#and ALSO for characters to start baring their souls at least a bit the therapist would have to try and earn their trust!!

[suffarustuffaru]

We need more re:zero fanfics that are just characters being forced to go to therapy. Subaru is ordered by the Royal Knights to attend weekly sessions (that secretly double as interrogations, though due to patient confidentiality the therapist is only able to pass on information that regards other people being put in danger) and the therapist stumbles out of there every week needing a drink because trying to make something coherent out of a conversation with Natsuki Subaru concerning anything related to his fluctuating emotional state and the very obvious/mysterious trauma underpinning all of his actions is practically an Olympic sport — and that was before unearthing his self-harm habit, severe inferiority complex, and what may be suicidal tendencies. Reinhard is so emotionally repressed that he’s refusing to let himself feel anything even regarding having to face off against his grandmother’s corpse and his superiors keep walking back the meager process any sessions manage to make. Otto seems perfectly normal and then he mentions being willing to die for Subaru’s sake as soon as three days after he met him. Ram just sits there glaring for the full hour and a half. Wilhelm uses the time to express his latest revenge plot in very well thought out detail. Heinkel is such a horrible mess that I can’t even make a joke out of what he’d do to that poor therapist’s emotional state. Roswaal doesn’t seem to realize what therapy IS. That poor therapist is in Hell.

anon ive always wanted to see something like this for sure HAH its just such a fascinating idea?? especially when 99% of people in the rz cast desperately need extensive therapy 😭😭 but yeah theres different ways you could take an idea like this and the conditions you set are really interesting.

the idea of it being a therapist appointed by the government, essentially, who’s also there to gather information (but keeps at least some details hidden for the sake of their patients) so the government can keep a leash on certain characters (subaru and reinhard particularly) + subaru is still locked by rbd taboo of course is so fascinating to me. of course—is it ideal conditions for therapy? hell no lmao 😭😭 but its a super good in universe explanation as to why theyre getting therapy (other than all of them being Mentally Unwell)—and given the therapist and everyone in the cast minus subaru and al are working with medieval knowledge, the odds were not in their favors anyway oops. and this is assuming that the cast has the BEST THERAPIST IN THE FANTASY WORLD POSSIBLE for this!! haah theyve got a real difficult job ahead of them.

and also an idea like this is difficult to write. ive always wanted a “rz cast goes to therapy” fic hah but writing the FULL cast is tricky!! tbh id feel bad not including at least a good chunk of the cast in a fic like this given SO MANY of them desperately need therapy. and this idea is Extremely character focused—you have to know every character’s intimate traumas and flaws and personalities to pull this sort of thing off. its inherently in depth character exploration, and depending on how Good you want the therapist character to be, youd probablyyy have to do at least a bit of research (??) (unless you have personal experience in this department already??) there on. how to write a therapist? but thats just me getting fixated on the practical aspects of this wkdndn this is definitely why we havent really seen much fic on this sort of idea yet. i think itd work really well as a collab though, possibly!! you can devote a therapy session to one character per chapter or something and mix it up later the further it goes on <3 or at least thats my idea for this at the moment. i think one therapy session per chapter would be very good leadup though in a Hypothetical Fic about this, and you then have the time to explore each character in depth and introduce each of them!!

ok as for the examples you gave anon—HAH yeah thats a good summary for sure 😭😭 again, this is interesting because these are Not good conditions for therapy.

they all think with their medieval knowledge. subaru cant talk about rbd and everything related to it, which is his biggest core trauma. reinhards superiors dont want him to improve because hes their perfect malleable obedient weapon right now and they chose to break him like that. they probably wont want heinkel to improve much either, given theres implications that people like russell fellow purposely helped make heinkel Worse (such as the false rumors that he kidnapped one of the royal familys kids). and also regarding characters like heinkel—he wont improve if he doesnt get some sort of rehab on top of the therapy akdnd and he wont improve if he doesnt make an effort either. and also i know theres characters like petra who are way more normal compared to everyone else and shes not in dire need of therapy unlike everyone else, but id argue petra should at least have a check up because girl is a twelve year old thats been shoved into life threatening events recently okay 😭😭 AND the astreas are gonna need some hardcore family therapy wkdndn theyll just need individual sessions first to work up to that……… but will the kingdom really allow that to happen either?

yeah so the therapist is in for a reckoning in general 😭😭 with the plot you gave anon—if the therapist genuinely tries their best, this could result in some friction. the therapist hears out all these big important people related to the royal selection—roswaal, the astreas, various other emilia camp members, and people from other factions im sure (such as julius, joshua, ferris, crusch, etc)—but the therapist is held back from fully helping all of them because the kingdom keeps them all on a leash, including the therapist themselves. will the therapist succumb to what the kingdom wants and ensure they never improve past a certain point? or ensure they never improve at all?

it creates this overarching plot to an otherwise standard premise i think—and theres a bittersweetness because the therapist cant fully help them as it is right now. and its hard to help characters like subaru and reinhard who are Incomprehensible in their own ways. even in the fantasy world with its Wide Range of dangerous traumatic events tinged with magic, subaru and reinhard are absolutely outliers. plus as i said earlier, some characters Want to improve so badly and will try their best to do so (such as emilia) and some might not have much desire to even try (such as heinkel). everyone in the cast have their own goals, motivations, and a lot of them to some degree will be unreliable narrators either purposefully or accidentally or unwittingly. the otto example you gave anon is so true because i an SO sure his ass would pretend to be normal bc he doesnt want to be there only to accidentally reveal hes not 😭😭😭 joshua is another good example bc of his hate love relationship with his brother and how he tries to conceal it by gaslighting himself into worshipping his brother’s every move and trying to live vicariously through him (joshua also hates reinhard too but pretends not to so theres that too) 👍👍👍 and also emilia and reinhard are examples of characters whove been taught the absolute WORST lessons in the world so youd have to get into unravelling that 😭😭 like theyre both afraid to be closer to others out of fear of hurting them, they have issues regarding what people see them as and what people expect them to be, learned powerlessness, terrible father figures, guilt complexes, being blamed for things that arent their fault, also the fucked up family history, etc etc. there is SO much baggage HAH.

and again, the poor therapist is getting a bunch of rz main characters and crucial side characters—many of them are well known in some way, or important political figures, and they ALL got the most buck wild stories so the stakes are Very High😭😭 itll be a fun ride im sure!! but i do think this idea is super super neat. id love to explore each and every character and all their nuances—i think a fic like this would only really fully work if youre sympathetic towards everyone, but youre not afraid to get them for their faults too. wilhelm, heinkel, roswaal are good examples. clind too by proxy, given frederica needs to get away from his ass too (RAM ALSO NEEDS TO GET AWAY FROM ROSWAAL ISTG.) and again, a fic like this requires in depth knowledge of all these characters or the premise can fall apart a bit—this is a fic all about exploring their deepest traumas after all <3

but yeah anyway i too am in dire need of a rz cast goes to therapy fic anon!!! T^T thank you for the ask i will continue to think on this idea 🙏

#rezero #ask #URGHH this is such a fun idea i love it so much but the execution of it would be super hard. itd be interesting though!! #and ALSO for characters to start baring their souls at least a bit the therapist would have to try and earn their trust!! #so probablyyy multiple sessions of course…. #and im sure some of them will try to back out of it but it might end up as Mandated Therapy Sessions anyway akdnd #OH YEAH so a multichapter fic with various characters and Multiple therapy sessions. perfect.

[miss-choco-chips]

F’coffee

-.-.-.-.-.-

Honestly. What did Bruce even think would happen? He should have known better.

Tim wasn’t Dick, indoctrinated from a young age to be a good, somewhat (when convenient) obedient son. Tim only went along with Bruce’s shit because, more often than not, it aligned with what he himself wanted. He also wasn’t Damian, so easily manipulable when one knew which buttons to push. And he certainly wasn’t Jason, who would sink his own ship to kill the captain.

So, when Tim and Bruce fought, and his adopted father decided to pull the ‘you live under my roof and work in my company, so I’m the boss all the way through’ card, well…

Yeah. Tim wasn’t going to take that lying down. He had a childhood of zero authority figures to obey and an overabundance of sass, plus a complete lack of fucks to give.

It was bound to go down like this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And, well. Tim had money. Like, an absurd amount of money. Even before being adopted by playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, Tim had his own no small fortune stashed away, a couple of properties gathering dust, two trust funds and more antique cars that he knew what to do with. So he could just… burn through that money, or sell the cars, or make a living of renting the buildings he owned, and he would barely even scratch the surface of his deep wealth.

But it wasn’t about being able to live comfortably with minimum effort. Tim was trying to prove a point here. What point, fuck if he knew. But a point.

So here he was, on the other end of the wooden counter, a cute red cap falling over his eye as he looked dead into his friend’s eyes.

“Tim. Tim, you’re rich. Why are you working in a coffee shop?”

Seeing as Kon and Cassie were currently too busy being shocked, Tim shrugged and went back to cleaning the cup in his hands.

It was a plastic cup. It didn’t need cleaning, he could just toss it away. But it was his favorite plastic cup, and he was gonna save it as a family heirloom forever.

(The fact that the pretty customer from the morning shift had drawn cute little doodles all over it had nothing to do with it’s worth.)

“Teenage rebellion”, he finally said, carefully putting his treasure away.

“You are twenty.”

“Time is a social construct and I’m but a slinky falling down an endless flight of stairs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make any sense. How is it so symmetrical? It defies nature.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

“What can I get for you?”

“I'll have a mocha caramel latte-chino, made with skim milk, no whipped cream.”

“Bart, no.”

“Please put that in a grande cup”

“I’m begging you, don’t do it.”

“But use the same amount of coffee that you'd put into a tall.”

“I’m warning you, you don’t want to do this.”

“That way there's about an inch of extra room on top.”

“I wish you had an extra inch so I could look straight into your eyes when I murder you.”

“To stir in my own nutmeg without spilling any coffee at all.”

“You’re dead to me. Also, I AM going to make you that drink and you WILL finish it or so help me God.”

“What do you want, Kon?”

“To not be here when Tim’s looking like he’s planning both our unsolved murders.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

When Kon entered the shop, the messenger bag slung over his shoulder bumping against his hip as he rushed in to get his caffeine intake before his evening classes, he wasn’t surprised at the scene.

Cassie being there was a given, since there was always at least one of them there at all times, supporting Tim in this ‘independence’ thing he was dead set on trying. Kon himself had his Tim Shift later that day, after his creative writing course. Bart had probably just left, considering the amount of empty cake platters littering the counter.

Tim being face down in said counter, uncaring about the mess, was also old news. The dude barely ever seemed to leave (Kon was almost completely sure he actually owned the place, since he’d never seen any sort of manager and Tim’s hours seemed to work around his weird sleep patterns all too perfectly), and distraught was his general state of being, so. Normal day as far as he could see.

Still, he had to ask. “What is it today?”

Cassie, eyes never leaving her magazine, chin resting in one hand as the other one scratched at Tim’s scalp, snorted.

“A cute boy started working in the tattoo place next door. He came in for a morning fix, when Tim was barely awake, and he said something stupid, so he’s been having an existencial crisis ever since.”

“I said ‘you too’, Kon. He said ‘thanks for the coffee, I’ll enjoy it!’ and I said ‘you too’. What is wrong with me?”

Kon snorts a little. Tim doesn’t seem to be very interested in doing his actual work, so he just jumps over the counter and starts working the machines himself.

“You know that’s a question you can only ask your therapist, Tim, but if you need to know, I’d say you’re highly sleep deprived and a dysfunctional bi?”

At that, Tim does turn to look at him. There’s some cake frosting clinging to his eyelashes, and his hair is a mess. It looks cute, to be completely honest, and Kon has to leave his unfinished latte on the side so he can hug the little shit.

“Aw, don’t pout, Timbo. I’m sure he thought you were cute. Just try to sleep a bit more tonight, so when he comes back tomorrow you’ll be a little more alert and won’t embarrass yourself.”

“What do you mean, when he comes back?”

“I mean, if he works next door, he’ll probably get his morning coffees here all the time, right?”

That seemed to drive Tim back into the distraught spiral. He smashed his head back into the counter, making dying whale noises until Cassie’s hand returned to his scalp.

Kon privately thinks Tim’s life is starting to sound like fanfiction. He wonders which type of background character he would be, in it.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The shop is called F’coffee. That’s why Cassie is convinced Tim is the actual owner; no one else would really think that’s a proper name for a serious establishment. Kon isn’t convinced all the way yet, but with Bart on her side and Tim staying silent on the subject, it is just a matter of time until she convinces him it’s totally okay for him to do his gym routine there. She thinks, with Tim being his own boss, no one would tell him to stop it, and it would help his friend’s business to bloom with new customers.

The place's general aesthetic is exactly what you would expect, with old wooden tables, comfy chairs, potted plants hanging from the walls and tall windows just a little bit stained. The smell is constantly of the strongest brew Tim has, Death Coffee (which he’s actually not legally allowed to sell, so he keeps it for himself), and just setting a foot in makes her feel instantly awake. It's also always warm, and the sweets on display look mouth watering no matter your personal preferences.

In short, it looks like something out of a movie. It’s a tad too perfect for her friend, but she thinks it also fits his obsessive need for perfection.

Except for the board. Oh, the board. Cassie loves it more than life itself.

Tim has divided the drinks in categories. And made up names for all of them.

“Yes, hello! I’d like to order a grande, iced, sugar-free vanilla Latte, with soy milk, but I can’t seem to find it in your menu…”

Tim’s dead eyes turn to Cassie for a second, before facing his customer again.

“You’re probably looking into the Normal People section”, he points out, before raising his hand to signal a bit to the left. “There you have the Pain In The Ass selection. There’s nothing just like you asked, but you have the It’s Britney Bitch beverage, which is almost exactly the same except I’ll add a middle finger drawing in the cup and charge you extra for emotional damages. Also, we’re out of soy milk.”

Or…

“Hey, good morning! I’d like to order…”

Tim raised a hand, stopping the chirpy, good looking young man dead in his tracks.

“Don’t tell me, I know what you need. I’ll just go ahead and prepare it.”

“But you don’t even know what I/”

“You’ll have a Cougar Bait. It has cacao cream, a strawberry pucker and some grenadine seeds. I think it's fitting, for you.”

And also…

“Hey, hum… Sorry, I just have to ask… what’s on the ‘Barista’s heart’ drink?”

“Cacao powder, almond milk and espresso. Also some organic coconut ash, that gives it the blacker-than-night color, that’s just a shade lighter than my soul.”

“...noted.”

Cassie snorts into her cup of Jack it up (coffee that tastes just like a Jack Daniel’s; having Tim working here has opened up her eyes to the possibilities), watching as Tim makes his own usual.

“What’s in that one?” She asks, out of curiosity, when she’s sure there’s no other customer close by.

“Six espresso shots.”

She waits for a second. Tim finishes the drink, carefully handling the dark liquid inside his favorite plastic cup.

“...okay, and?”

“And that 's it.”

“Tim, that-- that would kill you?”

“Duh. Why did you think it was called The Last Sip?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#my writting #tim drake #kon el kent #cassie sandsmark #bart allen #core four #core disaster week #day 7 #coffee shop au #no powers au #civilian!tim #civilian!Kon #civilian!Cassie #civilian!Bart #Barista Tim Drake #Bi disaster Tim Drake #fluff #attempt at humor #can't say for sure if it worked lol #IM DONE WITH THIS CHALLENGE OKAY BYE

[ladydorian05]

A life in retrospection

(pic credit: @a7estrellas​)

#Pedros12DaysOfChristmas

Hello @scribbledghost​ !!! I couldn’t wait, I’m your Secret Santa darling!!!!!

I really, really, REALLY  hope you like this. This is actually the third try at writing your gift, I dot nervous and the self doubt worm hit me hard while writing. You mentioned you wanted ‘talking’, well my on the first one it was more talking than anything and was such a mess that I knew no amount of editing would fix it. I didn’t erase it completely I used some parts for the second one that served as the foundation for the final one.

It’s still a little bit of a mess, I suck at choosing titles and maybe the ending is a bit rushed.

Edit: Forgot to mention, Miss Daisy belongs to Scribbledghost, from her neighbour Whiskey series, check it out, you won’t regret it. 

A life in retrospection

Soulmate AU!

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x fem character (a name is mentioned so it’s not THAT reader friendly)

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, lil bit of depression, Jack goes to therapy so expect to read a different man (we really just yeeted a whole man and turn him into a better one, the beauty of fanfics), fluffiness, this man is not afraid to cry, allusions to spiciness but just implicit.

Words: 3K and something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He couldn’t believe this was his life now.

He thought as he watched, through a window from the inside of his warm home, as the snowflakes fell outside.

Couldn’t believe he was capable of feeling such happiness again, not after everything he’s had to live through.

A few years ago, he almost committed the biggest mistake of his entire existence, condemning millions of people just because of his trauma. Good thing a pair of gentlemen helped knock some sense into him. Literally. And god bless Champ for giving him a second chance, since then, his life had been filled with second chances.

He finally went to see the Statesman therapist and work through his issues, he gave himself a second chance, to heal, to see the world in a different way.

What he never thought he would get, was a second chance at love, at being loved, but his beloved’s favorite pastime was to just prove him wrong every chance she got.

And prove him wrong she did.

Everyone has a soulmate, even him, and just like everyone else’s, his soul mark appeared on his thirteenth birthday. Right there, the name and the first letter of his soulmate’s last name etched into his skin in his soulmate’s handwriting and just like everyone he had been excited.

He spent countless hours staring at the letters on his wrist, studying the beautiful, soft and round letters, some of them just a breath away from being cursives. Always wondering when and if he would be able to meet the person they belonged to.

As the years passed, he became more aware of how small the chance that he would actually meet his soulmate was, and while he kept wondering about them from time to time, he didn’t stop himself from falling in love with someone else.

He shared many years with her, they got married just as they were fresh out of college, neither of them caring that they weren’t each other’s soulmates. Marriages like theirs weren’t rare at all, after all the world is way too big and life too short to spend it looking for one person.

Yes, life is short and it can be so cruel to the least deserving. The day he lost both his wife and unborn son was the day something inside him broke, something he thought could never be repaired again. He fell in an abysm of self blame that in time turned into bitterness and hatred for those who fell in the clutches of illegal substances. He really thought he would never love again.

Until one day. One fateful day thanks to a mix up with his order at his favorite coffee shop, he met her, his beloved; when their drinks had been served in the wrong cups by the new barista in training.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, what were the chances that said woman would turn out to also be his soulmate. From the moment he saw her he felt drawn to her. He knew it, the moment their fingers touched when they exchanged their cups. Something in him shifted with a rush of emotions, leaving him breathless.

Hell, even now she still leaves him breathless.

They had spent the rest of that day getting to know each other, they talked about everything and anything, as if they were old friends seeing each other again after some time apart. He had heard the stories multiple times, people would talk about how they felt the moment they found their soulmate, they all paled in comparison to the overwhelming feeling of being know in such a way by someone you had just met.

He felt so blessed just being able to be in her presence.

Indiana, Indy, his love, his Moonshine, the light of his life that pulled him out of the remaining darkness inside him. You gave him a second chance at love, at actually feeling alive and not just living. And he took it, he would’ve been and idiot if he hadn’t.

They decided to take it slow to truly get to know one another and see where this connection of theirs would take them. After all, not all soulmates went on the romantic route; some, were just destined to be platonic and neither option was better than the other, that’s just the way things were.

But after many dates, after both bared their souls to one another, they were happy to discover that all along there had been something growing between them and that the feeling was mutual.

They shared their first kiss beneath a starry sky, she had taken him to her favorite spot in the city, maybe the stars weren’t as visible as in other places due to the light pollution of the city but neither of you were really looking at them, too lost in one another. After that night everything fell into place.

In the following months, they spent as much time as they could together, lunch breaks, dinners, weekends at each other’s apartments watching movies, talking about work, about anything and everything.

After Champ had notified him that he was going to be allowed go back to field work, he invited you to dinner at his place. He decided to tell you everything then and there, about his wife, about his work; he had previously asked for permission for the last one, assuring his boss that this was serious and that he trusted you completely, he even told you about what he almost did during the whole Golden circle fiasco.

He had expected to see some kind of horror or judgement written in Indy’s face when he finally lifted his head when he stopped talking, he should have known better. He found understanding in your eyes, you told him how proud you were that he looked for help after everything he went through and that ‘James Bond job’ or not, you would be there for him.

You had also added an ‘Of course your alias is Whiskey!’ that made him laugh, but that was beyond the point.

You only asked, that every time he was to go on a mission that he’d let you know, and if he had to leave at a moment’s notice, he would call or text you as soon as he could, you also asked him to be careful.

“We just found each other I don’t want to lose you.” Were your exact words. He remembers because he kissed you as soon as you said them, it started slow and full of gratitude but it soon changed into a passionate one.

That had been the first of many nights, and mornings, he got to share his bed with you. You moved together shortly after that night. Going to bed every night and waking up with you at his side soon became the highlight of his days, if he could he would spend a lifetime just lying with you in bed. He savours every moment he gets by your side.

He had been sure, long before the date of your first year anniversary approached; both of you chose it to be the day you met; that he wanted to be there for you, he wanted to protect you, to make you as happy as you make him, to be anything you needed him to be, a friend, a lover, a life partner; you just had to say it and he’d do anything become that person.

He made a decision. They had already discussed the subject of marriage on more than one occasion, so he was sure it was something you would want or wouldn’t be opposed to it eventually. He still thought about it, long and hard for days.

After his first marriage he never thought he would be open to, well, any kind of relationship that went beyond one-night stands, but that was before therapy, before he worked on the demons inside his head; and now, now he just hoped you would be willing to take an old man as your husband. Again, he should’ve known better.

He planned everything, a romantic dinner at good restaurant; not too over the top fancy but with good food; then he would take you on a romantic walk through Central park, he knew of a spot that had a beautiful gazebo with a view to a pond, he decided he would ask you there; and of course, he sent to polish his mother’s ring.

She gave him the ring some time after his wife passed away and made him promise that he would only give it to his soulmate if he met them. His parents had been soulmates, and his grandparents as well, she explained that the ring had been in the family for many generations and more times than not the marriages had been between soulmates, maybe she believed the ring would bring him luck in finding his own.

With everything carefully planned, he just had to wait for the day to arrive.

But even the best-laid plans, often go awry.

The date fell on a Friday, he was just about to clock in when he received a call from Champ, he and Vermouth; previously known as their Ginger ale; where called for an emergency mission. A Band of extremist where planning a bombing, they got the location of their hideout and were tasked to take them out immediately.

While the mission wouldn’t take him to the other side of the planet, it would take him to the other side of the country, he knew even if they hurried up, he wouldn’t be back in time for the reservation; in fact, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be back until midnight.

He remembers how much he had apologized to you as he called you on the Statesman’s plane, and bless you and your beautiful heart, you took it in stride, telling him it was fine and that you could celebrate the next day, that all you needed was for him to return to you safe and sound.

And he did just that. At around two in the morning, he opened the door to the apartment he shared with you, he left his hat and jacket at the entrance. He was beginning to un button his shirt when he saw you sleeping on the couch, a box of pizza on the coffee table and the tv still on.

It made him feel guilty but it also warmed his heart that you had tried to wait up for him, he decided against waking you up. He turned the tv off and took you in his arms, you only stirred a little bit before your breath evened out again. He placed you on your side of the bed and tuck you in; he took all of his clothes off except for his briefs before joining you in bed.

The next morning, he stirred awake at the feeling of your lips leaving small kisses all over his chest.

“Mmgood morning Moonshine.” He said, his voice rough from sleep.

“Good morning to you too, cowboy. Sorry I woke you up, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, love. Can’t think of a better way to wake up.” He had pull you closer to his side, your head resting on his arm. “’m sorry I missed our anniversary.”

“None of that Jack, I told you it’s okay. Besides, you can always make it up to me.” You said with mirth, running your hand up and down his torso.

He chuckled. “What did I do to deserve you?” he muttered as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

Both of you stayed quiet, just enjoying the moment, basking in the feeling of being in each other’s arms; until he broke the comfortable silence.

“Marry me.”

The words had just slipped through his lips. He knew neither of you really needed fancy restaurants or romantic venues, you just needed each other. So, what better place and moment to ask you to be his wife, than in the warmth of the home you shared, lying in each other’s arms in their bed.

“What?” He felt your hand stop its movement right on top of his heart, he was sure you had felt how fast it was beating.

“I said, marry me, Moonshine. Please?” You sat on the bed, watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Jack Daniels, you better not be joking.” You had pointed a finger to him.

“Tell me my love, if I wasn’t serious, would I have this?” He said as he also sat on the bed and reached inside of the drawer of the nightstand, taking the velvet box in his hand; not the best hiding place but he hadn’t planned for it to stay there for a long time; he opened it to show you the ring inside.

“Oh my god Jack!” you covered your mouth with your hands as your eyes became glossy with unshed tears.

“Indy, Indiana, my love, my Moonshine, my soulmate. You have no idea how blessed I feel to have you in my life, there aren’t enough words in the world to help me express how much I love you, how much you mean to me. You’re an amazing person, so kind, intelligent, strong and beautiful, and I’ll be more than honored to be your husband, if you’ll have me.” He held his breath as he watched you process what he just said.

He was beginning to get worried when you just sat there for a few seconds, that felt like an eternity to him, staring at him without saying a word. You took him by surprise when you jumped into his arms, just as he was considering on telling you that it was okay if you didn’t want to or that you could take your time before answering.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes Jack! Of course I’ll have you!” By the time he got the ring on your finger both of you were a sobbing mess. He didn’t let you leave the bed until way past noon, and only because neither of you had had breakfast. He had to take good care of his fiancée.

The wedding had been beautiful, only your closest friends and family were invited to the event.

Sometime after the wedding, Champ asked him to move back to Kentucky, he offered him a promotion, he offered him his own position in Statesman, saying that he was ready to retire and that he thought that, out of everyone else, he was the best candidate for it.

His past self would have jumped at the opportunity, not only would he be in charge of the intelligence agency, he would also become the major stockholder of the distillery; but he wasn’t that man anymore, it was a huge responsibility, even if it came with its benefits.

And he had a wife. Your friends lived here, your work was here, you had built a life for yourself in this city long before he came into your life; he couldn’t just go home and tell you ‘Darling, guess what? We’re moving to Kentucky!’ and he refused to leave you behind.

He thanked Champ for the offer and asked him for some time to think about it. He told you about it as soon as he got home. He told you that he couldn’t just ask you to leave what you worked so hard to get behind and follow him down south.

You let him speak, you let him ramble on and on about why it wasn’t a good idea, he also listed some of the positive things that came with accepting the promotion.

“Wait a minute.” You interrupted him in the middle of his tirade. “As the head or director or whatever you guys call it, you would be permanently stationed in Kentucky? As in no more field work?”

“Well, yes and no. At first yes, Champ will have to show me the ropes of everything, then I’ll probably still be active for some years but then well yes, eventually I won’t be sent on missions as frequently as right now. There’s also managing the distillery and that means normal corporate stuff like business trips and all that; it won’t be that different from what I already do here.” You nodded at his words.

“Do it. You have my support.” His eyes widened at that.

“But, but Moonshine, what about your work!?”

“What about it? I’m sure I can request a transfer, and if not I’m sure I can get a new job, it’s not like we’re moving to the middle of nowhere; I could also become a free-lancer.” You listed. “Listen Jack, if moving south means you’ll be risking your life less and less as time goes on, then we’re moving south.” And that was the end of the discussion, he knew the decision was made.

He let you choose the new house, he only asked for enough land to get a horse or two in the future; he was dying to take you on romantic rides; and you chose a beautiful roomy one, neither of you wanted to dismiss the possibility of children. The extra points of the house were the beautiful chimney inside and the fire pit on the back porch, it also had a barn not far from the main building.

And it was good that the house was quite large because half a year after moving in, he convinced you to go with him to a local farm animal expo on his day off. As you browsed through the various handmade items in display, he stumbled upon a woman selling teacup pigs, and while he had always considered himself more of a horses and dogs person, his curiosity got the better of him.

They were so adorable, one in particular caught his attention, he couldn’t resist the adorable beaded eyes looking straight at him; before he knew it, he was making his way back to you holding the little piggy in his arms.

He got a “Jack, why are you holding a pig like a baby?” from you the moment you saw him.

“Because she is! Just look at her she’s so cute, she’s my cute little lady.”

The conversation about the new member of their family continued on the way back home.

“I hope you’re not thinking about letting her stay inside the house once she begins to grow.”

“What are you talking about? Miss Daisy’s a teacup pig; she’ll only grow an inch or maybe three at most.”

“Oh, so it’s Miss Daisy! She already has a name and all that. I’m warning you; I’m not going to pick up what Miss Daisy produces after eating.” You said. “Wait, teacup pig? You are aware there’s no such thing as teacup pigs, right?”

“What do you mean? The woman said they were all teacup pigs.”

“Oh my god. My love, you have been deceived.”

He may not know a lot about pigs, but he couldn’t believe that that sweet woman had outright lied to him, right?

Wrong. Like always, you were right, and he fucked up. At least he eventually convinced you to let him keep Miss Daisy inside. She’ll always be a baby to him, no matter how big she got.

And then, he became an actual father. It wasn’t enough for you to give him so much love and happiness, now you had given him the greatest gift of all. She was perfect, from her tiny nose to her even tinnier toes.

If he had cried when you agreed to marry him, and cried even more when you gave him the news of your pregnancy; he was sure he cried a river the day their daughter was born.

Here he was, years later, still madly in love with you, still feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

He was brought back from his memories by a pair of hands sliding around his middle from behind.

“Hey, I made hot chocolate, want a cup?” He turned around to properly face you, a big smile on his face. “What? Do I have some coco powder on me?”

“No,” he shook his head “no. It’s just, well, you just took my breath away.” He said wiggling his eyebrows up and down in the way he knew always made you laugh.

“Pffff, Jack, I married you, you can stop saying stuff like that.”

“On the contrary, Moonshine, I shall keep on stating the truth of how my stunning wife makes me feel every single day of my life.” He leaned to give you a sweet short kiss.

“You haven’t answered Mr. Daniels, hot chocolate or do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Mmmm, I’ll have the chocolate this time, gotta honor the drink that brought you into my life, Mrs. Daniels.” He pressed his forehead against yours.

“What’s gotten into you today?” You asked, laughing softly as the hairs of his moustache tickled your upper lip.

“Nothing, just been reminiscing my happiest memories. Want to know a secret?” He whispered the question. “They’re all about you.” He leaned in for another kiss when the voice of his little girl calling for him reached them.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look! Look at Miss Daisy! Isn’t she pretty?” He turned his head from his Moonshine as his daughter came running up to them in her cute pajamas, just in time to see Miss Daisy as she came waddling behind his lil’ sweetheart wearing a pink tutu, a tiara and he noticed her glittery pink painted hooves.

“Wow, sweetheart! She’s really pretty!” He tried to sound excited for his daughter’s sake, but he knew it came out more strained than he wanted.

She giggled before running off back to her room, with, once again, Miss Daisy running after her.

“Want me to google if that nail polish could be potentially harmful for her while you put our little tornado to sleep?” God bless his wife.

“Yes, please.” He let out a sigh. “You’re amazin’ Moonshine.” He turned back to you before placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I got you, cowboy.” He had to separate from your arms so he could go help their daughter keep her bed time schedule, otherwise they’ll surely have a cranky child for most of the next day.

“Hey honey! You want a bed time story?” he heard a distant ‘yay’ and a couple of snorts in response. “Be right back babe.” With a wink as he walked towards their daughter’s room.

Maybe he’ll never get used to this much happiness in his life, but he’ll never complain, what were the odds that he would meet his soulmate and build a beautiful home and a beautiful family with her. He must have done at least something right if he got to live this life.

And he will live it, to its fullest.

Tag list (do let me know if anyone wanst to be tagged in future works):

@oloreaa​

#pedros12daysofchristmas #agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x fem! reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x fem! reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #kingsman agent whiskey #kingsman the golden circle whiskey

[exosmuttytalk]

Guardian

Characters: Do Kyungsoo, unnamed female OC (told from the perspective of DO)

Genre: angst.

Rating: mature.

Warning: this deals with topics darker than my usual. Death, suicide and mental health problems mentioned. Proceed with caution and take care!

Summary: there is no summary because the core happening of the story is what makes it as a whole, so you gonna have to read to find out lol

(excuse weird formating, I'm on mobile)

First thing I noticed the moment after you quietly stepped through the front door were the deepest dark circles I'd ever seen rimming your eyes.

Your eyes had always been beautiful. Big and bright, they usually shone with a mischievous spark of intelligence and expressivity. Many times I looked at you and wondered how it was me who became the actor when you seemed able to tell stories with your eyes. On the rarer occasion, your eyes also warned me of the times you slipped closer to your darker-than-reality inner world, that one you were able to scape from when you were barely older than a teenager, through sheer will, family support and a necessary dose of drugs to balance your neurotransmitters. But the longer we were together, the more fulfilled your professional life became, the better relationships you held with other people, the more you enjoyed your hobbies, the more seldom I got to see those hints of sadness barely concealed behind fake content smiles.

This time was not one of those rare times. This time, when I looked at you, I felt genuine fear for you.

This time, your eyes did not show sadness. They didn't even look tired. They were just...completely indifferent. They glossed over our living room and didn't even acknowledge my presence, although I had occupied my usual spot at the armchair for quite a few hours already. 

Greetings weren't exchanged either. 

I vaguely remembered last night's fight. Even though we used to pride ourselves in the fact that communication was easy for us, daily life, stress fuelled by our jobs and our inability to sometimes see each other as often as we wanted would put a strain on any relationship. But we always managed to solve those issues. They were never such a big deal for us. Or were they? 

As you carelessly dropped your oversized folder on top of the dining table, I remembered about the project you needed to hand in at the end of this week. 

"How did they like the design this time?" My question was aimed towards finding out what may have caused the icy expression in your eyes. You adored your job at the firm you and some colleagues had set up a few years after you finished your architecture studies. You never missed an opportunity to  ramble on and on about what was your life's passion project; even though most of the times I wasn't able to follow every explanation, I was always happy to listen. 

Not this time. You turned on your heels swiftly and walked into the kitchen, followed closely by Jackie, but leaving me behind with my unanswered question. 

Was it bad enough to deserve this silent treatment? 

I could hear you rummaging through the shelves and then I saw you making your way back to the living room, Jackie swiftly walking behind you. You always cradled Jackie for a little while before opening the can of delicious cat food that would go into her plate. You absolutely adored that little rescue cat and the feeling was mutual; a relationship I had never been able to partake in. But this time, you simply dumped the contents of the can into the bowl and gave the animal a absentmindedly pat on the head. You didn't even look at her. 

After that, you lied down across the sofa in the same clothes you'd gone to work in and pulled out your phone and headphones. That made me wonder where my own phone could be. I was always aware of my terrible memory even if there were more pressing issues at hand. Headphones were covering your ears just seconds after and I was left there, silently wondering what the hell was wrong. 

Maybe you'd had a truly awful day at work? Maybe you were overworked and needed to rest? Could you actually be that mad at me? I truly don't remember what I said, but whatever it was, I'm so sorry. 

As I got lost in my thoughts, Jackie had already finished her food and, after grooming herself a bit, she hopped onto the sofa and nestled herself up against your belly. That was the only moment I saw you react. You briefly glanced down from your screen to the cozy creature in your lap. But you didn't smile. You didn't pet her. But I got to see your eyes and there was no indifference in them no more. They were miserable. 

I was so scared, baby. I had never seen you so unresponsive and distressed in all our years together. From experience, I knew better than to try to touch you in some instances, so I went for the second best option. I got up and rushed down the hallway to our room, where I supposed I had left my phone. It was time to call your mother, your best friend, whoever was around you when you first had an outbreak. They would know what to do better than me.

I had barely started looking around when I heard the door bell ring. Then I heard it again, insistent. I stopped on my tracks and listened, expecting you to go get it, as you were closer. By the third time, the visitant had switched to knocking and I guessed you weren't able to hear it due to the headphones, so I turned around and rushed back to the front door. 

I peeked through the peephole and felt a rush of relief when I recognised your best friend. Bless her soul, she may actually have some sort of mental connection with you. 

"It's Sarah!" I shouted in your direction, getting no response back. Just before she knocked for a second time, I reached out for the door knob. The door didn't open. I stared at the door knob in confusion. It was the same piece of silver metal that had been attached to that door since we first got the apartment together years ago. The same familiar and innocuous whatnot I made use of every single day. Maybe it was stuck? 

Once again, I reached for it, although this time I was intently watching my right hand. 

My fingers. 

They went right through the knob. As if it wasn't actually there. As if it wasn't even corporeal. 

The impression made me fall down on my butt, but I didn't have time to process anything, as Sarah gave a final loud bang to the door and shouted. 

"I know you're there. You either open yourself or I'll call the police" 

The threat finally made you stand up and go open the door. From my position down on the floor, I could see how you were easily able to grab onto the doorknob to at last let her in. Being sort of your polar opposite on that regard, Sarah immediately latched on to your neck and you stoically responded by patting her back with one of your hands. As for me, I stared at my own hands in disbelief. 

What the fuck was going on!? Could I be dreaming? I tried pinching myself hard and I felt it hurt, but nothing else happened. I was freaking out and seeing both of you in front of me behave in such a mellow way only increased my alarm. 

Of course, Sarah lead the way to the kitchen, pulling your arm and stepping right beside me as if I wasn't having a straight up meltdown down at the floor. Jackie had trotted behind you to the hall and was now looking straight at me with what seemed to me a full of disdain expression. At least someone recognised my presence. 

"When was the last time you ate?" Sarah's usually loud voice came booming from the kitchen. This question was odd enough to spark my interest, so I stood up and headed that way. 

"Yesterday," you responded in a monotone voice. 

Sarah, who had started stocking up plastic boxes full of already prepared food in the freezer, turned around to look at you with an eyebrow raised. 

"You sure about that?" 

"Yeah. Also, there's no point in that, I'm not even hungry," you answered again before turning around to occupy the spot you'd left at the couch. 

To be fair, she had filled the sad looking fridge with at least a week worth of meals for two. Was the fridge that empty last time I checked? 

"Baby, you can't be doing this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything, OK?" you suddenly snapped back at her. I had never heard you speak to her in that tone. "I am fine and I will be fine. I just need you all to leave me the fuck alone!"

With that said, you went back to adjusting the headphones over your head and to rummaging through your phone. Sarah stared at you with a dispared look on her face.

"And you know that is definitely not healthy. I am done with this. I'm looking for a therapist and you're coming to an appointment on Monday."

"Do whatever the fuck you want. I am not telling you how to live your life." 

Sarah sighed and nodded in response.

"I can't even imagine what you're going through and how absolutely devastated you must be feeling right now. And I know it's barely been a month, but you can't let yourself slip this way, not with your records." 

A month since what? 

You shrugged her worry off. 

"I'm leaving. I will call you later. If anything, please, at least send me an emoji or something so I know you're okay."

You grunted at her before she kneeled down next to the sofa to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Then, she left the house without even glancing at my direction.

I had witnessed the whole scene from a corner of the room and I had grown in my bewilderment with every spoken word.

As soon as I heard the front door softly closing, I walked up to the sofa and circled it, so I was able to see what you were doing that had caused such disagreement. 

"KSoo <3" read the letters at the top of the easily recognizable screen of the chat service we used on a regular basis. As I approached you even closer, I could hear my own voice coming from your headphones. I remeber sending you that audio barely a week ago, when I asked you to make a quick run to the grocery store before coming back home, as I needed some more ingredients for that night's dinner. 

Your eyes were filled with silent tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second part: GUARDIAN II

MASTERLIST!?

Other Kyungsoo shizs

Everyday

Stories of my downfall  + Kai

@exosmutxoxo​

#exo #do kyungsoo #exo fanfiction #exo smut #do fanfiction #kyungsoo fanfiction #exo angst #Do angst

[wonkystank]

Bad Decisions, Good Moments

By @wonkystank for @joyful-soul-collector as part of the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

WC: 3k

Rating: Everyone (no swearing, tw for some discussion of anxiety, a character forgets to eat for a while)

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, a bit of Tony Stark & May Parker

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, May Parker, and a few Midtown staff

Summary/Prompt: Peter forgets to eat breakfast and faints from hunger at school. Tony takes care of him, bringing him home to give him something to eat.

Notes: huuuge shout out to Marko for being there on a bad night when I barely knew them. I was really happy when I saw I was assigned to create for them and able to give back!!

Tony was idly fiddling on the newest StarkPhone model in his lab. He was in a concentrated daze when his phone suddenly rang, startling him out of his chair and onto the ground.

He cursed and rubbed his sore backside as he sat on the floor, somewhat frantically patting the desk to find his phone, which was out of sight. He located it on the fifth ring, right before it went to voicemail and spoke without looking at the caller.

"Stark. Who is this?" He panted, out of breath.

There was a long pause on the other side before, "Uh, Tony Stark? This is Midtown High, calling in regards to Peter Parker," the voice said, in a distinctly Southern accent. The voice then, continuing off to the side in a loud whisper, obviously not meant to be heard but failing spectacularly, "Tony Stark! I'm talking to Iron Man! I did not think this number would work."

Choosing to ignore that and spare the secretary some dignity, Tony asked, "Peter? What happened with him?"

"Oh, uh, of course. Peter was in gym class and fainted. He's currently in the nurse's office, and he's perfectly fine, but we recommend he go home for the last three periods of the day and rest. We called his primary contact with no answer so you were next on the list. Are you able to pick him up?"

Tony rolls his eyes at the kid's stupidity. Peter had probably forgotten to eat that morning and his metabolism screwed him over. He replied smoothly, "Should be no problem. I can make it there in 15, 20 minutes?"

"That would be excellent, sir, thank you."

"Great, see you soon."

Tony stood up off the floor, grumbling. He grabbed a suit jacket that was thrown over the back of a nearby chair, attempting to class up the t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.

"Friday? Shut down the lab for the night, I think the kid and I will just stick to my apartment."

Tony Stark lightly jogged up the front steps of Midtown High. He thought the security was a little lacking, and considered dropping by some other time and visiting the principal with his checkbook on him. But not today - he didn't want to bore Peter.

He strolled through the doors with a certain degree of the patented Tony Stark flair and glanced around, finding the office easily, continuing on his way.

The receptionist was on the phone when he walked in, and from her voice, she seemed to be the same one he had talked to. Not wanting to distract her, he lagged back a little from her desk as he waited.

When she set the phone down and looked up, he approached her and said, "Hi, Tony Stark, here to pick up Peter Parker?"

Her eyes widened and she said "Oh, uh, he's in the nurse's office right now - that's a little ways down the hall, first door on your left." Obviously having run through the whole spiel many times before, it seemed she forgot that it was Tony Stark in front of her and slipped into a monotone drone. She continued, "It's in the guidance office, the man at the desk there will help you. You'll need ID so he can make sure you aren't a kidnapper and that you're actually picking up the right kid."

Tony smiled, "Well, we wouldn't want that. Thank you for your time, Miss..?"

She startled, not expecting him to care about who she actually was, and replied slightly belatedly, "Miss Hodge. Pleasure meeting you, Mister Stark."

Tony turned and walked out the door, heading down the hall according to her instructions.

For a few moments, he idly wonders why the nurse's office is in Guidance. What kind of person would put the nurse's office there instead of the main office? He settled on the idea there was no explanation, but that it was decidedly stupid. As he walked, he fished out his wallet and pulled out his driver's license, just in case someone thought he wasn't Tony Stark. If that wasn't obvious.

He reached the doorway and wandered in.

Directing his request to the man at the desk, he asked, "Hi, Tony Stark, here to pick up Peter Parker?"

"ID please," the man droned.

He passed it over. The secretary glanced at it for half a second, handed it back with a form, and said in a bored tone, "The door behind you is the nurse's office, he'll be in there. Please sign this sheet to sign him out."

Honestly, the man not knowing him or not caring was kinda refreshing. At least Tony knew he wasn't a total bootlicker for nothing. He signed the paper a little less boldly than normal, because even though this guy didn't care, anyone who took a look at it after might, whether that was another secretary, a parent, or whoever, and he didn't really want to deal with that. It could end up putting a target on Peter's back if people realized they had a connection and that was the last thing Tony wanted. He already was in enough danger as Spider-Man.

Doing his best to shove all his fears and anxieties into a back corner of his brain, Tony slid the page back to the secretary and turned to the door behind him to get Peter.

He knocked twice and opened the door, stepping in. His attention turned to the brown-haired kid laying on the cot, and he smiled widely at the sight.

Peter was dozing away peacefully on the rubber-coated mattress. His hair was gelled back, but some of his curls had escaped and were flying away. He looked about three years younger than usual, carefree in a way that the teenager typically lacked.

Tony took in the sight for a few moments more and then plopped down on the cot beside him. He set a reassuring hand on the boy's ankle, then started, "Wakey-wakey, Mister Parker."

Peter slowly blinked awake, getting his bearings, but winced at the light.

"M'sser- Mister Stark? What are you doing here?"

"Hmm, well, I'll give you three guesses as to why," Tony replied, in a fake indifferent tone.

Much more aware then, Peter complained, "Don't try and be funny, your personal intern fainted today. Isn't that an emergency that deserves all your serious attention?"

"One hundred percent. On that note, how are you feeling?"

Peter tried to push himself upward and fell back, stifling a groan. On his second try, he fared better and managed to stay upright.

"Mmmph. Yeah, the nurse gave me an Advil, some water, and a pack of saltines before she went to go do a Sex Ed presentation or something. But you know me, that much doesn't really stick. Headache is still kinda killer."

Tony cupped Peter's jaw and rubbed his thumb over his cheek. His brow furrowed.

"Yeah, we really need to find a painkiller that actually works for you. And get some more food. Have you actually eaten in the past 24 hours?"

"Who can really say? Time is relative."

"Kid."

"Adult," came the response, just as dry.

"Y'know, I don't have to stand for this. I can just leave you here, bored and in pain. But I won't, because I enjoy you most of the time you aren't like this." Tony said, waving a hand dramatically. He continued, "Alright, let's break you out of here because there's no sense in staying in this broom closet."

"Agreed," Peter said firmly.

Tony offered him a hand up, steadying the kid when he started to tip. The mentor secured an arm around his shoulders just in case, and then they were off.

Tony tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as they waited at a red light. It had been silent for a few minutes, and Tony was thinking hard.

He broke the silence as the light turned green, asking tentatively, "Peter? Are you… okay? Because you need to eat, and you need to sleep, and if you aren't taking care of yourself, that's something we should talk about."

Peter visibly stiffened, and his voice was unusually hard when he scoffed back, "You're one to talk about taking care of yourself."

Tony blew out a breath slowly. In a calm voice, he said, "Peter."

The boy crumpled in on himself suddenly, wiping at his eyes and sniffling. His voice cracked and the dam inside him that kept all his feelings bottled up broke. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and said, "I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. That- that wasn't fair of me. It's… I dunno, it's been kinda hard lately. All my teachers are getting us freaked out about exams, and I'm still trying to keep up with patrolling, and MJ and I got into an argument and it's really, really just been a lot. And- and everything just swirls around in my brain at night and so I hardly sleep, and then I run out the door for school without grabbing any food. And the cycle just keeps going. May's been away for a work thing the past few days so she hasn't really been able to keep me in check. Today just sorta was my unlucky day, with the fainting thing. I just want to stop hurting. Is that not too much to ask?"

Tony wished he wasn't driving then, that he could devote 100% of himself to Peter in that moment. But keeping him alive by driving safely was also very important, so he made do with what he had and set a gentle hand on the kid's knee.

He glanced over for a second, making eye contact briefly before redirecting his attention to the road. "Pete, being completely honest with you, I can't help you all the way here. I can be here, listen, support you. And I'll be there, every time you need me. But I can't help you rewire your brain, in the way I think you know it needs. I think seeing a therapist would help you a lot, help you deal with your normal and night life stresses. I was where you were once, and I suffered alone like that for a really long time. It wasn't worth it. There's no shame in going to therapy. I go to therapy. If you're not ready yet, that's okay. But I swear to you, no matter what, it gets better. It always gets better."

Peter sniffed a few times, then cracked a small grin.

"Y'know, I'd hug you right now, but I'm pretty sure that'd be a really bad idea."

"Well, I think I can fit a hug into my schedule in a few minutes. But just a quick one, I have other stuff to do."

"Also, wow, when did you get so good at making impromptu motivational speeches? Has all that time with Captain America been rubbing off on you?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Kid, when you grow up famous, you learn a trick or two. Cap was very much in the ice when I learned all this sort of stuff."

"If that's what you say," the kid mocked.

"You're killing me, kid."

Back at the Tower, Peter stretched out on the couch closest to the kitchen.

"What are you making anyway? I thought you couldn't cook."

As Tony buttered a piece of bread, he replied, "Oh, a few years back, Pepper insisted on me becoming a sensible, capable adult, so she signed me up for cooking lessons. I'm no chef like Happy is, but I can hold my own."

Without looking over, Peter said, "So you're making me grilled cheese."

"Wh- yes, but how did you figure out that?"

"Well, I can hear you buttering bread because of my enhancement, but Tony Stark would not simply make a sandwich, ergo, you're about to turn on the pan and make grilled cheese. Easy, delicious, quick, and a step above average."

"What are you, a mentalist now?"

Peter popped his head up and stared eerily at Tony. He whispered, in a tone meant to be creepy but just reaching moderately weird, "I can read your mind."

"Sure kid. So, what happened at school today before your little episode?

"Well…" Peter trailed on about the exceptionally boring English class that morning, then moved on to telling him about Ned's latest obsession with some tech YouTuber. By the time he was finished talking about some idiot client May had at work, the grilled cheese was ready.

With an air of elegance, Tony waltzed over to Peter, plate balanced on one hand, and announced, "Apologies for the interruption, Mister Parker, but your food is ready. Bon appetit."

"Uh, merci, monsieur."

Tony lost the groomed facade and ordered, "Alright, now move your feet because I have to sit here too."

Peter scooched his feet back by one couch cushion. Through a mouthful of sandwich, he responded, "Wow, someone's bossy."

"I am going to ignore that and take the higher path - what are we going to watch?"

"Star Wars."

"You really didn't have to think about it at all, did you?"

Peter grinned, "You know how I said I could read minds? Well, your next question is going to be what episode. To that, I say, A New Hope, because it's the OG and that's what I feel like right now."

"You set me up for that one by purposely not saying which episode first."

"Still got it right, though didn't I?"

Pretending not to hear, Tony turned up to the ceiling. "FRIDAY? You heard the kid. Queue it up."

The opening music began and the text started scrolling across the screen. Peter shifted his legs again so that they were on Tony's lap.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Oh, you think I'm the bossy one? What do you call this."

Peter simply replied by shushing him loudly.

And who could say if Tony enjoyed the contact? (Well, FRIDAY probably could). He settled a hand on Peter's ankle and sat back to watch the show.

Halfway through, long after Peter's exhaustion had overcame him and made him fall asleep, Tony's cell rang. He did his best to slip out unnoticeably from under Peter's legs and went out into the hallway to answer the call.

"Hey May, I guess you heard?"

"Uh-huh. Fainted, right in the middle of class."

"Yeah, as it turns out, he hadn't eaten in a while, especially bad for his metabolism."

In a wry tone, May said, "The next time I go away, you're keeping our idiot kid at your place and taking care of him."

"Yeah, definitely don't want repeats on this episode," Tony replied.

"On second thought, I should make sure Pepper’s around, because we both know that you're almost as bad as Peter about that."

Tony let out a groan and whined, "I resent that. Why didn't I try harder to keep you two apart? I knew you'd swap stories and become more powerful."

May laughed. "You think you could've ever kept us away from each other? We're just trying to keep you in constant terror so you never step out of line."

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure that qualifies as abuse."

May smiles, then shakes her head, and her voice turns more serious. "Thank you, though, for being there for Peter when I couldn't. I'm glad he has someone else looking out for him again."

The unimaginable losses Peter had faced were woven into that sentence. First his parents, then Ben. It had only been May for far too long. But now, there was someone else to shoulder that weight again.

"Always, May. I'm always here." Tony says, in an equally somber tone.

Lightening the mood a little, May adds, "Hey, how about you come over to our place Sunday night? I'd say for dinner, but I'm sure Peter has told you stories about my cooking, so pizza? And a movie? As part of my thanks. I'm sure Pete would enjoy it."

"I think I can swing that," Tony said, "And hey, um, I was talking to Peter, and he seems to be struggling a lot right now. I can set him up with a therapist, get all the paperwork good for the secret superhero stuff. I'll take care of the money too, that's not something you should worry about."

There's a pause, and May's voice is low when she replies, "You're doing right by our kid, in case you ever doubt that. I'd really appreciate that, and I agree, I think he needs it."

"Of course. Uh, I should probably get back to the kid sleeping in the other room. Take care, May."

"See you soon, Tony."

"Buh-bye."

Tony walked back to the couch. He stopped, for a moment, taking a long look at the kid who turned his life around.

"I love you," he whispered. Peter wasn't awake to hear it, but Tony hoped he already knew. He'd say it some other time, when the moment was right and he had barely enough courage. He made a silent promise to himself to do that.

He sat back down, smiled, and basked in the rare peaceful moment he had. Life was good for Tony Stark because he had Peter Parker in his life.

[lazella]

Oooooo, what about a story about the avengers telling all their wacky adventures and the go characters tell theirs or a story about everyone doing trauma competitions. (Like don't is saying how he was captured and kidnapped and Yugi is like i lost a card game and my soul was trapped in a rock. Then they just keep going trying to out bet each other.)

So it probably turned out more angsty than you hope but I had a ton of  fun writing this one out!

Trauma Conga Line

Natasha wandered through the kitchen during a late night.She had a hard time sleeping, a rarity nowadays but they still happened, so shedid a quick workout then went for a snack. She was surprised to see Tonyalready in the kitchen seemingly having a staring contest with his drink.Natasha quickly put some facts together and asked,

“So what happened to the boys?”

“What makes you think something happened?” Tony replied notbreaking eye contact with his drink.

“You are having alcohol in the middle of the night and yourdad instincts have been in full force all evening.” Natasha explained, “So whathappened.”

Tony sighed, “You know that scouting mission that we didtoday?”

“That somehow ended up with you returning with cuts onYusei’s head, burns on Yugi’s hands, a black eye on Yusaku, Yuya constantlyflipping through his four personalities, Yuma with a nearly broken arm, andJudai looking like he foresaw his death? Yes that mission that you didn’t tellus what happened and sent each kid into his room then went for the alcohol.”Natasha frowned while holding back a lot of sass. “So yes…if you couldelaborate now please.”

“There were smugglers there like the report said…but theywere smuggling Vibrainium. And they wanted to go down with a fight. Things gotugly fast. We were trying to get Yuya and Yuma to safety but then a grenadewent off…Yuma was limp on the ground…” Tony went ash white, “Then……Judai…hejust...snapped.”

“Snapped?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, “How so?”

“He was in shock…then his went eerily calm…then his eyesturn gold.” Tony downed his drink, “His eyes turned a flat gold color then hesnapped a smuggler’s neck with barely any effort. I don’t think the Power Stoneactivated at all. But then he started stabbing the already dead body. Yugi andYusei tried to pull him off but I think Judai let off this black fire to blowthem off then went after the other smugglers. He only stopped when Yusaku usedthe Mind Stone to snap him out of it.”

“And what happened after that?” Natasha asked.

“They….They laughed!” Tony started laughing himself, “Theyjust talked talking to each other then they were making jokes and laughing!Like what had just happened was an everyday thing for them!”

Natasha frowned, that did seem rather odd. They were allrather young kids so the fact that being ambushed and nearly being killeddidn’t faze them was slightly concerning. Especially to the point that theywere laughing it off.

“Think something happened to them that near-deathexperiences don’t faze them anymore?” Natasha asked.

“Well…Yugi admitted to being put in life and deathsituations frequently.” Tony started listed off, “I also have Yuya frequentlyvisiting a therapist cause I think he, or one of the kids in his head, mighthave been a child soldier. And Yusaku has PTSD. But that’s only vaguebackstories for about half of them.” He pour another drink and downed it,“They’re kids Natasha…this shouldn’t be normal for them.”

“We’re not…exactly kids…”

Both Natasha and Tony jumped at hearing Judai’s voice. Theyoung man stood at the base of the stairs looking very nervous.

“Sorry if for the…scare today Tony…” He sheepishly rubbedhis head, “I haven’t gone Haou in some time.”

“Haou?” Natasha raised her eyebrow.

“It’s a remnant of my…past life…Yeah reincarnation was afactor here…” Judai explained at seeing the confused faces, “I think Ioriginally lived sometime in the Roman Empire. I was supposed to inherit akingdom and tremendous magical power but things…didn’t go exactly as planned.Even me getting my powers back in this life really wasn’t the best way to goabout it in hindsight.” Judai sat at the table joining them and continued,“Some maniacs wanted to reawaken me and one had the bright idea of sacrificingmy friends for that…” Judai sighed, “Let’s just say…he got his wish when my‘other side’ woke up and killed him.”

Silence hung over the table.

“Seeing Yuma on the ground like that…” Judai continuedwithout any prompting, “It looked too much like that day. I’m afraid about losinganyone else…so I went Haou. Dark evil king who slaughters all his enemies.”

“Does anyone else know?” Tony asked.

“Yugi and Yusei have an idea…” Judai answered, “I gave thema brief overview of my history and abilities when we first met. That’s how theyknew how to snap me out of it.” He started tugging on his hair in a nervousfashion, “It honestly scares me…knowing that I can snap like that if someone Icare about get hurts but today….they could of died….”

Tony put a hand on Judai’s shoulder before he could startspiraling down, “I thought you guy were going to get killed too…you’re honestlytoo young.”

“There’s no point in losing sleep over that Tony…” Judaisaid, “Destiny can call you at any age. It’s all about how you respond.”

“That sounds really profound for you.” Tony smirked.

“Don’t you start that….” Judai pouted, “I get that enoughfrom my friends from home!”

Natasha smiled as the two began to bicker. Seems like Tonyhas gotten over the trauma for tonight, but it seemed like there was moreheading their way when Thor came in the kitchen next with one hand on Yuma’sshoulder.

Yuma had his injured arm in a sling, a pillow under his goodarm, and his eyes looked red as if he had been crying. Not a good sign.

“What’s wrong Thor?” Natasha asked.

“Something I will admit is not my forte,” Thor seemed ratherexhausted himself, “I found young Yuma wondering the halls speaking ratheremotionally with his spirit friend. Apparently, they both seemed panicked aboutan event from the past repeating.”

“What event exactly Astral?” Judai asked confusing Natashafor a bit before remembering that Judai was one of the few people who could seethe spirit.

There was silence as Natasha assumed Astral was answer thequestion before Judai and Thor looked shock while Yuma looked ready to cryagain.

“Could someone explain what was just said?” Tony askedconfused.

“Astral said that Yuma had watched almost all of his friendsdie in front of him which was only fixed because they got a lucky break totweak reality.”

“You’re thirteen!” Tony yelled, “How do you have that kindof history!”

There was more silence but by judging by the way Judai,Thor, and Yuma were looking at the same space of empty air, it seemed likeAstral was talking again and Tony was getting a bit annoyed.

“Okay I can’t keep waiting for this game of telephone toplay out…JARVIS let’s test out that program.”

Of course sir…some whirring noise kicked in and alight flickered and Natasha gasped in shocked while Tony looked pleased withhimself.

Hovering in the air was a blue humanoid figure with greenmarkings and blue gems all over his body. He looked at them in shock, “You cansee me now?”

“And we’ve got audio yes!” Tony pumped his fist, “I toldYuma I wasn’t going to let something like being chosen by magical forcesprevent me from seeing spirits. It’s not perfect considering you look and soundlike a hologram but it’s better than nothing. So what were you saying?”

Astral took a minute to get over his shock before he repeatedhimself, “I was originally created as a weapon to settle a war between twoworlds before I lost my memories and encountered Yuma. He helped me regain themand his friends got involved with what was happening. But when things hit theirclimax Yuma nearly lost everyone…” He rubbed his chest, “Myself included.”

Tony was silent for a while, “JARVIS…wake everyone up.”

“Wait what?” Everyone else said at once.

“We are having an impromptu group therapy session. Get theblankets, pillows, and all sorts of drinks because we are not dancing aroundthis issue any longer.”

Sure enough that’s what ended up happening. People weredragged out of bed, forced on the couch under blankets, injured peoplesurrounded with pillows, and hot chocolate passed all around. Yugi and Yuseiseemed to be in a good mood about it while everyone else kept freaking out overthe now visible Astral. Yusaku’s reaction was the most memorable as he tried todo a 180 and leave the room immediately the moment he spotted the spirit, allwhile keeping a flat expression. He was dragged into the pile by Judai.

“Tony you know I have a flight to catch tomorrow…” Clintmuttered trying to stay awake, “Why’d you drag us out of bed.”

“Because some people…” Tony stole a glance at the sixcolorful haired boys, “Have been hiding a lot of trauma and it needs someserious airing out.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad Mr. Stark,” Yugi said with asmile, “That worst that’s happen to me was my soul getting yanked out once ortwice.”

Tony’s expression went flat, “You said that way to calm formy tastes. You make it sound like an everyday occurrence.”

Yugi just shrugged not losing his smile, “Got used to it.”

“I’m with Tony, you sound way to calm.” Steve said.

“At least he doesn’t have to deal with turning into a greengiant any time he gets angry,” Bruce said with much salt in his voice clearlynot happy with being woken up in the middle of the night.

“But seriously Tony why did you feel that it was necessaryto wake us up?” Steve asked.

“Because I know for at least three of these kids now…” Tonypointed to Yuma, Yuya, and Judai, “Have fought in some sort of war watchingtheir friends die.”

“Oh…” A sense of familiarity and understanding washed overSteve, “I see. And the events of the day stuck a chord?”

A round of nods.

“It is hard getting out of that way of thinking…in the warwe just called it shelled shocked. The doctors just thought the men weren’tbeing ‘man’ enough to deal with the fighting. After waking up in this century Ifound out that wasn’t the case. PTSD is not a laughing matter and it reallydoesn’t go away. You can learn how to manage it and be able to distance thosetraumatic memories, but you lose that feel of safety and security. There is nogetting it back.”

All of the Avengers nodded in agreement.

“How do you cope with it?” Yusaku’s voice was quiet as allheads turned to him, his face looking rather…hopeful.

“Word to the wise…don’t use alcohol.” Tony said.

“Except for Yusei…we’re all underage Mr. Stark.” Yugipointed out.

“Still putting it out there.”

“But Tony is right, going into self-destructing tendenciesdoes make things worse.” Steve explained, “It was tempting for myself. There’sno way to explain the shock of getting knocked unconscious and waking upseveral decade later know that everything you knew and love was gone. The barswere tempting that day…but I quickly found my new support. I got to know peoplein the century…and got a new team.” Steve gestured to the other Avengers.

“My life prior to this wasn’t that good either. Being assassinfollowing orders and constantly on the run...I got tired of it.” Natashaexplained, “I eventually let myself get caught just so it could end…but itturns out Fury had a better idea of how to put my skills to use which lead tothe founding of the Avengers.”

“What about you?” Yuya asked Clint, “Was it the same foryou?”

“Actually no…” Clint said, “I was just an agent that gotrecruited into the Avenger’s initiative. My trauma didn’t start till after thefact with several rounds of brainwashing and mind control.”

Several people winced in sympathy.

Yusaku gripped his mug tighter, “What about kidnapping?” Heshrank a bit at the bewildered looks he got, “How do you recover from that?”

“Is…that what happened to you?” Bruce hesitantly asked.

Yusaku eventually nodded. “I was six…”

Immediately Yusei put an arm around the boy, as did Natasha.Thor started muttering about getting justice and puny mortals. Both Tony andSteve faces went hard with anger.

“Yusaku…I’m sorry…I had no idea…” Yugi began.

“None of you knew…no one else knew…the whole thing wascovered up…” Yusaku gripped his mug so tight that he was threatening to breakit, “I was only found because someone blew the whistle on the whole thing…”

“Breath…” Yusei warned gripping Yusaku’s shoulder tighter,“What did you do after that?”

“I tracked down those responsible…” Yusaku explained, “Itwasn’t all that I hoped…the doctor behind it had died right before I found him.I only got the full details from his son who turned out to be one who turnedhim into the authorities.”

“You wanted revenge?” Clint asked.

“I just wanted answers…” Yusaku took a deep breath, “I gotthem but now…I’m not sure what to do.”

Silence hung over the room as everyone struggled to come upwith something to say.

Yuya was eventually was the one who made the first move. Hegot up and hugged Yusaku…tightly. Yusaku looked unsure on how to react to thehug.

“You’re not the only one…” Yuya squeezed tighter, “I feellost too…but it’s okay.”

Yusaku still looked unsure but with some prompting fromYusei, eventually returned the hug.

“Thank you.”

Tony relaxed in his seat and smiled. Seemed like theimpromptu therapy session helped out a lot though the late evening was takingit’s toll. Yuma had already passed out on Thor’s lap who looked torn betweengetting up or staying in place so that he didn’t disturbed him. Astral justreassured him that Yuma would sleep through anything, but Thor elected to stayput. Clint had already gone to sleep as well enjoying the pile of pillows. Oneby one everyone nodded up in rather cute positions and you bet Tony took plentyof photos for later. But before he took fell asleep, maybe he would make aquick pillow fort.

#infinity stones au #yugioh #avengers #gx #5ds #zexal #arc v #vrains #ironman #thor #captain america #steve rogers #tony stark #so much angst #the yu boys have a lot of trauma and not so good coping mechanisms #Anonymous

[popatochisssp]

Hello! I hate to bother you but if you don’t mind, could you possible show one of your outlines? Like maybe Fur a Good Time, call... since it wouldn’t be spoiling anything by showing? If you still have it! I just have a really hard time making outlines, and I’d love to see your process on it. Only if it’s not a bother ^^ I hope you have a great week!

Yeah, sure, I could do that!

Forewarning, I didn’t really do any outlining before Chapter 4, so that’s where it starts, and the basic, bare-bones version I have of it was back when I thought there would only be 10 total chapters instead of 15…

Also, it very much is the bare-bones version, right before I write each chapter, I usually try to map that particular segment out with even more detail, so each chunk of this later got expanded into something more intricate. Those are usually a lot longer and include actual bits of dialogue sometimes ‘cause y’know…if I’m outlining it and hearing the perfect dialogue in my head, I gotta write that down so I don’t lose it! Sometimes gets tweaked, but very helpful during the Actual Writing part…

ANYWAY.

I’ll put the rest of this under the cut, but I’ll give you the full bare-bones FGTC outline, and then the (very long) detailed outline of Chapter 4!

Ch 4 - more Papyrus, dinner at theskeleton house, Sans is a cat person, more friendship, road trip/beach episode,okay whoops more than a crush

Ch 5 - The Breakdown, confess your Sans, the bigI care about you

Ch 6 - Papyrus hangout, character development,more Underground backstory, encouraging you to go for it with Sans

Ch 7 - self-deprecation, look I know I don’thave much to offer somebody like you but— cut off because are you serious? Youdon’t really think that do you? You’re so special and important to Sans, youmake him feel like just a person again for the first time in a long time, bothlean in…kiss meets nuzzle, haha no lips sorry? No, it’s nice, I like it,giggly, cuddly couch makeout until Papyrus comes home, FINALLY!!! Now moveover, my soap opera is on. Sans stuffs a pillow in his rib cage to try and getyou to come lay on him and it’s so sweet, how could you say no?

Ch 8 – dating fluff, bed sharing,some stargazing, the schmoopiest schmoop to ever schmoop

Ch 9 - after some time dating, Sans wants totake a big monster step, he wants to share souls with you, it’s super intimate,it’ll be basically no secrets, no important ones anyway, so you don’t have toif you’re not ready…but you are. Sans entire life story/POV up until now. Howmuch did you see? everything. i love you. I love you too! Dog person but catsare really cute line

Ch 10 - epilogue, Papyrus’ graduation, Undyneis allowed to attend with guards, she is solemn and aloof with you but concedesit looks like you’ve been good to these skeletons and you’d better keep it up.Cherish them! Not even a little bit of a problem, they’re practically family.Nod of approval before she’s led away. Papyrus nudges you to go find Sans, hedisappeared when Undyne came over and he PROMISED Papyrus a very specificgraduation present. You find him outside with Buddy and mention Papyrus’present— which turns out to be a bit of a present for you, actually. See, Sansfound a REALLY cool rock that he’s been meaning to give you, he just wasn’tsure when was the right time, human customs are so weird. He shows you a glowingcrystal, from the Waterfall ceiling, rambles a little about stars and wishesand penguins and oh, wait, I’m supposed to be on one knee for this, right? He’sproposing and you say yes without hesitation. You’ve got a skeleton fiancé, abest friend/soon-to-be brother-in-law, and a very good boy: it’s not a bigfamily, but your life feels as full as it’s ever been and you couldn’t behappier.

-

Thinking of a guest gift(s) –> because hanging out with Papyrus/Buddy & it comes out that you eat mostlygarbage and No Way, Not My Cool Friend! You’re Coming Over For Dinner!

You get a succulent and a rock paperweight (Nothing IsCarved In Stone) and head over

You’re early, Papyrus welcomes you at the door, Buddy’sjazzed to see you, Sans is asleep on the couch but snrks awake when Papyrussays your name

“Sweet dreams?” “nah I don’t dream, whatcha got there?”

The gifts go over GREAT! …and the sight of Sans holding hismakes you remember…

“Oh hey, Papyrus, what can you tell me about Rocky?”

“Oh My God, I Should’ve Known That Would Come Up, Listen, IAssure You, You Have Nothing To Be Worried About! Buddy Is Being Very WellTaken Care Of Here, *I* Am In Charge Of His Mealtimes, And He’s Never AllowedOutside Without A Leash Or In-Yard Supervision, There Will NOT Be A Repeat OfRocky!”

Papyrus goes off to squirrel his gift away somewhere heknows it’ll get good light.

…. OH MY GOD. Sans loses it, even as he pockets his newrock. ROCKY IS REAL??? “I told you he was, you gotta start trustin me more,jeez”

You take your mind off it by fawning over Buddy a littlebit, “hey I’m here too y’know,” “What, you want a belly rub, too? Ear scratch?”“that’d be a neat trick, lemme know if you figure out how to pull that off,”“pass,” “ouch”

Brief small-talk, you both just saw each other at work, notmuch new has come up, but Sans tells you Papyrus has been looking forward tothis all week, thanks for coming, “Of course, like I’m gonna turn down dinnerat my three best friends’ place?”

Oh look, you made Sans blush again. God that’s adorable, heneeds to quit doing that, it’s really not helping that crush you’re trying torepress

Papyrus returns! And he admires and compliments yourearliness but dinner isn’t quite ready yet, would you like to help? You’re notobligated, of course! He only asks because he knows sitting around waitingdrives him crazy as a guest and he wants you to have the best guest-experiencepossible!

You agree with the warning that you’re nowhere near a chefbut if an extra pair of hands would be helpful, you’re his set of ‘em!

Sans flops back onto the couch, practically curled into aloaf-shape, “okay cool lemme know when you’re done,” god what a cat-person

You follow Papyrus into the kitchen where it looks like he’smaking pasta! A pretty easy dish that even you can help with, you ask him whathe’d like for you to do, he wants you to watch the noodles and stiroccasionally, he’s going to throw together the salad—made of veggies from hisown garden!

You alternate watching the noodles and Papyrus. Sans hadsaid Papyrus didn’t cook too often lately, you mention that you’re honored he’sdoing it on your account, but of course Papyrus is going to cook for you! It’sa very important step in friendship building!

Papyrus admits the reason he doesn’t do it much anymore isthat he has, “…Well, The Word My Therapist Used Was ‘Trigger,’ Is That A WordThat’s Used Outside Of Therapy As Well?”

It is.

Well Papyrus has some triggers that seem to bekitchen-related, so he avoids the situation as a whole for the sake of hismental health

You’re concerned that he might be risking said health justto make dinner for you, but he promises that this sort of meal is safe, he’snever had a reaction to vegetables or pasta, which is great because pasta ishis signature dish!

(By process of elimination, you realize it’s probably rawmeat that triggers Papyrus. You don’t need to ask why and you don’t intend to.)

Papyrus doesn’t allow for any awkward silence and tells youhe used to make spaghetti all the time when he was first trying to pick up someculinary skills, he knows it was probably not great but he kept making itanyway. Cooking Underground could be a lot of trial and error (the Undernetdidn’t have much in the way of recipe blogs, you see, it was much betterutilized as a social media platform), so if you wanted to get good at makingsomething you had to practice and get opinions—the only problem was he couldhardly ever find anyone to taste-test for him and Sans was useless, Papyrus hasseen him eat mayonnaise out of the jar, his taste is questionable in theextreme!

You laugh about Sans being disgusting as Papyrus finishes upthe salad and you notice that the noodles seem ready, so Papyrus takes over foryou—since he doesn’t have any of that fragile skin to get scalded by hot water!

Your mind is going though and as you watch him drain thespaghetti you’re thinking about what Pap said about his therapist. It’s gottenyou wondering—Sans doesn’t work every day at the shelter, is that where he goeson the other days? To see a therapist?

You ask about it, gently and leaving Papyrus room not toanswer if he doesn’t want to, you’re just curious, but Papyrus tells you no,Sans doesn’t attend any kind of therapy

Oh. That…sits badly with you. He’s a grown skeleton and youespecially have no authority to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do, but…you saw the news reports. The pictures of what monsters looked like, fresh outof the Underground. It was BAD, for all of them, the fact that Sans isn’tgetting counselling too just feels…not right.

You’re not sure how to express your thoughts withoutsounding pushy or like you’re trying to say you know what’s best for them, soyou decide you probably shouldn’t say anything

Papyrus is too sharp for you, though. “No, I Agree, I WouldLove For Him To See A Therapist, Too. It’s Really Helped Me, It Would Be NiceIf He Could…. But Also…He Has His Reasons For Not Going. I Thought He Was BeingStubborn At First, But His Reasons Are Actually Good Ones. …Would You BeSatisfied If I Told You It Was Private?”

“Of course!”

“Then The Reasons Are Private. But Don’t Worry Too MuchAbout Sans, He’s Almost As Tough As I Am! He’s Been A Lot Better Lately, EvenJust On His Own. Besides, He Has At Least Two Very Cool People Looking Out ForHim If He Needs It!”

That really does make you feel better. You share a moment ofsolidarity with Papyrus before you help him bring the food and dishes to thetable

Papyrus wakes Sans up by kicking the edge of the couch andyelling, “Sans, You Lazybones, Wake Up! Your Friend Is Over For The Very FirstTime And You’re Going To Spend It Snoring On The Couch?”

“nah, I can snore at the table, I’m versatile”

“You’re Impossible, Is What You Are, You Bipedal Snail!”

The bickering is a little jarring from how gentle andconcerned Papyrus was for Sans just a few minutes ago, but the affection inboth moments is obvious enough if you look for it. Little brothers, you thinkwith amusement.

Sans makes eye-contact with you and you feel like he’sprobably thinking the same thing. You share a smile and he shrugs and you allhead to the table for a delicious meal (Papyrus sets Buddy a place at the tabletoo, Buddy hops up into a chair and starts chowing down on his kibble, oh mygod that’s adorable, he eats with the family

At some point, Papyrus talks a bit about his job and thesubject of vacation time comes up—a coworker of his mentioned that she wasactually operating on NEGATIVE time-off and he really feels like that’s a thingthat doesn’t make sense

It’s weird to you too, the last vacation you had was, well,that week your boss MADE you take off, right when Sans had started

This is the first Sans is hearing of that story, “wait, sheMADE you go on vacation? like she told you you HAD to stay home for a week? ohmy god, that’s hilarious, that’s so you”

You can see the humor in the situation and laugh at yourselfa little, while Papyrus says they HE would NEVER take a vacation!

Wait, really? Never?

Not for ANY reason!

Sans chuckles. “you’re so intense, bro, it’s awesome.”

“…Well, now, I want to MAKE you go on vacation,” you admit.You recognize the hypocrisy—you certainly never really wanted to take time offwhen you had so much you felt you needed to do—but you feel like theseskeletons DESERVE a break or a trip or something. Sans especially, but youcould’ve guessed within a day of (really, actually) knowing Sans that he’dnever go anywhere if his brother wasn’t on board. “Isn’t there someplace you’dwant to go? Just to visit? Anywhere at all?”

“None Come To Mind! And I Certainly Wouldn’t Want To RequestTime Off For It!”

The beginnings of an idea start to hatch in your brain.

“You don’t work weekends, do you?”

“No!” Papyrus declares petulantly. “They Wouldn’t LET Me.And I Don’t Have Any Classes Either, Weekends Are The Worst! There’s Only SoMany Weeds I Can Pull In The Garden Until There Aren’t Any More Weeds To Pull,And The Best Soap Operas Are Only During The Week, Which Is Prejudiced Somehow,I’m Sure!”

-

…And I guess that’s where I stopped outlining and started winging it again, and clearly there’s some bits I changed, added in more stuff, got rid of others because that’s just how it worked out as I was writing but obviously, y’know, that’s a pretty solid base to work off of. Once it’s this detailed, it’s still technically an outline but it’s not quite so much work to go from that to the finished product?

It’s like… instead of Brain –> Finished Chapter, it’s more like Brain –> base outline –> detailed outline –> Finished Chapter, and the steps in between really help me build up to it. Not as much pressure as flying blind like, “HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE BY THE TIME I’M DONE ‘CAUSE IDK WHERE I’M GOING,” if that makes sense? XD

Anyway, I hope this is helpful– or at the very least, interesting for you! ^^

#anonymous #crinkling #fur a good time call

[dream-girls-evil]

Episode 6 Reaction

Hey kiddos! Sorry I didn’t post anything last night; that extra-long episode made me tired! I’m an old lady. Anyways! What did you all think?? I...really, really wanted to like it, for Sarah, but I just didn’t. And it’s not her fault, she worked with the script she was given; the script was just so disappointing. Let’s break it down, shall we? 

Warning: I gotta rant, so this will be LONG.

Madison Montgomery

Wow I could watch a full episode just of Madison and Behold being stuck on that drive to the Murder House together. They’re fucking hilarious. I was absolutely LIVING for Billy Porter’s expressions.

I also cackled when she just casually tossed aside Hayden’s skull. I would have paid to see them interact.

I’m glad that they’re at least trying to give Madison some character development, but she was really all over the place with this episode

It made me laugh out loud when she said Tate wasn’t that hot

And then cringe when she called Ben a DILF

And what in the world was that line “if my baby wasn’t cool or good-looking, I wouldn’t love it”? Like, WHAT? Even if that’s true, it was just such a weird and unnecessary thing to say.

And then then just randomly deciding to bring up a super personal memory with a guy you barely know and who might be your enemy.

There’s been no pacing or sense of progression, just awkwardly blurting out information at inappropriate times. Maybe they’re going for Madison trying way too hard to be a different person, and how it’s really not working? I hope whatever it is, they can settle on a tone for her soon.

I will admit, though, that I loved her saying “Cordelia will know what to do.” Tbh, of all the girls, she’s always had the most mother-daughter relationship with Cordelia, even if neither of them would EVER admit it. I do think she really looks up to her Supreme.

It’s also looking like the last name is probably a coincidence, by what Billie Dean said.

Speaking of Billie Dean...

Murder House Characters

The actual FUCK was going on here???

Billie Dean Howard--I was SO excited when she showed up

And SO glad they got her a better wig than she had in Murder House. That was awful.

If “I’ve known a few Montgomery’s in my day” is as close as we’re gonna get to Hotgomery then I am taking it. It’s canon now, fight me.

But man, I wanted her and Constance to interact more! They had such a fun dynamic in the first season!

And then she...disappeared? I know Sarah had to actually direct, but they couldn’t have even had her say “well, I’ve gotta head out, we’re leaving to film at (wherever)” or something?

They could have shortened this episode by 30 minutes if she had just told the witches that Michael was the Antichrist from the get go

Constance Langdon

A queen, as always, but also confusing. I don’t understand any of her story.

First of all, she KNEW Billie’s prophecy about the Antichrist. They both KNEW what Michael would be from the moment they found out he was conceived. And even if Constance didn’t believe it then, you’d think she would have realized something was up when he aged 10 years overnight.

And after being totally cool and actually seeming a little proud when he killed his first nanny, and all that talk about him being destined for greatness, did anyone else expect her to be totally psyched that her grandson was the future ruler of the world? Cuz I did.

And her fourth child finally appears! Man, first Cordelia, now this? Jessica’s tv daughters really can’t catch a break in the eye department.

Aaaaand she’s still a bitch to Moira. You’d think Violet would have taught her about slut shaming or something by now.

Moira

She finally gets to be with her mother and I’m sobbing.

But, we’ve pretty much known it was going to happen for months.

It still wasn’t totally satisfying, though. She didn’t say goodbye to the Harmons, who she was really close with the last time we saw her. She was Jeffrey’s godmother!

And speaking of the Harmons, where tf was Vivien to defend her from Constance’s torture??? I loved Vivien and Moira’s dynamic in the first season!

The Harmons

Man, I was so proud of Vivien for not talking to Ben for like five seconds and then they ruined it.

Ben is still a shit therapist and all-around douchebag.

Words cannot express my anger that literally the ONLY reason Violet showed up was to redeem Tate.

Tate

No. Nope. Rejected. I will never accept that their toxic relationship is okay because “the house made him do it.” Tate is manipulative, sociopathic trash.

Michael Langdon

Okay, metal six-year-old Michael was actually kinda cute, sadly it couldn’t last.

And it’s literally Tate’s fault again cuz why not, he started this whole thing after all.

Aaaaaand more dead lesbians. HE BURNED THEIR FUCKING SOULS UP. What the fuck Murphy. This is not how you do representation.

The whole thing with the “signs” of his rise to power was neat, and his followers were satisfyingly creepy. Loved seeing Naomi Grossman again.

Though I can’t help but wonder how the actual Church of Satan is feeling about its presentation in the show.

I died when they played “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” This season has such great music.

The relationship between Mead and Michael is still a mystery. Like, now we know how they met--she was one of his loyal followers. But he literally almost killed Constance for telling him what to do. So how did Mead get from worshipping the Antichrist to parenting him?

Final Thoughts/Next Week

All in all, the only actual things that needed to happen in that episode were the coven finding out Michael was the Antichrist and us finding out how Constance died.

I was very disappointed with how the ghosts showed up. There was hardly any interaction--they all just made their appearances one-by-one, gave a dramatic speech, and then went off to some sort of happy ending.

Also, very sad Madison didn’t even make one jab about Cordelia being too busy fawning over Misty to investigate this herself.

More background next week with a little bit of time back at Hawthorne. Looks like we’ll be introduced to Joan Collins’ new character, figure out how Dinah got involved with the witches, possibly find out how Myrtle got resurrected (I’m hoping), and see PAPA LEGBA!!! I was SO hoping he’d show up in this season, and I will be SO mad if he doesn’t make at least one comment about getting annoyed with all the times Cordelia called him up trying to bargain for Misty’s soul. Because we all know she did.

Speaking of Misty, if we’re going back to Hawthorne, we’ll find out for sure whether she’s still there or has gone somewhere else (like with Stevie), but they’d better actually tell us where she went, not just ignore the fact that she’s absent.

This episode also means that they DID know who Michael was and what he was going to do in 2018, before the Apocalypse. So they must have had a plan to stop him--what happens with it? If my parallel timelines theory holds out, we won’t know if it works until the very end.

#american horror story #ahs apocalypse #ahs spoilers #apocalypse spoilers #ahs murder house #madison montgomery #behold chablis #billie dean howard #constance langdon #sarah paulson #ryan murphy #jessica lange #vivien harmon #ben harmon #violet harmon #ahs moira #misty day #michael langdon #tate langdon

[abundantchewtoys]

HS Epi: Meat p7 reaction

Well, seeing as to what movie I just watched on Sunday. "We're in the Endgame now." :O I wonder if it'll switch back to Earth C before showing us (the tail end of) the Masterpiece scene.

I'm curious to know how truthful Caliborn was about the scene, what he may have omitted from his retelling (the presence of the leprechauns, maybe?), and also how it concluded. I wonder if it'll be told from Dirk's perspective, after the B1 kids have been stolen. He's got the closest connection to Cal and Arquiusprite, after all. I wonder how his perception of his puppet might have changed, too. For all we know, LOTAK might have been ripe with allusions and phropecies regarding the thing, thanks to his denizen. That's another thing connecting him to LE, after all: Yaldabaoth. Just cause he never went into the Lion's Mouth doesn't mean he didn't harvest every bit of intel and backstory. This is Dirk 'Batman Gambit' Strider we're talking about.

---

"The boxing bell is going off like it's having a fit." Well, I did ask for Dirk's perspective. :P Wrong Dirk! Okay, so it seems like the POV will be changing hands like a baton pass on Earth C. That would mean we're in for Rose's POV next, and I wouldn't mind that. Tight-lipped as she would still be even in her own mind's narration about her plans, it'd be nice to see things from her end!

"Dirk has to stick a finger in one ear to hear what Rose is saying over the cacophony of boos and buckets being lobbed toward center stage." Not sure if it would be worse or not for trolls to have thrown that bucket.

"He considers it all pretty fucking annoying, so he flips off the crowd and jumps the ropes. Always a good idea to abscond from the stadium before the customary show-end riot hits full swing." ... So his whole upset-the-audience-into-rioting is par for the course? Dear god, are all his fans hooligans? ... That actually runs pretty close to what happened in AIDS, come to think of it.

"ROSE: It’s not so much “what is up” as “what is down,” the answer to which is, proverbially: Me." Down for the count, not down in the brooding caverns, naturally. You know, since she's ascended to the highest top of the surface.

"ROSE: I mean that both physically and philosophically by the way.

DIRK: You’re down philosophically?

ROSE: Yes.

DIRK: I’m not sure what that actually means.

ROSE: What doesn’t it mean, Dirk." Oh my freaking god, these guys might even be more amazing together than Dave and Rose, it's a sight to behold.

"DIRK: Glad to see that my genetic predisposition for melodrama is still alive and well in my slime-progeny even after all these years.

ROSE: Please don’t interrupt. This is important, and I’ll need all the energy I can spare to sustain even a heavily monologic transmission of the relevant facts." Yes, Dirk, please cut Rose some slack, she only has so few monologues left in her. :P

"ROSE: Anyway, the matter at hand is my “condition,” with which you’re already familiar.

ROSE: I’ve struggled to devise the right way of telling you without causing undue alarm, which would unquestionably trigger the overbearing tendency of yours to “solve the problem” for me, which is not the kind of circumstance my constitution can withstand these days.

ROSE: I can barely lift a wrist to my forehead to telegraph my infirmity, of late. Your bullshit is precisely the thousand-pound feather that could knock me clean through my apartment’s plate glass window." While I don't disagree Rose's condition might be severe, I see she's still well enough to heat a scalding plate of sarcasm. Also, wouldn't Jasprosesprite^2 be better than Dirk at handling her situation? Her feelings for interacting with a clownesk version of herself not withstanding, it's a Rose that already went through the ultimate self thing. Granted, she had fake magic Sprite powers to help her cope, as well as bullshit feline asshole personality issues.

"I’m taking solace in the fact that your infirmity doesn’t seem to have spread to your vocal cords yet." Right, got to remind myself that actual voices are being used to talk with one another. Still not used to it for Homestuck characters doing this when phones are involved. :P The only time it happened in-story was when a "shellphone" was involved, after all.

"ROSE: The bottom line is this.

ROSE: I am ascending, and it is terrible." ... Hmm, could that imply that the Ultimate Self is the last of the god tiers, or pretty high up there, at least? It would take a ridiculous amount of XP, seven years may or may not be enough, but if it's about the accumulation of self-reflection & general knowledge, a Seer of Light would be pretty quick to collect that kind of required boons.

"Rose adjusts her position on the couch with the body language of one about to dive into the latest gossip about a mutual friend. The mutual in this case: her tortured psyche." So the therapist is seeking counsil, in a way, is she? :P

"ROSE: Years of refining my Seer of Light powers have cursed me with what is approaching near infinite prescience. Dwelling in this idyllic post-canon realm has worn down the barriers separating my primary consciousness from the memories and experiences of all my doomed alternate selves, which were forgotten and discarded over the due course of our journey." So that implies they were many, more than we'd assume immediately. There's Dream Rose, Alternate Future Rose, pre-retcon Rose (now Jasprose) & B2 Rose, but it appears there are more still. Well, okay, there's also Reload Rose now, I guess.

"ROSE: As I approach the realization of my Ultimate Self, I cannot stop the extant knowledge from seeping in. I am plagued by near constant visions from the less fortunate versions of myself, as well as a broadening view of the metatextual nature of our existence." She's starting to become self-aware, before you know it she'll be addressing us directly through the Fourth Wall! Well, it's not like we didn't have a smug monologic narrator before. (Did I mean Doc Scratch, Andrew Hussie or Lord English? Yes.)

"ROSE: It drains all of my energy to keep my consciousness focused on relevant events, but even then I am losing my ability to discern what is and is not canonically relevant, let alone what is also true or essential." Well, okay, if she can't even discern between her own life, fanon and fan fiction, she might really have a problem.

"ROSE: And all of this is making me incredibly fucking sick." Rose is getting Homestucksick, is it? :P

"DIRK: Oh. Is that all?" My first thought was: blatant sarcasm. But then... We don't know how far Dirk's powers extend, do we? What shards of his has he had access to all this time, if Brain Ghost Dirk is any indication?

"DIRK: Well, in the spirit of full disclosure,

DIRK: Same." Ooooooh, wow. So it's the same for him? If he was nurturing the mother grub of all splitting headaches all this time, no wonder he pisses on the whole audience experience every time. While he would have more experience juggling disparate experiences, it was already a strain on him back when it was just him and Dream Dirk. Can you imagine him having to jostle Arquiusprite's thoughts & desires, or god forbid, some part of Lord English' experiences too? ... Okay now I'm curious as to what it's like for Dirk.

... Dirk's Ultimate Self experience would have been one of those things I would have liked to see speculation of, back on the old forums. But alas, we're archival readers now, not serial readers. It was not meant to be.

Got to say though. If it's this hard on the god tiers, how must it be for Terezi? Because I'm pretty sure post-retcon Terezi forced an ultimate self revelation on herself through her mindy thing.

It might be that Mind is the aspect best suited at handling all these inflows from doomed timelines and conditional experiences. Or it might be that Heart is, they're related aspects, and Heart is supposed to stand for Soul. It just might depend on where you think the self is defined: in actual experiences, or in the potential for them, realized or not.

"DIRK: We are suffering from the same condition, Rose." So... Does this lend more stake to Dirk's idea for backing Jane, or is it just one of those situations where he can't discern the right course of action any more, that Rose was referring to?

"She allows several rare conversational beats to pass in silence between them, to process the admission." That's how you know things are grave, when Dirk and Rose stop talking.

"DIRK: I guess I used the wrong phrase. You are suffering from it. I am adapting to it.

DIRK: I already have, really." No, wait, THIS is how you know things are grave: when Dirk insists he's got a handle on things. "Adapting", like he's the AI version of himself, not the human version.

"ROSE: When were you going to tell me this?

DIRK: When you were ready.

ROSE: So you have determined that I’m ready to receive this rather critical piece of information now, of all times?

ROSE: What distinguishes the present from the other moments you could have mentioned it?" Well, isn't today the day that things become relevant again, Rose? April 13th? :P

"DIRK: Wow. Well, when you put it that way, it makes me sound like kind of a dick.

DIRK: But I guess it isn’t far from the truth, either." Well, you already sound like kind of a Dirk, most of the time, so

"

ROSE: Unbelievable.

DIRK: Look, it’s not something you just spring on people that frivolously.

DIRK: “Hey folks, just so you know, the boundaries of my awareness are coming apart, and now I know almost everything, about everyone, everywhere.”" "I can see into forever!" Okay, so it was more Dirk's low self-esteem springing up again. He was waiting for someone to "get it" and make the first move. So, is the omniscience thing coming from Arquius' unfathomable depths of AI? Or its connection to Doc Scatch???

"

DIRK: “Also, the process should be tearing my body apart, but actually I’m handling it quite well. Thanks for the concern though.”" Imagine Dirk as the dog in the "This is fine" image.

"DIRK: There will be time to explain all this.

DIRK: Despite whatever appearance of callousness I’ve maintained in withholding this information from you, I actually do have your best interests in mind. I don’t want to wear you out on this call." Gotta say, omniscient Dirk working behind the scenes with whatever boatload of narrative information he has on hand is both assuring and worrying.

"DIRK: For now, I’ll just mention that I’ve been alert to your problem for some time, and I’ve been devising a solution which should permanently remedy it without compromising the boon of your expanding consciousness." ... Definitely tipping back into worrying. It's for the lack of kernelsprites on Earth C that I'll give Dirk the benefit of the doubt, for now.

"DIRK: Would love to tell you, but I’ve got some work to do. Why don’t you stop by my studio later so we can hash this shit out in person." ... I dearly hope his solution isn't: "Here, upload your consciousness into this Rosebot. There! All the limits of your feeble immortal biological coil, removed."

So, Dirk (and Jake) have a studio, Rose has an apartment, Dave 'n Karkat 'n Jade a hive, John a house. I wonder if Jane has ended up owning a mansion of sorts (the White House doesn't count... yet).

Also, Dirk hashing things out is funny, because of Dave's former sylladex mode: hashmap.

"

DIRK: Right now, you should get some rest." Hmm, Blaperile has some theories rest might help her condition. I wonder if, through sleeping or some other process, Rose might be able to actually 'act' through her alternate selves. What if she could make contact with Reload Rose, send her some bits of the bigger picture without overloading her with information?

"ROSE: Actually, I’m feeling oddly invigorated suddenly. I think I’m good for more exposition, if you are." ... Okay didn't see that coming. Either she's scathingly sarcastic right now, or we're in for a treat.

"DIRK: Can’t say I’m surprised. But no." Nothing to perk up Rose better than the promise of secrets not yet revealed, I guess!

"ROSE: Have I caught you at a bad time?

DIRK: Nah, but there is an election coming up, and my work as a political operative is going to be absolutely essential for the fate of humanity." See, Rose could think Dirk is being falseful, but she's nearing omniscience so probably not. Still, Dirk is forgetting to include other species' fate in his calculations, not just humanity's.

"ROSE: I see. Wheels within wheels, I assume?

DIRK: There are always wheels. Wheels are everywhere.

DIRK: They aren’t my wheels or yours. The wheels don’t have owners or designers, but they do have caretakers.

DIRK: They won’t keep turning on their own without someone to grease the mechanism." This is turning into a Dave metaphor again. ... But hmm, that's a mechanics metaphor he's using. Is that a reference to that Rosebot I theorized about... or Arquiusprite? Cause if Rose could act through Reload Rose, Dirk could act through either his Reload self or Arquiusprite! Here's to hoping there isn't a shard in Lord English influencing his behaviour, or reading his every thought and intent.

"the full brunt of the sunset: purple and orange, blending brilliantly on the horizon." I see what you did there. Yes, Dirk and Rose's first actual conversation was brilliant.

"She’s right about him, he thinks. While his ecto-daughter views herself as having a somewhat deft artistic hand that lends itself naturally to a gentle push-and-pull style of influence, Dirk knows his methods are mechanical, like those of an engineer. There is nothing adaptive or interpretive about his method. Every piece has a purpose, a slot, an interlocking mechanism that is functionally pointless without the whole." Yes, it's been pointed out on occasion Rose is quite elegant in her ways. Those ways don't include tidying her room, but still. With the visuals being used to describe both of Rose 'n Dirk's different takes on influencing people, I am reminded of how Names in the "Practical Guide to Evil" story feel different for each person. For one, like putting on a tailormade pair of gloves, for another, like observing the methodical churning of a machine. I already felt quite a few times reminded of Homestuck while archive-reading PGtE (not done yet!), it's only fitting it now goes the other way around again.

Also, thinking about the wheels metaphor has gotten me thinking about LOHAC, and now I have the Clockwork theme from the Medium album stuck in my head.

#homestuck #homestuck epilogues #homestuck liveblog #reaction #spoiler alert #dirk strider #rose lalonde

[keelywolfe]

FIC: That Which We Call a Rose: Part 2

Summary: Stretch has been going through a bad time.

Notes: Part of ‘by any other name’. Part One is here 

Also on AO3

WARNINGS: Depiction of depression, mental health issues, nightmares, implications of past character death during resets, hurt/comfort, medication, non-graphic references to past self-harm, possibly something I’ve missed.

~~*~~

The office was tidy and elegant, with real art on the walls rather than prints. There were two loveseats in the waiting area and one corner of the room contained a large, mahogany desk, empty of occupant. The overall effect was one of opulence and, not for the first time, Edge wondered how Sans had come across this particular doctor. 

The wall opposite of him held a door and that was where Stretch and the doctor had gone, leaving him here with the wifi and his laptop, nothing to do but work as he waited.

He was clearing up his work schedule, which he’d planned to do anyway with the wedding looming, but now he wanted to spend a little more time at home without seeming as if he was hovering. Be there if Stretch needed him and he could stay out of his way if he didn’t.

Hopefully, Stretch would admit which it was.

For the past week, Stretch had been a shining example of put togetherness. When Edge returned from work every day, the house was as spic and span clean as Stretch ever managed; if he’d left any requests for the day, be it laundry or putting dinner in the oven, it was done, the chickens cared for, the bed made, and Stretch nearly determinedly happy to see him.

In a word, unconvincing.

The card house of it all had collapsed with another nightmare and Edge had only soothed him through it without question.

The next day Stretch dug out the business card Sans had given him and deliberately called the number right in front of Edge, clearly resentful, and made an appointment with clipped words. They’d gotten him in the very next day which made Edge wonder what precisely Sans had told them.

Not fifteen minutes later Stretch had been curled up in his lap, obviously trying to communicate that he was angry and resentful, but he still loved him. Not that Edge needed the reassurance. If there was one thing he didn’t doubt in all this it was Stretch’s feelings for him, but still. It was nice to have it confirmed.

That left him here, in the waiting room with his laptop, and his own concerns churning in his soul. It didn’t matter what happened, really; whether it came that the therapist was unable to help or if she was. Either way, they would go home and carry on together. But he couldn’t not try, it was too painful to see his lover with dark shadows beneath his sockets, to listen to him scream from his nightmares.  Something was pushing his normal quiet depression into whatever this was and if it could be helped, Edge was willing to try whatever was necessary.

This was the right choice, he told himself. It was.

Exactly one hour after the door had closed, it slammed open hard enough to bounce off the opposite wall. Stretch stormed out, completely ignoring Edge and walking out the door. Edge exhaled slowly. Well, that hadn’t been excruciatingly painful to see.

He packed up his laptop slowly, lingering, and eventually the doctor came out. She looked surprised to see him.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asked politely. Dr. Lee, a clinical psychiatrist, specializing in PTSD. He’d researched her credentials thoroughly before even allowing Stretch to walk through the door.

“Yes,” Edge said, returning her politeness in like. “I’d like to know how he is.”

Her expression turned to one of bland sympathy. “I’m afraid all my sessions are confidential.”

“I’m his partner,” Edge said evenly. Soon to be spouse.

“I am aware of that and I’d tell you the same if you were a parent or a sibling.” There was a thread of steel in her voice that normally Edge would appreciate. Not in this situation, not now.

Frustratingly, he already knew this anyway; he worked with troubled children and while he was hardly a therapist himself, he’d had some training as a way of ensuring he was able to reassure the children who did seek help.

It didn’t make it easier to hear.

Enough of dancing around the topic, he may as well ask the question he truly wanted answered. “We are getting married in three weeks.”

Again, she was blandly neutral, her expression gave nothing away. “Congratulations.”

It had been a long time since he’d wanted to hurt someone as much as he did this woman. He wanted to shake her and demand answers. “I’m not sure if we should.”

“Why?”

Edge resisted the urge to tell her he didn’t need a therapist. “He hasn’t been doing well. Is this the right time to be making that step?”

“I can’t answer that question.” Some of her steel melted into gentleness, “I can say that people with depression and mental health issues can and do get married all the time. I’m sure it’s something we will discuss and a choice I may help him with, but I won’t decide for either of you.”

Well, at least he could see why Sans had chosen this woman to trust with his secrets.

She went to the empty desk and pulled out an appointment card, neatly writing in a time and handing it to Edge. “I’d like to see him again on Thursday.”

“Twice in one week?” Edge frowned, glancing at the card.

“Is that a problem?”

He shook his head. No. It wasn’t a problem for him.

She leaned against her desk. “I’d like to spend a little more time with Papyrus to get to know him better, establish trust.”

Good luck with that. Wait… “He let you call him Papyrus?”

“Yes? He requested that I do.” She was already reaching for a notepad, scribbling hastily. “It’s also listed on his paperwork.” She looked up at him over the rim of her glasses. “Is there an issue with that I should know about?”

“I’m not sure,” Edge admitted. Stretch had left his name as Papyrus on all his paperwork when they’d come to the surface. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time but then, they had barely been on speaking terms. His own paperwork listed him as Edge, he’d abandoned the name Papyrus before they’d ever seen the sun. “Did you tell him that you wanted to see him on Thursday?”

“I did,” she said, again, carefully bland.

Edge sighed. “Can I assume that explains his exit?”

She smiled wryly. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for. She’d only spoken to Stretch for an hour and from the look of things, he’d been spectacularly unhelpful. Edge could only bring him to the door, what happened past it was beyond his control.

“I’ll bring him,” Edge told her firmly.

“You can’t force him,” she said softly. “All that will get you is resentment and a bill.”

Edge bit back the words he wanted to say, the profanity burning unspoken and only nodded curtly and followed his lover’s path out the door, albeit a little less forcefully.

Stretch was already in the car, staring out the window. On the dashboard there was a clutter of wadded up papers, scattered as if they’d been thrown.

“What’s this?” Edge picked one up, smoothing the paper.

“buncha shit i don’t need.”

“Odd, they look like prescriptions.”

“that’s what i said.”

“Love—“ Edge began, and he knew what he was going to say. About understanding how difficult this was, about how it had helped Sans, they all knew it had. About the simple fact that it was because he cared so much that he wanted Stretch to at least try. He had made a spreadsheet listing his reasons and calm, rational ways to explain them and every one fled his thoughts as he watched a quiver run through Stretch, another, until he’d curled in on himself and tears were streaming down his cheekbones.

Wordlessly, Edge pulled him close and held him while he cried.

“please don’t make me come again,” he whimpered. “please.”

Edge held him but didn’t say anything.

The tears dried up eventually and Stretch pulled away from him, angrily wiping at his face with his sleeves. Distantly, Edge was grateful that the stains would disappear as the magic dissolved. Stretch loved that shirt.

He felt a little cold, a sort of numb weariness settling into his soul. He had no doubt that tears were real, but he also knew Stretch wasn’t above using the tools that he had to get the results that he wanted.

Numbness quickly faded into surprise when Stretch opened the car door. “What are you doing?”

“i’m taking the bus home.”

“Don’t do this…please.”

He wasn’t sure if Stretch heard him over the door slamming. The temptation to follow him, either on foot or in the car, was overwhelming. Edge resisted it and let him walk away. Stretch was an adult and he took the bus everywhere in this blasted city. It wasn’t going to hurt him to take the bus home—

Except for the time it almost had, it was only once, it only took once

—and it would give them both a chance to cool off. Edge sighed. Or a chance for both of them to stew about it and get up a good head of steam for a real argument at home. Either option was possible.

It would be fine, Edge told himself and started the car. Another visit, perhaps two, would convince him that this was necessary and if it didn’t, then he would stop pushing for it and they would simply deal with this as they had every other problem life at thrown at them both. He’d dealt with so much worse, they both had, but just this once he was hoping for a better solution than simply surviving.

Stretch’s happiness was not too much to ask of the universe.

He stopped on the way to fill the prescriptions, wandering through the pharmacy idly while he waited and ignoring any sidelong glances Humans sent his way as he wandered down aisles of vitamins and cold medicines. None of the pharmacists had given their crumpled state a second glance. He wondered sourly how often they’d seen something similar.

Stretch wasn’t home when he arrived, but that was not unexpected. Even if he’d chosen to come directly home the bus ride was nearly twice as long as driving. He took the time to note the name of each medication in his excel worksheet along with possible side effects he’d read about in the accompanying paperwork. Then he put them aside, for now. One battle at a time.

An hour after he would have expected Stretch to be home, Edge texted him, a simply a query as to when he’d be here so Edge would know when to start dinner.

There was no reply so either he was still sulking, or he’d turned off his phone. A quick call was sent directly to voicemail.

He waited another half an hour, finishing the last of his paperwork before he called Jeff to see if maybe Stretch had gone to the bookstore.

“No, I haven’t heard from him in a few days,” Jeff said. Papers rustled in the background, then the clatter of fingers on a keyboard. “Doesn’t look like he’s picked up anything while I wasn’t here, either. To be honest, I was going to call today, anyway, he hasn’t posted anything to twitter in a day or so. He okay?”

“He’s fine,” Edge said stiffly. If Stretch hasn’t told Jeff anything then Edge was hardly going to offer any of his secrets. He allowed Jeff to solicit a promise for a text from him when he found Stretch and ended the call.

He tried he coffee shop next and the barista at the beanery had sounded a little harried when she’d answered the phone, but she’d softened immediately when Edge told her who it was. “No, we haven’t seen him in at least a week, is he doing okay?”

This time, he didn’t reply, only thanked her and hung up before finding Blue’s number in his contact list.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him,” Blue asked him calmly.

“He’s only two hours overdue,” Edge said. “I wouldn’t normally be concerned—"

“But he’s going through a bad patch,” Blue sighed. “I could tell when I met him for lunch this week. Relentless cheer and dark circles.”

“Yes,” Edge agreed, softly. He didn’t tell Blue about the nightmares, kept Stretch’s secrets but he didn’t doubt that Blue knew regardless.

“Give it a little more time,” Blue said at last. “He’s probably outside somewhere smoking entirely too much. He does have a talent for holding a grudge.”

Yes. Edge knew that entirely too well.

Edge waited while the light outside faded into twilight. He made dinner in silence, he didn’t want his phone to ping and miss it because of the radio and when he finished, he realized didn’t have the appetite for it. He covered both plates carefully with foil and put them in the refrigerator, and went to sit on the sofa, his phone in his hands.

Another hour crawled by.

He unlocked his phone and searched through the apps. He’d never done this, had never allowed himself to. His urges to keep Stretch safe often clashed with his knowledge that Stretch’s tolerance for it only went so far, rightfully so. He’d never used the tracking app on his phone to search for his location. He used it now.

It informed him that Stretch’s phone was offline.

He closed the app and called his brother.

Red picked up after two rings. “ebott mortuary, you snuff ‘em, we stuff ‘em.”

“Brother,” Edge said quietly, “I need your help.”

All humor dropped instantly. “tell me everything.”

Red listened silently to the whole story, Edge left nothing out, the nightmares, Stretch’s troublesome week, their appointment at the therapist. He spoke to his brother until he could think of nothing else.

“give me an hour.” Red hung up.

Edge waited, and he plugged in his phone to keep the battery charged. The house was eerily silent; Stretch always had something playing, the television, a podcast, even a fan when they slept. White noise, he called it, it helped settle his constantly running thoughts.

Red called back less than twenty minutes later. “got a camera angle of him getting on the bus. still searching for where he got off. this isn’t london, ebott doesn’t have the cameras of a big city, but they have enough. i’ll find him.”

He didn’t promise. He didn’t need to, Edge heard it nonetheless.

The phone rang again ten minutes later but it was only Blue, “I know you’d call if you’d heard something, but I couldn’t help myself,” Blue confessed.

“Nothing yet. I asked Red to look into it,” Edge told him.

“If anyone can find him, it would be that reprobate you call brother,” Blue said with gentle humor, but Edge couldn’t bring himself to even smile.

“He’s been going through a very bad time,” Edge said softly. There was question he did not want to ask. Edge refused to shy from it and asked it anyway; he loved Stretch with all his soul, but no one knew him better than his brother. “Do you think he’d hurt himself?”

Blue’s silence was not the reassurance he’d been hoping for. “I hope not,” he said at last. “It’s been a long time since he did anything like that. Before we came to this universe.”

That was a conversation for another time. For now, he’d gotten his answer even if it hadn’t been the one he wanted.

Edge promised to call if he heard anything and ended the call, waiting for either his brother or Stretch to call him.  

It was closing in on midnight. One of Stretch’s hoodies was hanging haphazardly on the back of a chair, likely tossed there the day before instead of being hung up like it was supposed to be. Edge picked it up and started to put it away. The fabric was soft and well-worn, and he ended up sitting back down on the sofa, pressing his face into the soft folds. It smelled like Stretch; cigarettes and the persistent sweetness of his magic.

The door opened softly and Edge looked up.

Stretch stood there, hands in his pockets, and he crumpled the moment their eye lights met. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”

There was no artifice or manipulation him in now, only miserable sorrow. Edge didn’t care. He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed him and held him tight. He didn’t cry, wasn’t sure if he even could, but he shuddered and clutched him.

Thin fingers cupped his skull, cold against the bone. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to be gone so long and worry you. i’m an asshole but i’m not that much of an asshole.”

He didn’t ask where Stretch had been, he didn’t care; right now, he was warm and safe and in Edge’s arms. His knees felt weak, watery with relief, and when he sank to the floor, Stretch went with him, still whispering apologies.

“oh, don’t,” he said, brokenly. “i’m so sorry, babe, i didn’t mean to—

“Don’t,” Edge said hoarsely. “I don’t care. You’re safe, that’s all I care about.”

“no, bullshit, that’s bullshit,” Stretch said angrily, wiping away tears. “you don’t get to forgive me like that! i got you all worked up just because i fell asleep on the damn bus.”

“You…what?” He drew away enough to look at Stretch. Embarrassed color was high in his cheekbones.

“so yeah, i was pissed off and tired when i left? i was gonna just ride around for a little while but I must’ve fallen asleep on the bus,” Stretch mumbled. “i guess the driver didn’t see me, i was all the way in the back. i woke up in the damn lot with all the lights off. had to teleport out and my phone was dead, so i couldn’t even take an uber. it took me twenty minutes just to get to someplace so I could call a cab.”

He fell asleep. On the bus. Edge couldn’t help laughing, a touch hysterically. “They’re supposed to check buses before the driver leaves.”

“yeah, well, i guess i wasn’t the only one asleep on the job.”

“I suppose you weren’t. What bus number were you on?”

He asked it casually, but apparently not casually enough. Stretch shook his head. “uh no, not letting you get someone fired over this.”

That was fine, he’d get it from Red.

He pulled Stretch to his feet and guided him to the sofa. There were calls he needed to make but for now, he needed a moment to feel Stretch in his arms. He basked in the feel of his light weight, the smell of cigarettes and magic, much stronger than the forgotten sweatshirt. Stretch buried his face into Edge’s shirt, his breathing ragged.

“i keep dreaming about you dusting,” Stretch confessed softly. He kept his face down, hidden, “i don’t know why it’s happening now, but i can’t make it stop. it’s like it happened back…back during the resets. instead of my bro, it’s you.”

“Love,” Edge didn’t know all of what had happened, but he knew enough, from soft confessions on dark nights that Stretch had seen his brother die.  “I know you don’t want to hear this but—“

Stretch interrupted him, his voice small. “can you take me back thursday?”

“Whatever you need,” Edge told him and pulled him in tightly. Always.

He closed his sockets briefly and breathed in deeply, then forced his arms to loosen. “I should make some calls.”

Stretch nodded, his skull scraping Edge’s shirt. “let me help. i’m betting you need me to talk to blue.” He sighed mournfully, “he’s gonna be pissed.”

“He loves you.”

“well, yeah, i know that,” Stretch pulled away and gave him a grin. “still gonna be pissed though.”

Reluctant as he was to allow Stretch out of his sight, he didn’t protest when he went to the kitchen to call Blue. He took the opportunity of privacy to call his brother and explain what had happened.

“well, shit,” Red snorted, “never thought about him not getting off the fucking bus. i mean, i did but not like that—"

“Yes, thank you, you can stop there,” Edge said sharply. He’d had more than enough thinking about Stretch dusting on those blasted buses. With his brother in the loop, he sent off the promised text to Jeff before switching off his phone. There was only one person he wanted to pay attention to right now and he was coming out of the kitchen even now.

He looked like he’d been crying again, his face still faintly damp. But he set his phone down gently, plucking his lighter from his pocket to fidget with it. “okay, where are those meds,” Stretch sighed, “i know you got them.”

“I did,” Edge agreed softly and Stretch made a face.

“I’m only taking the ones to help me sleep,” he warned.

“That’s fine.” Small steps

The medication seemed to work, alleviating Edge’s fears that it wouldn’t affect their physiology. Soon enough Stretch was drowsing in his lap. His skull rested on Edge’s femur, his hand curled laxly on Edge’s knee.

Edge didn’t sleep. He’d never needed as much as Stretch or Red, his high HP carrying him for far longer. He stayed awake and guarded over his lover’s dreams. Watched as he slept on peacefully for tonight.

 -finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #us!papyrus #uf!papyrus #underswap #underfell #by any other name

[soulfireinc]

So I finished DDS3

I shall be processing for many days but MY GOD. Overall, I loved. A lot. Spoilery fangirling and criticisms under the cut

- The opening scene: AH NOW that’s a bit mystical considering the tone of the show. I mean, it looks beautiful but come on. He should’ve been way more dead than that. Would’ve been better if he was just found by people who wanted to pay Daredevil back for all he’s done and who bring him to Father Lantom ‘cause they’re in his parish and know he’s sound. Him grabbing that randomer and giving instructions was a tad much, I thought. Also, why Lantom and not Claire when he’s super injured? Except of course that sweet baby Rosario is gone from Marflix.

- ELEKTRA NEEDED TO BE MENTIONED MORE. And generally I think a bit more specificity on survivor’s guilt ‘cause WHY was he the only one to be schlurped out the drain? Sure, Karen could be fine glossing over how he survived and got out ‘cause she refused to think he was dead, but Foggy should’ve asked more.

- Reunion with Foggy felt a bit rushed and forced to me. I think it needed more time for staring and holy-shit-you’re-alive-ing.

- MAGGIE J’ADORE

- LOVE that we had more over suicidal Matt discussions, that was needed

- Sweet baby Nadeem, you poor you. That Jack parallel at the end. My heart.

- THE HALLUCINATIONS YES YES YES SUCH FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS! Love Matt not idolising his dad as much and having him be back in the narrative. Felt he was really missing from S2.

- KAREN YOU ARE PERFECT AND NEED MORE HUGS IN YOUR LIFE DON’T YOU LISTEN TO YOUR FATHER

- Okay okay okay. People (Karen) needed to be more concerned about Ellison in the Bulletin fight. Like, is he dead? We don’t know, he’s treated like an extra til we see him in the hospital.

- IF YOU TOUCH MY FOGGY I WILL RIP OUT YOUR SPINE AND BEAT YOU WITH IT CRETIN

- Marci. J’adore.

- FISKING HELL WHAT A FISKING FISK THAT FISKED

- K I N G P I N

- BULLSE-EY-EY-EYE! Done so well, I loved. His therapist deserved so many awards

- As does Charlie Cox and Vincent D’Onofrio and Deborah Ann Woll cos WOW, just wow, so much wow

- Right, so. That confrontation at the end. Is it just me or was it OOC and a bit plot-device-writing-y for Fisk to just ... let Matt win? Sure, he’s hurt and dazed and came that close to being killed, but shouldn’t his reaction be to just grab a shard of chandelier and stab Matt? Especially when Matt just sits down and holds his head for a minute? Why didn’t Vanessa kill the man who almost killed her hubby? Sure, he saved her like eight times, but still. It was weirdly passive for Fisk to just kneel there for minutes when he could’ve killed the man who ruined everything. Who he’d tried to kill a bunch all season. For all he knew, he just killed Dex. Why not Matt? This might need a fix-it fic for me. It might’ve even been a more powerful moral victory for Matt to be physically hurt for choosing his own soul, considering the themes of ignoring his true self and physical deconstruction.

- Speaking of Matt’s vulnerability, I feel he needed more small wins, or a bit more space to grieve and be given physical affection at the end. Every single episode had at least one hit for him and yes, he beat Fisk and he got his friends back and has started to trust himself with them/them with him. These are all huge wins, but not huge enough to balance thirteen episodes of misery. His last paternal figure died right in front of him. He could’ve stopped it (he’ll think). They argued right before. The woman he trusted who saved his life lied to him every day for months and years. (Loved how that ended, but goddamnit he needed one fecking hug that lasted more than half a second)

- NEEDED MORE MATT HUGS

- NEEDED A KAREN HUG OR AT LEAST AFFECTIONATE HAND SQUEEZE AT THE BROTHER/WESLEY REVEAL MY GOD MATT I KNOW YOU’RE HURTING BUT JESUS SHE JUST LAID HER SOUL BARE FOR YOU AND ????? I know you’re emotionally constipated but honestly honey, you could’ve said something a lil more comforting. Like, jeez.

- Honestly, Dex. Triumph.

- MELVIN NOOOOOO?! Glad leaving him to be FEDified was addressed, but god, Matt. That’s not okay, you poor thing. I hope they can be friends again but Gladiator’s gonna have to happen first yay

- Ellison is underappreciated and I love him. That set up? #dadboss

- Matt should’ve been more hurt after Midland Circle. I’m glad we got so much whump, but I’d’ve killed for the angst of him lacking his independence. It would’ve added to his early arc so much to see him being helped to the bathroom or even better, to eat.

- FOGGY’S IRISH? HI FAM :D SLÁINTE!

- Damn Foggy’s suits were amazing. He looked fantastic. Also his jumpers.

- Everything about Karen My Hero Page. You did not kill your bother, sweet baby. Not really. *feels*

- Please please please let all that Vanessa stuff be gearing her up to be the Kingpin while Fisk’s away. I would be SO HERE for that

- The whump uwu

- TAMMY HATLEY listen here. I had to pause for a MINUTE to give out when she turned out to be dirty, I loved her SO MUCH and y’know what? She was just great, all around. What a character. A+

- No but really. Matt chose to die with Elektra. That needed to be brought up again. She needed to be there, whether only in mentions. Although hallucinating her when he was still severely injured in St Agnes would’ve been beautiful. Can you imagine the guilt? The love? The angst? I may need to fic that.

- I 100% need Madame Gao to come back. That cannot be her end.

- If that ends up being Elektra’s end I will need a refund. She deserved better. Kill her off to further the man pain and then don’t mention the man pain like what

- Father Lantom and Karen MY HEART!

- Matt. Sweet, precious baby Matt. I love you. You’re an idiot.

- That nasal bloodbath bit?? Perf. Dramatic, but perf.

- WHY COULD WE NOT GET MORE OF THE TAXI SCENE???? I know you don’t see Matt’s struggle in the comics but dang guys, adapt! I found that really disappointing. That’s not a scenario (near-drowning) that they’re likely to do again and I feel mildly cheated. May need to fic that too.

There is definitely more to say and my subconscious is already writing essays but for now I must go watch it again sleep

UPDATE HOW COULD I FORGET THE BULLETIN BULLSEYE FIGHT THAT WAS AMAZING AND MORE IMPORTANTLY THE WORRIED!KAREN AND THE H A N D  H O L D I N G be still my shipper heart

#daredevil #season 3 #dd season 3 #matt murdock #karen page #foggy nelson #wilson fisk #bullseye #dex #s3

[literarygoon]

So,

Charlie Demers started off telling jokes. 

The Quebecois stand-up comedian, who is known for his fierce political activism, could easily make his living performing all over North America, appearing on radio broadcasts and providing voices for animated series. But over the course of the last decade he’s also made a name for himself as a writer, producing both creative non-fiction and fiction. His latest offering is something of a departure, as he kicks off a Vancouver-based mystery series.

Literary Goon reached out to Charlie to chat about what it’s like to conjure Vancouver on the page, how his love of The Sopranos informed the work, and the peculiarities of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD).

LG: Your new book Primary Obsessions centers around issues of mental health, which is something I know you’ve been passionate about over the years. Having suffered through a few mental health crises of my own, I’ve been able to see firsthand some of the ways the system fails to adequately treat people or reach them where they’re at. In the write-up for your book it says you’re a long-term cognitive behavioural therapy patient, so I wonder how your real-life experiences informed the narrative. Is there a political element to your prose? Are you trying to make a point?

CD: Dr. Annick Boudreau, the hero of the new series — I’ve very happy to have signed with Douglas & McIntyre for at least two books starring the character — is a fictionalized version of the cognitive behavioural therapist whom I’ve been seeing for more than fifteen years, sometimes regularly, sometimes for the psychological equivalent of touch-up work. 

I mean, she’s very heavily fictionalized; symbolically I separated them from each other, in my own mind, by giving Annick a crewcut on the very first page, whereas in real life my doctor has never cut her hair. That was my signal to myself that, whatever I borrowed from my doctor for my detective, just like Chesterton used his real priest for Father Brown, Annick was a fictional character for whom I had to be free to imagine into backstories and misadventures and mistakes that my own therapist would never have anything to do with. But it is, to a certain extent, a tribute to her and a thank you — I remember listening to a poet talk once about what a unique relationship a long-term patient-therapist relationship is, and it’s so true; it’s this in some ways tremendously intimate and absolutely trusting relationship with someone you know for years, who you feel like you sort of owe your happiness and maybe even your life to, but you don’t know when their birthday is or their partner’s name or whatever. 

When I first started seeing my doctor, it was as an outgrowth of treatment that began as part of free clinical trials at a university, and that treatment, which saved my life (either kept me from taking it, or made it something other than just sheer torture) was free, and it was at a time when I didn’t have a cent to my name, I mean absolutely nothing, and knowing how many versions of me are out there right now, at this crucial point in their psychological development in their early 20s, and they can’t access the kind of treatment that saved my life, it just murders me. Psychiatry is fine for certain things and for certain people, absolutely — and I have had good experiences, and bad ones, with meds. But for OCD, it’s cognitive-behavioural therapy. I mean, in my experience, for sure. 

And that should be part of universal health care. I don’t know how saliently that point comes through, though, in the novel, at least this first instalment. If there’s a politics at play here, I think it’s probably less to do with bread and butter stuff like that, and more to do with the flattening effect of the Internet. In this story, Annick Boudreau is drawn into an investigation to save her patient because she knows things that other people don’t know, even though they think they do.

LG: I’ve never met anyone who is as passionate about The Sopranos as you are. I read your moving tribute to James Gandolfini when he died, and couldn’t agree more that David Chase’s depiction of the realities of talk therapy was ground-breaking in a covert way. People thought they were watching a show about gangsters, but they were really watching a show about mental health. With this book steeped in a crime milieu in the same way, would you say that your goals align with his?

CD: If David Chase is Stevie Wonder, I’m a ringtone of dogs barking “Jingle Bells”. Even thinking of comparing my book to The Sopranos feels like comparing Brueghel’s “Landscape With the Fall of Icarus” to a calendar from the mechanic’s because they both hang on walls. I’m perfectly happy to have written what I think is a fun, smart, and from a certain angle even possibly a little enlightening detective story in the fish-out-of-water tradition. There’s a whiff of gangster underworld in this book, and there’ll be a lot more of it in the second one. 

LG: One of your main characters has been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, which is often mis-portrayed in popular media. (I’m thinking about the Academy Award-winning Jack Nicholson flick As Good As It Gets.) As it happens, your hero Dr. Annick Boudreau sets out to help him but quickly realizes that doctor-patient confidentiality creates a roadblock where she can’t speak to the authorities. Most people think of doctor-patient confidentiality as a positive thing, but it sounds like you’re exploring it’s unexpected down-sides. Did you have an experience that clued you into this conundrum?

CD: There were bits of As Good As It Gets that showed some of the real agony of certain strains of OCD, but it definitely slotted into the broader cultural misunderstanding of OCD as meaning “super finicky” or “very particular.” The initialism itself, OCD, has been almost completely stripped of its descriptive power, since in common speech it’s almost always used to mean someone keeps a clean house or likes things a certain way — though usually if you say ‘obsessive-compulsive disorder,’ people know you mean an actual, clinical diagnosis. 

The patient in the novel has the kind of OCD that I have (though I should say, thanks to the real life “Dr. Boudreau,” have mostly put behind me), which is called primary obsessions OCD, and involves repeated, unwanted, intrusive and disturbing thoughts. Heavy on the ‘O,’ a bit lighter on the ‘C,’ although the thoughts can cause so much emotional pain, anxiety, and even trauma that very complex, time-consuming, and exhausting compulsions and rituals develop to “deal with” or neutralize them. It’s not so much that there’s a down-side to doctor-patient confidentiality, which is a sacred and absolutely essential norm — but there are particular legal strategies to bringing in a defendant’s psychologist, and trying to include their insights. And in this case, Dr. Boudreau’s patient’s shame — which I can say, from experience, is debilitating to the point of paralysis until you’re pretty well into your treatment — becomes an obstacle to his own well-being. 

LG: I grew up just outside of Vancouver, but rarely got the chance to see it portrayed in fiction. Though it’s used by countless film crews, it’s always disguised as some other American metropolis. Recently I read The Plague by Kevin Chong, and I was fascinated to see how his portrayal overlapped with my own experiences, and also how it diverged from them. When you set out to conjure Vancouver on the page, what were your priorities for setting the scene? Which aspects of Vancouver were crucial to capture?

CD: One of the things I love about the detective genre is the way it’s so, so often and unapologetically about the worst and best things about the cities in which the stories are set. I’m a huge fan of the late Andrea Camilleri, and his Detective Montalbano books, and as you read about his “Vigàta,” in Siciliy, you really can’t tell if this place is Heaven or Hell. So I was very unsubtle about splashing as much Vancouver on everything as I could. 

One of the nice things about having a psychologist for a protagonist is that she’s rich, so I could realistically give her access to every part of Vancouver, without any particular anxiety about it. But unlike Dave Wakeland, my pal Sam Wiebe’s private eye, she didn’t grow up here — Annick is an Acadian from Halifax, so Vancouver’s not in her bones like it’s in mine, or Dave’s, or Sam’s. Sam’s incredible books are already doing the work of capturing the city’s loss of soul, and it felt stupid for me to try to ape that, and so I kind of mostly went with a lights-and-make-up Vancouver. Any East Sider will recognize many barely-disguised eateries and for sure there’s some inevitable urban grit, but I also went with the Pan Pacific lounge and Coal Harbour condos because hey, fuck it, it’s fiction. 

The Literary Goon

[madness-of-void]

Even The Sun Can Grow Dark

Also On AO3

Theme: Wild Card

WARNING: Major character deaths, gore, violence, other deaths

It’s a very dark fic, or at least can be for some people. Read at own risk.

Based on this gifset

“Did you hear about the Hale Pack?”

“I didn't. Why? Did something happen?”

“Yeah. A few days ago they were ambushed. Rogue Hunters. Killed everyone but two of them.”

“Good god...that's awful! Who were the ones that survived?”

“The Alpha and the Emissary.”

“Oh no...”

“They were in pretty bad shape, last I heard.”

“How awful! Ah, those poor boys have already suffered enough. Now to be the only ones to survive the massacre of their Pack...they aren't going to be okay for a long time. If ever...”

“If I'm gonna be honest with you...I think they died the night the rest of their pack did...”

~+~

Stiles had woken up in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeps of machines, tubes in his nose, and a needle in his arm. He could barely move, head foggy and body numb. It felt like an hour before he could turn his head to the right.

Beside him, in a second bed, was Derek. The guy was out cold, a needle in his arm and tubes in his nose, too. There were also bloodied bandages wrapped around most of his body. He was barely recognizable. Stiles was only able to identify him by the hair, parts of the beard that weren't wrapped, and the black ring band that Stiles gave him.

“Der?” the Emissary croaked, voice ruined by lack of use.

It ached to speak. And it was apparent that Derek was too far deep asleep to hear him. So, Stiles quickly gave up on it. Instead, he moved onto the very thing circling in his mind: why were they there?

Last he remembered, the Pack was enjoying a peaceful day by the lake on their land.

Erica on the grill with Boyd beside her on the second grill. Scott and Isaac playing catch with lacrosse sticks. Lydia sunbathing. Kira and Cora splashing at each other in the water. Liam and Hayden playing chicken with Mason and Corey. Derek lying on the shore reading a book. Stiles frosting the cupcakes he had made. It was a normal Pack Gathering. A celebration for the engagement between the Alpha and the Emissary. Happiness and peace. Love. So much love. And after all the tragedy both Stiles and Derek had been through...

The happy image faded quickly. It morphed into a twisted, horrifying scene. An ambush. Rogue Hunters. Gunfire. Pain. Screams. Snarls. Roars.

Stiles began shaking, the beeping on his monitor speeding up. No. No no no no no no no. No no no no no! The Pack...where was the rest of the Pack?

He sat up, closing his eyes and carefully seeped out his Magic. It burned, causing the medication numbing the pain to bubble angrily. He ignored it, desperate to find the rest of their Pack. He searched everywhere for their beings. He searched everywhere for their Lights. One by one, he found them. He found them, but...but...

Boyd's Light – out.

Cora's Light – out.

Corey's Light – out.

Erica's Light – out.

Hayden's Light – out.

Isaac's Light – out.

Kira's Light – out.

Liam's Light – out.

Lydia's Light – out.

Scott's Light – out.

Out out out out out out out out. All out. All gone. No Lights. No Lights. All bodies. No Lights. No...

The door to the room opened, nurses coming in and bombarding him with questions. Their voices sounded distorted – like they were speaking from above water. Stiles shook his head, his breathing ragged and rapid. His Pack...Derek's Pack...gone. All gone.

Hands touched him. Voices sounded urgent. Stiles didn't respond. He just sat there, staring at the blankets offered to him. Gone. All gone. His Pack was gone. They were gone...

Suddenly, he unleashed a blood curdling scream, thrashing about like a caged animal. His Pack had been butchered. They were gone. He couldn't feel them. They were all gone. The weight of each extinguished Light clawed at his soul, breaking it and re-piecing it before breaking it again over and over and over and over.

He could feel the hands of the nurses trying to push him back down on the bed, their voices frantic. But all Stiles could do was scream in agony and thrash about. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he started to feel weary. His body began to droop, easily being moved by the nurses back onto the bed. Even though he couldn't scream any longer...he could still weep.

And weep he did.

Until his mind was engulfed in a thick, dark fog.

~+~

Bleach. Medicine. Beeps. Death. Sadness. Happiness. Mumbles. Squeaky wheels.

So many sounds and smells. Derek didn't know why they were around him. They weren't familiar. They were foreign. Unwelcomed. He groaned, reaching out blindly for the one familiar thing nearby. The scent of his fiance. It was close.

It was bitter.

He creaked his eyes open, still groaning. The lights were dim, but they still stung his eyes. It made him close them again and whine in his throat.

“Der?”

Derek's heart picked up at the sound of Stiles' voice. What a relief. Stiles was here with him, wherever they were at. Of course he knew that, but there was always something about hearing that voice that put him at ease. He forced his eyes open, hoping to see Stiles right there.

He saw a white ceiling with long lights, instead. He blinked blearily, confused. Where was he? This wasn't his bed. This wasn't his home. He tried to sit up, but his body hissed with protest and he decided to listen to it. Then...he noticed other things. Bloody bandages covered his body. There was something sticking out of his arms. Something was up his nose – felt like tubing.

His heart sunk deeply into his stomach. He was in a hospital. Badly injured. But from what?

“Der?”

He licked his lips, struggling to move his head in the direction of the voice. It felt like centuries before his head managed to turn just enough to see his fiance.

Stiles was...not okay. Something was poking out of his arm. Tubes were coming out of his nose. There were bandages on him, but not as many as there were on Derek. A gauze was on his forehead, looking rather bloody. And his eyes...they were...empty. No life in them. Just vacant...dead. Like the twinkle in them was stolen.

Derek tried to open his mouth, call out to his fiance. His voice failed him. Only came out in a choked breath. And it ached.

“Der...”

Stiles sat up slowly in his bed, whiskey stare watering. His bitter smell grew worse. That's when Derek realized that the bitterness coming from Stiles, the bitterness clouding over the citrus and spices that he usually smelled of, was sadness. Bottomless sadness.

“Lights...there are no Lights...”

The Alpha didn't need any explanation. The memories raced back to him. His Pack had been ambushed. They had been attacked when they had their guard down. So many bullets. So many screams and roars.

He stared at Stiles, silently reaching out to feel the Thread that connected him to all of his Pack. A part of him hoping that Stiles was wrong.

There was nothing...only Stiles' Thread. Only Stiles'.

There were no Threads.

There were no Lights.

Gone. They were all gone.

Unable to contain himself, Derek sobbed heavily. His chest heaved, his head seared with discomfort, and his body bit at him for the slight movements. Gone. All gone. His Betas, the others that weren't Werewolves, his sister...taken from him. He had nothing. He had no one...

Suddenly, there was body beside him, wincing and hissing lowly. He tried to blink away his tears, but they were too immense and continued to blind him. The scent told him who it was, as well as the comforting fingers sweeping at his hair. Despite his own injuries, Stiles had unhooked himself from everything that hindered him in order to be with Derek.

That's right...Derek wasn't alone.

He still had Stiles.

The Emissary pressed a kiss on his forehead, the feeling rather wet. Stiles was crying, too. Mourning their lost family. That fact only made Derek sob heavier, causing burning sensations through his being.

It wasn't long before he heard voices scold Stiles for leaving his bed. But when the voices tried to take Stiles way, place him back in the prison of a bed, Derek whimpered and wailed. He didn't want to be left alone. He wanted the man he loved the most beside him. Didn't want to lose him. Had to keep him close. Because if he wasn't close...

Someone with a kind, yet stern, tone ordered the other voices around. Made them scoot Stiles' bed right against Derek's. Made them give out more medicine to make the physical pain vanish. Shooed them off. The kind and stern tone spoke to them, reeking with sorrow and worry.

Derek didn't hear the words – just the noise. He let Stiles do all the talking. Stiles was always great at talking...even if it got everyone in trouble. It was soothing to listen to the vibrations of the Emissary's voice.

Unfortunately...it didn't lull him to sleep like it usually did.

Instead, the very words that had been said to him kept playing back, making sure the tears never stopped.

There are no Lights. There are no Lights. There are no Lights. There are no Lights.

~+~

“Did you hear about the Hale Pack?”

“Yeah. Rogue Hunters. Tragic.”

“I can't believe anyone, Hunter or otherwise, would want to attack them. They were peaceful. I mean, the Emissary did have a rep, but they were still peaceful! They were quite the advocates for the Supernatural-Human Peace Act, too.”

“That may be why they were attacked.”

“But Hunters were actually excited about the bill's passing!”

“Not all of them, apparently.”

“Poor Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski...do you think they are okay?”

“I don't think so. A traumatizing event like that? They might suffer mentally and emotionally for a while. Maybe forever.”

“Do you think they might want retribution?”

“Can't say. But if I were them...I would fight all the armies in the universe to avenge my Pack...”

~+~

“Emissary Stilinski? Are you listening?”

If he were to be honest? No. He had tuned out the therapist ages ago. Weeks ago.

After being released into the custody of Scott's mother Melissa, Stiles and Derek were told to attend grief counseling and therapy sessions. It was a way to prevent the thirst for vengeance, or something like that. No need for the only surviving members of the world's strongest Pack to seek revenge for the death of their fallen kin, after all.

Melissa was tempted to not let them go. Especially with how draining the mass funeral was. But she had been threatened to make sure they attended, or else. She didn't know what the 'or else' meant...but neither Derek nor Stiles blamed her for slapping on a farce grin whenever she dropped them off for their sessions.

Stiles hated going.

The grief counselor was an utter idiot. Tried to force Stiles to experience the Five Stages of Grief in each session. Instead, the Emissary would just stare off over the counselor's shoulder, replaying the dying sounds of his Pack.

The therapist wasn't any better. Kept asking how Stiles felt about things. Made him explain what he saw in ink blot pictures. The...Rorschach or something. Always hummed and jotted things down in his notepad.

Stiles wasn't healing. In fact, if anything...Stiles was growing more and more cross.

At night, he would dream about those faceless Hunters. He would shoot up from sleep...screaming, unable to tell the difference between reality and nightmare. When he was finished with his screams, he would rant and rave about all the things he wished to inflict upon the bastards that took away his new family.

Derek had the same problem. It was also visible that Derek was becoming withdrawn. He glared more than spoke. He would snap and snarl when he became upset. Sometimes, he would burst into uncontrollable fits of anguished sobs if he was alone with Stiles.

Around Melissa, they would both be silent in their guilt. They couldn't even look at her. Despite her assuring them repeatedly that it wasn't their fault, they felt it was. That they had failed to protect everyone...including her son. Yet, she treated them the same as she always did – like a mother. She still called them her boys, giving them hugs and kisses and offering comfort. Sometimes they accepted. Other times...they just wanted to be alone.

“Emissary Stilinski. I need you to answer my question.”

Broken from his thoughts once more, Stiles glowered at the therapist, eyes flashing violet briefly. “I'm sorry. What did you say? I was too busy thinking about how I could be in my house, cuddling my fiance, instead of being here and listening to you drone about shit that I don't care about.”

The therapist sighed, face knitted with discouragement. “You're growing more irritable, Emissary Stilinski.”

“Gee, Web MD, did you figure that out all on your own? I'm impressed.” Stiles sarcastically clapped his hands, his expression blank. “Bravo. So proud of you.”

“Emissary Stilinski...please. This is not a joke. Your mental and emotional state after such a traumatizing event is important. I am here to help you. I am not the enemy here.”

“I don't want help. I just want to be left alone in my grief. I want to find peace with my fiance in my own way.”

“I understand -”

“Do you now?”

“But the government wishes for you to attend mandatory counseling so that retribution does not happen.”

“You do realize it could happen by other hands other than mine or Derek's? From what I have heard, these bastards have been attacking Packs across the country. But nobody really gave a damn till a high profile Pack was massacred! This could've been avoided if the government actually stopped these Rogue Hunters before they came onto our territory!”

The therapist paled, fingers trembling. He swallowed multiple times. Opened his mouth to say things, but didn't muster any words. Stiles crossed his arms, grinning smugly.

“What? Didn't think I'd find that out? Sir...I'm an Emissary. It's my job to find out things that shouldn't be found out. And I have quite the talent for finding out things I'm not supposed to find out. Also for hearing things I shouldn't hear. Perks of being raised under a cop's roof.”

The therapist continued swallowing, the color fading more and more from his face. Finally, he cleared his throat, rising to his feet and held a hand out towards the door. “I think we should conclude our session for the day. Thank you for your time, Emissary Stilinski.”

Stiles stood, his expression going cold and vacant. He said nothing as he turned heel and briskly walked out of the room. Once he was out, he found Derek sitting in one of the waiting room chairs. The Alpha was glaring at a particular spot on the floor, arms folded tightly across his chest. His jaw was clenched shut – the tension there visible from a mile away.

Clearly, Derek had a poor time in his session as well.

Stiles approached, tapping a finger lightly onto his shoulder before gripping it. Immediately, Derek eased and leaned into his arm. Their eyes met, both reflecting aggravation and the ever drowning sadness.

“Melissa called.” muttered Derek. “While you were still in there.”

“Yeah? What did she say, big guy?”

“That we can go back to our house.”

“What's the catch?”

“She has to check in on us.”

“Not too bad. She would've done it anyways.”

“Yeah...”

Stiles leaned in, pressing a kiss in his lover's hair. “You ready to go back there? Or do you want to stay at the Privacy Loft for a while?”

“Privacy Loft.”

No surprise. It would be too soon to go back to the empty house. Too painful with all the lingering scents of their fallen Pack. It was already torture enough smelling Scott's scent throughout Melissa's home. Even though she did try to mask it for the sensitive wolf nose.

“Do we want to do what we talked about last night?”

No response. Not verbally, anyway.

Derek got out of the chair, taking Stiles' hand from off his shoulder. He wrapped it around his waste, eyes back to the floor, and tugged him forward. They left the waiting room in silence, making their way to the parking garage. They continued in silence till they reached the elevator. Once the doors closed...Derek met Stiles' gaze.

And it told him yes.

The Emissary nodded, grinning darkly. “Awesome. We'll start tomorrow. Sound good, big guy?”

~+~

Derek woke to the sheets barely hanging around his hips. Frankly, he missed that feeling. Had been some time since he had woken like this. Lately, either he would be waking screaming and kicking, or ready to panic if Stiles wasn't there. Awaking to the sheets like this was...oddly comforting.

As if nothing had changed...

There was the smell of waffles and chocolate filling the air of the Private Loft, meaning that Stiles was once again cooking. He had been doing that a lot since...

The Alpha rolled onto his back, rubbing at his eyes. Strange...he felt better than he had in days. Maybe it was because he was in a place only saturated in the scent of Stiles and himself. There were no other scents intermingled here. Just them. And they only made it stronger last night.

“Now that's something I haven't seen in a while.”

He removed his hands from his eyes, finding Stiles hovering above him with a plate of waffles. There was a genuine smile on his lips, something Derek hadn't seen in what felt like eternity. His own smile grew and he sat up, waiting for a kiss. Stiles obliged, leaning in and kissed him softly, briefly.

“I missed you...” Stiles whispered, gliding in beside him.

Derek ran his nose across his fiance's throat, inhaling citrus and spices. “You, too.”

“It'll be a while before we see each other again. It'll be worth it, though. Definitely worth it.”

“We'll live.”

“I dunno. Didn't realize how much I craved you until last night.” Stiles set the plate down between them, handing over a fork. “It was therapeutic. Much more than our mandatory sessions have been. Those are just frustrating.”

Derek nodded, poking at the waffles. Drenched in syrup, caked in peanut butter, dotted with far too many chocolate chips. Yep. Definitely a Stiles made breakfast. Good thing Derek had grown to enjoy them this way, or else he would've bitched about the preparation.

“I don't understand why we aren't allowed to be left alone. I mean...plenty of Packs have sought vengeance before. Then again, not many of them are...or...were...as powerful as us. But still! They should've just left us alone. We're obviously not making progress in grief counseling or therapy. Last night...when we got here...when we fell into old habits...now sharing a plate of waffles in bed while being either fully naked or half naked...this...this is the best we've been since...you know...”

He did. And this had been the most Stiles had spoken since the massacre. Stiles used to ramble like this all the time. Derek had missed it...

“Allison said she would be here at four. It's noon now. So, let's eat, do whatever we wanna get out of our system, then we better shower and dress. Don't think she would want to catch us in the middle of mischief. Not when she's here to give us a lead towards one of them.”

“Can we trust her?”

Sensing the hesitation, Stiles reached out with a finger, poking the Werewolf's nose playfully. “She may be an Argent...but she is a strong advocate for the Supernatural-Human Peace Act. Was Lyd's best friend outside of the Pack. She's good people.”

“She's selling out a fellow Hunter.”

His lover's face grew dark, twisted. A mirror of the decay inside. “Rogue Hunter. To her...they are as good as dead. All for us to play with.”

There wasn't much talk about Allison's visit after that. They ate their pile of waffles, reminiscing about their lost Pack. It wasn't said with grief like it usually was during counseling and therapy. It was said with joy and weak laughter. Broken fondness.

However, it slowly became mind and soul numbing. They fell silent, poking at their empty plate. Derek curled into himself, unable to look at Stiles.

While Derek had become withdrawn, quick to snap, glared instead of smiled...Stiles had grown gaunt, his stare haunted and murderous. He would try to hide it. Try to pretend. Sometimes, he would let everyone see. Wanting the world to witness his rage.

“What are you thinking about in that broody head of yours?”

And yet...there were times when the old Stiles would flicker through the darkness.

Derek's lips twitched, not quite reaching a smile. He set the plate on the nightstand, inching closer to Stiles. “You.”

“Oh? Good things, I hope. It would hurt my feelings if you were thinking shit of me.”

“I'm always thinking shit of you.”

Stiles threw his head back, laughing with his whole body. Like he used to.

And Derek beamed with pride. Like he used to.

They fell back into old habits once again. Shared a moment of blissful passion. Once it was over, both of them ensnared their limbs together, pensive and desperate to touch whatever skin their hands could find. They laid there for some time in the static quiet – finding peace in it all. After a while, Stiles managed to lift them both out of bed and lead them to the shower.

The warm water cascaded down their bodies, which would normally lead to more shenanigans. Maybe next time. Right now...they were cleaning each other, faint grins and soft laughs vibrating off the walls. Stiles did most of the talking, soothing Derek. What he was soothing the Alpha from was unknown, but there were certainly no complaints.

There was a knock at the front door as they began dressing.

Stiles offered to answer it, still only in a shirt far too large for his body. Looked like a dress, if Derek was to be honest. But it was gorgeous. Derek's favorite. Especially if that was all Stiles was wearing.

(Thankfully, for the person at the door, Stiles had the decency to put on boxers, too.)

Derek turned his back on the door, slipping on the cozy maroon sweater with thumbholes that he was given for his birthday last year. By Stiles, of course. Man always wanted to give Derek clothes that made him look like 'a fluffy puppy' rather than a 'scary Alpha who could crush people with his thighs'.

“Ally!”

The chipper tone was new. Made Derek flinch a little. He turned around, seeing Stiles hug a young woman with brunette ringlets in a grayish handkerchief dress and dirtied combat boots. She was smiling sadly, dimples barely visible. She smelled of roses and misplaced guilt. Not a trace of Wolfsbane on her person. Not even a weapon. Odd. Derek had never figured Allison Argent to be this reckless and comfortable in the presence of an Alpha and a powerful Magic Holder...

“How are you guys?” she asked gently, eyes now on Derek as she entered further into the loft.

Stiles shrugged, sliding the door closed behind her. “As good as we can be, I guess. Which means not good at all.”

“Well...you seem good enough to be meandering around without pants.”

“Home is where the pants aren't. And where sexy times ensue.”

“...I didn't need to know that, Stiles.”

“Hey! You made a comment about the pants!”

Allison rolled her eyes, head ducked as she grinned. Must've been refreshing for her to see Stiles showing glimpses of his old self. Certainly was for Derek.

The young Hunter approached Derek, absent of wariness. Instead, she pulled him into a surprising hug and held him there with equally surprising strength. Derek didn't fight it. He wrapped his arms around her awkwardly, accepting the hug. It was the one thing his therapist was right about: making himself touch starved would only make things worse.

Allison released him, now serious instead of empathetic and familiar. She took refuge on the couch, setting her bag beside her. “First things first...you remember the faces of the Rogue Hunters that attacked you?”

“Vaguely.” replied Stiles, walking across the loft to the dresser.

Derek folded his arms across his chest, holding himself together. “Yes. I remember them.”

Allison nodded, opening her bag and rummaging inside. “Good. Then the guy I was able to find first is who you need to identify. Hopefully I'm right and that I didn't waste an entire night, getting zero sleep, in tracking him down. And don't you dare scold me for not sleeping, Stiles. You have no room to talk.”

Stiles nearly dropped the pants he had in his hands, seemingly offended. “I wasn't going to!”

A tick. A lie. Derek sucked on his teeth, fighting back a smirk. Unfortunately, his fiance knew how to read him like a book and glared playfully.

“Derek...if you would?”

He made his way over, standing in front of the coffee table. He tightened the fold of his arms, feeling himself ready to break apart. His heart raced when she pulled out a photo from her bag and set in on the table. He had to glance at it for merely a second before his eyes flashed red and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.

A hand squeezing the back of his neck eased him. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. Calming sensations seeped into his veins. He felt as if he was on cloud nine. The joys of having his Emissary as his future husband.

“You recognize him.” came Stiles' voice, his tone saturated in coldness.

He nodded, licking his chapped lips. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“Shot Cora between the eyes.”

“Then I guess he will receive extra special treatment.”

“Yes...”

Stiles stroked his neck with a thumb, still sending calm sensations through his body. “What information do you have on this guy, Al?”

“After the massacre of your Pack, this guy and everyone else in his group scattered. Guess they were afraid of you coming after them. Funny how they would be afraid of you instead of everyone else they have hurt.”

“I do have a rep, Al. And I'm the Alpha's mate. They should be afraid of us.”

“Well, they are. And this guy? My sources say he is at the Motel Capri. That's only a few hours away. I'm guessing he was counting on the thin leash around you guys. If you tell your counselors and therapists that you want to go on a road trip for cleansing purposes, no one will bat an eye. Okay, they will bat a little bit, but they'll probably think that you have no idea who attacked you or where to find them. Everyone is counting on it. Especially because these guys are elusive. At least to the authorities. For us in the Hunter organizations, you know, the ones that  follow the Code, we know who they are and how to find them.”

“So why aren't any of you going after them?”

“It was discussed. Then, it was decided that our hands would be wiped clean of this. That if you asked, we'll help. This is your war. Plus you'll be cleaning up the mess for us. Hunting one of our own that has gone Rogue is like a political cesspool.”

“Ah. We're doing the work for you...as well as playing our own game.”

“Exactly.”

Derek finally opened his eyes, the calming sensations gradually losing effect. He stared at Allison, hunger residing there. He wanted this person. He wanted them to pay. He wanted their Light off.

“Motel Capri?” he growled.

Allison nodded regally, slipping the picture closer to him on the table. “The staff won't bother you there, most likely. The guests, if any, won't either. Hopefully.”

“Of course they won't.” snorted Stiles. “Instead of leaving mints on your pillow, each room has newspaper clippings of the deaths that happened in that specific room. And the staff loves reporting a new death.”

Derek gripped his Emissary's leg, claws beginning to protrude. “Then we're checking in. Tonight.”

~+~

“Did you hear about Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski?!”

“No? What happened? Did those Rogue Hunters try to kill them again?”

“No! They're going on vacation!”

“That's good, isn't it?”

“It goes against what they were told to do! They have mandatory sessions of grief counseling and therapy they have to attend given to them by the government. They are breaking the rules!”

“Can you blame them? I'm sure they want to get away. Breathe new air. It makes sense. This is where their Pack lived and died. It's probably painful for them to be here.”

“Still...don't you think it's weird? Weeks have passed since the Hale Pack Massacre, the authorities haven't found any of those Rogue Hunters, and now they are going on a road trip. Maybe they are going to hunt down those Hunters?”

“What? No! Alpha Hale is far too respectful to do that! Emissary Stilinski...I've heard some things about him...so I think maybe he would do it. But that would ruin his relationship with Alpha Hale! And he wouldn't do anything to ruin that...would he?”

~+~

It was nearly pitch black when they pulled into the Motel Capri. Not even the pitiful neon light sign and lights over the doors scratched the surface of the night.

Derek parked right next to a fancy SUV, the door riddled with scratches and dents. A smashed bullet hung from the rear view mirror, almost as if to taunt anyone that supported the Supernatural populace. Stiles sneered at it, sliding his hood over his head. Allison hadn't been kidding about this bastard being cocky. Anyone who dared to hang a smashed bullet, a bullet that may have caused the death or injury of an innocent person, needed their balls crushed.

Fortunately, that could be arranged.

“I'll check in. You unload.” Derek ordered, opening his door.

“Sure thing, big guy.”

Derek left him alone, going for the lobby. Stiles slinked out of the Jeep (yes, he allowed Derek to drive his Jeep, but only if he could drive to the next place), scanning the area. Empty. Only a few Lights here: his own, Derek's, the two staff members, and the Rogue Hunter. Should be easy for them to get a room right next door. Not a problem at all.

The cards were in their favor.

Stiles took out their shared duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder. It was nice that they really weren't packing heavily. No real need. Not yet, anyway. Because, well, they weren't just on a cross-country road trip for revenge. They actually wanted a smidgen of a vacation. Eventually.

He leaned on the hood of his Jeep, waiting for Derek to come back with the key. All the while...he stared blankly at the door of the Rogue Hunter's room. Allison's connections said his room was number B15, bottom floor of the creepy place. Her connections were never wrong. And besides, Stiles could feel his tainted Light in B15.

The joys of being an Emissary of his caliber. Knowing Lights just from a photograph.

Derek returned shortly after, radiating with discomfort. He was never a huge people person. People outside of the Pack made him anxious. People in the Pack made him anxious. People just made him anxious. However, with the rumors about how freaky the staff were, it probably didn't help with the anxiety at all.

“I'll deal with them when we check out in the morning.” promised Stiles, taking Derek's hand and kissing it.

The Alpha snorted, flipping their hands around till they were intertwined. “You'll deal with the next one, too.”

“Fair enough.”

They went into their room, dropping the duffle bag on the floor and then sat down on the bed. According to Allison's sources, the prick would start playing music far too loudly at a certain time. That would be the time to strike. When all noise would be drowned out.

“Four hours.” Derek growled, glaring at the room clock as if it would make time go faster.

“Patience, big guy. We'll get him.”

“I want him now.”

“I do, too. But we really need to drown out his screams. He'll be doing a lot of screaming. Like, a lot. I mean, I know Hunters are trained on some next level KGB shit, but nobody, and I mean nobody, can hold back screams of some sort when bones are broken.”

Derek wrinkled his nose into a snarl, impatient as always.

“I know, big guy, I know. He will get what's coming to him. I promise. But we have to be patient. And I know, I am the last person to lecture you on patience, but -”

Suddenly, music shook the walls. Loud, obnoxious, terrible music.

They both perked, lips parted and eyes rounded in shock. The routine broke. The routine had changed.

The cards were in their favor.

Nothing was said. They both bolted out the door, skin itching with excitement. They had planned their attack out during the drive. Now they'll get to do it. The first step in destroying those that destroyed them.

“Remember...patience.” Stiles reminded tenderly, kissing his lover's temple.

Derek nodded, flattening himself against the wall where the door would open to hide him from the target. Stiles lowered his head, making sure that his face was hidden well beneath his hood. He started to fidget, an act he practiced on the way there to the point where Derek couldn't tell that he was lying.

If he could fool a Werewolf...he sure as hell was going to fool this cocky bastard.

He knocked on the door, portraying meek agitation. Not to his surprise, there was no answer. Derek shook his head, indicating that the man inside didn't hear. Stiles knocked again, this time with more force. Again, nothing. Now the agitation was real. He pounded heavily on the door over and over and over – using a little of his Magic to amplify the sound.

Finally, the door opened.

Stiles kept his head down as much as he could, hiding his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Derek's lips curled back in primal rage, fangs present and eyes glowing red. The Alpha wanted to attack. Wanted to rip this man's throat out. But there was a plan. A plan his Emissary made. Loyal to a fault...he wasn't going to move till Stiles did.

Now...if only the itch in Stiles' skin would settle...

“Wha do ya wan?”

The guy reeked of booze. Not the good kind, either. The cheap kind. It was nauseating. Took everything in Stiles' power to not only control the itch in his skin and keep up his act, but now to not throw up from the stench. He always felt awful when it came to a Werewolf's sensitive nose. This time was no exception.

“Look man...I just got in. I want to get some sleep. C-c-could you please turn down the music?” whined the Emissary, fidgeting heavily.

The guy scoffed, his booze breath nearly knocking Stiles' ass out. “Seriously? Ya tweakin'? Fuck ya.”

“C'mon, man. I'm tired. I drove for hours. I just want sleep.”

“Then sleep wit the music on! It isn' goin' nowhere!”

“Please! Just turn it down a dial! That's all I ask!”

When he was spat on...he noticed Derek tense. Noticed those blistering reds wild with relentless fury. Noticed that claws had popped out. He was ready to defend his fiance. Which was cute and all...but it wasn't time yet.

“Fuck off, ya tweaker!”

With a sigh, Stiles wiped the spit that hit is face off and straightened his posture. The fidgeting was gone. The act was up. But he still couldn't unleash a pissed off Werewolf. No...he had to make this shithead realize who he was dealing with first.

“Is this how you numb yourself? Make yourself feel like you were in the right? Or is this how you celebrate? How you celebrate the fact that you destroyed the lives of several Packs across the country? How you justify the fact that you and your buddies massacred people that only wanted to live beside people they love, because you are so blinded by your hate of living beings different than you?”

“The fuck're ya talkin' 'bout?”

Stiles raised his head, all his rage, his sadness, his disgust...everything he was feeling was wrapped into one ice cold, soul piercing, glowing violet stare. And that's when the Rogue Hunter knew. When the cockiness bled into pale fear.

“Remember me?”

The guy started to back up, likely trying to get to a weapon or slam the door. That's when Stiles stepped aside, smirking. It was funny to see how people thought they could outrun any Supernatural being. Especially an infuriated Werewolf.

Derek shot into the room at break neck speeds, roaring. He tackled the target to the floor and flipped him easily onto his stomach. As the guy tried to wriggle out from beneath a man made out of nothing but muscle, Stiles slipped inside.

Once that door was closed and locked...

Screams were drowned out by the blaring music. Derek got off the guy, snarling and pacing like a feral animal. The guy was still screaming. Was to be expected. Both of his arms just had bones snapped clean in two by a Werewolf on a war path. And it was only about to get worse.

Stiles meandered around the room for a bit, finding every weapon he could and made sure they were out for viewing pleasure. Then, as Derek threw the Rogue Hunter onto the bed, growling viciously and hovering over him with malice, Stiles walked over to the iPod dock.

“Let's see if you have anything good on here.”

“I thought you were peaceful!” the man shouted at Derek as his legs were being pinned down. “You don't believe in revenge! You look down on it! You -”

There was a sickening pop that could barely be heard over the shit music. Stiles winced, knowing that Derek more than likely tore out this guy's shoulder out of the socket. Adding to the broken arms.

“You stole my Pack from me! From us!” roared Derek with such ferocity that Stiles was starting to feel...terrified. “You and your men murdered the family we built after our original ones were taken from us! You stole them! So don't you dare tell me what I believe in! Because what I believe in now is seeing you beg for the mercy you refused to show our family!”

Another pop. Other shoulder out. Stiles couldn't even hear the screams anymore. Not over the shit music. Not over Derek's roars.

He turned off the music, unable to listen to it anymore as he searched the iPod for something else. Immediately, there was the sound of muffled screams. Sounds of Derek hissing and shushing the man. Sounds of a weak struggle. Not much one could do with broken arms and popped out shoulders.

“Ooh! Babe! Mr. No Taste has The Eagles on here!” Stiles cried out, actually excited.

He heard his fiance chuckle...and the Hunter scream into the hand.

“Oh! Ohhh! Hotel California! Classic! I think I'll put this bad boy on. Have some tasteful tunes while we have some quality time together. Babe, can you put the piece of wood between his feet?”

“What piece of wood?”

“Oh shoot! I forgot to tell you about it. Gaaaah! That's okay. I got this.”

He set the iPod back on the dock, pressing play on the song. He swayed to the chords, a light smile across his lips. His fingers danced to the tune...partly. The other part was to summon a wood block from seemingly out of thin air. He pressed it between the ankles of the Rogue Hunter, which were pinned down by one of Derek's hands, the other hand on the chest. The music drowned out the man's screams and curses. For the most part.

“Come on!” Stiles shouted over the music, clapping the guy's leg. “Show a little spirit! Have some fun! I mean, after all, you had a jolly ol' time putting a bullet between dear Cora’s eyes!”

The Emissary's fingers danced again to the tune, a baseball bat appearing to grow and fall out of his palm. The Rogue Hunter was screaming louder now, almost drowning out the lyrics. Which, no. No one does that to Hotel California.

Stiles took off one of the man's shoes, followed by the sock. Then, he shoved the sock into the mouth, smirking at the disgusted expression that followed.

“And I was thinking to myself,” he began to sing along, swaying his shoulders. “This could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”

He poked their target's nose, his smirk growing sinister before he swayed his hips while walking away. “Then she lit up a candle...and she showed me the waaaay.”

The guy screamed through his gag. And, well, tried to fight against a Werewolf pinning him down. Derek snapped, his fangs dripping with saliva. Like a rabid dog, in a way. No matter. Stiles didn't have time to worry about it. He had a baseball bat to use.

“There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them saaaay...”

Right foot connected with the metal bat with a sickening crack as Stiles and Glenn Frey belted, “WELCOME TO THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA!”

The Rogue Hunter screamed, body arching upwards as much as Derek would allow him.

“Such a lovely place...such a lovely place.” Stiles twirled the bat around, making this all the more dramatic than needed. He leaned in, patting the still intact left foot. “Such a lovely face...”

There was a lot of thrashing about as Stiles raised the bat again, a wicked gleam enveloping his being.

“Plenty of room in the Hotel California!”

WHACK!

CRACK!

Muffled screams.

The Emissary waltzed up to the guy's face, patting it very gently with the tip of the bat. All manically playful.

“Any time of year...any time of year...”

His expression became ice cold, raising the bat above his head. His eyes shown a brilliant violet, flecks of blood garnet jagging out. Markings similar to several Litchenburg figures crawled up from under the collar of his hood. They slithered rapidly to beneath his hairline, making crinkling noises as they glimmered red. Like his Alpha's eyes.

“You can find it here...”

And the bat came down.

~+~

“A view of the ocean?! You spoil me, big guy!”

Derek rolled his eyes, trying his darnedest not to grin. His fiance had always wanted to go to Pismo Beach. Always. What were the chances that on their cross-country revenge trip that two of the Rogue Hunters would just so happen to be there? Very unlikely. But it happened at the very last minute, according to Allison's sources

The cards were, once again, in their favor.

But first...to break in this hotel room.

Derek closed the door behind them, watching his mate stand on the balcony and giggling out of sheer joy. It was as if they weren't on a bloody crusade for a brief moment. As if they were on their honeymoon, light and airy after a miraculous wedding.

With their Pack at their side...

He sighed, approaching his fiance from behind and wrapping his arms around him. He rested his forehead on Stiles' shoulder, breathing him and the ocean air in. It was relaxing. Perfection in every way. A momentary bliss in their fury.

“I love you, Derek...” came Stiles' voice in all its brokeness. “I don't think I've told you that enough. Which sucks, 'cause you deserve to hear it every hour of every single day.”

“That's a little unrealistic, Stiles.”

“So? You still deserve it.” He took one of Derek's hands, pressing it to his lips. “I love you so much, Derek. You have no idea.”

The Alpha chuckled, giving his lover a teasing nibble at the neck. “I think I have some idea.” He burrowed his face into the small mark he made, exhaling shakily. “Love you, too...”

They remained on the balcony for some time, admiring the view. Stiles did all the talking...like he always did. Like he had before. It was nostalgic in a way. Therapeutic, too. And as Stiles rambled on and on about the view, the smells, and on all the dogs he caught glimpses of, Derek scented him. Been far too long since he had properly done that.

They went out to dinner as night fell, enjoying a restaurant with an outdoor space to eat and continue to smell the ocean air. Stiles chatted it up, making a few acquaintances with the surrounding tables. (Mostly so he could steal the dogs and cuddle them for a bit.) Derek withdrew himself except for when he was directly spoken to. Speaking was never his thing. That was always Stiles' department. But now it was harder for the Alpha to really want to speak. Fortunately, most people were fine with nods and grunts from him. Especially with Stiles honing their attention onto him instead.

After dinner, they took a walk on the beach, holding hands and saying nothing. There was no need. They already knew what words were hanging on their tongues. Words they spoke when they returned to the hotel room and entangled their limbs together.

As the sun rose on the next day, Derek woke with a restless growl. He had agreed to have a 'play day', as Stiles called it, when they arrived. Just to feel something outside of rage. But that had passed. They had their day to relax and be happy. Now...now it was time to swallow themselves with darkness. Now it was time to -

“Could you not growl when you wake up, Mr. Grump?”

He glowered at his Emissary, nostrils flaring. The pale man beside him rolled his eyes, swatting at his chest without a care.

“Lemme take a piss. Then we will find them. Shouldn't be too hard. They were at that place we ate at last night. They know we're here. They'll follow us till they think they have us cornered. No fear. All cockiness. Which is to be expected, since they don't know about their little buddy at the Capri.”

He bolted upright, snarling and snapping his jaws. The Rogue Hunters were near them last night?! Why didn't Stiles say anything?! Why didn't they do anything to them?! Why didn't he smell them?!

Stiles reacted quickly, getting onto his knees and grabbing at Derek's face tightly. His eyes began to glow, boring into the wolf's soul as if it were mere child's play. Derek's stare glowed back, infuriated that his Emissary, the one person that was supposed to help protect him and anyone else in the Pack, refused to share this highly important information.

“Hey! Knock it off! I didn't want to ruin yesterday! Besides...this is all going according to plan. I promise. You trust me, yeah?”

The question was reminiscent to their first meeting. When they were assigned to each other by the Emissary Counsel and Derek's mother as children. Derek didn't trust him in the slightest. He was an outsider, and outsiders from the Pack were sketchy. That's what his uncle always told him.

However, Stiles had proven his loyalty time after time. Always had. Always would.

He nodded, slumping into his fiance's hold. Of course Stiles had a plan. Why wouldn't he? Maybe Derek was too itchy for retribution. The thought was...disturbing...

“We'll get them all. I promise. We just have to be patient. And I swear to you...you'll get these two today. They'll be all yours. You said they were the ones that shot you and me, yeah? When Ally sent the pics? You can get them all you want. But we're not in the middle of nowhere this time. We have to be careful. Just trust me. Okay?”

He nodded, burying his head into his fiance's throat and inhaling.

“Good. Now...can I please go pee? Before I mark my territory?”

That earned him a shove off the bed. A playful one. A full forced one would break something. Which was not ideal in any way.

Stiles still whined about it and faked a limp to emphasize his over dramatic point.

After all the morning businesses were done and over with, they left the 'safety' of their hotel room. It was discussed that they were to find a secluded place to take down their targets. Or at least somewhere that Stiles could open The Void and allow Derek to shred in peace. Stiles drove them around, both searching for an ideal spot and enjoying the view.

“Look at the ocean! It's so blue! Sure, not clear like in some tropical areas, but still! Doesn't look as gross as some of the California ocean does.”

Derek hummed, watching him fondly.

“Also! We're being followed by our little friends. Which, perfect. For all they know, we're just Jeep sight-seeing. Or trying to find a place to fulfill your outdoor sex kink.”

“I don't have an outdoor sex kink.”

“Oh, I know. But they don't. The perks of having a Hunter friend who tells you about all the misconceptions they have about you guys.” Stiles turned down a street that was mostly deserted, smirking. “But you do have a breeding kink.”

“Which you like.”

“Awww! Is my wolfy blushing?”

“Shut up. I need to -”

“Get in the zone. I know. I think we're getting close to a pretty ideal spot. Soon, Derek. Soon.”

The wolf nodded, flexing his hands in and out to bring out the claws more slowly. Brought out a sting that vibrated through his body. Helped with the rising, bubbling anger. He rumbled in his throat, fangs starting to pop. He was ready. Impatiently so. He wanted to make them pay for laying a finger on his fiance. For deciding that his Pack, anyone's Pack, wasn't deserving of life and worth more dead.

This was for his fallen Pack.

For all the Packs attacked by these monsters.

The Jeep came to a sudden stop, making Derek growl threateningly. Stiles shushed him, putting the Jeep in park and threw himself out the door. He reeked with intense disdain. He reeked with electricity as well.

Oh...he was bringing out the Spark within. He...never did that. Not unless...

Derek nearly tore off the door, hitting the ground in mid shift. He snarled and snapped his forming muzzle, the fur he did have bristling. From the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles shoot a ball of electricity at the car that was following them. And he could see why. One had a weapon with a silencer out. By the smell, it had been fired. That's when it clicked that Stiles' sudden stop and unrivaled malice was due to them firing at the Jeep.

His mother's Jeep.

The shouts of fright coming from the stalking vehicle fueled Derek's need to shred them to bits. He was down on all fours and making all sorts of threatening sounds by the time Stiles started spewing rapid fire incantations. Runes appeared around the car, glowing a velvet black. Ah...he was going to throw the entire car into The Void. Interesting. Make it more fun for Derek to rip them out and turn them into mince meat.

The men shrieked from their seats as they felt the burn entering The Void brought. As well as watching their weapons float around them, slashing and smacking them violently, before they melted into molten materials and fell onto their laps. The driver thrashed about, pounding on the door he knew he couldn't use. The passenger started to kick at the front window, apparently at the point where he didn't care about being electrocuted to death.

Derek felt the runes crawl up under his belly, making him shudder in unison with his mate, who was covered in the runes. So...they were both going? Guess Stiles wanted to watch, now that they had tried to shoot at them and instead likely hit the Jeep.

One shudder, two shudder, three shudder – black.

He howled his throat raw. Howled till they entered the screeching winds of The Void.

The best way to describe this place was that it reminded him of The Upside-down. An inverted and sickly version of the world. Stiles would say it was more Silent Hill-esque. But, no matter how it was described, The Void was a place no one wanted to be in. Devoid of life, of light, of cheer, of warmth. Hence its name – The Void.

“Welcome to The Void.” Stiles' voice boomed in a sinister echo. “I hope you'll enjoy your stay for however brief it will be. Because once I stop making your car a conduit for lightning...you will become the hunted. You destroyed our Pack. Our family. You had no fear then. I hope the fear of the goddess will be instilled into you when you feel the mighty wrath of an Alpha who lost everything.”

To emphasize the point of the speech, Derek unleashed the deepest, menacing, bone chilling, ground vibrating growl he could muster. He could smell the panic. The disbelief. The disdain for having the rug pulled right from under their feet. Good. Continue to smell like that. He was going to eat that up, and then some.

“I just have one question for you...” The Emissary flicked his hands like they were water, dropping his voice into a mischievous whisper. “How fast can you run?”

The electricity dropped.

The game was afoot.

Derek bolted, growling and snarling, saliva flying everywhere. The passenger managed to escape from the vehicle, making a made dash away with a limp from the burns of the molten remains of the weapons. The driver wasn't so fortunate. He struggled with his seatbelt, stumbled over something. He was still in the process of getting out of his seat when Derek threw himself on top of him, pinning him against the gearshift.

The man beneath him screamed and attempted to fight back. It only further brought the inner wild rage within out. His mind blanked as he tore into the bastard that had shot his beloved. He could hear the rips of flesh – smell the iron of blood. But that was it. That was all that was clear to him.

He only stopped when the movement of the body ceased. When the frantic heart no longer had a beat.

Derek licked his maw, hopping out of the car and immediately went on the prowl. His other prey wasn't too far away. Not like there was anywhere to go in this bleak landscape. However, with how fast the man had ran...the thrill of the hunt was drumming underneath his paws.

He paced, trying to catch a scent. He was huffing and snorting with agitation, wanting to find him now.

“Listen for him, big bad. Listen for his erratic heart.���

Derek's chest rumbled his agreement. He padded forward, straining his ears to hear over the winds. It was one thing to hear and smell perfectly when the being was right there in an enclosed space. In a more open environment...it proved difficult. Irritating.

At least for a minute.

The thrum of terror flooded his ears. It boiled his blood and he howled as loud as he could with a raw throat for his mate. Let him know that he found what he was looking for. Let the prey know that time was up.

All he heard next, between the overpowering winds, was the sweet sound of broken cries of horror.

~+~

“Did you hear about those bodies appearing across the country?”

“The ones belonging to Rogue Hunters? Yeah.”

“It's...insane. They are just...piling.”

“And the suspects? There are too many. These guys attacked and killed so many Packs, so many others in the Supernatural community. It could literally be anyone.”

“I heard that, briefly, they thought that Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski were the prime suspects.”

“What?! Them?! How could anyone think that?!”

“Well...they were seen in every city where these bodies showed up in.”

“Oh my god...”

“There was no proof, so they were let go. They still are suspects but...they can't do anything.”

“Even if they did do it and they were punished, do you realize the amount of riots there would be? And there is no way they could track down all these people. They would've had to have some help. Which means there are Hunters that are helping whoever is doing this.”

“It's all sticky and borderline political, if you ask me. But...I'm also glad that these guys are no longer going to attack anyone else. Because what if they went after sympathizers next? What if Supernaturals stopped being enough?”

“Somewhat gray, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Even though...”

“Even though what?”

“Well...even though that the bodies have been...beyond overkilled. Whoever is responsible is pissed off. Dangerously pissed off. Hopefully they will be done after the last Rogue Hunter is gone...or else we'll have a bigger problem on our hands...”

#sterek bingo #sterekbingo2017 #sbwildcard1 #sterek #stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #trigger warning: major character death #trigger warning: gore #tw: major character death #tw: gore #it is a very heavy fic #has moments of fluff though #revenge au #established relationship #emissary!stiles #alpha!derek #hale-mccall pack #mentioned mostly #trigger warning: death #tw: death #lots of death #like i said kind of heavy #pretty dark #angst #trigger warning: violence #tw: violence #werewolves are known #the supernatural are known

[cosmosogler]

today i got almost everything done!

my mother woke me up at about 5:45, and then again at 6:20. i was super angry. then my brother and sister were in both the upstairs bathrooms so i had to go all the way downstairs and across the house just to go to the bathroom before i went back to sleep.

i dreamed that i was getting annoyed with a conspiracy theorist. “video games are downloading scientific theories into your brain!!!” it was the science that scared them apparently. and the computers. the person wasn’t even present, i was just hearing their voice as i played dream mario, which is only slightly like nintendo mario. i told the voice that video games are just another way to tell a story. i pulled a children’s book out of somewhere, i think it was “goodnight moon” actually. except the cover was wrong. but i was telling the voice that there wasn’t nothin wrong with telling a cute or simple story.

sometimes the story is “i got really good at jumping over hills and across floating spinners and on turtles.”

i only put on the snooze for five minutes because i really, REALLY didn’t want to get up with less than like seven and a half hours of sleep. i got up anyway and showered. i didn’t get to spend long in the shower though... i really need to shave but i haven’t had much time at all the last five, seven days. i shower every other day since it’s a little better for your hair and skin...

anyway as i was heading out to go to therapy dad decided to start asking me to do some chores. i sort of started one, i let eve outside, but i seriously didn’t have time to wait for her to take a sunbath and let her back in. then someone (not naming names, because i’m not 100% sure) decided to park their car in a way that made it impossible for me to pull out of the garage. so i had to go back inside, get that car’s key, move it to the other side of the driveway, go back inside to drop off that key, and then i could get in “my” car and get going. then people on the freeway kept cutting me off without using their turn signals and also were generally going below the speed limit so i would have to stand on the brakes. this happened more than once. then i almost hit someone trying to get over to the exit because as i passed them apparently they sped up while passing through my blind spot so they were farther up than i thought they would be when i started changing lanes. cool!!!!!!!!

in individual therapy i brought up a bunch of emotional problems i had started to explore a little bit in group therapy. i ended up talking for the whole 45 minutes straight basically. like, my therapist asked a few questions, and reassured me a few times, but it was like a huge information dump so hopefully in the coming weeks i can start addressing each problem individually. i also got my semester refund paperwork sorted out with her. i’ll be able to pick it up next week. i mostly focused on how none of my problems feel “big enough” unless they are unsolvable since i really didn’t get to talk about it in group yesterday. i said one thing that i kind of liked though. i said “i feel like if i didn’t have so many problems, i wouldn’t have so many problems.” 

what i meant to say was “if i didn’t have so many mental and personality problems, i wouldn’t have so many life problems,” but the vagueness was silly enough that my therapist made a face and laughed. i said i didn’t know what to focus on first and she said “you’re already working on everything.” i had listed the multiple projects i am trying to keep up with therapy wise... i dunno. i feel like if i can get over that big “problems have to be impossible” hurdle things will start feeling a little more manageable and i’ll be able to make progress more quickly.

guess i gotta spend more time thinking about that. i’ll keep you posted as things come up.

after that i picked up my paperwork from my physician’s office since i was on that side of town and got the number for the radiology lab that wants to do the last test. when i got home i shoved some leftovers in the microwave and called the lab and scheduled my “hida scan,” which is a gall bladder test i guess where they put a bunch of glowing stuff through your digestive system and see if it goes through normally. the scheduler said it normally takes two hours unless they find something, in which case it will take longer. luckily my next therapy appointment is 4 hours after my procedure... i hope that will give enough time. i will have to let her know. i definitely wouldn’t be able to do it on a group therapy day and the lady seemed pretty keen on doing it as soon as possible. and i can’t do it in the afternoon in case it goes long and dad isn’t able to get to work.

so 8 am next tuesday it is.

so i had my ravioli and went upstairs and then after a short break i watched the iron giant with oz. the movie is even better than i remembered. then we talked about physics stuff while i worked on gathering study materials with my classmates. i had a great time, and i hope oz did too. it felt nice to do an activity with someone that took up all our attention, so i didn’t have to, like, feel self conscious about not baring my soul or something.

i think when asher gets back i will talk to him about maybe spending an afternoon at the pottery lounge thing by the amc. it’s not cheap, but last time i checked i didn’t think it was too expensive at least. and i still have the ceramic dog i painted like 15 years ago so the stuff lasts. basically you pick out a little ceramic statue and you get to paint it using a selection from like 200 different shades. and i think you can stay as long as it takes to paint it. the smaller stuff wasn’t too bad cost-wise.

got sidetracked. after i hung up with oz and got all my emails and google docs in order i went and got groceries for mom. she was making quesadillas for dinner. i unfortunately had to pay for them with my own money, and it felt weird buying meat after all these years. but i guess i buy dog treats often enough that it’s not really, like, a compromise of my morals or something. i noticed that the dogs really went wild over the chicken strips i bought last time, so i tried to expand to “turducken.” (spoiler: they loved those too.)

so i dropped off the vegetables and stuff with mom, checked on the cactus mouse, and watched a couple of the videos i had loaded up while talking to oz. i try not to spend too much time reading or watching videos while talking to people because i get super focused on what i’m looking at and don’t hear what they say any more haha.

then i went downstairs and had my veggie quesadilla. it was... ok. i was still a little hungry afterward, but i also felt kind of ill so i didn’t want to eat any more. eating with mom was the WORST. she breathes loud and chews with her mouth open so it’s just a constant avalanche of awful squishy mouth noises. it made me so angry and annoyed that i think that’s what made me sick more than the food. i kind of abruptly stood up and put my plate away and took the dogs outside after trying out the new treats. i tried to play fetch with wiley but he was having none of it today. which is very odd... maybe it was just too hot for him to want to run around. 

i have been experiencing kind of horrible pain between my shoulder blades. i’m pretty sure it’s not my bra pinching anything because it’s way above the strap... probably a pinched nerve. i tried stretching my arms and shoulders and that seemed to help a lot, so i’m thinking i slept in a bad position.

then i went back upstairs and whined to myself about my therapy homework. i did more “self care” research and added a few more posts to my queue. and i talked with some discord guys a little bit. then i caught up on my self esteem journal and picked out one of my “short term goals” from my hospital-issued treatment plan. i used that as a base to expand on for my goal worksheet. i finished all that around 11 so then i got started on the owl picture for 40 minutes or so. now i am 35 minutes into my journal entry, which puts me at a comfortable time to finish up and try to sleep. i got another 10 minutes before i hit my target “get ready for bed” time.

my group mates and therapist expressed interest when i let slip that i like to draw on monday. the therapist asked what i draw. i wasn’t sure how to answer... “furries” isn’t really something i wanted to get into. and i haven’t drawn my own characters except for a reference for one of the art trades in a long time. i suppose i should post the uncolored version of that since i scanned it in and haven’t worked on it with the tablet yet.

so i just said “characters and people.” i like landscapes, but i have trouble spending enough time on them to really get into the details. i’m hoping the coloring pages will help loosen up my patience so i might start feeling like spending a million hours on one picture again. it’s been a couple years since i did anything complicated.

i’m thinking about maybe taking my sketch book... but i don’t want to spend a lot of time on explaining what the picture is of when i have more urgent things to work on.

tomorrow i have more things to do! i NEED to work on the welcome packet for ufl. i need to scan in a bunch of stuff, like my immunization records and my doctors’ notes for my refund file. i need to send an email to the preliminary test coordinator to figure out how to proceed with my studying... i need to know how much to panic about this. then after group therapy i need to drop off my sister’s old prescriptions at the police station. that won’t take too long. if i got energy i’d like to organize my desk and maybe also tidy up my room a little bit. write some things down to put in the jar. then i will work on my self esteem journal, continue reading through the self care resources i’ve got open in a million tabs, and work on the coloring page a little bit. that sounds good. and at some point i need to write my 1- to 2-paragraph essay for the refund. and also i gotta email my apartment complex about stuff like the bed size and some cupboard dimensions and whether there’s a microwave and stuff like that. some of those things i’m pretty sure i can just look up somewhere.

i think i can manage those things. the student orientation videos might have to wait until thursday but i can compile the paperwork and read the faqs and stuff. none of these tasks take long by themselves. so as long as i remember to take little breaks and stay motivated i think i can get it done and not have to worry about it so much any more.

ok, it is 12:30, which is only 5 minutes after my target time! i’m gonna do the daily pokemon stuff for 2-3 minutes and then get ready for bed. gotta practice giving myself credit for reaching/working on goals and stuff, even when i don’t want to.

[cwkrp]

have a little imagination, will you?

INTRODUCING   kim sunho, he/him, 23/11/95 COURSING   ba in architecture, third year AFFILIATION   crux ANNOTATIONS   n/a

a note from the past.

TOKEN.

everything starts at the beginning, it’s the defining moment for all that is to be, or to be not. things can be fixed or modified or broken, but the inception is the core onto which time works. and well, sunho was raised to be stupid.

he wasn’t an unintelligent child. he wasn’t noticeably bright either. but the question was never the potential of his intellect, it isn’t for most kids, but rather how it was cultivated into what it would come into being. how it was stimulated.

sunho was educated to be rich - and stupid, which is integral to the state of richness. knowledge was only useful, as far as the social structures in charge of building his character were concerned, in how it instructed rampant materialism, concealed aggression ideally teetering on psychopathy and an inherent sense of entitlement. being rich is the moral axis of his education, and the most notable variables applicable are behavioral, making luxury look good, and political, getting richer. books or whatever were for the misfortunate punished with the need for thought, enlightenment was for those born into opulence.

and yet, there are things he can learn. if not out of an inquisitive mind, from circumstance.

nothing is more circumstantial than being held on a tight leash by his mother during a fundraiser. she has had some to drink, and she thinks he can’t tell. she hisses at him not to make a scene when he talks back, prods at him when he goes silent with a visible roll of eye.

she has a way of ruining things. his hosting of this stupid fundraisers was her idea, to begin with. he had said no, but she makes his father dangle the office internship in his face with the one condition of making them look good, like his brother would. they blow the whistle and he wags his tail, like always. he doesn’t even want the spot, and yet there he is, on hands and knees to please them. please her.

he should have known better.

her boring old friends love him, like they would love any fresh-faced sixteen year old in a tux faking polite smiles at them. he doesn’t understand why she has to pick at mistakes like they matter. everyone loves him, and yet she asks him through gritted teeth why he has to embarrass her every time. why can’t he do better. why can’t he be proper rich and stupid. why can’t he be his brother.

why can’t he be his brother.

there’s something about the way she says it, eyes so cold on his that he can’t bring himself to look away. her voice never raises, but she foams at the mouth, hand squeezing his pulse. his fingers twitch in response while his lips part open. there’s a moment of clarity, a sobering effect to the voidness in her voice. he has seen her frustrated, he has seen her angry.

this is neither.

that was the first and last day his mother would teach him a lesson worth learning, the single instance in which she’d pass him a piece of wisdom he could actually do anything with. that day, his mother teaches him she didn’t (stress: wouldn’t) love him.

and then he gets research for homework:

i. parental neglect — the words his therapist would tiptoe around, her lips trembling at their whisper, while he busied himself with imagining them around his dick, nude lipstick smearing the shaft like his girlfriend’s pink one would, sometimes.

ii. gratitude — the distant sensation of resigned relief one experiences at finding something’s unattainable, putting one out of their lifelong, desperate search for it.

STEREOTYPE.

the first kim son is born a heir. he has an empire to inherit, and is trained to raise to the task from his earliest years. they made a picture perfect family on paper: the real estate mogul, the early retired modeling starlet, and their beautiful first born, a son. there is pressure on his shoulders, but there's also splendor, a calling to greatness few people are endowed with in their lives.

and then, well, there's also sunho. he is not as much of an investment as he is a vanity project. his mother had decided that a second child would be the god-given cure to her midlife crisis. like growing a fetus inside your womb in your thirties would freeze time on its tracks and end famine. not that she cared about the latter.

after a difficult pregnancy, his mother gets a difficult child. he rips her inside out and continues to ruin every plan she has ever laid out for herself with each breath he takes. her husband dismisses it as another instance of her being committed by her nerves. she continues to refuse to even look at the toddler.

off to a rough start.

sunho grows up on dangerously low expectations. with all the roles and tasks trusts to this brother, there is little left for him to do. it doesn't help that there's an eight-year gap between the two children, no one had ever planned for sunho.

the second kim son is born an inconvenience, and no one knows what to do with him.

there are perks. the main one being that he doesn't need to be the absolute idiot his brother is in charge of being, speaking like he is reading off a dictionary page, shirt buttoned up to the collar. he feels no sympathy when he notices the misery the roll puts the boy through, he never helps. they are essentially strangers living in the same house, barely exchanging a word throughout the day.

as for cons, there's everything else. his mother calls him difficult. his father doesn't do much to help. his brother casts a shadow on him. worst of all, sunho himself is pathetic. given no attention, he makes it his sole goal to get it. nightmare child at infancy, tamed rebel in his teens, then jaded asshole for the rest of his youth. he learns to stop begging and writhing, and takes the higher road of passive indignation. it doesn't much change things, but it's a whole lot easier.

he learns the value of low effort, the art in having it easy. he embraces his mediocrity and wears it like a crown, because that's all he is ever taught to do. he'll grow up and get a job with his brother, sit back and make the money while the poor fuck stands in the front line to let stress eat away at him. sunho can pay someone to write him a nice eulogy, that should make it up for it.

at the end of the day, he cannot bring himself to care what you call him. rich asshole. trust fund baby. desperate neglected child. pick and choose, sunho can put on a good show when given the right role.

a color for the present.

GREEN.

he wants a cig, that's all. he wants it between his fingers, the light flickering bright as he breathes in, lungs washed dry, and out again, fumes licking at this lashes. he wants it with whiskey, dry, and the dead quiet of the evening. just him, and the breeze, and the smoke. his soul longs for it with a burning pain. he really just wants a fucking cig.

but she makes it so hard, with her hands full of questions, and her eyes, barely able to hold a shape that isn't a frown. it's such a downer. 

the air misses his nostrils, and his mouth is all tongue and teeth, none of them his. what is she so fucking sad over all the time? you'd think he's a monster, with the way she mopes and whines and swears it's the last time to her friends. does she think he never heard what they say about him behind the closed doors, to make her feel better?

ashes stain his jeans, he wipes them off with an annoyed hiss.

"you have to give me space," he explains, as patient as he can be. he doesn't want a fight. he keeps saying that, over and over again. if only she would listen.

he takes a drag, but the tingle in his throat feels like shit with her staring into his nape. she laughs, like she does when she wants to punch him.

"you have all the space between us," she says somewhere behind him, facing away. she turns her back when he turns his, and that's part of the problem, isn't it?

the problem is much bigger than that, though. she wants to go in and get under covers, and he wants to stay and finish his smoke. she is asking why two bodies cannot occupy the same space, and he just wants his smoke. that is the problem.

her reprise, "I don't have any space left."

jesus. so fucking pretentious.

he laughs like he does when he wants her to punch him, tongue in cheek, head tipping. it's so easy not to care after a point, he wonders if there was ever a point in which it was more complicated than this.

"yeah, well. you could always get lost." he doesn't miss a bit this time, doesn't pick the right words. his fingers ache with cold, and when she tells him to fuck himself too, her fading steps echoing down the pavement, he finally throws the cigarette on the floor to dig balled fists into his pockets, shivering.

the cigarette lies half smoked on the floor when he walks out. he doesn't even remember to put it out.

BLUE.

he sits at the back, scratching his nose as he lets his hair curtain over his eyes. he tastes metal and smells the heavy rain seeping through thin walls in the stuffy room. there's not many people, but the limited space makes it look crowded.

there's a framed picture at the other side of the room behind a single candle, and two young girls sit next to it. they're around his age, and he knows their names without having ever talked to them.

he doesn't know fear until she dies.

she was not his mother, but she was the one his mother had thrown money at to make her problems disappear, make him disappear. she was not his mother, but she was the next best thing.

they had a rocky relationship. he gave her bile and snark, she gave him love and patience. he didn't know what to do with it, and she understood that. she used to pet him like one pets a scared animal, and he would read it as condescension.

he doesn't know if it's right to say he loved her, but he knows he misses her. he knows it was his place to do better for her. if not in life, at least on her deathbed. his mother said to her family there was nothing she could do while the poor woman wasted away in a hospital. he has such a fleeting grasp of empathy still, but he knows that to be bullshit when he sees it.

but he couldn't stand to embarrass his mother. he sat there and let her send the only person who had ever been patient with him to her death.

the weird thing is that, sitting there in that room filled with people who did more than he had done, unable to walk up to greet her family, he doesn't know if he came for her or for himself. he can no longer tell whether he's paying respects or seeking his own closure.

whatever it is he was looking for, he leaves without ever finding it. maybe it's what he deserves.

#cwk // profile #cwk // crux