.

No, really. He should hang up. This isn't meant for him. This is a domestic moment just between Evan and Jee - a cute kid and her kind, goofy uncle who's apparently helping her make cookies. It's invasive, he knows, and Tommy hates himself a little for it. (The self-talk A-side features such hits as "stupid bastard," "I'm worthless aren't I" and the seminal classic "fuck you, Tommy, you don't deserve to be loved.")

But he doesn't hang up.

He holds his breath instead and listens, hoping for even a crumb of the man he was falling in love with. That some part of him aches for still.

"More cookies!"

"Oh you want to make another batch?"

"Yeah, with more chocolate chips. All the chocolate chips!"

Evan laughs and Tommy wants to wrap himself up in the sound. "Well, uh, looks like we've got a bag left so we can at least use those chocolate chips. Wanna whip up some more while these are in the oven?"

Jee claps and cheers and Evan laughs again. To Tommy it's a shot right to the heart. "I like cookies," she says. "I'm going to eat them all."

"Well you can have them, Jee. I'll pack them up and you can take them home to your mom and dad."

"Dada says he doesn't want any more of your baking. He said he's had so much cake he's made of cake."

"Made of cake, huh? You know Hen made your dad a cake of himself once?"

"Yummy!" Jee and Evan giggle together and Tommy sinks down onto his couch and tries to fight back a smile. At this point he's invested. He needs to hear more about those cookies. Will they really use the whole bag of chocolate chips? What about the ones in the oven? What flavor cake would Howie be? Yeah, sure, maybe it makes him kind of a creep to stay on the phone after a butt dial - especially since he's the one who dumped Evan - but he feels like an asshole anyway so he might as well embrace it.

"But you'll take the cookies, right?"

"Uncle Buck! Yeah! My cookies. Make more!"

"Hmm." Evan laughs again, but this time he sounds bitter. Tommy wants to run to his truck right now and go wrap him up in his arms. "I don't think I'm going to stop baking anytime soon. You know, I... I had a friend. A really, really special friend. But we aren't going to be seeing each other anymore."

"Aww, that's sad."

Tommy can just imagine Evan leaning in and giving her a quick hug. "Thanks, sweetheart. It is sad. And so every time I think about him, or want to call him... I bake."

Jesus. Another shot to the heart. Bodied by talk of some fucking pastry is an embarrassing way to go. He puts his hand to his mouth to keep from making a sound.

"You must miss him a lot. I'm sorry, Uncle Buck."

"It's okay." There's a pause, with only the sounds of whatever they're doing in the kitchen. The clink of a glass mixing bowl. The rustle of the bag of chocolate chips. Maybe there's eggs, a container of brown sugar, a sweep of dusty flour across the soft plain of Evan's cheek. "I do miss him a lot," Evan says, and his voice is quiet. Tommy has to strain to hear him well. "I think I... Being an adult is hard sometimes, Jee. You can't just say sorry. I don't even know what I did wrong. But I think I could have loved him. Maybe I do love him."

"Mama says love's the secret ingredient. Is that why your cookies are so good? Because you stuff all the love in them?"

"Yeah, Jee. If Tommy doesn't want my love, that means there's that much more for you!"

And that's it. Tommy thinks he might throw up. Another hit, right in the net, a fucking hat trick to destroy him. He can't listen anymore. He hangs up, like he should have done right from the start. Then he tosses his phone onto the other side of the couch - but he overshoots, and it skids across the arm right onto the floor. It lands with a thud and with his luck it's probably broken.

Tommy lays down, hands pressed over his eyes. It's probably broken.

Yeah, he thinks. It's broken.

[heliads]

Can I request a Loki x fem reader where the reader is a super kind empath Avenger and comforts Loki, who also has been recruited as an Avenger (very reluctantly) but is still a bit ostracized from everyone else on the team. The reader is able to see how poorly Loki was treated in the past and promises to be there for him. They both end up falling in love but are too afraid to tell each other (the reader is able to feel this weird warm and fuzzy emotion Loki directs at her and she can’t pin point what emotion it is). They end up confessing when Loki sees an avenger member take advantage of the readers sweetness so he steps into comfort her. He confesses and they kiss 😚

Also have an amazing day and take your time with requests!!!

hope you have an amazing day too!

masterlist

If you squint ever so slightly, peer out from the reach of your favorite chair just enough to see into the surrounding hallway, you can almost make out the silhouette of Tony Stark pacing back and forth outside his office door. 

As resident empath of the Avengers team, you’re in charge of reconnaissance, general battle backup, and checking in on everyone to make sure they’re still intact. You’ve also gone ahead and assumed that to mean that you can use your abilities to read the hearts of your teammates. Hey, it’s what they hired you to do, right? It’s not like you’re scanning their minds, now that would be invasive. All you’re doing is sensing how they’re feeling. Anyone could do that with a bit of good knowledge on body language.

You shift slightly, and there– you can just make out a cloud of colors circling Tony’s figure. That’s how emotions have always appeared to you ever since you were a kid. When people are having a perfectly normal day and not too much has happened, you’ll only be able to pick up on a tendril or two of colored smoke around their frame, a few hints at happy or sad but nothing too special. 

Conversely, when something crazy is going on, it’s like they’re walking out of a bank of mist, Mr. Darcy at the end of Pride and Prejudice (2005)-style. For instance, at this very moment you can’t even tell what shade of shirt Tony is wearing through the dense emotion rattling around him.

This is obviously a sign that something is going on. Usually, Tony’s pretty laid back, or at least he pretends to be. Cool blue is his trademark. Sometimes, closer to missions or just after them, you’ll see bright lime or sickly yellow lancing through them, panic and stress from too much pressure on his shoulders. You can sense his anxiety attacks before they start. Tony has no idea how many times you’ve used your gifts to divert those things, and if you have it your way, he’ll never figure it out.

Tony’s not panicking right now, though, or not in the way that you’re used to. Instead of purple or blue, all you can see around him is red, blazing red. Tony’s not usually a red kind of guy. Red means anger, outrage, and by the looks of him now, something has happened to cook up a regular bonfire of irritation.

As you watch, though, more colors join the fray. You can spot uneasy yellows and greens, an undercurrent of fear. What could possibly be going on to make Tony so unhappy? The situation is complicated, to be sure, but that’s nothing new around the Avengers. Take it from a S.H.I.E.L.D.- registered empath:  no one ever feels just one thing at one time. There’s always a dozen different emotions swirling in between your heart and head. And right now, Tony’s got quite a few to chew on.

Unable to contain your curiosity, you get up from your seat and pad over to him. Tony almost flinches when he turns and sees you, but he rubs a tired hand over one eye and greets you like normal.

You arch a brow at this attempt at pretending everything is fine. After all this time, Tony should know that you’re not one to get fooled by a pretty lie like that. “What’s going on? You’re totally freaking out.”

“So glad to see you, Y/N,” Tony complains, “I look great? Thanks for telling me. You’re always so quick with the compliments.”

You give him a look. “I know how you’re feeling. What’s up with you?”

“It’s not me you should be questioning,” he sighs, “it’s the newcomer to our team.”

You frown. “I didn’t think we were getting someone new.”

“We weren’t supposed to, but Fury added another guy last minute. Apparently it was either that or have him rot down in a cell for all eternity, and we don’t want to risk pissing off his brother,” Tony clarifies.

“Who’s his brother?” You ask, curious.

“Thor,” Tony says, and then you understand at last.

“Loki is joining the team?” You can’t believe it. Loki attacked New York all of six months ago. Sure, Fury has always been one to maximize opportunity, but you can’t believe he’d let Loki into the ranks of the Avengers so quickly.

“That’s what I said,” Tony harrumphed, “but apparently it’s already done. He’ll be coming up later today to meet us all. You know, without trying to kill us this time.”

You chuckle under your breath. “I can’t wait to see how that goes. How long do you think we have until Steve breaks out a patriotic speech on our or his behalf?”

Tony snorts. “It’ll happen any minute now. Look, here Steve comes up the stairs now. It’s like he marches everywhere he goes. Unreal.”

True to Tony’s suspicions, Steve, upon learning of Loki’s arrival, does indeed treat all of you to a talk about looking past first impressions. If the red flickering around his eyes and fists says anything, though, it’s that he’s just as pleased about the whole affair as Tony.

You, for one, aren’t sure what to make of the whole thing. Something must have happened to make Fury trust Loki, and until you learn otherwise, that’s as good an endorsement as you’ll get around here. Before long, Thor is marching into the Avengers complex with a stranger in tow, and all of a sudden, you have eyes on your new teammate.

It’s strange, your first impression of Loki. Second, technically, but you’re not counting the Battle of New York. That was different, you were trying to kill each other. Now you’re supposed to count on him to save your life.

Tony shoots a quick glance your way, cocking one brow as if to ask, getting anything? The honest answer is no, not yet. Asgardians are always hard to read, you figured that out when you first met Thor. Everything about them is different, even down to how they feel certain emotions. Loki is no exception. At first, you think he feels nothing at all. Then, you realize he’s just very good at hiding it. His back is perfectly straight, spine stiff and unfeeling.

That is, until you look a little deeper and you start to see the threads of colors playing around his clothes, his hands, his blank stare. They’re green in color, green and gold like the stitching on his apparel. They’re not happy emotions, these, they’re–

They’re fear. Loki is afraid. Not that anyone here will kill him, not that sort of fear. He is certain that all of you will reject him, that this great god will have to watch humans laugh at him and just deal with it anyway.

You can understand feeling like that. When you were first recruited to the Avengers, you almost thought it was a joke. Surely an empath wouldn’t be useful in the heat of the battle. They had to convince you of that later, once you could start changing people’s emotions instead of just reading them. Still, you know what it’s like to doubt yourself, even when you’re sure that you are worth more than anyone can imagine.

So, you step forward first, and greet him with a smile. “I’m Y/N,” you say, “it’s good to see you.”

Loki arches a brow, and you don’t have to read minds to know that he’s thinking is it? as strongly as he can. This confusion only grows when you hold out a hand to him. For a moment, you think he’s going to reject you, but your smile stays insistent. He doesn’t have to like you at all, but goddamnit, you’re going to like him. He can deal with that on his own terms.

He must be able to pick up on this sort of stubbornness, and for some reason this is what wins him over at last. Loki extends his hand to shake yours, and just like that, the ice is broken. It’s as if a collectively held breath is released across the room.

That isn’t to say that the rest of the Avengers take to him so readily, nor that Loki is as willing to accept them as you. He tends to stick to himself, avoiding crowds unless he can’t avoid it. He begrudgingly tells you it’s because being around that many people either reminds him of Asgard or the battle or both.

He tells you a lot, actually. It doesn’t all happen at first. He may have shaken your hand, but he seems dead set on despising you. However, you’d made up your mind to win him over at that point, and you weren’t going to rest until you met your goal. It took a lot of slow, deliberate effort, but before long the conversations weren’t so one-sided and you swore he actually smiled when you entered the room.

Also, he stopped hiding his emotions as much. The first time you saw a hesitant wave of goldenrod brush across his shoulders, you thought you were hallucinating. It was there the next time you saw him, though, and the next, and the next, deepening to sunset orange and staying there. Happiness. He liked being near you.

Once trust was built, real friendship could follow suit. Turns out Loki was just as reluctant to join the Avengers as your lot was to welcome him in, but when Director Fury makes a decision, pretty much everyone has to follow suit. Thor had warned him against causing more trouble, so Loki was here to stay. He used to think that was a bad thing, but judging by the way his tone has softened as of late, he might not be so sure of that anymore.

Loki starts to tell you more, once he stops thinking of you as an outsider. He tells you about Thanos, about how he had twisted Loki’s mind so that he could only attack the city. You had suspected something was wrong with Loki during the Battle of New York– his eyes glowed a strange color, the emotions flickering around his chest were almost alien, so unusual even for a god– but hearing it is the confirmation you needed to be sure. Loki had not attacked you in his own mind. He had not tried to kill you, that was someone else forcing his hand.

That last part was especially crucial. The night he finally told you about Thanos’ control, Loki had not been able to leave until he was certain that you understood that it had not been him leading the attack on the Avengers and your home. At last, you convince him that it is alright, and only then can he rest easy.

The rest of the Avengers aren’t able to share in this peace, however. They don’t want to give Loki a chance, which, seeing as they’re not able to actually see his emotions, you can sort of understand, but at this point it’s growing tiresome. It’s been months now since Loki joined the team, and he has not lied to or betrayed or attempted to murder anyone. You want to yell at them to grow up, but you don’t feel like picking someone else’s fights.

Instead, you’d rather spend your time pondering another puzzle. Loki’s moods have shifted again towards you, but this time you cannot understand them at all. Something’s changed about the way he looks at you, how he speaks, and you have no clue what any of it means.

When you have trouble, though, there’s only one surefire solution:  you need to talk to Natasha Romanoff. Nat’s been your best friend since you joined the Avengers, actually. She gets you. You get her. It’s a good time all around.

So, Natasha doesn’t look too surprised when you all but throw yourself into one of the chairs in her favorite space in the complex one sunny morning. The only question on her mind isn’t to ask what’s up with you but what Loki’s done now.

You grimace. “I don’t know, that’s the worst part. He’s acting weirdly.”

“Isn’t that normal for Loki?” Nat questions. “I mean, he is a disgruntled younger brother/frost giant/Norse god. I feel like weird for him is kind of expected.”

“No,” you argue, “This is different. Something’s changed.”

Natasha furrows her brow. “And you haven’t been able to pick up on anything?”

“Well,” you hesitate, “maybe there’s something. I have no idea what it is, though. It’s happy, I think, but it’s sad at times, too, and flickery, like even he can’t explain it. I don’t know how to describe it in the slightest.”

She nods decisively. “It’s love.”

You blink in surprise. “What? No, I just said I had no idea what this is. There’s no way you would be able to guess it so quickly.”

Nat shrugs. “Actually, your vague description was exactly why I know what this is. Only love makes no sense like that. Love makes you happy, but it breaks your heart, right? It confuses the hell out of you because that’s what it’s supposed to do. There’s nothing else that could make anyone feel like a mess of emotion but love.”

You sigh. “That still leaves the fact that it’s Loki, though. You actually think he’s in love with me? I’m a human. I mean, inhuman, technically, but same difference to him. Why would a literal Asgardian god ever look at me like that?”

Natasha’s gaze is knowing, but you can’t quite meet her eyes. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t. You won him over faster than anyone was expecting. I think the biggest question isn’t what he’s feeling, but what you are.”

You brush her concern aside. “Well, of course I know how I feel. I’ve had this much time figuring out how other people’s emotions work, it’s like a user manual for what certain things feel like in your own head. I just can’t believe that he truly feels the same. Maybe he’s trying to trick me by pretending to feel a certain way, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Nat scoffs. “I thought you were the president of the ‘Stop Loki Hate’ fan club. What’s gotten you doubting him again?”

You shoot her a look. “I’m not doubting him, just myself. Also, there’s no such fan club. Fury banned us from attending Avengers-based clubs, remember?”

She nods mournfully. “All it took was one bad experience. Look, all of us showing up to the ‘Personally Victimized by Nick Fury’ meeting was funny. He was just being a bad sport.”

You smile fondly. “I remember. I’ve never seen that much red in my life. He was totally outraged.”

“Oh, I know. You didn’t need empathy powers to tell that much. At least we abstained from putting on the fake eye patches.” Nat muses.

You bite back a laugh. “Yeah, that might have been overkill. Anyway, back to the point. Are we sure about this?”

“We’re sure,” Natasha assures you, “I’m sure you’ll get in your own head about it later, though.”

“You can count on it,” you grin, and say your goodbyes.

Natasha is right as usual, as it turns out. Both about your feelings and the fact that you would second guess yourself. You were going to say something to Loki, but you talked yourself out of it later that night. It just feels wrong, that’s all. There’s no way a literal prince of the gods would fall in love when you’re just, well, you.

You do your best to push it out of your head, Nat’s knowing glances be damned. Life is too busy to contemplate men who won’t speak their minds. It feels like a new crisis hits New York every week. Speaking of which, you’ve actually got complaints about that. Namely, the fact that you haven’t been on a mission in quite some time despite your status as an Avenger.

You get frustrated once a couple of months have gone by without you seeing a fight. You pull Steve aside when you hear about something going wrong again. “I saw Fury’s memo about needing an extraction team for a situation over in Spain. Can I sign up?”

Steve shakes his head. “Thanks for the offer, Y/N, but we’ve already got enough guys on that team.”

You frown at him. “You can never have too many guys on an extraction team. It’s, like, Avengers lore that stuff always goes wrong on those. I can at least tag along as backup just in case. I’ll grab my gear and be off in like five minutes.”

Steve doesn’t seem willing to back down, though. “Look, I’m glad you’re passionate about the team, but we’re good, honestly. If you’re getting bored, just join the next mission, I’m sure one will come up sooner than later.”

You sigh. “That’s what everyone said last mission, and the one before that, too. I haven’t been out of the complex on official business in three months. I’m an Avenger, Steve, let me act like one.”

Steve puts his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Y/N, I meant what I said about being glad you want to help, but this is serious. I’m a supersoldier, that’s why I’m out there all the time. Nat’s been trained for this sort of stuff since she was a kid. It makes sense to send us, right? You know we value your gifts, but we can’t risk hurting you.”

Your stomach twists. “You mean, I’m really best when I’m looking at people’s heads, not actually in a fight.”

Steve doesn’t seem to realize he’s upset you, and he nods emphatically. “Exactly! You’ve got a great skill set, just not for right now. I bet we’ll find something soon, though.”

You flash him a thumbs up, already walking back down the hallway so he can’t see the way your face twists. “Can’t wait.”

You let your composure drop the second you’re around the corner. Is this really how they feel? You were useful in the Battle of New York, you know that, and the other agents say you’ve been improving with your abilities by leaps and bounds. You’re handy with a gun or knife, too, so you know you could survive a fight and be of use. You’ve done it before, why are they so keen on stopping you now?

It makes you feel, well, useless. It’s hard to stop the tears from pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you quickly change course to head for your private quarters. You don’t want anyone to see you like this.

Of all the fantastic timing, though, the one person you want to run into least of all right now steps into the hallway just as you think that. Loki nods at you as usual, but he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head dismissively, trying to physically will yourself to look normal. “Nothing! I’m great. Everything’s good.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, though, and reaches out a careful hand towards you. “Are you sure? It doesn’t seem like everything is good.”

You let out a watery laugh, and that does it. “No, actually, things are terrible. Everyone on the team sees me as a joke.”

Loki frowns, clearly taken aback. “Well, that’s not true at all. I don’t see you as a joke in the slightest.”

“Everyone else, then,” you amend with a messy wave of your hand, “I’ve been trying to convince them to let me on a mission for months and they won’t do it. I know my gifts are damn near useless, but I just want to help.”

“That’s not true,” Loki repeats, “They’re a lot of good, actually, and you know that. You’re the best interrogator they have, even compared to Romanoff. You see through everyone’s lies in a heartbeat, even mine, and I’ve had plenty more time to practice them than most. You can sense a trap or ambush in half a second. They’re fools for not wanting you out there with them.”

You smile weakly at him. “You don’t have to say all of that. Thanks, though.”

“Of course I do,” Loki says blankly, “it’s true, and I need to.”

“Why?” You ask curiously.

Loki swallows hard, looks away, and then you see it again– that faint mist of pink, right over his heart. It’s just like Nat said, isn’t it? Just like that.

He forces his gaze back to you, and you’re shocked by the certainty in his eyes after all this time of ducking around your feelings. “It’s true because I love you, and I would not be able to stand it if you let the rest of them talk you into thinking otherwise. They’re toy soldiers, the lot of them, all the same. They couldn’t see real worth if it was standing right in front of them.”

You smile, and for once it’s not cracked or teary or anything, it’s real, as real as the pink ribbons tying the two of you together. “I love you too,” you say.

“Of course you do,” he replies, but he’s smiling too, and you think– no, you know– that everything is going to be alright.

marvel tag list: @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @fadedver

[nerdysleepybunny]

Hi! It’s me again. Can you do a part 2 of Angel Dust x Reader (platonic) oneshot. Where the reader comforts Angel after dealing with Val. And in return, he comforts them when they are also feeling sad.

So sorry that this took so long to get to! I’ve been super busy with school and haven’t had any motivation to do anything. This fic might not be the best because of that, but I promised you all something so the least I can do is keep my word ^^

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Fandom(s): Hazbin Hotel

Character(s): Angel Dust (ft. Alastor, Charlie)

Reader: Gender neutral (they/you)

TW: Bad day, hinted depression

Style: Short story

Summary: A while ago, you comforted Angel after he had a bad day with Val. So when you yourself have a bad day, he does the same for you!

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

You weren’t necessarily sure why you were so pissed off… it was just one of those days, you suppose. Sure, maybe you weren’t the cheeriest. It was Hell, after all. What the hell was there to be so giddy about except no consequences for committing crimes? Not much. You tried to keep your head high for the sake of Charlie and her hotel, but all the effort you put into not spiraling was beginning to weigh on you. You swear you didn’t mean to have an attitude or brush people off. But for some reason, simply having someone talk to you ticked you off. The one that learned that the hard way was Angel Dust.

Out of everyone in the Hotel, he probably suffered the most on a daily basis. If anyone understood a bad day, it was him. He knew Hell. He knew being selfish was necessary down here. But he just couldn’t ignore you; not after all you’ve done for him. The spider’s boots clicked against the wooden floor as he walked behind the couch and bent himself over into a comfortable position, his lower arms idly gripping the backrest while his upper arms wrapped around you from behind. He didn’t quite notice the way you stiffened. “You okay, toots?”

Before you could answer with a dismissive “I’m fine,” Alastor, that creepy fucking overlord walked by. He was likely on his way to Cannibal Town or something. “Ohohoho! I’d stay away from that one today, if I were you. We’re lucky they’re not a cannibal, or they’d be biting us all! Hah!”

The way your blood boiled made you feel hotter than Hell itself. He was mocking you. He thought you were weak. You had half a mind to bite him for real… but he was an overlord, and an actual cannibal. He’d take your life or your soul in a heartbeat, or both. So you took the smart route and removed yourself from the situation; abruptly standing to make your way upstairs.

"Toots-!"

"Fuck off."

You weren't sure why you said it. It was Alastor you were mad at, not Angel. But you couldn't turn back and apologize now... so you continued your path to your bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind you. You couldn't handle the outside world right now. All you wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry.

Angel stood right outside your door, one of his hands held in a fist right in front of the wood... but he couldn't bring himself to knock. He knew you wouldn't respond anyway. If only he had a key- oh.

...

"Angel, I'm not sure if I should give you a spare key to their room. It's an invasion of their privacy!" Charlie tried to defend you, but as much as Angel loved Charlie, he wasn't in the mood for what was right and wrong right now. He knew you werent okay right now, and he refused to just sit by and let you suffer alone.

"Damnit, Charlie, I need that fuckin'key! They're locked in their room all depressed, and I don't want them to-" He couln't even bring himself to say it. He's tried to end his own life one too many times, and he couldn't bear to think of you going through what he did all alone. "Just... please, Charlie." He tried again, softer this time.

The princess of Hell rarely sees him in such a state, and knows that whatever is going on is urgent. So she doesn't ask questions. She only sighs as she summons a copy of your room key in her hand and holds it out to the spider sinner. "Make sure they're okay, Angel."

"I will."

...

After slotting the key into the lock and turning it with a twist of his wrist, the door clicked to prove that it had unlocked. He turned the knob to push the door open and stepped inside, preparing for the worst... and let out a sigh of relief to see you were only in bed. He quickly closed the door and rushed over, climbing onto bed with you.

"Toots? I'm here for you. Please tell me what's wrong."

The night went on with the two of you lying next to each other, with the spider silently listening to all your issues. He stuck with you for the entire night, and when he had to leave for work the next day, he left you with Fat Nuggets. He even took you to a mall and blew some of his earned money on you, just to make you feel better.

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

[cecilysass]

Negotiation

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

They’ve been debating which case to work on next week so long that the car windows are all Rorschach test splotches of fog.

There’s a moment’s lull in conversation. Mulder reaches into the console, fishes out his bag of seeds and pulls it apart. His eyes lock on twin silhouettes in trench coats moving through the mist about twenty feet outside their car.

“You know, I hear they’re more than just partners,” he offers in a conversational tone.

“Who?”

“Gillis and Perez,” Mulder says, cracking open a sunflower seed, gesturing out the front windshield. “That’s the water cooler gossip, anyway.”

“Spending a lot of time at the water cooler, Mulder?”

“I’m in the know, Scully.”

They’ve been waiting in the car outside a row of weather-battered warehouses for two hours, part of a coordinated raid that hasn’t gotten its go-ahead yet. There have been days of briefings and prep, but something seems to have gone to shit, because they’re sitting positioned with practically the entire Bureau twiddling their thumbs. Dressed for action with no place to go.

Mulder suspects they’re probably not really necessary in this operation, which is about the size of the invasion of Normandy. They’d probably not be missed if they drove off and went to pick up some hamburgers.

But they’re nothing if not team players. And besides, this isn’t so bad. Scully sighs next to him, and he subtly glances at her. She’s leaning back against the seat, the soft arch of her neck exposed and her lips slightly parted. There are worse ways to spend an evening.

He turns back to watching Gillis and Perez through the front window. They’re dutifully walking the perimeter of the closest building.

The two agents don’t look overtly romantic, he decides. If it’s true, they’re discreet. They do walk side by side, very little distance between them, but they don’t touch one another. Gillis is a tall woman, so she stands almost at Perez’s height, and their heads keep arching towards one another to talk.

He wonders what they’re talking about. It could be anything—the raid, the weather, their favorite sexual positions.

Scully’s eyes track them, too, seeming to note every possible tiny physical clue.

“Hmm,” she says slowly and thoughtfully, “I admit, that’s interesting.”

“Interesting that it’s an open secret and there don’t seem to be any repercussions?”

“Yes,” Scully says, pushing back against the seat and stretching out her limbs like a cat. “And interesting in other ways, too.” She reaches down and, peeking first, helps herself to some of his sunflower seeds, her small hand slipping into the bag’s interior without crackling the wrapper.

Mulder makes an affirmative humming sound. “I thought so, too.”

“I mean, on some level it’s perfectly understandable,” Scully adds, placing some seeds between her lips, her eyes still focused out the window where the pair have disappeared around the corner. “They’re both very attractive. It’s hard to date in this job. People have needs.”

Mulder glances at her warily again. Jaw working on his own handful of seeds, he doesn’t answer right away, cautiously processing this statement. “Sure,” he says mildly. “I guess you’re right.”

And then the car is quiet, only the sound of cracking seeds and the rustling of the bag as he reaches for more.

“Actually,” Scully says casually, “it makes me think that we could do something like that.”

Mulder turns to her. “Something like what?”

“What Gillis and Perez are doing.”

“What?” He blinks rapidly. “Are you being serious?”

“Yes,” she says. Staring out the front window, she certainly appears serious, if a little uptight.

“You’re teasing, right?”

She looks down and carefully smooths the dark pants she wore for the raid, as if she has just noticed many sudden wrinkles. “If you don’t want to, fine. I was just raising the idea.”

“Raising… the idea,” he repeats, bewildered.

“Okay, Mulder,” she says with a small sigh. “I get it. It’s out of the question.”

“I’m just shocked that you would bring it up like … that you would just … it’s unexpected.”

“Let’s change the subject then. How do you like the Knicks this year?”

“I mean…” Mulder runs his hands down the sides of his face, dragging his cheeks. “What are you suggesting, exactly? How would you see it working?”

Scully’s eyes flash to his. “I’m not suggesting something in particular. It would be open to negotiation.”

“Open to negotiation,” Mulder says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus, Scully.”

“What’s your concern exactly?”

“So this would be a ‘meeting needs’ kind of deal,” he says, using finger quotes. “A ‘taking care of basic urges’ situation.”

“That’s one possibility,” she says brusquely.

Mulder’s head twists rapidly back towards her. “What are the other possibilities?”

“Well,” Scully says. Her face changes color. “It could be a little more traditional than that, I suppose.”

“Traditional like what?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she says, throwing her hands up. “It would be open to negotiation. Is there an arrangement you would prefer?”

“To be honest,” he says, “I’d prefer not to have an arrangement at all.”

“Then we certainly don’t have to discuss it any more.” Her lips draw tightly.

“No, no,” he says, and he reaches out to place his hand on hers without thinking. “That came out wrong.”

“Mulder,” she says, stiffening under his touch, “let’s just gracefully drop it, okay? I regret bringing it up.”

“I just don’t want an arrangement,” he repeats meaningfully. “I don’t want a negotiation.”

“I get it,” she says shortly, jerking her hand out from under his.

“No,” he says. “No, you don’t.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t want … what you suggest. I’ve thought about it. A lot. Maybe too much.”

Scully’s mouth twitches at the corners as she apparently absorbs this. “Okay,” she responds. A pause. “Then why not?”

Mulder rubs his temples aggressively.

“I don’t think I could do it without … all of it. I mean, that’s not strictly true. I could do it. I’m only human. But I think it would end … really badly.”

“End badly how?”

“I don’t know about you, but to me sometimes it seems like things are too complicated between us already. This would be upping the ante. I’m pretty sure I’d always be wanting the whole thing.”

She’s confused. “What do you mean by ‘all of it?’ The ‘whole thing?’ We could negotiate that, if you wanted it. Make it part of the arrangement.”

“Scully,” he says in a fond, exasperated tone. “You can’t negotiate being in love. You know that, right?”

He thinks for a moment she’s not going to respond.

“And that’s what … you want?”

“Well, it’s probably not something I’m going to have a ton of willpower about, so don’t test me,” he says with a rueful hitch in his voice. “But in my experience, it’s a bad idea to enter into a sexual relationship with someone you’re in love with if they’re not in love with you.”

Scully is very still, apparently reacting to the implied revelation. He steels himself for more.

“I admit, I’ve done it in the past,” Mulder says. He’s proud of how calm he sounds. “I might even be prone to it, whatever that says about me. It’s ended in spectacular fucking heartbreak. You think it will work out, that you’ll convince the person, and it feels real. But it’s not. And in those cases, it wasn’t like…” He breaks off. “Well, it wasn’t like this partnership. Which, as I hope you know, is ... already different from most other kinds of relationships. I just think this would be a lot worse. More painful.” He hesitates before saying the last word. “Devastating.”

They don’t say anything for a moment. Scully has a strange, almost dazed expression on her face.

“Gillis and Perez,” Scully says, gesturing to where they’d walked around the corner. “Is that a meeting-basic-needs situation?”

“I have no idea,” Mulder says. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re one another’s soulmates. I don’t know. Water cooler didn’t cover that.”

She nods once. He hears her toying with the edge of the sunflower seed bag.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, after a moment, “I didn’t bring up the meeting-basic-needs idea. You did.”

Mulder’s brow furrows. “Did I? I thought you mentioned ‘needs.’”

“I used the word ‘negotiation,’” she continues, in her precise work voice. “Which doesn’t really reveal anything about the feelings of any of the parties. It just means parameters would have to be agreed on in advance.”

“I guess,” Mulder says doubtfully.

“I don’t know if it would be as risky as you’re thinking,” she adds with finality. “It seems to me that you’re making some faulty assumptions.”

“I don’t think I am,” Mulder says stubbornly. “I know myself pretty well, and I know my feelings.”

“Yes,” she replies, “but you don’t know mine.”

A pause.

“No,” he says in a different tone. “Now that you mention it, no, I guess I don’t.”

“It never occurred to me that we would have an arrangement without … attachment. I suppose I took the attachment for granted.”

“Attachment?”

She nods shortly.

“And by attachment, you mean…?”

She bites her lip and rolls her eyes. “Mulder.”

“That embarrasses you, Scully? Talking about feelings?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just a little hard to believe when you were propositioning me for sex a few minutes ago.”

“I wouldn’t describe it as propositioning you for sex,” she says huffily.

“No? Come on. You were basically like: let’s negotiate a contract and take your pants off, Mulder.”

“That’s not what I was like,” she replies, flushing.

“I know what I heard.”

“I was only trying to say that maybe we should talk about this option … that we don’t ever talk about,” she says tightly. “That we both think about.”

“Scully—”

“An option that’s literally sitting right in front of us. That Gillis and Perez chose for themselves.”

He squirms in his seat, then pulls in a long, slow breath. “Yeah.” He’s not looking at her. “You’re right.”

“You were the one that made me sound so…” She composes herself. “You were the one that took feelings out of the equation.”

He steals a careful look at her. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond, and she’s looking away from him, but he suspects, from past experience with the various cadences of her voice, that she’s got tears in her eyes.

“I should have realized you had some protections up, too, Scully,” he adds roughly.

She looks down at her hands.

“Scully,” he tries, gently, “just to be clear in negotiation here—are you saying that … it might be possible for you and me to have a relationship where both parties hold equivalent feelings?”

She lifts her head, and there are indeed tears pooling in the corners of her clear blue eyes. “Don’t you know me at all? Haven’t you been paying any attention?”

He reaches over and takes her hand in his. Her small fingers feel gritty, like the salt coating his sunflower seeds.

“I thought I was paying attention,” he says. “But then you go and do something really, really surprising.”

“I thought I was being logical,” she says primly, looking down again.

He places a finger under her chin and tips her face up. “Very logical,” he says in a low, playful voice. “Nothing says logical like initiating a relationship with Fox Mulder.”

[storiesofsvu]

A Thin Line

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, some medical situations (again, likely some inaccuracies, don't come for me), minor mentions of the Lauren arc/past trauma/anxiety, but mainly fluff and all happy ending! Covers a bingo square for @prentiss-theorem and also is a fix it fic (i guess lol) for s7e15 of the same title. I just thought things were kinda brushed over in the aftermath.... so here we are.

The team had been in San Bernardino, California for nearly a week now solving what was originally thought to be a series of home invasions linked to gangs in the area. It was after piecing together the threads and a victim getting away that you were able to apprehend the unsub, the team was split up between addresses, Rossi, Reid and Hotch over at the unsubs while Morgan, JJ, Emily and you were heading to Councilwoman Hillary Ross’, knowing that she was one of two next likely targets.

Everything seemed to be going to plan as Derek and JJ snuck around to the back of the house, waiting only on you and Em to burst through the front as Emily announced herself, calling out into the house at just the wrong moment. Her eyes darted toward the unsub, noting the gun in his hand, pointed directly at her and only a second later she felt the burning in her shoulder, jolting back into the wall behind her as she groaned.

“Shit!”

“You’re hit.” You stalled, turning back to her and she nudged you in the direction of the unsub.

“I’m fine!”

“He’s upstairs!” You called over to the other two who had burst through the back door, flying up the stairs to take the unsub down.

“Go.” Emily urged, wincing as your hand came up to the injury, pressing against the wound.

“Like hell I’m going anywhere right now.” You muttered, tugging at your radio to call for medics.

“I said I’m fine.” She insisted, nudging at you once more, “you can go.”

“It’s already two on one, I’m sure they’re doing great. And you’re not fine, you just took a bullet Emily.” You could feel her blood slowly seeping in between your fingers, you would’ve been worried if it wasn’t for the amount of attitude you were getting from her, the scowl persistent on her face.

“It’s nothing.” She grumbled, letting out an annoyed sigh at the flashing lights outside as the ambulance pulled up, “oh come on.”

“You’re gonna need stitches at the bare minimum, c’mon.” Gently lifting her arm over your shoulder you helped her outside and to the paramedics.

Much to Emily’s dismay, she was told she would likely need more than just stitches, that an actual doctor would have to take a look at her before making the official decision and before she knew it she was being transported to a hospital. Even more annoying was that her adrenaline was starting to wear off, the fight or flight draining from her body as the pain began to creep in. She winced as she moved on the stretcher, letting out a quiet hiss and felt her cheeks flushing as your gaze shot to her, concern in your eyes.

“We’re almost there.” You murmured softly, reaching to squeeze her hand, almost surprised at the way her hand wrapped around your thumb, keeping you there instead of letting you pull away. The touch brought a comfort Emily needed but wasn’t ready to ask for, wasn’t ready to admit she even wanted. Her gaze remained turned away from you as she let out a low breath, trying to will the immense pain in her shoulder to go away.

The emergency room was a cacophony of noises, patients crying, yelping out, doctors, paramedics and nurses calling out to each other, demanding what they needed for their cases, alarm bells going off, phones ringing off the hook, the whir and beeping of machines. It was completely overstimulating and enough to block out the pain Emily was feeling briefly while they rolled her through the admittance stages. Your hand had been ripped away from hers as they’d unloaded her from the ambulance, leaving a cold spot on her skin as she tried to block out her surroundings. The lights were bright, still harsh even if she closed her eyes, she felt someone prodding at her skin as they started an IV, grimacing as the needle pierced her skin, the smell of rubbing alcohol burning at her nostrils. The noises from the ER were now slightly muffled, but there were as many beeping monitors and fast talking doctors moving around her right now. She could just hear your voice over the hum of noise, giving her credentials and details of what happened to a doctor, conversation talked over by one of the paramedics as she heard her stats being listed off. She was hooked up to another couple of machines, creating more beeping that was beginning to overwhelm her before the room suddenly seemed to empty.

“Paramedics patched you up pretty good.” Your voice rung through the air and her eyes cracked open, looking up at you with hesitancy in her eyes.

“Then we can go, right?”

“No.” You laughed softly, “you’re just not as emergent as some of the other cases. You’re under observation until they can get you a CT to check for internal damages and we’ll go from there.”

“I hate hospitals.” She grumbled, shifting awkwardly on the gurney, hating how on display she felt. The remaining nurse in the room seemed to sense her uncomfortable-ness, moving over and adjusting it so it was propped up and she could sit upright.

“It shouldn’t be too long Agent Prentiss; they’re just waiting for a backlog at the CT machine to clear out.” They explained, giving you both a brief smile before they disappeared from the room.

“Since when do you have a problem with hospitals?” You asked, dropping onto a spare stool, watching her curiously.

“I’ve just spent enough time in and out of them over the past year.” She replied quietly, ducking her gaze as she picked at her fingernails.

“Hey,” your hand reached out, stopping her destructive movements and she glanced toward you, “you’re non emergent, you’re sitting upright and talking and like you’ve been insisting since Ross’, you’re fine.”

“Thanks.” She flashed a tight smile to you and you squeezed at her hand, only pulling away when your phone pinged and you dug it out of your pocket to read the message.

“They got him, finishing up paperwork now. Hotch wants to know if you want them to meet us here.”

“Oh god no!” Emily groaned, wincing as she moved her arm to run a hand over her face, “I don’t need a fucking audience waiting for me. Tell him they can go home, hell, you can go with them.”

“Well tough titty.” You pocketed your phone, “I’m not going anywhere. You got shot; I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Emily felt a warmth spreading through her chest, knowing that she had someone by her side for the entire thing, unlike last time, she wasn’t facing this on her own. She felt her heart start to calm down rather than racing in her chest, sighing softly as her body relaxed into the stretcher. She was fine, she was going to be fine.

“You’re too nice to me, you know that.” She rolled her head to look at you, a dopey smile on her face and you practically snorted.

“I think those drugs are starting to kick in Prentiss.”

She frowned, pouting at you and you laughed again, this time glancing away as you prayed she was too distracted to pick up on the thudding of your heart in your chest.

Okay. Maybe the warmth spreading through her was the painkillers, but at least she wasn’t focusing on the pain in her shoulder and the terror of being trapped in a hospital anymore.

Though that sense of calm and comfort only lasted the next hour. The results from the CT were exactly what Emily didn’t want to hear.

“Surgery?!” She protested, “you can’t be serious! Can’t you just leave it in?”

“No.” The doctor chuckled softly, “that risks more damage than taking it out.”

“So just rip it out now, here.”

“I do that and you’re gonna hate me for how much pain your in.” They countered.

“Full blown surgery just seems like a complete waste of time and resources.” Emily commented, “for something as trivial as this?”

“Agent Prentiss, I can assure you it’s a very simple procedure and it won’t take very long at all. We’ll have you patched up and out of here by morning with some pain killers.”

“No I—”

“If there’s an issue with pain killers, general anesthesia isn’t in the same, you’ll most likely sleep it off and only feel a little bit groggy when you wake up from being under.”

“No, that’s the part I don’t want.” Emily felt like her heart was beating out of her chest, her throat tight and she wasn’t fully able to catch her breath. The beeping next to her seemed to be getting louder with each moment that flickered by and she was sinking into a nightmare where she couldn’t tell tonight apart from the last night she’d spent in a hospital.

“Em…” Your voice was soft, your hand coming up to squeeze at hers gently, thumb rubbing reassuringly, a cool touch on her burning skin. “Just breathe for me, okay?” You turned to the doctor, “is there any way you could do this with a local anesthesia or something? Something where she doesn’t have to be asleep?”

“There likely isn’t a doctor who would.” He replied, “the CT didn’t give full visibility, if an artery gets nicked we’d have to put her under in a rush and adding extra things on the to do list in a situation like that isn’t ideal. I didn’t see anything in her medical history about a reaction to anesthesia.”

“It’s not exactly medical.” You replied, feeling Emily’s hand squeezing at yours.

“I don’t have the greatest track record with being put under.” She muttered and the beeping on the heart monitor started to increase again.

“Hey…” you shifted from your spot on the stool so you were perched on the edge of the gurney, grabbing her other hand, “look at me.” You waited for a moment until she actually looked up at you, the fear in her eyes slowly melting away as you shot her a small smile, “you need to stop deflecting and shutting down. They’re just trying to do their jobs and get you outta here healthy and in one piece, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen. You’ve got a bullet in your shoulder and the longer it’s in there the more risk you’re at, so let’s do this, okay? You’re not alone, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere okay? I’ll take care of you. I’ll be as close by as I possibly can the entire time, I mean, they’ve gotta give us some leeway, we are federal agents.” You raised a brow in the direction of the doctor who let out a huff of a laugh mixed with a sigh.

“I’ll have someone escort you to the gallery.”

“Thank you.” You nodded, “And like you being knocked out is gonna have me running off, I promise. I’ll be there the whole time and when you wake up.”

Emily let out a long low breath, the tightness in her chest finally easing as chewed on her lip, “okay. You better not be lying, if I wake up on the other side of the country you’ll be the one with a bullet lodged in your shoulder.”

“Em!” You scolded with a laugh, watching as a small smile finally broke out on her lips.

Emily focused on her breathing and remaining calm, listening to your voice as you walked with them all the way down to the OR floor. She wasn’t even sure what you were rambling on about, you always had the most ridiculous stories from when you babysat your nephew and they were mindless enough yet also wild enough that it would steer her mind away from the thought of being put under again. You squeezed her hand once more, saying a quick ‘see you soon’ before you were taken up to the gallery and you watched the way Emily’s eyes flicked toward you as she counted down from ten, letting out a breath to know that you were there, watching over her and this would be over before she even knew it.

The low beeping and dull ache in her shoulder were what roused her first, shifting slightly in the bed with a quiet groan, trying not to agitate her shoulder too much. Without opening her eyes she knew there was a soft light coming from somewhere in the room, much nicer than the glare of the fluorescent overheads and the next thing her ears picked up was the sound of a page of a book being turned before the creaking of a chair.

“Em?” Your voice whispered into the night, leaning forward against the side of the bed and she groaned, her eyes fluttering open.

“Shit still sucks.” She complained, pushing herself up to sitting and you let out a chuckle.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” She swallowed, reaching out for the glass of water on the nightstand. As she fully woke up and her eyes adjusted to the light in the room she was able to take you in, spotting the bags under your eyes, the slight redness in them and the fact that you’d somehow snagged a hospital issued hoodie that was about three sizes too big to curl up in. “How late is it?” She asked and you looked at your watch.

“Almost six.” You replied with a tired yawn.

“You haven’t slept yet.” It wasn’t a question; it was an observation and you shrugged.

“I wanted to be awake when you came to, doctor said it wouldn’t be too long. And I definitely wasn’t about to sleep while you were in surgery, besides, it was pretty cool to watch.”

Emily observed you for a moment, her eyes drilling into you so much that you ducked your gaze, picking up your own drink to distract yourself, praying the heat in your cheeks wasn’t noticeable in the low light of the room.

“Why would you do this much for me? You could have left with the rest of the team.”

“I promised you wouldn’t be alone. I care about you, I wanted you to feel safe, I mean, you’re my… friend.” You shrugged it off, picking at the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Okay, now who’s shutting down and deflecting?” She asked with a tease in her voice, prodding at your arm and you let out a soft sigh, glancing back up at her with a playful glare in your eyes.

“Being in the hospital alone sucks enough on its own. The last time you had surgery you woke up across the world completely isolated and if that was me I would’ve been terrified. I know you don’t want to admit it and I’ll never mention it to the rest of the team but you were scared earlier and I wanted to make sure you knew I would be here for you, no matter what. And I… would like to hope that if the tables were turned that you’d do the same for me?”

“Are you kidding me?” A laugh burst from her lips, “of course I would! I really don’t think you have any idea how much you mean to me. You still being on the team and being around was the main reason I decided to stay, no matter how awkward it was with everyone else.”

“Now you’re just making stuff up.” You ducked your gaze once again, this time no doubt the blush on your cheeks noticeable.

“Not at all.” Emily’s finger curled under your chin, turning your eyes up to her, “you were an absolute sweetheart today without even needing to ask and that was exactly what I needed, even if I am too stubborn to say anything. When we get back I’d really like to pay you back by taking you to dinner.”

“Really?” Your brow furrowed, wondering if she was finally stepping across the line the two of you had been toeing since she’d gotten back.

“Yeah.” She softly pinched at your chin, “you can read me better than anyone else. You know me almost better than I do some days and… I really care about you too.”

“Okay.” You laughed softly, the smile remaining on your cheeks, “well then I think that sounds great.”

“Great.” She smiled across at you, “it’s a date.” She gently tugged at your arm, “now c’mon, you need to get some sleep and there’s plenty of room up here.”

With a small laugh you shifted, kicking off your shoes and sliding under the blanket into Emily’s embrace, careful not to nudge her left arm too much. You let out a small yawn as you nestled into her uninjured shoulder, her free arm wrapping around you as she relaxed back into the bed, a sigh of relief finally feeling you in her arms. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she was completely safe and wouldn’t have to worry about being alone ever again, not with you around. Her lips brushed against the top of your head; a feather light kiss left on your hair as she spoke.

“Thank you.”

________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @mandy-asimp @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @its-soph-xx xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @scorpsik @strongsassysexysloane @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @pagetboobstarcomments @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @theclassicgaycousin @regalmilfs4me @kalixxh @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @tommyriddleobsessed @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble

[zofi-persson-quotes]

Under cut bc it's hella long

“Alright, who ate my ice cream.”

The flurry of hand pointing that follows would be comical were it not for the murderous look in Second’s eyes.

“If you’re all to blame,” Second says, cracking his knuckles, “then perish.”

Dark screams when Second charges him, the older Becker sibling unfortunately being the closest to the enraged teen. The Overlord goes down with a helpless cry for mercy, taking a pillow directly to the face, and the other Sticks in the room take their chance to book it in different directions.

Vic takes Dark’s unwilling distraction as a chance to throw themselves out the nearest open window. Blue, opting for the quickest and more efficient route out of his enraged sibling’s path, climbs on top of a dresser, well out of Sec’s reach, while Green and Purple run down into the cellar before emerging through the outside entrance, only to find an angry Second armed with a pillow for each of them waiting on the other side. Green decides to sacrifice himself for his boyfriend by wrapping his arms around the smaller Stick to take the blows.

“I shall protect you, my love!” He declares.

“GREEN!” Purple wails.

“IT WAS LIQUORICE YOU CRETINS!!”

It’s the last thing Vic hears before they throw themselves into the Wi-Fi portal to make their way to the nearest store for more ice cream. Maybe next time they want to try eating with their android body, it shouldn’t be their little sibling's comfort food. Then again, the others were all smiling while they were pursued, so perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

By the time Vic returns from their tactical retreat with more ice cream something has gone wrong.

The blinds of the house are shut and the door, which had been left open to let the warm fall air in through the screen door is now shut tight.

“Guys?” they knock on the door, very concerned with the abrupt change in the air, “What’s going on?”

The door flies open, and Sec hauls them inside.

“Quick! Quick, don’t let it in!!” Dark hastens. The couch and tables have been upended to face the front door and the three Sticks taking cover behind them look ready for an incoming enemy attack. Vic seriously wonders what they missed in the hour they were gone.

“Did you see it?!” Green yelps.

“See what?” Vic asks, stepping forward to assess the situation. The others look prepared for war against a home invasion of insects. Purple is wielding roach killer in one hand and a rolled-up newspaper in the other. Dark’s white-knuckled grip on a baseball bat betray their fear at whatever they’re planning on fighting, and Green has two spatulas that he’s holding defensively in front of him.

“I didn’t see it when I…” Second’s voice trails off as Vic passes him.

“Where’s Blue?” Vic asks and Purple points up at the dresser he had seen the alchemist climb up onto earlier. He isn’t armed with anything, oddly enough, and is pressing himself further and further away from the door with a pale, horrified look on his face.

“Oh, there you are. Why are you all so scared?”

Dark makes a choked off noise and backs away from them.

“Dark?”

Purple shrieks when Vic turns around to face their sibling, accompanied by scrambling from the direction of the dresser.

“Okay, no this is fine, Vic-” Second makes a hysterical noise, “don’t - just don’t move.”

Green makes a noise that sounds like a dying mouse.

“I-I-I can get it.” Dark stammers with shaking legs.

“You’re not going to hit him with the bat!” Sec hisses.

“You’d rather Purple try the newspaper?” Dark demands, gaining confidence as he speaks and then losing it again for reasons Vic doesn’t understand. “Or – look it’s too big for the roach killer-”

“Too big? TOO BIG?!” Green cries. “We’d need a hose of the stuff for that thing! What are we going to do? Hit it with what we have and expect that to work?! I HAVE A SPATULA, Dark!”

“Okay, okay. Stay calm, I can try using the whole thing?” Purple meekly tries to sooth the others, as if they don't even want to make the attempt.

“I’m starting to worry about your sanities, will you just tell me what’s going on?” Vic crosses his arms sternly and begins to move towards the kitchen to put the ice cream, that is surely melting at this point, in the freezer. There’s yelling from all sides as they make their way to the kitchen, but they only stop when they hear the buzzing.

Out of the corner of their eye a blob of brown mars their vision and they turn around their head just in time to see that it’s part of the mesothrax of a very, very big cockroach.

It flies off their back (ah, that would explain a lot actually) and approaches the wall nearSecond who looks ready to pass out at the sight of it but manages to swing his broom to drive it in a different direction. Purple reflexively starts spraying the roach killer at it which it doesn’t take kindly to.

The cockroach erratically flies around the room, causing shrieks of terror and panicked scrambling from everyone to get away from it. Vic stares, analyzing it. It’s enormous, three feet long and a wingspan that easily doubles that, making it an extremely unusual sight.

Green dives over the couch to get away from it with a screech and Dark tackles Purple out of the way of its path. “Spray it! Spray it!” Second yells.

Purple dutifully sprays in its direction, the others not wanting to get close with their short-ranged weapons. It flies away and Purple follows (at a distance) with the others trailing behind them. The ground they gain is lost, however, as the roach killer runs out and the behemoth of an insect doesn’t seem too badly affected by their attack. There’s a brief moment where the heroes stare at the empty can in Purp’s hand and then raise their heads to look at the enemy that no longer has a reason to leave them alone.

All the color leaves their faces, and the Sticks dart out the front door without looking back.

“I do not understand people’ fear of roaches.” Vic admits, watching them trip over each other in their haste to escape. They step over to the bug that has since landed on the floor and is now scuttling around the room.

“I’m sorry but you must depart.” Vic rolls up their sleeves and grabs one of its legs. It buzzes angrily and scrapes its legs against the floor to get away from them. In the process, it dislodges its leg from the joint and flees to the ceiling.

Vic wrinkles his nose at the smell and tosses the leg outside. They go back to try again (perhaps if they grab its body instead of another leg, they'll have more success?) but they're met with further resistance from the bug.

their android body is still new to them and they've been careful with it so far, but if they're going to get the bug down from the ceiling, they’ll have to be a bit reckless. With one powerful jump they're eye-level with its body and they latche on. Their heavy metal frame yanks it off the ceiling.

Long brown legs wiggle desperately, throwing them off-balance. They drop it to regain their balance and they're startled to see it turn around to face them, short but sharp mandibles launching towards their face (wait a minute, cockroaches don’t have mandibles, maybe it’s not-)

It falls to the side before they can close around his head, a knife sticking out of the side of its skull.

Blue wheezes from the top of the dresser, wide-eyed and short of breath. A hand is extended with open fingers and another knife is already primed for throwing in his other. He sags back against the wall behind him calming down now that the bug is dead, before starting do descend from it.

Vic leaves him up on the dresser and cleans up the mess on their own, hauling the body out the door and mopping up the acid from its body on the floor. By then the younger is on the ground.

“Do you want to go find the others or shall I?” Vic asks, handing him back the (bug brain free) knife.

Blue shakes his head, putting the knife back in its drawer “They’ll come back eventually.”

“Were you up there that whole time?”

“I came down when I heard screaming, and then the others ran in screaming about a giant cockroach.” Blue admits, “I climbed back up not long after.”

[pebblepathblog]

My True Crime Addiction Ruined My Life | Here’s How I’m Dealing with the PTSD It Left Behind

Binge watching true crime isn’t just entertainment, it’s a one-way ticket to paranoia, sleepless nights, and an entirely new set of locks on your doors.

Let me just say this upfront, I thought I was normal. I thought I was just like everyone else who unwinds with some TV after a long day. A little Netflix. A little murder mystery. Totally fine, right?

But now, as I’m sitting here with three deadbolts on my front door, blackout curtains that make my living room look like Dracula’s lair, and a constant suspicion that my neighbor’s too friendly smile is hiding something sinister, I have to admit… I’ve gone too far.

True crime has officially ruined my life.

It Started So Innocently

You know that lie we all tell ourselves? “Just one episode.” Yeah, well, I told myself that too. Big mistake. It was a Sunday. I had a snack in hand and clicked play on some true crime docuseries.

Five hours later, my snack was gone, the sun had set, and my heart was racing like I’d just run a marathon. Except I hadn’t moved an inch. I was hooked. Every twist, every piece of evidence, every interview with some totally not suspicious neighbor? Pure adrenaline.

The thrill of solving mysteries from the safety of my couch was exhilarating. It made me feel like Sherlock Holmes…if Sherlock wore pajamas and paused every 20 minutes to check Instagram.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. What started as a weekend hobby quickly morphed into a full blown obsession. And that’s when things got weird.

When Entertainment Turns Into Paranoia

At first, I thought I was just curious. True crime is popular, everyone’s watching it. But somewhere between “popular interest” and “I haven’t slept properly in weeks,” I fell off the deep end.

Suddenly, the creaks in my house weren’t creaks, they were warning signs. The neighbor’s friendly wave? Definitely hiding something. And every time I opened the door, I was fully prepared to be ambushed by a masked figure (even though the scariest thing in my neighborhood is the HOA lol).

Sleepless Nights and Overactive Imagination

Let me set the scene, It’s midnight. I’ve just finished a particularly horrifying episode about a home invasion gone wrong. The house is dark. Quiet. My dog is asleep on the floor.

Cue a broom falling in the kitchen.

Most people? They’d shrug it off. Maybe laugh at themselves. Me? I grabbed my phone like it was a weapon and yelled, “WHO’S THERE?” into the empty air.

Spoiler alert: it was just the broom.

But that’s the thing about true crime, it messes with your sense of reality. I was reacting to normal, everyday noises like I was in a live episode of Criminal Minds.

34 Traumatic Experiences from My True Crime Obsession

Why Can’t I Stop Thinking About That One Scene? Every creak and shadow at night replays the worst parts of a true crime show. After watching a series about home invasions, I couldn’t stop imagining the victim’s attack every time my house got quiet.

I’m Jumping at Every Little Sound A broom falling over shouldn’t make me scream, but it does now. The doorbell rings, and I react like I’m in the middle of a horror movie.

I Can’t Stop Checking the Doors I’ve turned lock-checking into an Olympic sport. After stalking documentaries, I double-check my locks every 10 minutes, sometimes even in the middle of the night.

Why Doesn’t Violence Shock Me Anymore? It’s scary how normal violence feels now. Conversations about crime feel casual, like it’s just part of everyday life.

“I’m Afraid to Go Outside Jogging feels like an invitation for danger. I stopped running on trails after episodes about joggers being attacked.

Every Stranger Feels Like a Threat I can’t meet new people without imagining the worst. Even friendly introductions make me wonder if they’re hiding something sinister.

The World Feels Out of My Control Watching these stories makes me feel powerless. After the kidnapping episodes, I’m constantly afraid for my family’s safety.

Every Situation Seems Dangerous My mind jumps straight to the worst-case scenario. After an office violence episode, I started side-eyeing coworkers more than I should.

Is That a Killer or Just a Regular Guy? My brain loves to connect strangers with crimes I’ve watched. I’ve caught myself thinking random people look like the suspect from a documentary.

Trusting People is Hard Now It’s like everyone has a hidden agenda. Marriage betrayal stories make me question if I’d ever trust a partner fully.

I Don’t Even Feel Safe in Public Spaces Crowded places aren’t comforting anymore. Public transport makes me nervous ever since I watched a subway crime episode.

I Can’t Get Victim Stories Out of My Head The pain of others feels personal now. Hearing about assault victims leaves me emotionally drained for days.

Kindness Feels Suspicious I question everyone’s motives. After betrayal episodes, even small acts of kindness seem like setups.

I’ve Become Overprotective of My Family I’m like a guard dog for my siblings. I’ve stopped letting them play outside alone after child abduction episodes.

Unsolved Cases Are Driving Me Crazy Open endings leave my mind spiraling. Missing persons’ cases haunt me because I keep wondering what happened.

My Nightmares Are Terrifying Even sleep doesn’t feel safe anymore. I dream about being chased after watching serial killer stories.

I Don’t Even Trust the Police Anymore Stories of mishandled cases make me skeptical. Watching episodes about failed investigations makes me doubt emergency services.

Sleeping Through the Night? Impossible. Late-night episodes make falling asleep a challenge. Kidnapping stories leave me lying awake, planning escape routes and how to unalive the rapist

I’m Scared to Let My Guard Down Relaxing feels like a luxury I can’t afford. Even during family gatherings, I keep imagining worst-case scenarios.

True Crime is Affecting My Dating Life I overanalyze every romantic partner. I keep comparing them to the manipulative partners in documentaries.

Why Am I So Paranoid About Cars? Every vehicle feels like it’s following me. Episodes about roadside crimes have me constantly checking my rearview mirror.

I Don’t Trust My Own Gut Anymore I question every instinct I have. Stories about victims ignoring red flags make me doubt my ability to read people.

Everyday Objects Feel Sinister Even normal items feel like weapons. After watching crime scenes, a kitchen knife on the counter makes me uneasy.

I’ve Become Obsessed with Self-Defense I’m constantly looking for ways to protect myself. After watching home invasion stories, I considered buying pepper spray and a baseball bat.

Walking Alone Feels Impossible Even a short walk makes me hyper-vigilant. I can’t go out at night anymore without imagining every shadow is a threat.

Do My Neighbors Have Secrets Too? Everyone around me feels suspicious. True crime makes me side-eye even the friendliest neighbors.

I’m Always Planning Escape Routes I overthink every room I enter. I calculate exits and hiding spots, even in safe spaces like my friend’s house.

Social Media Feels Dangerous Now Sharing personal details online makes me paranoid. Cybercrime episodes make me rethink every post I make.

I’m Addicted to the Fear The adrenaline rush is hard to give up. Even though it terrifies me, I can’t stop watching.

True Crime Has Changed How I See Humanity I don’t look at people the same way anymore. Stories about serial killers make me wonder how many people hide dark secrets.

Sometimes I Feel Like I’m in a Movie Every interaction feels scripted for danger. I play out scenarios in my head like I’m the star of a thriller.

I Avoid Hotels and Airbnbs Now Staying anywhere but home feels risky. Episodes about vacation crimes make me overly cautious about traveling.

My Imagination is Exhausting I’m always thinking of worst-case scenarios. Even a harmless grocery trip has me imagining potential threats.

Will I Ever Be Carefree Again? I miss feeling safe and carefree. True crime has left me questioning if I’ll ever feel as relaxed as I used to

Rock Bottom: The Night I Couldn’t Sleep

The breaking point came after a particularly intense episode about an unsolved case. You know, the kind where they never catch the guy? I went to bed, but sleep wasn’t happening. My brain was busy crafting an elaborate “what if” scenario.

What if there’s someone outside right now? What if they know I’ve been watching? What if I don’t survive to tell the tale?

I stared at the ceiling until 4 a.m., mentally rehearsing how to disarm an intruder with a lamp (again). That morning, I woke up exhausted and realized I couldn’t keep living like this.

How I’m Taking Back My Sanity

So, how am I dealing with the aftermath of my true crime addiction? First, I’ve set some boundaries. No more watching true crime before bed, (honestly, I’m not sure why I ever thought that was a good idea.) I’ve also swapped some of my viewing habits. Instead of diving into another murder mystery, I’ll watch something lighthearted, like watching a cartoon or a cooking show. There’s something oddly soothing about people aggressively frosting cakes.

I also started journaling too. At first, it felt silly writing down, “Today, I was scared of my own vacuum.” But you know what? It helps. Sometimes just putting the irrational thoughts on paper makes them feel…less powerful.

Therapy is next on my list because, let’s be real, talking to a professional beats yelling at my broom.

My Takeaway

Don’t get me wrong, I still love a good true crime story. But I’ve learned that True Crime Story is like candy, fun in moderation, disastrous in excess. Too much of a good thing can be… well, bad. True crime might scratch that itch for suspense and mystery, but it also comes with a hefty price tag for your mental health. If you’re like me and find yourself spiraling into paranoia after a binge session, it’s time to take a step back.

Because at the end of the day, the real crime is letting fear steal your peace of mind. And no amount of locked doors, triple-checked windows, or canceled jogs is worth that.

So, to all my fellow true crime junkies, watch responsibly. And maybe keep the lights on while you’re at it.

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[locution-youngster-enjoyer]

One person asked for my plot idea for Wordgirl the Musical and that’s enough people for me so let’s go:

Stuff under the cut because long lol

Opening number basically is just an intro to the all the important characters. Yes the Narrator would be an actual character. Maybe there could be a gag where the actor playing the Narrator would sit in a top box area where you could only see their silhouette. Most of the ensemble consists of fan favorite side characters, like lesser villains and civilians like Reginald.

I said this in the other post but the story would follow a similar structure to SpongeBob the Musical: Same vibe as the og show, but darker themes and tones. Plus a lot of fan service

Ok actual plot time: things are all fine and dandy in Fair City, until Mr Big gets an idea. He wants to somehow recreate the Invasion of the Bunny Lovers plan, but with more backup then last time. He recruits the Coalition of Malice crew (+ Tobey) for the plan, and they agree only because they’re sick of Mr Big betraying them and taking everything over.

Their plan isn’t 100% like IBL, because they’re much more subtle about it so that Wordgirl can’t pick up on anything. Becky talks to Violet and Scoops (because this would take place after Rhyme and Reason) and is like “guys something sus is happening and I can’t tell what.” But because they go to the same school, Tobey overhears Becky’s convo, and later goes to the other villains like “uh guys she knows-.” Malice crew then decides to create another one of those “city turns against Wordgirl” situations so that Wordgirl is distracted.

Wordgirl is stressed because she lowkey knows somethings going on, but pretty much no one is listening to her. She gets extra upset when she overhears her own family (minus TJ obviously) also have doubts about Wordgirl. Bummed, her original plan is to go ‘defeat’ one of the weaker villains so that she could re-earn the trust of the public. In an attempt to find one of these lower tier villains, she stumbles upon pretty much every single Tier 3 (LRW, Whammer, etc) and Mischief Maker villain just chilling in the Coach’s apartment. Wordgirl is immediately confused, until it’s revealed that they’re all chilling together because they all know that Mr Big is up to something, and they’re just waiting for them to inevitably be put under mind control. Once that’s cleared up, Wordgirl is like “uhhh.. I’m here to fight you all! Yeah 🫵🏻” and the villains are all like “Bro really 😑?” Ok, tbh, this part is one of the like three actual song concepts I have. The style of the song would be very a similar style to Will Wood, and the song would be the villains sort of taunting Wordgirl for trying to get heroism points off of them (it’d probably be called something like Bottom of the Barrel)

Anyways after the bullying session, Wordgirl is just fully prepared to give up, and decides to just sulk outside the Coach’s apartment. Some of the villains come outside to be like “Uh- you good?” After a bit of venting, one of the villains brings up how none of them are actually taking this whole ‘party before the inevitable’ thing seriously. While they are deciding to spend their last moments conscious together, they aren’t being too bittersweet about it because they’re pretty confident that Wordgirl is gonna stop Mr Big eventually. Wordgirl tries to deny that she’ll be able to stop him, but then it’s pointed out that she pretty much has a clean win streak. No matter how bad it gets, she always defeats the villains in the end. While Wordgirl is flattered, she does admit she thinks she’s gonna need some help. The villains admit that they don’t really plan on helping at all, because they don’t see the benefit in helping or in sitting out, but LRW, Ms Question, and Whammer do decide to tag along for shits and giggles.

Act 1 closes out with a dramatic song of Becky on her way to try and confront Mr Big, all while everything looks super grim. Things are starting to spiral because it’s obvious some people are already mind controlled, and the Wordgirl hate is getting worse.

Act 2 focuses more on the Coalition and how despite so far being successful in their plan, it’s clear things are falling apart. No one’s communicating and they’re arguing a majority of the time. The focus is overall more on what each villain wants to do with world domination. This act also has the two other song concepts I have: a Tobey song on his relationship with his mom and how it fits in with the current plan, and a Leslie song focusing on how she’s exclusively the sidekick no matter what. By the time Wordgirl’s in the building, there’s already a swarm of mind controlled people in her way trying to get her mind controlled. Wordgirl desperately fights her way to the top of the building, and on the way the villain trio coming with her get caught, and she’s left alone. Whole alone sad trope, but Narrator and Captain Huggyface gives her an encouraging song. Wordgirl confronts some of the villains one on one, and it’s clear the plan isn’t gonna work because of emotional feelings

Coalition crew’s plan falls a part because of how pissed they are at each other. Mr Big tries to take over completely, but Wordgirl cuts in and interrupts. Chaos ensues, and the villains try to fight both Wordgirl and each other to get control of the Mega Mindcontrol machine thing. Mr Big once again nearly manages to take control once again when everyone else is tangled, but in the end, Leslie is the one who betrays Mr Big, breaking the machine and freeing everyone from the mind control.

Plan is foiled, Wordgirl wins. People learn to not over and underestimate each other, bla bla happy ending

Some gags: Exposition guy of course showing up. Captain Huggyface would probably be a plushy, like how Gary in SpongeBob the Musical is a doll on a skateboard. There’s also a running gag that Leslie would absolutely refuse to sing for a solo because stage fright, and even refuses to sing her own mentioned song at first. Her song starts off with a sort of rap-vibe because of how she speaks the lyrics, before Two Brains is like “stop being a pussy,” and zaps her with the singing ray from Two Brain Quartet; cue the trope that she’s a really good singer. Two Brains also has a gag of having really random rays that he pulls seemingly out of nowhere. There’s a gag that they may throw an F-bomb out at anytime, and they tease it the whole show. Either Wordgirl or Leslie get it in the final fight.

The last song will end with the Narrator doing the whole “tune in next time” thing, just tweaked for a musical. The song also ends with everyone singing the ending ‘wordgirl’ jingle played at the end of every episode

Yeah ok that’s it goodnight Fair City

[alaskan-wallflower]

i’m sorry but the “discourse” between the musical and book/movie fandom is so stupid. i get people get mad when people tag the outsiders to talk about whoever the fuck terrence dipp and beverly jitney-bush are, but there’s also literally a place you can blacklist tags. bright idea, i know. now, i don’t condone people tagging fics about the actors with the outsiders tag, nor do i condone real people fiction because that’s weird and invasive but that’s a discussion for another fine, just wanted to make that clear. but atp it feels like they’re two completely separate fandoms and i guess to a level they should be treated as such. i get that not everyone agrees with ace, or bev, or chet or whoever the hell are actual canon characters, and i do think to a level, they should be tagged separately, but if it bothers you that much, then blacklist the content you don’t wanna see. i’ve done it with plenty of things and it’s completely okay to do. nobody’s gonna be upset with you over it. what it isn’t okay to do is to harass other fans over it. i get it, sometimes it is annoying to see things about all these characters who don’t have anything to do with the actual story on your feed, but again, use the tools provided that were literally made to provide an enjoyable space for you. don’t harass people over it. at the end of the day, it’s the same media. and while i don’t personally wanna write analyses on random background socs, full props and respect to people who do! use that brain of yours, create content, do what makes you happy! but if something bothers you to that point, on BOTH sides because both sides can be immature and obnoxious on occasion, use the block button and the black listing option. it’s not that hard. it’s the same story at the end of the day, it’s not that deep.

the tags prolly make more sense of what i’m trying to get at

[jenosonlywife23]

Debut Day Dreams (Part 4 – The Scandal Unfolds)

The first crack in your fragile bubble of secrecy came three weeks later. It was subtle at first—a single blurry photo posted anonymously on a fan forum. Just two people walking down the street, their faces obscured by masks and caps.

The caption read: "Who’s Jeno’s mystery date?"

Your heart sank when you saw it. You stared at the screen, your stomach churning as the comments piled up beneath the post. Most were skeptical, dismissing the photo as a coincidence. But others were sharper, more observant.

“That’s definitely his hair color right now.” “Same build, same height. It’s him.” “Who’s the girl?”

You hadn’t even realized your hands were shaking until your phone buzzed. It was him.

“Have you seen it?” he asked as soon as you picked up, his voice tense.

“Yeah,” you whispered, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline. “What do we do?”

There was a pause, and you could almost hear him thinking, weighing the options. “For now, nothing. Let it blow over. They don’t have anything solid.”

But it didn’t blow over. The next day, a second photo surfaced—this one clearer, showing the two of you standing outside the café where you’d met. The angle was grainy, taken from across the street, but it was undeniably you.

The headline on the fan forum screamed: "Jeno’s secret date revealed!"

The comments were brutal this time, full of speculation and jealousy. Some fans defended him, arguing that he was entitled to a private life, but others were less kind. The words blurred together as you scrolled through them, each one hitting harder than the last.

“She’s so plain. What does he see in her?” “If this is real, I’m done being a fan.” “Why do idols always pick girls who aren’t even pretty?”

You closed the app, your chest tight with panic. The walls of your apartment suddenly felt too close, the air too thin. You barely registered the sound of your phone buzzing again until his name lit up the screen.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer this time. “Are you okay?”

You wanted to lie, to tell him you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a choked sob escaped, and you covered your mouth, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice filled with guilt. “I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you managed to say, even though part of you wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair. You hadn’t asked for any of this, but neither had he.

“I’ll fix it,” he said firmly. “I’ll talk to the company. They’ll handle it.”

But the company didn’t “handle” it. Instead, they issued a vague statement denying the rumors, which only fueled more speculation. Fans dug deeper, analyzing every detail of your life, piecing together clues that you hadn’t even realized you’d left behind.

The tipping point came when someone leaked your Instagram account. Suddenly, your private photos were plastered all over social media, accompanied by cruel comments and invasive questions.

You deleted the account, but the damage was done.

“I can’t do this,” you told him one night, your voice shaking as you stood on the rooftop where you’d shared your first kiss. “It’s too much. They’re tearing me apart.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “But we can get through this. Together.”

“Can we?” you shot back, the frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. “Because right now, it feels like I’m losing myself, and I don’t know if I can keep up with your world.”

His expression broke, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his own armor. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then what do we do?” you asked, tears streaming down your face.

He didn’t have an answer.

The scandal reached its peak two days later when an alleged insider claimed that the company was considering taking legal action against you for breaching their artist’s privacy. The claim was false, but the backlash was swift and merciless.

Fans rallied online, demanding answers, while others trended hashtags defending him and condemning the intrusion into his personal life. It was chaos, and you were caught in the center of it.

That night, he showed up at your door, his face shadowed by a hoodie and exhaustion etched into every line of his body.

“I have an idea,” he said, stepping inside before you could say a word.

“What kind of idea?” you asked, wary of the determined look in his eyes.

“I’m going to go public,” he said.

Your heart stopped. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he said, his voice steady. “If I come forward and say it’s real, they’ll have to back off. They can’t attack you if they know I’m the one who chose this.”

“You’ll ruin your career,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ll lose everything.”

“Not everything,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Not you.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that he didn’t need to sacrifice himself for you, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He’d already made up his mind.

The announcement came the next morning. A live broadcast, watched by millions of fans around the world. He sat on a couch, dressed casually but looking every bit the idol they adored. His voice was calm, measured, as he addressed the rumors.

“Yes,” he said, looking straight into the camera. “The photos are real. I’m seeing someone.”

The world seemed to hold its breath as he continued.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, and I understand if you’re upset. But I’m asking you to trust me, to support me the way you always have. This person means a lot to me, and I hope you can respect that.”

The backlash was immediate and intense, but so was the support. Fans trended hashtags defending his right to be happy, while others vowed to stand by him no matter what.

And you? You watched it all unfold from the safety of your apartment, your heart breaking and swelling in equal measure.

When he called you that night, his voice was filled with relief. “It’s done,” he said. “We’re free.”

Free. The word felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders.

But freedom came at a cost, and you both knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. Still, as you lay in bed that night, listening to his voice on the other end of the line, you knew one thing for certain:

For him, it was worth it. And for you? So was he.

[theonceoverthinker]

...I really don’t know how I came to ship this, but I do, and here we are!

Here’s a little Bowuigi idea I had yesterday while waiting at the dentist office.

So Bowser and Luigi have been going out for some time, like a few months. Everyone’s accepted it, Mario included because he loves his little bro, but reluctantly. Trusting Bowser feels difficult.

One day, Luigi is helping Bowser during a battle with an outside invading kingdom (We’ll say it’s the Penguin Kingdom from the movie’s teaser, now back with an actually formidable army/arsenal). This particular battle is closer to the border of the Mushroom Kingdom than it is Bowser’s castle and during the fight, Luigi gets hurt pretty badly. He’s knocked out at the very least, maybe has a broken bone or two, and has a lot of bruising. Bowser has his minions finish the fight with the Penguin Kingdom while he gets Luigi to safety. Though he’d prefer to take Luigi to his castle, the distance makes that difficult and Luigi needs immediate help. What’s not a terribly far distance away, much to Bowser’s chagrin, is Mario and Luigi’s home, and so he sets his Clown Copter for there.

Mario, Peach, and Toad are hanging out at Mario’s place. Mario’s telling Peach and Toad about how Luigi is helping Bowser fight against the invasion, and Peach can tell that Mario isn’t himself. They talk a bit more about Luigi and Bowser’s relationship, and Mario says that he’s happy that Luigi is happy, but that the idea of trusting Bowser with his brother’s heart is tough for him. Luigi’s spent so much of his life feeling small and up against someone with as big of a personality and strong of a stature, he doesn’t want Luigi to suffer at Bowser’s hands if he doesn’t take of and respect him. Peach reminds Mario that Luigi has a way of bringing out the best in every one he meets, a sentiment that Mario agrees with, giving Peach a grateful smile. He gives an unsure sigh and says that he supposes only time will tell.

Suddenly, Bowser arrives, Luigi’s passed out form in his arms.  

Mario’s first instinct is to yell at Bowser for putting Luigi in danger, but Bowser’s worrying has that instinct die in his throat, instead leading Bowser to Luigi’s room, where they settle Luigi in. It’s a tight fit -- Luigi’s room is on the small side relative to Bowser’s form, and while there are chairs, they’re too tiny for him to even sit in. Out of exhaustion from the battle as well as his overwhelming sense of worry for Luigi, Bowser sits on the floor, two claws wrapped around his hand.

Toad starts preparing medicine while Peach and Mario listen to Bowser as he tells them what happened.

Bowser gives an abridged telling of the battle. However, Peach and Mario have questions because of that abridged recount.

As Bowser speaks, looking at Mario’s stern look, Peach’s worrying gaze at Luigi, and Luigi himself, he begins to feel hatred towards himself. It doesn’t matter that Luigi volunteered to help out: Luigi got hurt because of him. He would be fine if he hadn’t involved Luigi, if he stayed as far away from Luigi as possible. Surely, Mario and Peach feel the same. The guilt Bowser feels rattles in his head like an earthquake as he self-depricates like rainfall during a storm. Before he can even fully finish he recounting of the battle, Bowser excuses himself, running out of the brothers’ home before anyone can properly react. Any attempts to follow him in that moment are interrupted by Toad as he needs help with Luigi’s medicine.

An hour or two passes, and it’s getting dark. Bowser has long since stopped running, and is now walking a half mile or so around the brothers’ home. What hasn’t stopped is the self-deprication, staying just as powerful as it was while he was in the house.

Why did he let himself be with Luigi? He’s a giant monster. Luigi’s the sweetest person alive. He should never show his face to Luigi again. Being hated is better than endangering Luigi.

Bowser hears his name called from behind him. He turns around. Peach is there. She tells Bowser to come back to the house with her. Bowser starts to tell her that he shouldn’t, but Peach doesn’t let him. She says that Luigi adores him and as soon as he wakes up, Bowser’s the first thing he’s going to be asking for, and that Bowser needs to be there when he does. Peach states that they both know that Luigi won’t be able to rest, let alone forgive himself, if he doesn’t know that Bowser is okay. Bowser tries to bring up more counterpoints, but Peach cuts them off, giving him a sharp look before Bowser finally follows her lead back to Mario and Luigi’s house. 

Toad is still in the kitchen when Bowser arrives, though it doesn’t seem like he’s cooking medicine anymore. Bowser takes that as a good sign as he follows Peach into Luigi’s room. Bowser looks to Luigi first when he enters the room. Luigi’s in fresh pajamas and has a compress on his head, bandages where his bones are hurt, and a few ice packs here and there. What an especially relieving sensation is what Bowser hears. Luigi’s snoring softly, a sign that any serious danger Luigi might have faced has passed. Bowser feels tears trying to fight their way up his eyes, just barely kept under his surface.

Luigi’s going to be okay.

Upon taking his eyes off of Luigi, a downright Herculean effort on his half, Bowser sees that something significant has changed. Right next to Luigi’s bedside, a big armchair that Bowser vaguely recalls seeing in the brothers’ living room earlier now sits. Bowser can tell immediately that it’s just his size, save for the presence of its occupant. Mario, who is sitting in the chair, gets up and nods to Bowser to sit. Bowser can see scuffs on Mario’s gloves that weren’t there before, and it hits Boswer exactly how that chair came to be at its current location. Bowser, nodding back at Mario, sits in the chair and takes Luigi’s hand in two of his claws, kissing Luigi’s knuckles.

Not long after Bowser’s return, Mario pulls one of Luigi’s smaller chairs to the foot of Luigi’s bed, a hand placed on his brother’s sock-clad foot, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over it.

Peach goes off to make everyone tea, leaving Bowser and Mario alone together.

Even though Luigi and Bowser are dating, Bowser and Mario have spent very little in each other’s company since they started. That time has been...awkward, to say the least. And now, they’ve got hours upon hours of it to “look forward” to.

It’s going to be a long night.

Bowser usually knows what to say (Or at least knows what he wants to say if he’s striving for good behavior and can’t actually say it). Right now though, with Luigi unconscious and the story of how he got that way not fully cleared up yet, he’s bereft of words.

What CAN he really say right now, especially to Mario of all people?

Is he supposed to apologize to Mario for putting Luigi in harm’s way? That doesn’t feel right to say. Peach told Bowser herself on the way back to the house that Luigi chose to join him in battle, and she made him promise to not forget that (Peach can be a force to be reckoned with when she want to).

Should he try to clear up what happened during the battle? Just thinking about that makes Bowser feel like his head is being blended like a smoothie, and he doesn’t want a repeat of last time. The details are at once too clear and too sketchy; any attempt on his half to delve more into them won’t end well.

What about small talk? No, just no. He and Mario aren’t small talk people, and Bowser fears that even reaching such a level where they can rest on that level of social interaction is all but out of the question now.

Bowser’s at a total loss on how to proceed, but before he can despair on that too much, Mario starts talking.

He tells Bowser how Luigi was this morning before he left their house, excited about joining Bowser and fighting off the Penguin Kingdom. Mario gave Luigi what Luigi now jokingly calls his “overprotective big brother speech,” but Luigi insisted he’d be okay (”Fire beats ice, big bro! You know that!”), that he has power-ups packed, and that Bowser would take care of him if need be. Mario states that didn’t say this to Luigi, but in the back of his head, he worried about how Bowser would prioritize Luigi in a fight for his kingdom, and would Luigi’s attestation be true. Would he be more the Koopa that Luigi believes him to be, or would he default to the power-hungry king that Mario has seen almost nothing but since he and Luigi first arrived to this kingdom and leave Luigi to the wayside in fighting the Penguin Kingdom’s army?

Bowser attempts to speak up, but Mario cuts him off. Bowser shuts his mouth and listens.

Mario says that Boswer showed him that answer today.

While Bowser was gone, lost in his own thoughts and guilt, Kamek flew by the house to report on the rest of the battle, unintentionally yet heavily implying to them all that Bowser left the battle as soon as Luigi got hurt, its (And by extension, his army and possibly kingdom’s)nultimate fate unknown to him.

That told Mario all he needed to know.

Bowser chose Luigi. No matter what he would look like to his own army or the Penguin Kingdom’s army or how his side might suffer because of it, Mario knows that Bowser immediately took Luigi to safety, and even took him to Mario’s house of all places. Even during this conversation he and Bowser are presently sharing, upon learning about Kamek, Bowser hasn’t asked about the results of the battle; instead, he’s just held Luigi’s hand that little bit tighter.

Mario says Bowser proved himself to Mario, that Bowser can be trusted with Luigi’s heart and that Mario feels safe to give him the benefit of the doubt going forward.

Bowser is saved from giving Mario more than a grateful nod, as he feels Luigi start to stir and wake. His and Mario’s attention snaps to him.

Luigi takes in where he is and the two by his bedside. He asked how he got here, and what happened during the rest of the battle with the Penguin Kingdom. Mario answers both points, the latter of which giving Bowser an answer that had been only at the furthest recesses of his mind. The Koopa Kingdom won, and the Penguin Kingdom petulantly surrendered, with no casualties on either side. Luigi shifts his hand to clap it around Bowser’s claw, instead of the other way around as it had been since Bowser sat down. He thanks Bowser for bringing him home, and Bowser jokingly rolls his eyes as he points out how annoying it was, the two snorting with laughter.

Peach emerges with some tea and greets Luigi, hearing him wake up from the other room and revealing that she made him a tea that will help him sleep. Luigi says (really, pseudo-whines) that he doesn’t want to sleep (”I just woke up!”), but the room’s three other occupants nag at him that he’s going to need a lot more sleep before he’s better. Luigi, resigned, submits to their tag-team and slinks back into his bed before drinking his tea.

Bowser stays by Luigi’s bedside all night and beyond.

Some highlights from Luigi’s recovery.

-By the following afternoon, it takes the group up of all the Mushroom Kingdom’s greatest heroes to get Bowser to just take a nap in another room. Bowser falls asleep on the other living room armchair. His snores are loud, but it’s well worth it.

-Two days after Bowser brings Luigi home, while Luigi continues to rest, nine Koopa Copters, all smaller than the one Bowser and Luigi arrived in the day before, land outside the brothers’ house. Mario, Peach, and Toad go outside and see the Koopalings and Bowser Jr, with Kamek trailing just behind them. The kids rush in and Kamek sheepishly replies that they insisted on visiting Luigi. Luigi’s room is beyond packed, so Bowser has all but one or two of them leave the room, turning Mario, Peach, and Kamek into their pseudo-babysitters.

-The kids have all made Luigi get well soon cards and pictures, and Luigi adores them all. Luigi has Bowser hang them all on the wall in front of them so he can see them all the time.

-On the third night there, Mario wakes up in the middle of the night and hears Bowser stepping outside the house. He goes to join him, and they just sit on the porch, watching the night sky together. When he asks Bowser if he can’t sleep, Bowser simply huffs. Before he can comment on it, Bowser jokes to Mario about how it is he can stand the constant smell of mushrooms, not just in his house, but all over here. Mario, smirking, shrugs and says that that’s just part of this place and that honestly, it faded into the background for him pretty quickly after he arrived. Bowser says it’s weird, and Mario counters, saying that it’s not called the Mushroom Kingdom for nothing (”The castle doesn’t smell like that.” “The castle is filled with flowers and is always cleaned.” “Still smells.”). They spend the next ten or so minutes looking out at the night sky before Bowser goes back inside, with Mario going inside shortly after.

-After about a week or so, Bowser’s confident enough in Luigi’s recovery that he’s convinced that he can return to his castle and get to his normal dealings (He does have a lot of post-invasion paperwork and organization to take care of, not to mention his responsibilities as a father to the kids). That first night apart is difficult for both of them. Luigi’s gotten so used to holding Bowser’s claw as he sleeps that going without it feels weird. Bowser meanwhile needs to state affirmations at least once an hour that he knows Luigi is feeling better and that being apart for a few days will be fine.

-Bowser visits the brothers’ house once a week on average after Luigi’s recovered; usually, it’s just to pick up Luigi so he can stay over in the Koopa Kingdom for a bit, but he’ll stay over for a meal if the timing is right (Bowser really likes Mario’s cooking and everyone knows this, though good luck ever getting him to say that out loud). Because of Bowser’s size, he and Luigi at least eat in the living room since that chair is one of the only two in the house that Bowser can fit in. After the fourth time this happens, Mario and Luigi get a Bowser-sized chair to put in their kitchen so that he can sit there with them. Bowser never admits it, but it’s one of the best gifts he’s ever received.

[sagemonsters]

Kaia on ko-fi has a blind date with...

Stelios the Centaur

Stelios has the lower body of a chestnut draft horse and the upper half of a muscular, redheaded human man with lots of freckles. He works as a ranger in a large, mountainous wilderness park, and takes his job very seriously. He is always rescuing lost hikers and tending their injuries, and sometimes scaring off bears! He carries emergency medical and food supplies in his saddlebags and always has a helping hand at the ready.

Ecology is Stelios’ primary hobby, and it’s not just for work. He is very passionate about reforesting now-barren former woodland and getting rid of invasive species. He can talk for hours about it, but also wants to hear about your own interests and passions. He understands what it feels like to realize that you’re the only person in the room who truly cares about a particular subject, and knows how to push forward against other peoples’ indifference.

Stelios loves gaming, but unfortunately rarely has time for it due to the nature of his work. He’s easily frustrated by technology and prefers tabletop games to video games (and yes, his D&D characters are primarily druids). When you invite him to a TTRPG session, he makes every effort to clear his schedule and come to the event; he wants to make more friends.

Stelios drinks a lot of coffee… maybe too much. Although he isn’t picky about what kind of coffee he drinks, he makes a point of avoiding chain coffeeshops and tries to support small businesses in his area, especially ones owned by queer folks or else that are havens for marginalized people.

CW for giant arachnid (scorpion) + use of firearms

“Get on my back,” the centaur wearing a ranger’s jacket mutters to you.

“Why?” you mutter back, although you are nonetheless already very close to the centaur’s flank in the steep-sided, marshy gully.

“It’s doing a threat display,” the ranger explains, eyeing the giant swamp scorpion with its enormous, snapping pincers and venom-dripping stinger, “we don’t have much ti—”

The massive arachnid rushes forward at you, its legs thudding into the soft ground. You hoist yourself up onto the centaur’s back faster than you thought possible outside of an adrenaline-fueled emergency, and the centaur wheels around and gallops as fast as he can away from the threat—but not fast enough. The boggy terrain is slowing him down, and the swamp scorpion’s wide, flat feet help it move more quickly.

You pull a pistol out of the holster at your hip, twisting on the ranger’s equine back to fire off a few shots at the scorpion. Even on the back of a struggling centaur, your aim is true, and black ichor gushes from the scorpion’s new injuries. It squeals and twitches in pain, slowing down just long enough for the centaur to reach the end of the gully and start climbing up a slope onto firmer ground. Unwilling to leave its lair, the swamp scorpion remains behind to nurse its wounds.

“You could have used that a little sooner,” the centaur grumbles. “The noise of a few shots might have scared it, at least.”

“I don’t have a permit to hunt scorpions,” you explain. “I wasn’t sure I was allowed to shoot that thing.”

“You would have been in luck if you’d tried—they’re invasive, so we would pay you rather than the other way around—and self-defense is a valid defense against being fined. I’m Stelios, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well, and Stelios lets you hitch a ride back to the nearest ranger station. Along the way, he offers some suggestions for how to replace your lost hiking and camping gear more cheaply, and you have a good time chatting with him and swapping emergency medical treatment tips. Once at the ranger station, the swamp scorpion’s lair is reported so that a better-equipped team can handle the giant arachnid, and a kindly human ranger offers you a ride in an ATV back to the park’s main entrance.

All in all, it turned out to be a pretty fun-filled day.

see here if you'd like your own blind date with a monster!

[boatem-probler]

The Boys Are Back in the Mob in... Tokyo Soul!

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / You Are Here! / 8 / 9

Wowie zowie it's another guest episodes! But this time it's Sam's guest so it's not as good as Lizzie. In these episodes, the boys try to have a nice day out while Professor Geode shows his "family" around town, Grian's mic is out to lunch, and organized crime rears its ugly head once again in the city.

This report contains mentions of: violence, guns, drugs.

Previously on Tokyo Soul:

"Who wants to rub blood on themselves?” -- Lizzie

This Time...

Episode 25 – A NEW FRIEND!

Taurtis is filming a roleplay called “Yandere Middle School” lol.

Sam mentions his “personal friend” named Jin who they need to pick up from the train station.

Taurtis: “You have other friends?” Sam: “Yeah, I have friends!” Grian: “News to me.”

Sam: “Grian had a friend, I can have a friend too.” Taurtis: “But he’s actually likable.”

Sam’s friend is actually moving to the area, Sam says.

Dom and Jerry break the TV.

On the way to the train station, they see that another UFO has crashed into the tree in Geode’s yard.

While the boys are arguing about whether it is, in fact, a UFO, they are HALTed by Officer Flare. He fines them for jaywalking, and then for attempting to bribe him with Doritos and bagels. He doesn’t make any attempt to actually collect any money from them though.

Jerry is selling JerryCats and Air at the train station.

Jin gets off the train, along with two very obviously stereotypical Green Aliens in touristy clothes. Taurtis tries to convince Jin not to move there. Jin is from Kyoto, apparently.

The aliens are met by none other than Geode, who is trying to pass them off as his “Pappa” and “Gramma”.

Dom is running a bar and grill at the train station. Also, it turns out he didn’t break the TV, he stole it to put in his bar and grill.

They look for a restaurant. Grian just straight up walks into someone’s house and sits down at their kitchen table. Jerry breaks the food that was on the table. Then Igbar von Squid walks in because it turns out this is his house. He’s not happy. The boys get out of there pretty fast.

They run into the principal and Grian chews him out again. Jin is a bit shocked to hear what’s been going on at their school.

Jin: “I’m still in Japan, right?”

Honestly, I’m not too sure about that.

Episode 26 – GRIAN IS AN ALIEN!

They go to an actual restaurant. Sam makes Taurtis read the menu sign outside. He claims the restaurant serves “fish legs”, and Jin calls him out on not actually being able to read Japanese. The boys are all shocked that Jin can. More fuel for my silly little “this whole show takes place in some kind of pocket-dimensional space warp” headcanon.

Geode and his “family” are also at the restaurant. Grian, as the only one willing to admit they’re aliens and probably planning some kind of invasion, sits near them so he can listen in on their conversation. He sounds like he’s near tears trying to convince the others.

And then he sounds like a robot, because he’s having mic issues. The way they decide to work this into the story is: Taurtis yells “HE’S AN ALIEN”, Geode yells “THE MIND SLUGS HAVE ACTIVATED”, and everyone runs out of the restaurant, away from Grian.

Grian tearfully chases after them. Taurtis pulls out a gun. Sam tells him to shoot Grian in the leg if he “speaks alien”. Taurtis shoots him before he says anything, he screams, it’s incredibly garbled, everyone runs away in fear again. This is not a good day for Grians.

Then there’s a cut and Grian is speaking normally again. He explains that from his perspective, he was speaking normally and they just shot him for apparently no reason.

Officer Flare fines Grian for having an open wound. Grian decides to bandage his wound with the paper the fine is written on. He also decides to give his name as “Sam Gladiator” when the cop asks.

Sam protests loudly. “Grian, why are you trying to pull a fast one?” Grian says to him. The gaslighter become the gaslighted. Well not really since they all run away before much else is said.

Episode 27 – RUN ITS THE COPS!

They all head over to the apartment Jin’s planning to move into so he can sign the lease. The landlords are… pretty blatantly The Mafia. Also they have a doorman dressed in a very skimpy outfit and a Pepe mask, because that’s the sort of series this is. The landlords ask Jin if he’s “part of another gang in town”.

Jin’s lease contract involves him giving the landlords a pint of blood. And his soul. Right now though, the landlords just make him clean the top floor. Sam et al. go up to watch him clean, Sam gets angry at the younger landlord and punches him, and the younger landlord pulls out a gun. They all start cleaning, except Taurtis, who decides to break all the windows for some reason. Then he falls off the balcony.

The landlords also want Jin to deliver drugs to a man under a bridge. The man is Old Kurokuma, because we can never be rid of this guy. And, of course, the same cop from before walks up and tries to arrest them all. They scatter. The cop shoots at them a couple of times.

They run back to Jin’s apartment. The landlords want the money from the deal, which Jin didn’t get. The cop breaks the door down. The boys break another window to escape. 

They lose the cop by hiding in the school, before presumably heading back to Jin’s apartment. That’s what they say they’re doing, but the episode and the recording session end before they get there.

Grian Trauma Count!

Injuries Sustained:

Shot in the leg and bandaged the wound with a piece of paper and then kept running on it which definitely didn’t help.

Traumatic Events:

Guns are drawn on him multiple times by multiple people.

Once again something weird/bad is happening, in this case possible alien invasion, and literally no one will take his worry seriously.

The aliens do something to him that he doesn’t know what it is, just that it makes his friends convinced he’s an alien, run away from him in fear, and then shoot him.

Forced (by proximity to the guy who’s explicitly being forced, basically) to participate in a drug deal.

Chased and shot at by a police officer.

Next Time... the Deaths Witnessed Count Gets a Pretty Big Shot in the Arm