#but yeah if this mouse doesn’t work we are fucked i might have a tablet but

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Hobbies and Holidays, Or The Halloween Fic

Yes, I know it’s June. I just like Halloween, man. Yuu’s quiet dedication to the finest of holidays sours when confronted with assholes who fuck around for clout.

Contains coarse language, attempted violence, sexuality and nerds being nerds. As always, if you enjoyed it or have any questions, let me know! I like talking with people.

~*~*~*~

"What's cooking?" Ace, cheery as could be, walked his way up towards your set up on the Ramshackle front lawn. "Is it curry? I hope it's curry."

"You might not want to stand downwind." You poked at the bubbling mess on the propane stove, sweat rolling down your back. A beautiful August day, perfect for your project. This sure as hell wasn't something you wanted to do indoors.

"Whaddya mean by that?" The breeze shifted towards him, and he turned an impressive shade of green, stumbling back with his nose covered. "What's in there?"

"Mice. I told you to keep upwind." You went in with a hand strainer, and scooped a pile of tiny bones onto a ratty towel.

"Why are you boiling mice?" 

You mirrored his are-you-goddamned-stupid-or-something face back at him. "I wanted the bones. I went to Sam, but he said he's not allowed to order in dermestid beetles after last time, so I gotta do it the old-fashioned way."

"That's absolutely disgusting,” her said, the disgust and disbelief plain on his face.

"Don't we all know. Grimm fucked right off when the ghosts showed me the mouse graveyard."

"And your first thought at a pile of rotten mice was 'ooo, free bones' like some kinda crazy necromancer?"

"Yup." You scooped out another pile of bones. If you left them in there too long, they'd simply dissolve like in a cooked fish. As it was, you'd have to find a way to strengthen them. Maybe dip them in resin?

"Why am I your friend, again?"

"Because you feel responsible for me."

"Yeah. And you're fun when you aren't being weird and doing shit like taking cemetery pictures."

"I'll stop taking the pictures when I stop finding good grave iconography."

"Yeah, weird. I'm going to leave you to be a gross little maggot by yourself today."

"I'm not eating them."

"They're stewing in a pot."

"To get the meat off!"

"Yeah, whatever. See you at supper. I hope you don't stink."

"We'll find out, won't we?" you muttered, sotto voce, but he was already gone.

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day in September, and you heard him far before he knew you had. When you turned to look at Idia, floss wound around your fingers, he started. "Is my stealth that bad?"

You gave him the ghost of a smile. "You're not as quiet as you think you are." He hasn't cottoned on that you can hear what's in his headphones, if they aren't set just right on his head, and you aren't about to tell him. The face he makes when you pick him out so easily was too good to lose.

He nodded, fidgeted, looked at the spread on the table. "What are you doing?"

"Well, she's got to dry. So I'm working on this pattern until the top coat goes on."

'She' was a currently eyeless, disembodied head, that you'd picked up along with her body in a second hand store for a pittance. You'd unstrung her, scrubbed her clean, and now were putting on a face to match her sweet if imperious expression, a bratty princess of a girl in miniature. You hadn't realized you'd liked dolls until you'd seen her. But, when you had, your breath fled your throat in the same way it had only once since coming here.

He looked, but knew better than to touch. He did a little bit of craft work himself, mostly model painting, and wasn't about to muss your hard work. "She's... nice?" He didn't quite get the appeal, despite having two vinyl dolls you knew of stowed carefully in their packages under his bed. When you'd asked, he just muttered that they were anime characters and didn't come out except for photos because something something collectibles something resale value. Boys.

"I could do better. But it's enough. Thank you for letting me borrow the painting set up."

"Y... welcome." He squinted at the embroidery, finally noticing something. "Are those bones?"

In the center of each withered, poisonous blossom in your embroidery hoop, you'd stitched a tiny vertebra to serve as the center. "Yeah?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

He wasn't ready to push it any further. "If you want..." He hesitated, and stumbled, and you waited until he just brought out his tablet to tap it out on a screen instead. "You can come do that in Board Game Club, if you want. There's a window. Azul shouldn't mind."

"I'll join you after I gear up and put the sealant on her. Thank you for inviting me." You gave him your best, most dazzling smile. "You know how much I like when you include me in your stuff. I know it's not always easy for you; how shy you are and all."

He squeaked and looked away, and you continued. "I should be there in about an hour. Make sure Azul doesn't keep up trying to wager me in chess. I can't fucking play worth a damn and he knows it."

He smirked. "He likes easy marks. Maybe try and get goo-"

You flicked a bone at him, and it hit him square on the nose as he yelped.

~*~*~*~

Welcome, October. Coolness and colour, a certain something on the breeze that felt like a home you'd never let go. Even if it hadn't quite hit the dorms the same way as they main area of the school. (Those little fairies that ran the weather machine didn't seem to believe in seasons for the dorms, or perhaps Crowley gave them a chewing out after the spring?) In amongst the Heartslabyul roses, you'd think it was still summer, and you weren't one to let a day of warmth go.

"Oh, in this chapel of ritual, smells of dead human sacrifices from the altar..."

"Stop that."

You looked up at Riddle, who'd found you in your secluded corner. "Why?"

"You can't sing and the lyrics are awful."

"Is there a rule against that?"

He nodded. "The queen gets to approve all music."

"Ah, of course, mine rosen liege. My petaled monarch. Emperor Rosa." A collar appeared on your neck, and you did not slow down. "Cardiac Sovereign. Dauphine De la Coeur. I can do this all day, Riddle; that collar don't do shit cause I ain't magic."

The colour was high on his cheeks. "Is it your job to annoy me?"

"Oh, you got me. I wake up and spend every moment thinking 'How do I best piss off Riddle Roseheart? How about I stand outside his door and blast nightcore from a boombox?' "

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Stop joking."

You laughed. "Yeah. I only do that with Shoenheit."

That managed to get a bit of a smile out of him. "Why are you being a pest over here, and not at your own dorm?"

"I'm just doing crafts, man."

"While sitting on the grass."

"Yeah, man. Won't be any grass to sit on soon enough. Made sure to not be on the croquet grounds or anything."

He looked at the mess of foam and ribbon around you. "What are you even doing?"

You looked down, and back up at him. "Crafts?"

"More specifically, before I kick you out for being awful."

You held up a padded frame, that you were carefully wrapping a satin ribbon around the many bars of it. "What does that look like?"

He just glared instead of admitting he didn't know, so you got to your feet and held the frame over your chest, the shape clarifying by being pressed over what it mimicked. "It's ribs. It'll tie on with more ribbon. Might put beads and stuff on it too."

He looked for a beat before nodding. "For later this month?"

"Indeed."

"... Continue, then. But be quiet!" 

He was nice enough to remove the collar before he left, but not nice enough to leave it off as soon as you resumed singing to yourself once you'd assumed he was out of earshot.

~*~*~*~

"Hey, Lil?”

"Yeah?"

You looked over the riot of cheery pumpkins and Far East aesthetics that had sprung from your lawn. "You should've asked me, first."

Lil smiled at you. "But then you would have said no."

"I wouldn't have. But," you guestured to the papier mache dragon, "Really, my dude? This isn't what I would have picked at all. I'm not going to match."

"You're working on a costume? Already?" He lit up. "What's it going to be?"

"You'll see."

"Do I get a costume?"

You looked down at your not-cat. "Grimm, I didn't think you'd want one."

"I do now!" He scrambled to your shoulder and tugged at your hair, wailing. "Costume! Costume!"

You rolled your eyes. "Stop that, before I sell you to Lil to practice recipes on."

~*~*~*~

Grimm was no help. He changed his mind every few minutes on what he wanted. At least your incorporeal roommates were a sweet help, finally gearing him up with a hat by the beginning of the week.

"Do you still need one, Yuu?" The middling ghost, the one neither plump nor skeletal, seemed concerned.

"No, babe. I've been working on this since..." August, you think. "I'm good. I hope I can get a week out of it. I could at least do a different face each day."

Realization dawned across his face. "That's what that was for? I see. I guess you won't need..."

Oh, he made you a costume. Layers and layers of rotten gauze from the curtains, a spindrift take on the bedsheet ghost. 

"Hey, I can use this, don't worry. Can you stoke the fire? I've got to dye this to match, I'll need some water boiled."

~*~*~*~

There's too many fucking people. You don't know any of them, they're loud, and they cram in wherever you need to go. But their fussing over you, their asking for pictures is nice. If only...

"Hey, are you lost, kid?" You lean down and reach a hand out to a fearful-looking six-year-old. "I can help you find someone who can help?"

He promptly burst into tears and collided into Floyd as he ran away.

"Hey there itty bitty. You need an adult? Hold on." Even with Floyd... being Floyd, he was a hell of a more welcome sight to the kid, and soon had him balanced on a shoulder to yell for his parents. "Who's under all that?"

"Your favourite shrimp, you overgrown string bean."

Floyd make an o of surprise and flicked the veil up. "It is you under all that! See, kid, She's not scary. She's pretty."

The kid simply eyed him dubiously before going back to trying to wave his parents down to get away from these lunatics.

All your hard work paid off beautifully. A mass of bones, beads and decay, a beautifully jeweled skeleton crowned with a fine halo of gold-and-bone spines and dried flowers. You rattled gently with every step, eyes staring out from a painted skull. They only thing you regretted was Riddle catching you earlier. Even if he hadn't intentionally steered it that way himself, everyone would assume you'd intentionally went to match Heartslabyul. Even more, now that you'd turned those curtains into a veil, even if you'd stuck all the bone and garnet drops you could onto the edges.

"Thank you, Floyd." You leaned up towards the kid. "Didn't mean to scare you, little darling."

The kid just stared at you in fear, and fortunately his parents came along to claim him, leaving you and Floyd by yourself.

"Shrimpie~" He'd scooped you up to replace the kid in his arms before you could protest. "You're so cute like this! Let's go to the alchemy room."

"What's in the alchemy room, Floyd." At this point you were used to him just... hauling you wherever. And you’d found that if you went along with the lighter end of it, he took you seriously when you said no. Weirdo he was, he'd at least gathered that you'd hang out willingly if he didn't push it.

"Oh, well you look so nice! You'll look much nicer in the water tube than the dummy we have in there."

"There are several reasons that can't work, Floyd. Least of it is I only breathe air."

"You're a ghost right now, you don't breathe at all."

"This outfit would not survive a dunking. I'm not sure it'll last the week if I don't repair it every night."

He kept smiling at you. "Even better! Wearing nothing at all on Halloween! Everyone would take even more pictures."

"Yeah yeah, and you have nothing at all in your room if I want to speed that up." You flicked his nose. "Put me down and we can walk over and check how it's going."

"Excuse me?" A stranger. "Can I take a picture of you and your boyfriend like that."

"I'm not her boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend. Go ahead though."

~*~*~*~

"What are you working on?"

Idia's voice was slightly muffled under the pumpkin head. "People kept calling my projection 'cute'. Idiots! They don't know the true fear of Pumpkin Hollow. So I'm adjusting the projection mapping so it's less cute, and more accurate."

"Hm. It seems fine to me as it is."

"You would think that. You don't care if there is a cuteness to things that are scary."

"There's beauty and sweetness in even death." You thought for a moment. "This is for that series you sat me down for? You got mad when I played with the toys?"

"Those. Are. Collecta-" he stopped when he whirled on you, faltering into silence. You really wished you could see the face he was making, he made such sweet faces, especially when he looked at you. You craved them, wanted him to look only at you with those expressions.

You smiled at him. "There's no use in leaving a toy in a box! I don't buy anything I don't intend to play with."

"Ah. Errrrrrrrrghhhmmm." He turned back to his work, took a deep breath, and turned back around. "You watched them, would you give me feedback?"

"Sure. Could you lean down a little?"

He did, and you carefully pulled off the pumpkin, revealing - nothing. No head at all.

You laughed. "Turn that off."

"Why?"

"I just opened your box. Time to play."

He made a strangled noise and started back, looking this way and that. "Right now? Anyone could come in!"

"Just for a moment! How can I give you a kiss if I can't see where I'm aiming?"

His head flickered into view, with a face full of mischief. "... Just one?"

~*~*~*~

"What happened to your makeup?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, model boy." You looked Vil up and down. "You're actually pretty hot like that. It's a miracle."

"Of course you would only find me attractive when I look like a corpse." He rolled his eyes hard enough to sprain. "Do I need to go lie down in a glass coffin too? Stay very still while you actually work up the courage to touch me?"

You snorted. "You wish I would touch you, you overblown jackass."

"With you looking like that? I'd die."

"Bite me, asshole."

"You'd like it if I did."

Your tone grew playful. "Is that a promise for later?"

"Ugh." His shudder was too exaggerated to be anything but an act. "Go ask your ugly little playmate for a bite, we all know what gross shit you get up to."

"You're just mad it's not you."

He pointed a perfectly manicured nail at your painted nose. "You're just mad I want nothing to do with you."

"Then why are you even talking to me?"

"I- why am I talking to you. Go away."

You did, but not before pulling on his cape to wrinkle it.

~*~*~*~

You had a dreadful feeling things were about to get worse. Call it intuition, or paranoia. But with any luck, that would change after a good night's sleep.

(It did not.)

~*~*~*~ These fuckers were getting exhausting. What a grand idea, picking unknown flowers to stick in your hair for selfies! That wasn't an excellent way to come down with a hideous case of contact poisoning at all. You had to swat one girl's hand away from a bed of monkshood, reciting symptoms of aconite poisoning at her until she stalked off in a huff. 

And futzing around with the decorations! The only reason you didn't outwardly congratulate Leona on trying to rip apart a bunch of tourists was that murder is supposed to be bad, no matter how irritating and disrespectful the murder victims were. Even you knew better than to go around fondling random ears and tails! 

(That's why you'd made the anatomy books in the library your friends. Far more polite than going up to a fellow student and saying, "May I feel around your skull for a few hours to satisfy my scientific curiosity? No one at home has ears like that and I'm very curious about the underlying muscle structures." )

Better see what's going on everywhere else.

~*~*~*~

You got up in tiptoe and lightly touched his arm. "Hey, Floyd?"

"??? Yes, Shrimpie?" His face instantly brightening, he dropped the absolutely delighted Magicammer he'd had pressed to the shelf and turned to you, leaning in as you crooked your finger.

You whispered in his ear, "Why waste magic on them when you can do so much more with your fists?"

He shone like the sun as he pressed his cheek to yours in lieu of something more intimate. "You always know just what to do."

~*~*~*~

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE."

The crowd of idiots instead turned on you with flash photography. "Another ghost! This'll get so many likes!"

"I MEAN IT!" Blinking away the spots from your eyes and casting all good sense to the wind, you grabbed a fire poker from inside your bedroom door and started swinging. They laughed and clapped - and only stepped back when you got the damned thing stuck in the wall while taking a swing.

"What an excellent show!" And more. Fucking. Pictures. How in the fuck Vil deals with this shit without murdering everyone in a hundred-foot radius, you'd love to know.

"I SAID-" yank "GET THE FUCK-" yank "OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The force of finally pulling the poker from the wall sent you careening onto your ass, and Grimm only stopped long enough to laugh at you before resuming his own ineffective charge. You stumbled to your feet, muttering. "Stupid little mother fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking..."

"Oh, it's a chase game! Let's go!" And they all fucking scattered into different rooms as you watched them in disbelief.

"I am going to kill everyone in this building and then myself for good measure."

~*~*~*~

"Leave."

"Aren't you going to scare me, Miss Ghost?" This last idiot was joyfully skipping around a bedroom that you'd had the ghosts empty out, nattering into her phone. A livestream, you think.

You're in you goddamned pajamas. "Sure. We don't use this room because the floor's not sound. Get the fuck out and leave before you fall through to the next floor."

The girl instead started to hop in place. "Oooooo, so scary! You'll have to try better than that!"

You rushed her. You probably would have throttled her (and wound up with a new ghostly roommate in the process) but as she backed up, your leg went through the floor where she'd weakened it, which left her cackling. 

"You weren't kidding! Bye now!" And she just fucking left you there like the wretched asshole she was.

~*~*~*~

"I'm so sorry, Yuu."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Mal."

He rested his head on your bare knee and looked up at you. "If I hadn't picked your home as a stamp location, people wouldn't be invading this dorm, and you wouldn't have been injured."

"You fixed me up, didn't you?" He was the one who had pulled you rightways, and shut the scratches on your leg. Of course, he could have left your socks on to do that, but hey, those had been fixed too. You reached down and put your hand on his cheek, rubbing circles by his eye while he stared up at you like an adoring dog.

"This was supposed to be fun for you, so you could have a perfect Halloween."

"That's still a few days away yet. There's still time. And hey."

He blinked up at you as you leaned your face in close, flushing faintly as you did. "Any luck, we'll all make it to November without assault charges."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

You subconsciously growled like a rabid animal as you turned to Lilia with your eye twitching.

"By all the queen's powers." He shrank back. "You alright?"

"Magimons broke the lock on our bedroom and shook her awake last night." Grimm was, by some miracle, in a better mood than you; content to be a comforting weight in your arms and be your anger translator.

"They took," you added, "my groceries."

Lil looked at you in blank shock. "What about the wards on your doors?"

"That's for magic, not fucking morons with no sense of personal space." If you made it through 'til November without actually biting someone's throat out and getting put down like a mad dog, you'd be sincerely surprised. "You of all people should know that."

"Hey, I put them back up after I drop in. You want to go sit with Malleus today? I think you need it."

"Nope. If I snap at him he'll take it to heart. Or just kill everyone who's not staff or student because they upset me."

"No he wouldn't."

"We both know he would."

"He would not because that would be bad press for the kingdom."

"... well, damned if I ever though I'd say this, but thank god for politics."

~*~*~*~

You stare at the empty plinths as everyone started yelling and scrambling. You look to the rubble of the statues, the bases, to Cater, and back to the rubble, nudging what may have once been a staff with you toe.

"And it's not even for a fucking political movement."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu, if we can get rid of the magicam monsters, we can have the party!" Grimm smiled up at you, all sharp teeth and blue eyes. "Aren't you happy?"

You didn't have the heart to tell him that at this point, you'd rather they'd just cancel everything and simply sleep through till All Saint's. Fuck your costume work. Fuck the party. Fuck everything. If you see another jack o lantern you will smash it. Fuck this holiday. You're so tired.

"Yuu, do you have ideas on how to drive the magicam monsters away?"

You stared past Cater's ear because you didn't feel like looking anyone in the face. "Tried to brain a few with a fire poker. Th'just thought it was funny."

This was met with the sound of air sucked through teeth, and a warm hand on your shoulder. "Come with me please!" And Ortho pulled you away with the force of a vaudeville hook.

"You're having a very bad time!" So sweet, so earnest. Right now he was the only person here who could be that chipper and you not want to put their nose out the back of their skull.

You gave him a weary smile. "What was your first clue, honey."

"She keeps kicking in her sleep. When she sleeps. And she's all snappy and horrible!"

You gave Grimm a single light warning shake. "Shut up, Grimm."

"Would you like to stay over so that you can rest properly?" He was hovering directly in front of your face. "Maybe if you're somewhere you won't be woken up, you'll feel better."

You raised an eyebrow and stared over at Idia, who was trying very hard to pay attention to both your conversation and his. "Shouldn't you clear that with someone first?"

Ortho rolled his eyes, the effect on his little boy face frankly hilarious. "Oh, he'd be so upset you have you over. Deeply so. He wouldn't get a wink of sleep with you there." He leaned in. "Except he would, because you wouldn't do anything to keep him up with me there, would you?"

You wheezed. "You think so little of me, Ortho."

"I like you very much even if what you both get up to is gross."

"Of every boy in this school, Yuu. You picked that one."

Ortho glared down at Grimm. "That is my brother you're talking about."

"Stop it. Can we check back in?"

~*~*~*~

"So we're going to run round and scare the piss out of them?"

Jade nodded. "That is the idea, yes."

"... Can I help?"

"Of course, Yuu." Jade smiled his smile that didn't reach more than a millimetre beneath his eyes. "But we've agreed you can't have any blunt objects. For everyone's safety. And the school's reputation, of course.."

"... Yeah, that's for the best."

~*~*~*~

"Can you guys watch Grimm for the evening?"

"Of course." Mal beamed at you from his seat on the Ramshackle steps. "Where will you be that he doesn't want to be?"

"I don't like the horse."

"You ride horses?" Idia was sitting between Mal's legs as Malleus carefully arranged the bright hair into a high ponytail.

"Epel taught me." You paused for a minute. "Do you?"

"Mother made me learn. I haven't in years."

"Makes sense." He didn't like the outdoors, after all. "Mal, how'd you convince him to let you touch his hair? He only lets me do that in private."

"It will look nicer coming out of his pumpkin helmet if arranged higher." Mal crooked his mouth and dragged his lacquered nails along Idia's scalp, making a soft noise when Idia gasped, shivered and abruptly stood up.

"Nope nope nope nope no more of that-"

"May I at least put the elastic in?" Mal held up a black band. "It's fireproof."

He instead snatched it and ran for the library as fast as he could without cracking the armour. You and Mal watched him leave.

"Hm."

"Mal?"

He was still watching the blue light vanish into the distance. "I think I can see the appeal." His dreamy smile gained a sharp edge. "What a delicious sound."

You snickered. "God, I know, right? You should hear some of the other ones I've got out of him."

"You're both disgusting."

~*~*~*~

You hadn't worked out an actual story for this one, just your ghostly roommates and Grimm telling everyone to leave the statues alone. But some asshole, wearing aviator shades and the ugliest piecemeal hoodie you'd ever seen, mounted a plinth to start taking selfies. And once that started, more got the idea, and joined him, trying to nudge the statue away to make room.

So, that's where you came in, pulling into sight at the end of the drive, in tarnished gilt and rotten splendor, jeweled Death on a pale horse.

Sunglasses looked at you and froze, before snapping another picture.

Fucking pictures. You're so sick of pictures.

You snapped the reins and nudged your heels, and who knew anyone on two legs could move that fast? Though potentially being run down by a warhorse was great motivation to move thine arse, as it were. And, thank god, everyone else booked it out the gate after him. 

It only took a little maneuvering to lock the gate while still up on a pale horse named Beans, and now? Time to take him to his stable and go the fuck to sleep. Maybe through past tomorrow. Fuck Halloween.

~*~*~*~

You were riding your merry way when a familiar voice called out to you. "You dropped some loot!"

"What did I lose, Idia?" His little speakers mimicking the clang of armour were working overtime as he jogged up beside you. Once he reached you, he held up... a shoe.

"Huh." You looked down, and you had indeed lost a shoe while charging down a bunch of Magicam-obsessed assholes on a warhorse. "Thank you." That's when you gave Idia a level gaze, and stuck you leg out at him.

He swallowed back his noise of shock, and shaking, took your stockinged foot and slid the shoe back into place. 

"Good boy."

He was turning from shell pink to a deep red that rivaled the roses in Heartslabyul. But that didn't mean he didn't know how to keep playing when emotions were high. Before letting go, he leaned down and kissed the top of your foot.

Now it was your turn to go red; a wonder the painted skull didn't simply melt off of your face.

~*~*~*~

"Shrimpie~"

You took a breath and prepared yourself. Scoopsies was inevitable.

True to form, Floyd had his whole conversation with you in a bridal carry. "We're gonna have the party!~ We chased them all away!~"

"That's..." Honestly, despite all the rage and pain this week had caused, you were rather happy about the news. "Nice."

"Ah - where'd your face go?" He leaned in, and you stopped him from getting too close with a finger pressed to his lips.

"I didn't feel up to wearing everything." Your embroidered gown and painted skull was replaced with a simple back veil and black dress. "I kind of hate this whole holiday right now and I'm ready to kick the next pumpkin I see."

He nodded, kissing your fingertip as he did. "I can help you after. But we need this all for the parade." He brightened. "You should paint up and get on the horse again for it!" He smiled, full of dreamy fondness and not a small amount of hunger. "I heard what you did to the magicam monsters... I wish I could have seen."

"Hey, I heard you didn't do too badly yourself." You leaned in conspiratorially. "Anyone pee themselves?"

He smiled like the sun post-eclipse. "Yup!"

~*~*~*~

Epel had been nice enough to help you kit out Beans in a fancy black harness, so in amongst the crowd of costumed students, you were both equally eye-catching. And hell, pictures weren't so bad right now. People were keeping a distance, murmuring to each other as they aimed their cameras. You thought you were getting a dirty look or two from Vil for stealing his thunder, but he had himself on the prow of a ship! It wasn't comparable.

"So," you said, leaning down a little, "How are you handling this?"

Idia looked up at you, you thought. "The mask makes it easy. They're looking at the costume, not me."

"I'm glad it helps. I wish you'd take it off, but you being comfortable is more important."

"What? You want me to ruin the effect by taking the mask off? Clearly you have no respect for the holiday." His voice had the sweet, bubbling quality that came when he was excited and happy, and it warmed you to hear it.

"Oh, no, of course not. But why would I want to taste a plastic kiss,” you said, reaching a hand down to run the trailing ribbon of his hair through your fingers, “when I could taste you instead?"

You had to give him credit, he only faltered for a moment before continuing. "Right now? In front of everyone?"

"I would if you'd let me, right now." You lowered your voice. "And worse."

He stifled a groan and only walked funny for another ten minutes.

~*~*~*~

"I thought you didn't like horses." The stables were in sight, but Idia had turned up, surprising you.

He rolled his eyes, and held his arms out. "Dismount, fair maiden."

What.

"I mean it. Your Pumpkin Knight awaits."

You shook your head, voice soft. "Baby, no."

"I'm trying to be romantic. Like your novels."

"Idia."

He stared back at you, sour-faced. "What."

"I outweigh you by at least sixty pounds."

"I can do this. I carry Ortho around all the time."

"Ortho's chassis is mostly fibreglass and aluminum. I can carry Ortho. I think Grim could carry Ortho."

He took a step forward. "Do you want me to leave you on the horse or not."

"His name is Beans." But, you managed to dismount into Idia's arms, where he stood stock-still and trembling.

"Kkc."

"Babe? Put me down before your back goes out."

His knees gave out first, and he crumpled beneath you as you both yelped.

"You alright?"

"hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

You crawled off his chest and he could actually breathe again.

"Better?"

After a few breaths, he managed a weak smile. "Maybe kiss it better."

Beans beat you to it, snuffling at Idia's face to make sure he wasn't dead.

~*~*~*~

You are not much of a party person. You like them, but the ideal party is a few friends hanging around in the same room, chatting at a reasonable volume and then going home to go the fuck to sleep. This was a little much.

But you know what this party had that you hadn't seen in what felt like years? Cute girls. In cute costumes! You've been flirting your ass off, with decent success; it turns out that the Magicam Live you did with Vil weeks ago had paid off in the form of smiles and fluttered eyelashes as girls crowded around you to hear tales of how fucking obnoxious you could be in this school and get away with it because you had friends in high places.

At least, until you caught something out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped. "Hey, I gotta check on someone - raise your hand if you like boys. Okay, you see -" You stopped and pointed at your poor, unsuspecting target. "With the blue-black hair and the painted spade? That's Deuce, he doesn't know how to talk to girls worth a damn, so give him some slack. But he's a sweetheart, you won't regret it."

"What about the redhead?"

"Ace is a prick but he's delightful. Chat him up too." With that, you went to check on Idia, huddled into a corner after an attempted force-feeding.

"You alright, babe?"

He nodded. "They're too much. But I'm alright now."

You leaned back against a nearby chair, looking him up and down. "You sure you aren't going to eat anything? I don't think anyone's going to care too much if you have your face out."

He remained completely still, and you realized you could hear a faint whirring.  "Idia. Have you been using the robot double all evening."

"... I swapped out ten minutes ago."

You made a noise and he flinched. "I was going to swap back in after it calmed down!"

"... No you weren't."

"Okay, no I wasn't. But I was there for a while. I have proof, I brought plates back with me."

"You could have just told me. It's been a hell of a lot for you, I know what you're like."

Idia - well, his robotic avatar - shrugged. "If you're going to lecture me... come by and do it here."

You stopped. "You really want me to yell at you in person?"

"I want you to come by. If you want. You can stay as long as you want... if you want. I have snacks, and movies, and games that even you could play."

You snorted. "Oh, the siren call of a fucking nerd trying so hard to woo his chosen..."

"I changed my mind actually, you can't come."

"Aww."

"... That's a lie." He paused. "You can even take the Yume Twins out."

Those vinyl dolls he never let you touch. You throw your veil back and kissed the stupid plastic pumpkin head. "It's a date."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

You peered at Malleus from around a stack of Tupperware. "Mal?"

"You.. enjoyed it all, despite everything?"

"Despite everything." You hefted the stack towards him. "Would you like to help? I want to grab stuff from the party that'll keep at room temperature."

He absently flicked a finger, sending the dishes swirling around to settle in a stack in midair, before placing a hand on your shoulder. "I have a... request."

"Anything," you said, and you regretted saying it as his breath hitched.

"Would you..." His voice faltered, and instead he simply wrapped you in a tight embrace, leaning down to bury his nose in your hair. You could feel him, chest heaving, scenting your greased hair through tulle, murmuring something against your scalp.

"Malleus."

He stopped, but did not move.

"No spells."

"You would not forgive me if I tried." You could feel his smile against your hair.

"I would not." You pulled back enough to look at him, and nearly froze at his besotted gaze before he schooled it into his more usual face. "Mal, you know you only feel this strong because I'm your first friend, right?"

"Does it matter? It is sincere."

And that makes it so much worse. "You know I don't feel about you like that."

"..." The grief that flickered across his face was enough to shatter a stone heart. "To stand with you and hold you is enough."

And they said fairies can't lie. They could, they were just terrible at it.

"You said you were going to ask for something?"

"... Not anymore. I doubt you would give it."

He vanished into thin air in a swirl of wind, and the Tupperware clattered to the steps, the spell holding them gone.

~*~*~*~

The nice thing about Idia's room is that, being a prefect, he had an attached bathroom to scrub the paint off of your face. It was a monochrome murder in the sink, splatters of grey with the occasional pinprick of red where you'd disturbed the new bumper crop of pimples from painting up as a skull for a week. Thank fuck that was over with. Even if the day proper had been lovely, the events of the week had thoroughly soured you on Halloween.

"You alright?" Idia poked his head in, long since divested of armour.

"Yup. How'd you get that shit off so fast? You got a suiting-up machine hidden somewhere?"

"It's less complicated than you'd think. Cosplay magic."

"That's nice. Unbutton me."

"... wha."

You looked at him via the mirror, meeting his wide eyes and shimmying in place. "Unbutton me. I can't reach them all myself."

"How'd you get that on every day?" He hesitantly walked behind, eyeing the row down your back as though it would burn him at the touch.

"I have roommates, remember?"

"Mmh." He finally undid the first three, before flicking his gaze back to yours in the mirror. "A... Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't ask, otherwise." You kept looking, as he took a breath and resumed. "Idia."

He paused.

"Keep going, I'm just going to chat at you for a bit." Two more. "You know I..." How to phrase this. "I don't intend to stay mint on card forever, you know. You can take me out and play."

He twitched, but kept going. "Maybe I don't want to damage you. There's only one of you, after all."

"I'm not so breakable." You had one side of you face completely clear, the other still smeared grey in the creases. "Would you rather stay mint condition, yourself?"

"..." He took a moment to gather himself, staring at the exposed skin of your back. "Maybe I want to... admire a bit. Get to know my- your- Uh."

You waited with a soft smile, until he found the words. "No one said you have to play straight away when you take something out of the package. Right?" He placed an experimental hand on the expanse of flesh between bra band and waistband, and did not draw away.

"Right."

"... Maybe I just want to hold you a bit before we play."

What a sweet boy you had. "Take all the time you need to. Even if we never play like that, I like you. Spending time with you is what I want."

You could see the motes of pink flickering through his hair. "Can I hold you now?"

"Of course."

He slid his hands under your dress, around your waist - then grabbed your soft, flabby tummy in both hands and squeezed. "Soft~"

You squealed with laughter. "What are you doing?"

"It's bare skin that's neutral territory," he huffed, before hugging your back to him and resting his chin on your shoulder. "And it's warm, too."

"Not so much as you. Keep me warm, will you? It's getting so damned cold at night."

He buried his face in your hair. "I can do that."

~*~*~*~

You woke to someone banging at the door.

"Son of a bitch." You managed to free yourself from Idia's sleeping grasp and make it to the door as a familiar voice started up. "Shroud, your tin can brother's already helping with clean-up, if you skip out because of a stupid game I will-"

You opened the door and looked levelly into Vil's face, which twisted in surprise. He gave you a once over (unshaved legs, mussed hair, boxer briefs from the men's section and a blue-black striped shirt that was clearly not yours) and then peeked over your shoulder at Idia (dead asleep, smiling faintly, possibly naked under the blankets). He kept looking between the two of you with increasing disbelief and horror, until he stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Good for you."

"Thanks." Your face still hadn't changed.

"It's twelve thirty. If you're not both out helping clean up by three, I'm telling everyone."

"That's not much of a threat."

"Maybe to you. Shroud!"

Idia shuddered awake, bleariness washed away by terror as he saw Vil in the door and covered himself in the blankets.

"Be out helping cleanup by three or I'm telling everyone exactly why you're late." With that, he stalked off and you shut the door, mirroring his nose pinch.

"Dramatic bastard, ain't he? Even when he's being nice."

"How is that nice?" He only stopped shivering when you sat back down on the bed.

"Two and a half hours, Idia."

He blinked at you.

"How much can we do in two and a half hours?"

Realization dawned, and he started snickering as he dragged you in close.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #idia shroud #malleus draconia

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Spitting Venom (Supernatural x Criminal Minds)

Word Count: ~10,300 yikes

Warnings: Non-explicit violence, nothing more than you’d see on either show. More cursing though. Don’t even try to tell me Emily Prentiss doesn’t swear like a sailor. 

A/N: This is for @stunudo​ and her “Lie To Me” Challenge! My prompt was the Modest Mouse song “Spitting Venom.” Thanks to @fookinghelljensensthighs​ for reading and exclaiming and also just loving Sam and Spencer with me. 

This is part of the “Coffee & Psychopaths” series. It follows the events of Quitting, but you don’t need to read that to understand anything that happens here.  

This centers around (and steals dialogue from) the events of “Slash Fiction” (SPN) and “Proof” (CM). In order to smoosh the timelines together right, I had to do some wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, so don’t think about it too hard. You should be able to tell from context clues, but for reference, the flashbacks (in order of appearance) correspond to “Shut Up, Dr Phil” (SPN) / “It Takes A Village” (CM), “To Hell... And Back” (CM), “My Bloody Valentine” (SPN), “Amplification” (CM), “With Friends Like These” (CM) / “Unforgiven” (SPN), “Appointment In Samarra” (SPN), and “Memoriam” (CM). Seriously, wibbly-wobbly. So much canon juggling. Just go with it. 

“Just for the record, the weather today is partly suspicious with chances of betrayal.” 

― Chuck Palahniuk

-

“Strap in, folks, we’ve got a weird one,” Garcia says cheerily, handing Spencer a paper folder as everybody else opens their tablets. 

“I thought the Winchesters were dead,” Hotch says. 

“That is part of the aforementioned weird, yes. Okay, for those of you who weren’t paying attention four years ago…” 

Spencer opens his file, and Garcia’s words stop making sense, because that’s Sam in the mugshot. 

His first instinct is to shout, This is a mistake. 

Spencer’s stomach churns. He’s cold all over. 

This feeling (betrayal, his brain supplies helpfully) is becoming a little too familiar, lately. 

Garcia is showing a video: a bank, a group of people scared and screaming, two men opening fire. That’s Sam. His expression is stone-cold, maybe even satisfied, as he empties the clip into the crowd. 

That’s Sam. 

Garcia’s talking about M.O. now, or the total lack of a consistent one, and Spencer can’t listen. He forces his features into the bland, neutral expression that has made people underestimate him for years, and he takes slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. 

“Spence?” he hears, and when he looks around the table he realizes that it wasn’t the first time somebody said his name. They’re all staring. 

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks, brow furrowed. 

“I’m fine,” Spencer insists, with a shrug. 

“No you’re not, I know that face. Are you feeling okay?” Emily prods, and Spencer hates her for a moment, hates that she can still read him. 

He tries to force a smile, but it feels stiff on his face. 

“I know him,” Spencer blurts out. “Sam. Sam Winchester. He’s… he was my friend. Or I thought he was.” 

There’s a moment of stunned silence all around the table. Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling a pen idly, instead of looking any of them in the eyes. 

“Reid,” Hotch says quietly. 

“We met at a… meeting,” Spencer says. He looks up at Hotch to make sure he understands, and Hotch nods. “About two years ago. He was only here for a couple weeks. We got along, though. We… he left. We kept in touch.” 

“When did you last speak to him?” Hotch asks, frowning. 

Spencer swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s taking his best effort to maintain his mask of composure. 

“It was eight days ago.”

Hotch nods. “I’m assuming he’s already using a new number, but just in case, we’ll need you to give Garcia any contact information you have.” 

Spencer tries to smile. “Of course.” 

Emily asks, “And he didn’t say anything that would…” 

“That would, what, tip me off that he was planning a massive murder spree?” Spencer says. His voice cracks.  

“Anything that might be helpful,” Morgan interjects diplomatically. “Locations, names.” 

Spencer shakes his head. “No, it was… we didn’t talk about that sort of thing. It was random, mostly. When something was on my mind that I couldn’t… couldn’t talk to you about, or - when I couldn’t sleep. But there wasn’t much small talk.” 

“And you never suspected?” Garcia asks, wide-eyed. 

“Do you really think that if I suspected -”  

“We know that if there were any hints, you would’ve seen them. Nobody is suggesting that you should’ve known,” Hotch says firmly. 

“I should’ve, though,” Spencer insists, with a hysterical edge in his voice. “There were so many things that he just… avoided talking about. He looked familiar, even! I kept wondering where I recognized him from!” 

“Enough, kid,” Rossi interrupts. “Getting angry at yourself doesn’t help anybody. It was before you joined the Bureau, there was no reason for you to remember his face.” 

“This is a good thing, right?” Emily points out. “The better you know him, the easier it’s going to be for us to catch him.” 

“Apparently I didn’t know him, though,” Spencer says hoarsely. “I didn’t know him at all.” 

“Are you going to be able to work this case objectively?” Hotch asks. “We’ll all understand if you want to sit this one out.” 

Spencer stares at him helplessly. He’s not sure he knows the answer to that question.

“I remember Gideon talking about the Winchester case,” Rossi muses. “Couldn’t make head or tail of it, no apparent connection between victims, witnesses who kept changing their stories…” 

“Your insight will undoubtedly be useful,” Hotch adds quietly. 

Spencer grits his teeth, shock turning quickly to anger. 

“I want to find him,” he says. He wants to know. He wants to hear the confession. 

Hotch gives him one more steely, appraising look before nodding. 

“Very well. Let’s talk victimology.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

September 2011 (eight days earlier) 

“I don’t understand how she could do that,” Spencer says bitterly. “If I saw one of my friends hurting like that, and I knew something that would stop them hurting…” 

“Shit,” Sam mutters. “I’m sorry.” 

“Did they not trust me to keep the secret? Did they not think I could handle it? We’re a team. We’re not supposed to keep things from each other. Not important things, not like that.” 

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

Sam leans against the kitchen counter, watching Dean through the window. Baby’s hood is open and Dean’s wrestling with something inside, and Sam wonders, for the thousandth time, whether he’s imagining the wariness in Dean’s face whenever they talk these days. He can’t shake the feeling there’s something Dean’s not saying. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer says quietly, and his voice cracks on the last word.  

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, except give it time.”

“I hate that answer,” Spencer says flatly, and Sam laughs. 

“Yeah. But… I think hearing the truth is the hard part, sometimes. Or saying it. Right? It hurts like hell, and it’s going to hurt for a while, but now that it’s all out in the open… now it’ll start getting better. It has to.”  

“I guess.” 

“She thought she was doing the right thing,” Sam repeats. “Do you really think she’d do that, if she didn’t feel like she had a choice?” 

Spencer sighs in a rush of static. “No,” he says begrudgingly. “But I think she had a choice. And now it’s my choice whether to trust her or not.” 

“You’ll get there.” 

“How do you know?” 

“A very smart man once told me that’s what friends do,” Sam says wryly. “They trust each other.” 

“Quoting me back to me doesn’t seem fair,” Spencer grumbles. 

“Doesn’t make it wrong,” Sam retorts with a grin. 

Sam watches Dean slam the hood shut, and he wonders why his brother has such a hard time trusting him. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dean snaps, and the sneer in his voice makes Sam feel all of six years old again. 

“No, Dean, I’m not kidding,” Sam says stubbornly. He leans against the doorframe and watches Dean pace back and forth, like a wild animal on a too-short leash in the tiny living room of Rufus’s cabin. 

“Dead or alive, Sam. We’re wanted dead or alive. You try to talk to a Fed, which one d’you think it’ll be? They’ll have you pumped full of bullets before you can blink.” 

“He’s got a point, Sam,” Bobby says quietly. 

Sam rubs his eyes, feeling a headache building. “I trust him.” 

“Yeah? Well, I don’t,” Dean retorts. “Who the hell is this guy, anyway? When’d you make a friend I don’t know about?”

“Is that what this is about?” Sam asks bitterly. “You’re pissed there’s something about me that you don’t get to control?” 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you don’t have a great track record here,” Dean spits, and Sam’s throat clogs with anger even before Dean says, “Whenever you’ve made a friend on your own, how’s that gone for you, huh? Meg, Ruby, Amy… two demons, a monster, and now a fucking Fed?” 

Sam balls his hands into fists to fight the urge to start swinging. “Why can’t you just trust me? You don’t know Frank, either.” 

“I trust Bobby,” Dean says. The I don’t trust you goes unspoken. 

Sam clenches his jaw, breathing until he knows he can talk without shouting. 

“Just go, then, Dean,” he says, quiet and venomous. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I’m going to call Spencer.” 

Dean’s frozen for a moment, stone-faced. Then he whirls around and heads for the door. “Fine. I’ll check in when I get to Frank’s.” 

Sam sits down on the couch, resting his head in his hands for a moment. He hears the dim rumble of the engine starting outside. 

“I’m gonna use the landline, if that’s okay,” Sam says quietly. 

“I sure hope you’re right about this, boy,” Bobby growls. 

“So do I.” 

He finds Spencer’s number on the worn slip of paper in his wallet, written down with the five or so others that he doesn’t want to lose, and holds his breath as he dials. He has a feeling Spencer might not pick up on the first try, if he picks up at all. For all he knows, Spencer’s on the job already, in Colorado with his team looking for clues that aren’t there. 

He closes his eyes and thinks, please, and then Spencer picks up.

“Hi, Sam.” His voice is icy. 

“Hey,” Sam says. There’s a long, weighted pause before he continues, “It’s not me.” 

“You’re kidding me, right?” It’s clipped and robotic and forceful. 

“No, look, I - it’s not me, okay? That’s why I’m calling. I’ll turn myself in.” Another weighted pause. Sam clears his throat. “Not to the police, ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’ll shoot me on sight, but. To you. It’s hard to explain, but I’m innocent, it’s someone else pretending to be me, so if you can get to Montana -” 

“Montana?” Spencer interrupts incredulously. 

“Montana,” Sam repeats. He hesitates. “I figured you’d be tracking the call, I used a landline to make it easy for you.” 

“She’s working on it,” Spencer admits begrudgingly. 

Sam feels a twist of guilt, wondering how Spencer’s coworkers are reacting to this… even worse than Dean, probably. 

He hears a faint female voice in the background, too quiet to make out more than, “...not sure how, but…” 

“Fine, then,” Spencer says quietly. “Montana.” 

“Wherever you want, okay? I - I won’t put up a fight. Just…” Sam can’t help but laugh. “Don’t let them shoot me, okay?” 

There’s a crackle of static as Spencer sighs. “We’ll call you with details when we land.”

A voice in the back of his head that sounds like Dean is shouting, this is a terrible idea. 

Sam ignores it. 

“I trust you,” he says. “And Spencer?” 

��Mmhmm?” 

“Thanks for picking up.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

May 2010

Spencer feels like he’s choking on the thick stink in the air. He looks around the packed dirt yard of the farmhouse and can’t find any relief; he’s surrounded by ugly raw grief, and he can’t stand it. Emily is consoling the crying girl. Hotch is talking to the locals, tying up loose ends. Morgan is staring numbly at the rows and rows of muddy shoes on the ground.  

He knows he’s not the only one dealing with the weight of what they saw today. He should find Penelope, give her a hug, face this together, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Sharing this would make it a little too real.  

Maybe it’s all the practice he’s had at being alone; his first instinct is to hide, when things start to get overwhelming, and to maintain a certain level of clinical detachment until he can make sense of what he’s feeling. He can dissect his own feelings. When his friends are hurting, though… that’s a different story. When he sees his friends hurting, he hurts too, hurts in a way that chokes him, hurts in a way that crowds everything else out, and all he wants to do is fix it. Even when it’s not something that can be fixed. It’s illogical. 

Love doesn’t leave any room for logic, he’s learning. 

He slips away, into the barn. 

Dust motes and chaff drift in the scattered beams of light that cut through the empty space, swirling around him as he climbs the ladder to the dark drafty loft. Spencer sits down on the floor in front of the wall of drawings. He hugs his knees to his chest and looks, committing the clumsy crayon strokes to memory, because it doesn’t seem right to let all those empty shoes live on without also remembering this: bright color, crushing loneliness, constant fear. 

The loneliness is too much, after a few minutes. He pulls out his phone and closes his eyes. 

“Hey, Sam,” he says. His voice cracks and wobbles. 

“Hey. What’s up?” 

“I’m just not having a great day,” Spencer says, aiming for casual, falling short. 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“Not really,” Spencer says. His voice is thin and scratchy and small in the darkness of the barn, lost immediately in the blanketing silence. 

Sam hesitates, and Spencer waits, hoping he’ll understand. 

“If you could have one object from a fictional universe, what would you want? Has to fit in your pocket.”

Spencer lets out a grateful little huff of a sigh. “Obviously the -” 

“TARDIS doesn’t count,” Sam interrupts, laughing. “It has to be portable in its normal everyday form, not just temporarily shrinkable.” 

“Sonic screwdriver, then. Obviously.” 

“Right? That’s what I said.” 

“What else would there be?” 

“Dean would go with a lightsaber,” Sam says, and Spencer can practically hear him rolling his eyes. 

It’s the first time Spencer’s really smiled all day. “Based on what you’ve told me about your brother, that doesn’t actually surprise me.” 

“Yeah. That’s Dean…” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

There’s a dial tone. Spencer closes his phone and tries to breathe. 

“Do you believe him?” Hotch asks quietly. 

Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling his pen again, feeling claustrophobic with all their concerned gazes pinning him in place. There’s too much going on in his head, too many things trapped and buzzing inside him with nowhere to go, and he wants to start running but all he can do is shrug. 

“I don’t know,” he says, voice strained. 

“Even if he is telling the truth, there are parts of this case that just don’t make any sense,” Morgan says. 

JJ adds, “If it’s a ruse, it’s a bizarre one.” 

“Gut feeling, kid,” Rossi says softly. “Are we walking into a trap?” 

Spencer wants to scream. Instead he says, “I don’t think he’d hurt me, but…” 

“If you trust him, that’s good enough for us,” Emily says fiercely. 

Spencer can’t help it; he looks at JJ before staring stubbornly down at the table again. The words burn on their way out: “This wouldn’t be the first time I trusted the wrong person, though.” 

“We need to make sure we’re prepared for all eventualities, but I think it’s worth the risk,” Hotch says. “We can discuss it more on the jet. Wheels up in thirty.” 

Spencer refuses to meet any of their eyes as he gathers up his folder and his bag. He gets out of the conference room before anyone can try to talk to him. His cheeks are burning, and his hands are shaking, and he’s already jittery but he really needs coffee; beyond that singular thought, his brain is stuck between stations, all white noise and useless static. 

The coffee pot in the break room is empty. He’s glad; it’s good to have something to do with his hands, a ritual, a tiny piece of his life that he can still count on. Filter, measure grounds, fresh water… 

“Spence.” It’s JJ, of course, and Spencer’s first petulant instinct is to ignore her. “Spence. Look, we gotta talk about this.” 

“About what? The fact that one of the few people I still trusted turns out to be a serial killer?” Spencer says sharply. “It’s becoming a pattern, me trusting the wrong people. I’m getting used to it.” 

“You know what I mean.” Her voice is low and soothing, like she’s talking to a victim’s family. 

“I don't want to talk about it.” 

“I get it, okay?” she says, still in that calm, professional voice. Spencer wishes she’d scream instead. He wants to scream. “You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, focusing on the steady drip of coffee into the pot. 

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” he says coolly. 

“You know what I think it is?” He doesn’t look at her, but she continues anyway: “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.” 

It hurts. Her words bite down somewhere deep, venomous needle-sharp fangs that sink in and sting, and the toxic ache spreads through his system before he can take a breath. 

“You think it's about my profiling skills?” he spits back. “Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.” 

Her expression is hurt, confused, and she says quietly, “I couldn't.” 

“You couldn't? Or you wouldn't?” he snaps. 

“No, I couldn't,” she insists. Her eyes are brimming with tears now, and Spencer feels a sick rush of satisfaction. 

He knows it’s cruel, but he lashes out anyway: “What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?” 

She recoils. “You didn't.” 

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It’s petty and it’s unfair and it’s vicious, and he doesn’t care, not even a little bit. 

It stuns her into silence for a moment, and he turns to pour coffee into his travel cup, hands shaking so badly he almost spills. 

“Spence,” she whispers. “I'm sorry.” 

He whirls on her, almost shouts: “It's too late, all right?” 

“Reid,” she says, but he’s already brushing past her, and he doesn’t stop. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

February 2010 

He’ll never forget the look on Dean’s face. He knows it a little too well, by now: disappointment, disgust. I expected better. This isn’t who I raised you to be. You’re not the person I thought you were. 

“You know I couldn’t have gotten out of that bathroom on my own,” Sam says. “You know I wouldn’t have - I wouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”  

Dean doesn’t trust him, though. He’s not sure Dean will ever trust him again. 

Sam lets Dean lock him in the panic room. He doesn’t protest; he goes without complaint, head down, like a dog with its tail between its legs as it waits for a kick that never comes. Detox will hurt. It always does. He feels like he deserves that, though. 

Dean almost says something, before he closes the door. The words catch on his lips and die on his throat, and he just shakes his head as he slides the deadbolts into place. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, but Dean’s already walking away, and the hallucinations are already creeping in around the edges of his vision: his mother sighing sadly, his younger self shaking his head in contempt. 

Sam sits down, curls up, and looks around at the bare walls and the locked door. The floor is cold under him, and he can already feel the chill sinking into his skin, down to his bones. He leans back against the wall and tries to breathe through the panic. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over again, but he’s not really sure who he’s talking to any more. 

The hallucinations fade. The bloodstains won’t, not really. Dean will see those forever. 

He can barely look at Sam when he finally unlocks the door. 

Sam’s still itchy and wired, that night, even though the worst of it is over. Dean’s not even trying to pretend he’s doing anything other than keeping watch outside. He’s sitting in the hallway with a bottle of whiskey for company. Sam can’t leave, and he sure as hell can’t sleep, so he calls Spencer, and he doesn’t realize until it starts ringing that it’s two in the morning. 

“Hi, Sam,” Spencer says, staticky and distant. 

“Hey.” 

“You okay?” 

Sam sighs, stammers, stops, tries to start again. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Not really,” he manages. There’s another long pause before he can admit, “I fucked up. I keep fucking up.” 

“Oh,” Spencer says softly. “Okay.” 

Sam exhales. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know. I believe you.”

“You’re the only one who does.” 

“I trust you,” Spencer says. It’s so matter-of-fact, so easy, and it’s been a long time since someone trusted Sam like that. He didn’t realize how much he missed it. 

“Why?” Sam asks. He tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and choked. 

“That’s what friends do, right?” 

Sam takes a deep, shaky breath and swallows down the lump in his throat, trying not to wonder if Dean’s still standing guard outside his door.  

“Thanks for picking up,” Sam says, barely a whisper. 

“Any time.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

They cuff his hands behind the back of the uncomfortable metal chair. Sam didn’t expect anything less, but he still hates it. They had the entire team except for Spencer there to take him in, and that was a few too many guns trained on him for comfort, but he’s alone now. It’s cold, and the walls are blank, and he shivers. 

He’s spent too much of his life locked in cages of one sort or another. 

When Spencer finally opens the door, Sam can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, even as his stomach twists with nerves. He’d worried they would insist on sending someone else in. 

“Hey, Spencer,” he says quietly. 

Spencer doesn’t answer. He avoids eye contact as he sits down, settling in with his posture stiff and his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He looks like a different person from the one Sam first met; the jittery, fidgety, chattering Spencer is gone, and there’s an actual Fed in his place. Even when he meets Sam’s eyes, his expression doesn’t give anything away. He’s ice-cold and completely closed-off. 

Sam tries to breathe. 

“Where’s Dean?” Spencer asks bluntly. 

“He’s at a friend’s, trying to figure out how to clear our names.” 

“Why isn’t he here with you?” 

“He didn’t think this was a good idea,” Sam says. “We haven’t had great experiences with law enforcement, but… him even more than me. I trust you. He doesn’t.” 

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You trust me.” 

Sam shrugs helplessly. “That’s what friends do, right?” 

Spencer’s face goes stormy immediately, and he leans closer, glaring at Sam with startling intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight. You and I are not friends. You’re a murderer, and the only reason I’m here is that I want to see what you look like when you’re telling the truth… because apparently you’ve been lying to me since we met.” 

It’s not unexpected, but it still hurts. Sam hesitates for a moment before saying softly, “I’m not a murderer, and I haven’t been lying to you.” 

“There’s video.” 

“It’s not me.” 

Spencer stares at him incredulously. “All that stuff you never wanted to talk about. All those times you talked about… being scared of yourself, worrying what you could do. What was that, then?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam says. He feels exhausted, suddenly. 

“You’ve never even told me what you do for a living!” 

“I can’t.” 

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Spencer asks. He’s starting to lose his composure, an agitated edge creeping into his voice. 

“Look, remember when you called me, and told me you might be dying?” 

“How is that relevant?” Spencer hisses. 

“I figured it out, afterward. Anthrax. Right?” 

“How did you…” 

“And you told me that you couldn’t give me details, and the details weren’t important anyway.” 

“That’s right.” 

“And I accepted that, because I trust you, and I trust that if you’re not telling me something, it’s for a damn good reason,” Sam says determinedly. “They tried to keep it out of the news, but later, once I knew you were okay, I did some digging, and I figured it out. Why didn’t you alert the public?” 

Spencer looks utterly baffled. “Because people would panic. There’d be mass hysteria.” 

“There you go. It’s the same thing.” 

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Spencer exclaims. “I work for the federal government!” 

“Look, I know you, okay?” Sam says desperately. “I know that your job is to notice the details that don’t make sense. Even when something seems obvious, you and your team pay attention, and you make sure everything fits, and you figure out the truth, not just whatever bullshit explanation seems easiest.” 

Spencer nods slowly. 

“That’s why you’re here, and that’s why your team didn’t shoot me on sight,” Sam continues. “And I know you’re good at your job, so I know you’ve noticed that there are things about this case that don’t add up. Okay? Why would I be here talking to you, if I was guilty? Did you ask yourself how I got to Montana so quickly? Did you talk to any of the witnesses from the old cases? Diana Ballard? Rebecca Warren? Did you try to profile us? Find any similarities in m.o. between all those murders? No. None of it made any sense then, and none of it makes any sense now. You know why? Because it wasn’t us,” he finishes.  

“Sam. Maybe there are details from the old cases that don’t make sense, but…” Spencer trails off, shaking his head, like he doesn’t even know where to start. Then he stops himself, sets his jaw, refocuses, and when he looks at Sam again, there’s nothing but pure clear anger in his face. “Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me you’ve never killed anyone.” 

Sam instinctively goes to tuck his hair behind his ears, but the cuffs cut the movement short. Spencer sees it. His face falls, bitter and disappointed. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters. 

“I’ve never killed anything that didn’t deserve it,” Sam insists. 

“Any thing? Really? Or any person?” Spencer asks. Sam doesn’t answer, and Spencer continues, rushing, like he can’t stop the words from coming out: “Do you know how many times I’ve heard a serial killer say that? Everybody thinks they have a reason, Sam, whether angels told him the guy was guilty, or… Satan was possessing them, or… a talking dog told them the meaning of life.” 

Sam lets out a borderline hysterical laugh, and Spencer just stares like he’s completely crazy. Sam can’t blame him. He’s starting to feel crazy. 

“Okay, here, look,” he says, in a sudden burst of inspiration. “Go through the old case files, look at the dates. Every one, I guarantee you, people were dying before we got to town. There’s gotta be a way to prove it, right? The murders started happening before we got there. Everything you’ve told me about Penelope, I bet she can do it, easy.” 

“What, so now you’re telling me you’re some sort of vigilante?” Spencer half-shouts. 

“Not exactly, no.” Sam’s starting to run out of ideas. 

The door opens abruptly, and a stern-faced agent says, “Reid. A word?” 

Spencer gives Sam one last look before he gets up. It’s a familiar expression: disgust, disappointment, you’re not the person I thought you were. Then he turns his back, and the door slams shut behind him. Sam can hear the click of the lock. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

April 2010 

He writes to her every day, pages and pages of words. He hopes she realizes that they all boil down to “I love you,” because right now, he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Hi, Mom, this is Spencer,” he says, “I just… I just really want you to know that I love you. And -” when he blinks away tears he can practically see her, her smile swimmy through the salt water, same as it looked when he was small and crying over a scraped knee, and if he keeps thinking like that he’ll never make it through this message. He pauses, gulps for air, steadies himself. “I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.” 

She hasn’t taken care of him since he was small. Right now, though, he feels small and scared, and all he wants is for his mom to tell him that she loves him, and that it’s going to be alright. 

“Reid?” Penelope whispers, and then he hears Dr. Kimura, and he doesn’t get to be a child right now; there’s nobody there to take care of him. 

“I gotta go,” he says, and hangs up before Garcia can ask questions. 

“Doctor Reid?” 

“You look nice,” he jokes, with a watery laugh, and she smiles. “How are the patients doing?” 

“Let’s worry about you,” she says smoothly. 

Spencer forces a smile and shakes his head. “I actually… I feel fine.” It’s one of the most obvious lies he’s ever told. 

“If you feel any pain, I could give you something,” she offers. 

“No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.” His hands are shaking, but at least his voice sounds strong. 

She looks concerned. “We can at least make you feel more comfortable.” 

“I am comfortable, and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” he says fiercely. It’s not easy to say the words, but he feels better once he does; he feels proud. 

There’s someone else he needs to call, Spencer realizes. 

“Tell me how I can help,” Dr. Kimura says, and Spencer nods. First things first: if the poison is here, so is the antidote. 

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says, ignoring the way his chest aches.  

“Well, shall I start here?” 

“Yes, just… I just need a moment.” 

Spencer looks down at his phone. He could call Garcia, again, have her save the message as a contingency plan, but he’s not sure he could handle her questions right now, and he can trust Sam not to push for details; he’s always been good about that. 

“Hey, Spencer.” 

“Hey, so, I can’t explain, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it out of this,” he says, stumbling over the words. “Don’t interrupt, I can’t - I just wanted to say thank you. In case I don’t get to say it again. Recovery was… I don’t… you helped. Thanks for always picking up the phone when I needed you.” 

“Right back at you,” Sam says quietly. 

It’s getting harder to breathe, and the panicked hammering of his heartbeat isn’t helping. 

“Thanks,” he says again, and closes the phone without saying goodbye. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

“Reid, you need to calm down,” Hotch says, as soon as the lock clicks behind them. 

“I know,” Spencer says, rubbing his eyes, agitated. “There’s just… there’s so much that doesn’t make sense.” 

“It’s more than that.” Hotch gives him one of those piercing glares he’s so good at. “You’re allowing your anger with JJ to cloud what you’re seeing in Sam.” 

Spencer can’t really argue with that. He just nods. 

“When this is over, I want you to take a couple days,” Hotch says. “You need some time to process.” 

Spencer’s instinct is to argue, but one look at Hotch’s face tells him it’s pointless. He nods again, reluctantly. 

“Garcia is checking into the pattern that he talked about,” Hotch says, as he leads Spencer back into the observation room. “She may be able to pin the Winchesters’ locations at the times of the original murders. JJ’s talking to old witnesses. There has to be something Henricksen missed.” 

Emily, Morgan, and Rossi are clustered in the small, spare room, watching Sam through the one-way glass. Emily cuts herself off mid-sentence as Spencer and Hotch walk in. 

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks again, looking at Spencer like he’s a bomb about to go off, and Spencer tries to smile for him. 

“All my time in the Bureau, I’ve never seen a case that made less sense,” Rossi comments. 

They all look at Sam, who’s frowning down at the table, deep in thought. 

Spencer clears his throat and asks, “Do you believe him?” 

“I believe that he’s telling part of the truth,” Hotch says. “It’s what he’s not saying that concerns me.” 

Inside the interrogation room, Sam starts, eyes wide, and looks from the door to the one-way mirror. 

“Hey,” he barks. “Hey, I know you’re listening! It’s St. Louis. I figured out the pattern, and they’re going to St. Louis next.” He tugs at the cuffs, clearly agitated. “Come on. Can anybody hear me?” 

“He’s genuinely distressed,” Emily says, frowning.

“If it’s a delusion, it’s a complex one,” Morgan adds. 

The door swings open, and JJ starts talking before any of them can ask: “That was Diana Ballard. She swears up and down that it’s all a big misunderstanding, but she’s not clear on any of the details; she just said that she’d trust the Winchesters with her life. Rebecca Warren said the same. There was someone impersonating the Winchesters, back then, and she swears up and down that someone’s got it out for them now.” 

“How did Henricksen not have that statement in his file?” Morgan asks. 

“Maybe Sam’s right, as much as I hate to admit it,” Emily says. “Maybe this is a case of agents just wanting the easy explanation.” 

“You guys are gonna want to see this,” Penelope interrupts, hurrying through the door as fast as her hot pink heels will allow, holding out her tablet. 

“Another one?” JJ asks. 

“Unfortunately, yes, and it’s a doozy. This just came in from -” 

“St. Louis,” Hotch fills in grimly. 

“How did you know?” Penelope asks, but she presses play without waiting for an answer, and they all cluster together to watch the grainy cell phone footage: Sam, leaning in close, giving the camera a smug smile before he opens fire. 

“Is that really…�� Spencer says numbly, looking from the screen to the window, where Sam is tapping his foot, impatient, undeniably solid and real. 

“It’s real,” she confirms. “And to top it off, I found a call that the local brass dismissed, but I just talked to him a couple minutes ago and it sounds like the genuine article. A guy thinks he saw the older Winchester just a couple hours after Sam originally called us. He was at a gas station in, you guessed it, Montana.” 

There’s a stunned pause, while everybody tries to digest that news, until Emily breaks the silence with a succinct, “What in the ever-loving fuck is happening.” 

“I’m going to talk to Sam,” Hotch says. 

Spencer’s acutely aware of everyones’ eyes on him again as he moves closer to the window. His reflection in the glass looks masklike and composed, but he doesn’t feel anything of the sort. 

He’s kind of starting to believe Sam. That’s his first instinct, at least. Something deep in his gut is telling him to trust, but it’s being strangled by the suspicion and twisted fear that have been poisoning him slowly since Emily came back. Now that it’s in his system, Spencer’s not sure how to flush it out; it’s just in him now, like some sort of chronic infection. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

March 2011

“I hate how often we see it,” Spencer says quietly. “It’s the first thing everybody thought of, with this kid, even though it wasn’t just schizophrenia, but… what’s the difference, between him and my mom?” 

“Your mom has you,” Sam points out. He can hear the murmur of Dean and Bobby’s voices downstairs, constant and comforting. 

“The headaches haven’t stopped.” 

Sam grimaces. “No answers, still?” 

“They all say there’s nothing wrong with me, physically.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “That’s… kinda harder, isn’t it?” 

“I hate not knowing,” Spencer fumes. “I hate that there’s no test for it. Even if it was a positive diagnosis, I’d rather have that, you know? I mean, that’d be awful, obviously, but… ” 

“At least you’d know,” Sam finishes. “Yeah.” 

“It’s like my brain may or may not be a ticking bomb. No way of knowing what’s hiding up there,” Spencer bites out, with a warped attempt at a laugh. 

Sam can’t help but think of his flashback: coming back to reality with Dean pale and wide-eyed above him, the disorientation of feeling the solid floor under his back, the way his skin still burned. It felt so real. 

He pushes those thoughts away. 

“Like you can’t even trust yourself,” Sam says softly. 

“Exactly.” Spencer’s voice is small and thin, and he sounds very young, suddenly. “My mom’s counting on me. What if… if something happened - I don’t know who would take care of her. Of us.” 

“Your family,” Sam says, without hesitating. 

“My team? Yeah, I… I guess so.” 

“Your family,” Sam repeats. “Even if you can’t trust yourself, you’ll be able to trust your family.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Sam’s heart leaps at the sound of the door opening again.

“They’re going to St. Louis,” he says, all in a rush, before the stern-faced agent from earlier can even sit down. The guy doesn’t bat an eye, just sits down calmly, pinning Sam with a stare that could strip paint. 

“Sam, I’m Supervisory Special  Agent Aaron Hotchner.” Sam’s heard Spencer talk about “Hotch,” and it all makes sense now. “What makes you think St Louis is next?” 

“They’re retracing our steps,” Sam answers. “Dean and I, when we started working together. They’re hitting each town we stopped in. Jericho, Black Water Ridge, Manitoc. St. Louis is next.” 

Sam holds his breath, hoping he won’t be pressed on his definition of working. He can see the moment Hotch comes to a decision with an infinitesimal nod. 

“We’re too late,” he says. “We just got the news.” 

“Shit,” Sam can’t help but mutter, and he tugs instinctively at the handcuffs, frustrated, done with sitting still. 

“This means you’re innocent,” Hotch points out, clearly watching Sam’s reaction. 

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, but I already knew that. It’s… Iowa next, then. Ankeny, Iowa.” 

“Very well,” Hotch says flatly, giving Sam a critical, evaluating look. “It’s very clear that you’re not what we thought you were, and you may be able to help us end this. Are you still interested in accompanying us?” 

“Yes,” Sam replies impatiently. 

“First, I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth about what’s going on here,” Hotch says, in such a low, dangerous voice that Sam’s almost intimidated. “Otherwise, if one of my agents gets hurt because you withheld information, or if there’s even a hint that you’re leading us into a trap, I will shoot you without hesitation. Do I make myself clear?” 

Jesus. But if the FBI can help him get to Iowa in time, with enough firepower to put a dent in the Leviathans, this’ll all be worth it. 

Sam leans forward, as much as his cuffs will allow, meeting Hotch’s impenetrable glare with a determined stare of his own. 

“Look, I could tell you more, but you’re not going to believe some of it until you see for yourself,” he snaps. “So as far as I’m concerned, the only truth that matters is this: people are dying, and we both want to put a stop to it. Now, are you going to waste time asking for irrelevant details, or are you going to choose to trust me?”  

Hotch holds his gaze for a moment before nodding tersely. “Let’s get going, then. I’ll go get the keys.”

He gets up and Sam grimaces at his retreating back, twisting his wrist uncomfortably to get the bobby pin at the right angle. Then the cuffs fall to the ground with a metallic clatter, and Hotch looks back at him in disbelief. Sam smiles at him, equal parts sheepish and smug. 

“I told you, full cooperation,” he explains, and Hotch shakes his head like he might just be a tiny bit impressed. 

The rest of the team is waiting out in the hallway, some looking skeptical (tall, dark, handsome, eyebrows; Morgan, if Sam's guessing right), others nervous (pink pom-poms in her hair; that’ll be Penelope), but almost all with some degree of confusion written across their faces. Sam can’t exactly blame them. Spencer’s staring at his shoes, avoiding eye contact. 

They’re a very clean, professional-looking bunch, and it’s making Sam incredibly uncomfortable, even aside from the obvious awkwardness inherent in the situation. 

“I’m Sam,” he blurts out, and then winces. “Um. You knew that.” 

“Yep,” Penelope squeaks. “This is weird.”  

“Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi,” Hotch says brusquely, pointing to each in turn. “Jennfer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, and you know Spencer. There’ll be time to talk more on the jet. Everyone, grab your things, meet outside in five.” He’s already pulling out a cell phone and striding away as the team scatters, and Sam feels sort of windswept in his wake; the guy’s intense.

Sam and Spencer are alone in the hallway. Sam’s stomach twists. This is familiar. This is another person he’s let down, and the bitter voice in the back of his head whispering you fucked up again is familiar too. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but… I’m sorry.” 

Spencer looks up at him with a quizzical frown, head tilted. “I was going to apologize to you.” 

Sam blinks. “Why?” 

Spencer presses his lips together in a funny little grimace. Sam had forgotten that face, the weird things he does with his mouth when he’s not sure what to say.

“For not trusting you.” His voice is scratchy and uneven and honest, now that there isn’t any anger keeping it strong and sure. “I wanted to believe that you… that it couldn’t be you. When I saw the first video, that was my instinct. But my instincts haven’t been great, lately.” 

Sam shakes his head. “No, you have nothing to apologize for.” 

“I think maybe I don’t trust myself right now?” Spencer barrels on. “But there’s video, and... I trust Hotch. If Hotch believes you... yeah. I’m sorry.” 

Sam’s not used to being forgiven so easily. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak. 

“You gave me a chance,” he says. “Most people wouldn’t have even picked up the phone. And there’s still… I still haven’t told you everything, why would you -”

“There are a lot of things going on that I don’t understand, and I want answers, don’t get me wrong.” Spencer looks frustrated for a moment. “But… knowing that you’re not a murderer goes a long way. The details can wait.” 

“When I start sharing details is when most people start running in the opposite direction,” Sam admits. 

“I think that’s sort of a universal human experience,” Spencer offers. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, now. “Or at least, the fear is. Nobody likes telling the full truth. It’s uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.” 

Sam huffs out a laugh and swipes a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Got me there.” 

“I’ll trust that you’re not lying if you trust that I won’t run,” Spencer says, and he’s not smiling now. He’s dead serious, determined, maybe a little scared. 

“Okay,” Sam says hoarsely. “Deal.” 

There’s an awkward moment where they both just look at each other, but then Spencer jerks his head in the direction of the front doors. “C’mon, we should go.” 

Sam nods and lets him lead the way. “Should we - do you know where my phone is? I need to call my brother.” 

“Garcia will have it.”

They walk out into the bullpen, where the team is bustling around, collecting their things, and Sam’s reminded again of how much they’re risking on his word. It’s overwhelming. His throat feels too tight. 

“So, that handcuff thing,” says Rossi, tossing his bag over his shoulder and falling into step next to Sam. 

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I can teach you. It’s just a bobby pin.” 

“Might help next time I get kidnapped,” Spencer says, with alarming nonchalance. 

“Would’ve come in handy a few times during college,” Rossi comments. 

“You mean as a party trick?” Spencer asks him. 

“Yeah. Sure, kid. A party trick.” 

“...oh.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

November 2010 

“Spencer?” 

“I… is that you?” Spencer asks, so shocked he feels dizzy. It’s been six months. 

Spencer’s first thought had been, ‘Weird, that's the second “just in case” call in a month,’ when he got the voicemail. He’d almost laughed.  

Spencer had called Sam from the hospital, though, after the anthrax thing, when the antidote worked and he woke up. 

Sam never called. Spencer assumed he never woke up. 

“It’s me,” Sam says. “I’m so sorry, I -” 

“What happened?” 

“I was… sick,” Sam stammers. “Really… really sick. I’m sorry.” 

Spencer has to pause for a moment to digest that. His head is spinning. 

“What -” he starts, but he cuts himself off. He has some idea of what kind of sickness might cause someone to go away for six months, and it’s not physical. “Oh,” he says softly. 

“Sorry,” Sam says again. He sounds miserable. 

“No, don’t apologize,” Spencer protests. “You shouldn’t - it’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought…” 

“Yeah.” 

All Spencer can say is, “I’m really glad you’re alive.” 

“Me too,” Sam says quietly. 

Spencer’s been wanting to talk to him for six months, but now he can’t think of anything to say. Eventually he just goes with the first thing that comes into his head: “You missed some really good episodes of Doctor Who.” 

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I’ve got some catching up to do.” 

Spencer closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. He’s never been so happy to be wrong. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Emily says flatly, as Spencer brandishes the Super Soaker in her direction. “Of all the stupid fucking ideas.” 

“Yup,” he says, popping the p and maybe kinda enjoying the way her eyes have gone all buggy. In a low voice, he adds, “Play along, remember?” 

She casts a glance over to where Sam is busying himself with the rest of the water guns and a box of Borax. “As long as he doesn’t try to take my fucking Glock.” 

“Nobody is taking your Glock, Emily,” Spencer says dryly. She shakes her head and goes over to join Morgan, Hotch, and JJ, who have already been outfitted and are standing at the other side of the parking lot. Garcia is sneakily taking a picture of them. 

Admittedly, when Sam insisted that they make an emergency stop between the airstrip and the police precinct, Spencer wasn’t expecting Toys R Us, but he was also pretty gobsmacked when Sam started talking about monsters. He’d waited until they were in the jet to do so, which was probably a smart move. This isn’t the first time they’ve played along with a delusion in order to get answers, but it’s definitely the strangest. 

Funniest, also. Spencer hopes Garcia got a lot of pictures. 

Sam will definitely be headed to an institution, when all of this is over, and Spencer’s having trouble processing that, but… well, it’s not like Spencer’s unfamiliar with that sort of facility. Spencer’s just glad Sam’s not a murderer, and he’s ready to get Dean, arrest whoever’s framing them, and get some answers. He can deal with the rest later; there’s only so much he can handle right now. 

It’s been a weird day. 

“Okay, we’re ready,” Sam announces, passing the last Super Soaker to Spencer. “Bobby didn’t know where they’re keeping Dean, but I’m guessing the cells. I’ll lead the way. Don’t trust anyone, we have to assume the local cops are Leviathans, at this point. Stick together, don’t let them touch you. Clear?” 

“And I’ll be right here with the emergency radio,” Garcia chimes in cheerily. “Thank God.” 

Sam tucks his own water gun into the back of his jeans, hefting the fire axe he’d somehow stolen from the cockpit of the jet without anyone noticing. “Let’s go,” he says authoritatively. 

“We’re right behind you,” JJ says, in her warmest, most soothing “placate the crazy man” voice.

Sam leads them around the corner and through the front door of the station, easing the door open without a sound, and they follow, entering the oddly quiet precinct quickly and efficiently. 

Spencer can see his teammates starting to draw their real weapons; luckily, Sam’s too focused on what’s in front of him to notice what everyone is doing behind him. Spencer hooks a finger on the Super Soaker and lets it dangle from his left hand, drawing his gun with his right, and most of the team is doing the same, for the sake of appearances. Emily and Morgan just set their water guns on the floor. 

“Dean?” Sam calls out. 

“Sammy!” 

Dean walks jauntily out into the bullpen like it’s a very normal thing to find a team of federal agents aiming their guns at him, but he does a double take, disconcerted, frowning for a moment at all the neon plastic toys on display. Then he recovers and turns a wide grin on Sam, who’s hanging back, wary. 

“You brought backup,” Dean says, laughing. “Good, I’m hungry. I’m very glad you made it.” 

“You’re not Dean,” Sam says, low and certain. 

“No, I am not,” the man says, almost gleeful. “Close enough, though! I have all his memories, and I wanted to chat for a moment, before I eat you. I like my meat a little bitter.” 

“What the almighty shitfire,” Emily breathes, but neither Sam or Dean pay any attention to her. Spencer has a hysterical urge to laugh, but he swallows it, heart pounding, not daring to look away from the insanity that’s unfolding in front of them. 

“Dean thinks you’re nuts, you know.” The man’s eyes flick behind Sam, taking in the team fanned out behind him. “So do your new friends.” 

Sam reaches behind his back to grab the handle of his water gun, but he holds it out of sight, still. Spencer keeps his finger firmly on the trigger of his real gun.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam snaps. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll get to the point.” He’s wearing a smug, nasty smile, and this isn’t going the way Spencer expected at all. “Dean killed Amy.”

Sam seems frozen, completely paralyzed. 

“There it is,” the man who isn’t Dean says, laughing. “Now I can eat you.” 

Sam draws his water gun so quickly it’s just a blur of neon orange, and then the man (thing, Spencer corrects himself frantically) is smoking. He’s smoking and sizzling wherever the water touches, and he’s screaming, looking just as stunned as Spencer feels in the split-second before Sam swings the fire axe and chops off his head with one powerful blow. 

There’s a moment where everything seems to slow down, like Spencer’s moving underwater, as he takes in the black goo pouring from the stump where the creature’s head used to be. 

“What in the almighty motherfucking shitfire,” Emily says again, into the momentary silence. 

“More incoming,” Sam snaps. “Heads up.” 

Then everything speeds up, too fast for Spencer to process, and it all blurs together: he’s holstering his gun, spraying water at something that’s wearing Sam’s face, as someone screams. Glass shatters, somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye Spencer sees Morgan pulling the station’s fire axe out of its case, whirling around without hesitation in a spray of black goo, and he keeps getting caught in the water pistol jets but it’s better than all those goddamn teeth, what the hell, in the massive mouth that just appeared, so he shoots, what, how, and then - 

And then it’s over as suddenly as it began. 

It’s over. 

Spencer’s heart is racing. He’s surrounded by puddles of water and puddles of oozing black, Morgan’s clutching an axe like it’s a life raft, and everyone is okay. Spencer looks around frantically, double-checking, but everyone is okay; they’re still standing, at least, although JJ, greenish-pale, looks like she’s seconds away from keeling over in shock. 

“Back here, Sammy!” comes a muffled voice from the back of the station. Sam casually wipes the blade of his axe on the side of his pants, expression unreadable. Spencer watches him clench his jaw and take a deep breath. 

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Rossi mumbles. 

Sam’s face is blank as he looks around, taking in the mess and the team. 

“I told you so,” he says mildly. Then he steps over the headless remains of a monster and goes to get his brother. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

November 2009

He doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep after the second nightmare. He goes outside instead, sits on the curb in the parking lot, looks up. The stars are barely visible with the Vegas light pollution, but it still helps to be outside. He can breathe a little easier. 

There’s this tightly-knotted mess of rage in his chest, sitting on his ribcage like a tumor, poisoning him slowly. 

It’s almost four in the morning, and he has no idea where Sam might be, or what time it is there. He takes out his phone anyway and fires off a text. 

You awake? 

The phone rings less than a minute later. 

“What’s up?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound like he was sleeping. 

“I’m in Vegas,” Spencer says softly, and then realizes that doesn’t mean anything to Sam. “It’s where I grew up.” 

“Win big on the slot machines?” 

“I guess. I won two thousand dollars today, actually. I… I gave it to a prostitute,” Spencer admits. He adds hastily, “Not for sex.” 

Sam laughs. “Right.” 

There’s a moment of silence. Spencer could make small talk, now; he could pretend he called for no reason in particular. Sam wouldn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t question it, either. 

He takes a deep breath and spits the words out fast, before he can regret letting them loose. “Apparently my dad lived really close by my entire life, even after he left my mom and me. I didn’t know. He never told me.”

“Shit,” Sam says. 

“He was keeping tabs on me my whole life,” he says. His voice gives him away, breaking and rasping, and it hurts to keep forcing the words out. “He read all my articles, my dissertation, everything I ever had published. My friends seem to think I should be happy about that.” 

“That’s bull,” Sam says firmly. 

“Why wasn’t it enough?” Spencer whispers. He’s been holding that question in all day, and it’s been choking him. 

His lower lip is wobbling. He’s glad Sam can’t see him. This is the sort of honesty that’s much easier from a distance; Sam might hang up right now, but at least Spencer won’t have to watch him walk away. 

“Do you think they know?” Sam asks. “How badly they messed us up, I mean.” 

“Do you think they care?” It comes out more bitter than he intended. Spencer makes a face and looks down at his feet in their mismatched socks. “I think that’s the important part. If he cared, I could probably forgive him, but… I don’t think he does. Not really.” 

“Yeah.” 

Spencer takes a breath. The anger is gone now. He doesn’t like how hollow he feels in its wake, but he does feel lighter. He feels better. 

“Thanks for listening,” he says. “It helps.”

There’s a long pause, and Spencer thinks maybe he should hang up, now, try to rest even if he can’t sleep. 

“Want to hear a joke?” Sam asks. “I tried to tell Dean, but... I don’t think he got it.” 

“Sure.” 

“How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” 

“How many?” 

“Two. One to change the light bulb and one to to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness.” 

Spencer laughs, grinning up at the stars. “That’s good. I’m gonna steal that.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Sam sighs as he closes the door of the precinct behind himself. They’re not totally done with cleanup, but all Hotch’s wild-eyed muttering about paperwork is starting to make him anxious. 

Also, every time he looks at Dean, he feels sick. 

He sits down on the bench that’s out front, under a little awning. The sky is dark with clouds, and the air is thick, threatening rain, so humid it seems hard to breathe… but maybe that’s the shock setting in. 

He barely gets a minute of peace before Dean comes out to find him. 

“Hey,” Dean says cheerfully. “Ready to go? I’m starving, and I don’t want to be here when that bunch starts asking questions. Pretty cool, though, having an in with the FBI. Definitely makes life easier, bein’ dead again.”

He’s standing there on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, grinning like it’s just another day. Sam’s chest hurts. 

“Don’t,” he says quietly. 

“What’s up?” Dean asks, frowning. 

“You killed Amy,” Sam says, and he watches Dean’s face as he realizes, the way he shifts his weight uncomfortably. 

“Listen, Sam...” he says.

“No, you know what, don’t,” Sam spits. He knows the drill. Dean thought he was doing the right thing, he made a choice, he had to take responsibility if Sam couldn’t. Sam looks at his feet and says, “I don’t think I can be around you right now.” 

“So… what, you -” 

“You should go,” Sam says. He looks up and searches Dean’s face for some sign of guilt, remorse, empathy, but Dean just looks resigned. Sam wishes he would just start screaming, or throw a punch so Sam could hit him back. It’s not fair that Sam’s the only one in pain right now. 

“Okay, Sam,” Dean says, and he turns to go. Sam watches him walk away. 

He’s not sure how long he sits on the bench, watching people pass. The sky is getting darker by the minute. 

Spencer doesn’t announce his presence when he comes outside, just sits on the bench next to Sam and waits quietly. 

“He killed my friend,” Sam mumbles, without looking at him. “She was a monster, but she didn’t… she didn’t mean to. She didn’t want to hurt anybody.” 

“Let me guess, he thought he was doing the right thing?” Spencer says wryly. 

The lack of pity in his voice makes it easier for Sam to keep talking, and sarcasm feels better than grief. “Shocking, right?” he says. There’s a low rumble of thunder overhead, and they both look up at the sky. “I didn’t have many friends, but… I liked her.” The grief seems to be creeping in whether he wants it or not. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks.” Sam’s throat feels tight. “He’s my brother, I just… I’ve fucked up in the past, I know I have. But I always feel like I have to earn his forgiveness. It feels like I’m always asking him to give me another chance, to trust me again, and… and he still doesn’t really look at me the same way. Then he pulls something like this, and I know, one way or the other, he just doesn’t trust me. He thinks it’s okay to lie to me, because I don’t deserve the truth.” 

Spencer doesn’t say anything, just makes an unhappy, understanding sort of sound. The first fat raindrops start to fall on the concrete in front of them, and they’re both quiet for a moment. 

Sam smiles in spite of himself, remembering. “She changed her name, since I met her. Her name was always Amy, but she changed her last name to Pond.” 

“Cool,” Spencer says. 

“Yeah. I mean, no, she wasn’t cool, neither of us were, but… yeah.” 

Sam can breathe a little easier, now. 

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asks. 

Sam looks sideways at him and sees the way his mouth is twitching. “Don’t.” 

“Nothing you can do, is what I seem to remember you saying,” Spencer says innocently. “Give it time. Right? Does that make you feel any better?” 

Sam laughs, burying his face in his hands. “That was fucking useless advice. Fuck, don’t ever listen to me.” He wipes his eyes. “This just sucks.” 

“Yeah, it really does,” Spencer agrees. It’s pouring steadily now, rain streaming off the sides of their little awning. “Apparently Hotch thinks I should run away from my problems for a little while, give myself time to process, so I’ve been ordered to take a couple days off.” 

“JJ, still?” 

“Yeah. I think maybe he’s right. But… I was going to rent a car and drive back to DC, instead of taking the jet. Make a couple detours. Get some space. Give it time. You could come, if you want.” 

Sam turns to him, surprised, but Spencer looks sincere; he’s giving Sam one of his trademark anxious not-quite-smiles. 

“I was just going to hotwire a car,” Sam blurts out, and then winces. “That might be a better idea.” 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

“I guess you probably have some questions,” Sam says reluctantly. 

Spencer grins. “Harder for me to run away if we’re in a moving vehicle, right?” 

Sam laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Yeah, guess so.” 

“After today, I’m not actually sure I want to know all the details,” Spencer says, wrinkling his nose. “But I do have some questions.” 

“Anything you want to know,” Sam promises. “The truth. I promise. I should’ve… I should’ve told you sooner.” 

Spencer shrugs. “No, I’m pretty sure you were right, I would’ve run away screaming.” 

Sam laughs and rolls his eyes, and they sit there in silence for a moment, watching the rain start to slow. The clouds are already starting to blow over. 

-

“Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it.” 

― Mark Twain

-

You can now read about the road trip right here!

#criminal minds fic #spn fic #supernatural x criminal minds #sam winchester #spencer reid #spn #cm #crossover

[give-me-back-my-rhodey]

Make ME

Title: Make Me Creator: Purple_ducky00 Rating: Teen Warnings: none applicable Relationship: Sam/bucky Square Filled: O3 – Undercover Mission for @samwilsonbingo Summary: Sam and Bucky get under each other’s skin, and neither of them can stand the other. How long til these idiots learn that it’s not hate, but love between them? Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754915

Prompted from this post by @rambeaus

“Who died and made you king?” Bucky grumbles.

 Sam throws up his hands in annoyance. “For fuck’s sake Barnes! You know this is the best way to do this!”

 “No, I don’t! This way has many flaws. The slightest movement could set off a chain reaction of…” Bucky’s tirade is cut off by Natasha walking between them with sterile gloves and picking up the mouse trap, sticking the remains of the mouse and the trap in a plastic bag.  She rolls her eyes at them and walks out of the kitchen.

“Do you see what you just did there? This could have all been taken care of if you just listened to me!” Sam growls.

 Smirking Bucky turns away. “Bite me.”

 Sam’s temper flares as he watches Bucky walk away. What is it about the soldier that makes Sam’s blood boil? Every interaction they have ends in an argument… And for some reason, Rhodes had put them on the same team! When a few deep breaths don’t calm him down, Sam heads to the gym. Might as well let out some aggression on something he can’t hurt.

 ++++++++ “What were you thinking putting those two on the same team?” Tony laughs as he lays down in his husband’s lap. “The UST is off the charts. They are going to finally snap and either kill or fuck each other.”

 Rhodey shakes his head. “I know. And that’s why I put them on the same team. I’m sick and tired of them skirting around the issue. No use delaying the inevitable. They both have too much of a sense of duty to not complete the mission, and I’m going to assign a mission leader to go with them to keep them on track. Now, who should that sucker be?”

 “I would tell you Steve because I love trolling him, but he would only stop them from doing either. Give the job to Sharon. She deserves it after the whole blow-dryer incident.”

 “Tony, that was five years ago.”

 The retired superhero sits up to glare at Rhodey. “I’m still not over it.”

 “Ok, ok. I’ll send Sharon. She’s close with them anyways. Hopefully, she knocks some sense into them.” Rhodey concedes.

  +++++++++++++++++

Sam and Bucky are seated across the table from each other in the conference room, listening to Sharon’s plan. “So, we’re going undercover as actors in the Bachelorette.  We have intel that the host of the show is somehow funneling contraband drugs and black-market arms for HYDRA. Bucky, Tony made you a flesh-like sleeve for your arm, and we are all going to be using holomasks to cover our identity. Do you both have your characters memorized?”

 “Yes. I am Tucker Acktenbee. Raised by my mother and her sisters, I know how to appeal to the feminine side. Growing up in Massachusetts, I love seafood and cranberry jam and pies. Before I applied here, I graduated from LSU with a bachelor’s degree in English. I am twenty-six, and my birthday is October 19.” Bucky says as he pulls the holomask over his face. He looks like a completely different person.

 Sam rolls his eyes and does the same. “Hey, baby. My name is Joshua Perkins. Born and raised in New Orleans, I also share an affinity for seafood, but my insides can handle the spice. No one’s going to want a bland piece of white bread like Tucker when this bombshell is available. With a master’s degree in psychology, I’m here to help with whatever emotional needs a woman has. I’ll be twenty-seven on April 15th.”

 “Good. Good.” Sharon nods. “Just so you remember, I am going to be in the camera crew so my ears will be open for any rumors. Pack your stuff. We have to be on set in 24 hours to rehearse.”

 “I don’t know about you, Barnes, but I’m going to win that Bachelorette’s heart.” Sam nudges Bucky with his shoulder.

 “Better a fake relationship than none for you, I guess.”

 This man makes him so angry! “Fuck you.”

 “Nah, better leave that for Miss Bachelorette.” Bucky sends him a syrupy grin and walks out of the room before Sam can reply.

 “Arrrgh!” He groans, and Sharon looks at him strangely. “Sorry, Shar. He just gets under my skin so easily. I just want to strangle him sometimes!”

“Yeah… strangle him…” She nods slowly.

 “What are you implying?”

 Raising her hands in surrender, Sharon backs up. “Hey, I’m not kink shaming. You do you, my friend. Just don’t tell me about it.” She picks up her clipboard and tablet. “Wheels up in nine hours.”

  Kink shame? What the fuck? Needless to say, Sam is very confused.  There is nothing kinky about his and Bucky’s relationship. They clash at every turn. If he slammed the door when he stormed out of the room, he’ll never admit it.

 ++++++++++++

“Hello and welcome to The Bachelorette! I am your host, Chris Harrison. Join me as we find this year’s Bachelorette a husband. At age 28, Penelope Darnea previously worked in insurance but is looking to branch out to another occupation. She loves baseball and the beach and is always down for a margarita. Now, let’s take you to our woman of the hour as she greets the contestants!”

 Bucky is one of the first contestants to the mansion. Penelope Darnea is a beautiful woman with societal “perfect” features. As he walks up the stairs to the mansion, she greets him. “Hello, welcome to the mansion! Tucker Acktenbee?”

 “Yes, it is.“  Bucky leans down to kiss her hand. “Can I tell you just how ravishing you look? The man you choose will be incredibly lucky indeed.”

 Blushing, Penelope waves him on. “I can tell that you’re a charmer.” Bucky is escorted to a room in the mansion as Ms. Darnea greets the next contestant. He uses the time he has to think about the mission. Somehow, they have to act as contestants for the Bachelorette and figure out how they are funneling the money without the network realizing. And he has to do it with Sam.

 His therapist once asked him “What does Sam do that gets on your nerves?”

 “The better question is what does he do that doesn’t get on my nerves?” Bucky had replied. They always have the stupidest of arguments about the most meaningless things. Both of them hate to lose. His head perks up when he hears someone in the hall. “Here is your room, Mr. Perkins. If you need anything, please ring the bell.” The host goes through everything as he did in Bucky’s room.

  “Thank you, sir. Much appreciated.” Oh fuck. That’s Sam’s voice. Bucky understands why they would put Sam beside him in case a quick update to the mission is needed, but to hear that voice at all times of the day? He can only take so much torture. Thankfully, a host comes to get him for an “exclusive” interview. Bucky stays true to his character but does not miss Sharon manning the camera.

 After the interview, he is told that he can fraternize with the other contestants, but he cannot use someone else’s set time with the Bachelorette for his own. That is an instant disqualification. Bucky confirms his understanding and returns to his room. Changing into a new outfit, he decides to take a walk through the house. He’ll let Sam come to him first.

 ++++++++++++++++++

A week goes by, and the second rose ceremony is coming up. Both Sam and Bucky make sure to spend time with Ms. Darnea, but also meet up in Bucky or Sam’s room every night to see if they’ve seen anything suspicious.

 Bucky has kept a close eye on the host but so far nothing looks fishy. Sam has been scanning other cast and crew members and has come up with nothing. They are quickly running out of options, but there are still a good portion of contestants left.

 “Why don’t we check the host’s quarters? He has to have something there.” Bucky suggests. That was the dumbest fucking thing Sam has ever heard in his life. “Dude. There are cameras everywhere. If we get caught, our cover is blown. We have to just wait for some kind of shipment to get here. The set can’t have had enough food stocked for a month.”

 “But what if we can’t wait that long? What if he’s getting stuff out another way? Then HYDRA has supplies, and they’ll hurt more people. We can’t let them do that.”

 Sam scoffs. “What do you think they have? Air ducts under the mansion?”

 “Go fuck yourself.” Bucky gives him the finger.

 “Make me.”

 Bucky’s eyes darken in anger. “I just might….” He cannot finish his sentence before there’re is a knock on the door.

 “Mr. Perkins, your date is set up.”  Someone calls through the door.

 “Now if you’ll excuse me,” Sam smirks and straightens his collar, “I have a woman to seduce Tah tah! Have fun!” And then he sashays out, enjoying the look of pure anger on “Tucker’s” face.

 He walks down the hallway with the camera crew following him to the porch outside where Penelope is waiting. “Well Joshua, what date do you have planned for us tonight?”

 “Well, my lady, you say you like excitement, correct? I have bought us tickets for skydiving. Does that sound enjoyable to you? Once done, we will grab dinner at that new Italian restaurant, Sal’s, I think? They serve the best tiramisu.”

 “Oh, that sounds lovely.” Penelope purrs, rubbing his arm with her hand.

 Crooking his elbow, Sam offers his arm. “Shall we go?”

 It is long after midnight when the couple returns from the restaurant. Sam looks up and sees the curtains are halfway open in Bucky’s room. That means he has some news. “I dd not realize they like you stay the entire night.” Penelope marvels. “Wow, Joshua, you are so cultured.”

 “Oh, it’s nothing. “Sam waves it off. “Just something I’ve picked up in my travels. Have a good night Beautiful. I hope to see you again tomorrow. Water aerobics class?”

  “Why yes. I do love water aerobics.” The bachelorette pokes his shoulder with hard, bony fingers. It hurts! Taking his leave of the lovely Bachelorette, he goes back to his room until the cameras leave. Then he walks over to Bucky’s, who updates him on the next shipment coming in. They will be ready then.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It is the day after the latest Rose Ceremony. There are only five contestants left. We have gathered these remaining contenders to give another “exclusive” interview. “So how are you feeling about the contest?” The host asks each participant in their interviews. Here are the responses.

 “I’m feeling pretty good about it. Ellie and I have had many a good date together. I do think she will choose me in the end.” Carlton Hayweather comments.

 Nathan Abbey snorts. “Well, there are five of us left, so she can only pick one, right? And the amount of time Perkins and Acktenbee spend in each other’s rooms, we really don’t have to worry about them. So basically, there’s three of us.”

 “I’m feeling confidant,” Joshua Perkins leans back in his chair. “I believe I have made her laugh the most, and I do believe humor and friendship are major keys in a relationship.”

 Terrance Filippo tilts his head. “Eh, if I win, I win. If I don’t, I don’t.”

 But it’s Tucker Acktenbee who wins the hearts of most watchers. “Penelope is a very strong woman. I trust that she knows who is best for her. I do hope it is me, of course, but should she choose another, we must all concede fair and square. We have to stop assuming we know what women want or need. She is capable of knowing it herself, and I wish her the best.”

 Are you excited for the next round? I am!

 ++++++++++

“Tucker, Joshua? The producers of the show would like to meet with you.” An event manager pulls them from the pool area.

 When they arrive in the office, the head producer, Carole Teller, claps her hands. “Great acting out there! Have you seen this interview?” She shoves a tablet in front of their faces. Nathan Abbey’s face is centered on the screen.

 “Oh, he thinks we’re gay?” Bucky asks.

 “Yes, and if you are, we don’t discriminate, although I wonder why you’re here if you are. But it doesn’t matter. The question is, would you be able to pretend at least for the screen? I don’t mean a full make-out session, but maybe the camera catches a glimpse of you two in the corner. Ratings will go up, and there will be added drama.”

 Bucky is about to object when Sam shrugs. “Sure. We can do that. Is that all you need?”

 “Yes. Thank you for coming in. Good work out there!” She chirps and then turns her full attention onto something else.

 “I guess we’re dismissed.” Sam shrugs. “Come back to my room. We have to strategize.”

 Once they get back to Sam’s room, Bucky pushes Sam up against the wall. “What the fuck did you agree to that for?” He hisses. “First of all, that means the show is queerbaiting and I don’t like that! Second of all, how is this going to help us?”

  “We can hide in little alleyways and closets. Who knows what clues we could find there? Do you hate me that much that we can’t play nice and kissy for a week or so?”

 “I can kiss you. I am a great actor, thank you very much.” Bucky leaves go of Sam.

 “Then do it. Kiss me.” Sam challenges. “Make me.” Bucky thinks the conversation would be ended there, but Sam grabs him by the face and plants a deep kiss on this lip. Caught off guard, Bucky is not ready for that, but quickly kisses Sam back.

 “Wow. That wasn’t so bad after all.” Sam says, wiping his face with his sleeve.

 Bucky scratches the back of his head. “Not… too… bad, I guess.”

 Now that one kiss has been made, many more are to come. Bucky and Sam take advantage of their “hidden relationship” to sneak into closets and hallways. They find that the next shipment will be coming in early the next morning.

 Bucky is taken away to get ready for his date. The dinner and show are quite enjoyable, and Penelope asks him back to her room. Bucky agrees. Once inside the door with the cameras off, she pushes him to a machine and flips the switch. The electricity runs through him and holds him to the machine. Tsk what am I going to do with you?” Penelope asks. “You shouldn’t have come, Asset.”

  “You can’t…. control me. The words don’t…. work anymore.” Bucky forces out through his pain.

 “True that might be, but I can break you. My mother broke you the first time. Don’t think I don’t have her notes.” She smiles wickedly. “Too bad you had to snoop in places you just didn’t belong. Now I’m going to take you and all my goods< and I’m taking you back to base where we can finish our experiments. How does that sound?”

 “Like we got it all on tape!” Sam bursts through the door. “Hands up Lady. We’ve got you.” He rips off his holomask, showing his face.

 “Drop the gun, or I electrocute him.” Penelope warns.

  Sam puts the gun on the floor and slides it halfway over to the villainess. As she bends down to get it, Bucky summons his strength to break free of the current and kicks her. Immediately, Sam tackles Penelope to the ground and wrestles the switch from her, accidentally setting it on high. Bucky convulses and screams. In panic mode, Sam clicks off the current and frees Bucky, who falls to the ground, unmoving. Quickly chaining the Bachelorette to the machine, Sam works on reviving Bucky. “Bucky! No! You can’t die. I just realized that I love you, and if you don’t wake up and get up, so help me I will kill you myself.”

  Bucky’s lips move minutely, and he whispers something. Sam leans down to heard Faintly, Bucky whispers with a grin, “Make me.”.

#sambucky #sam wilson #Bucky Barnes #idiots in love #samwilsonbingo

[sebspocketsquare]

Quarantine: 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (online)

A/N: Heya guys! Here’s part 4! Its extra long like i promised. Let me know what you think! part 5 is in the works :) -T

Warnings: Flirting, language, quarantine, fear, crying, feels, mentions of a breakin

It’s pouring rain.

You’re in shock.

Frozen in place.

You’re not even sure what to think as you stare at your front door.

You’d locked it, right? You’d remembered to do that?

Searching your memories, you find that yes, you did lock it… which could only mean one thing.

Mind racing, the bags you’d toted home from the grocery store fall from your grasp to the cold concrete below, and you don’t even flinch at the sound that was surely your eggs cracking.

“But..” The word comes out as more of a breath, and that’s when you notice that tears are already stinging the ridges of your eyes.

It takes another few minutes of ragged breathing before you come to your senses and shakily fish your phone out of your pocket, dialing 911.

They answer on the second ring, and the dispatch operator sounds as stressed as you feel.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You suddenly find yourself questioning if this really is an emergency, but right yourself almost immediately. Someone just broke into your apartment. A stranger. A criminal.

Yes, it was an emergency.

“I, um.. I just got home from the store, and my-my apartment door is open, I.. I think someone broke in while i was gone.”

You hear her typing before she responds to you, “Okay ma’am, I’m going to ask you not to enter the residence and stay away from the front door in case someone is still inside. Can you give me your address? I’ll have an officer with you in less than ten minutes.”

You exchange the information she needs with a trembling voice, and she asks if you’d like to stay on the line with her until the authorities arrive.

You’ve never agreed to anything so fast. Even if you didn’t speak, at least she’d be there if something else were to happen.

She tells you that there have been five other break ins in your area in the last two weeks, and that she’s sorry it’s happening to you, too.

You’re too numb to murmur anything other than a “thank you.”

It takes approximately 8 minutes for a patrol car to arrive with two officers inside.

They have you wait outside as they enter your apartment, and the next fifteen minutes of their searching seems as if it goes on forever.

As you’re waiting, your phone chirps.

A new IM from J.

[Sarge:] Getting worried over here, doll.. You home safe and sound yet?

Just reading the message has more tears welling in your eyes.

[clairv0yant:] Not exactly…

The moment you press send, both of the officers come out onto your porch with looks that can only be described as sympathy.

“Miss? We’d like you to come inside, please.. The coast is clear, but we need you to file a full report on what’s been taken.”

His words open a gaping hole in your stomach and you suddenly feel nauseated.

What’s been taken?

You don’t notice how your phone vibrates repeatedly in your pocket, desperate messages trying to reach you.

It takes 45 minutes to file the report with the police, to account for everything that’s missing.

They took the tower to your computer, the screen, the mouse and the keyboard. Your TV is missing, along with the bottles of vodka you’d kept in your freezer. The jar that contained your ‘vacation’ savings had been taken from your bedroom, along with your tablet and phone charger. They’d even gone as far as to steal the two packs of toilet paper and cleaners from under your bathroom sink. They broke every dish in your cupboard, glass was scattered on every bit of your floor, but they managed to completely overlook the small stash of twenties you kept in your underwear drawer.

The officers reiterate what the dispatch lady had told you: you weren’t the only one this had happened to recently, and they were sorry this had happened to you. They’d check in on you for the next couple days, and let you know if they find the people responsible.

There wasn’t much more that could be done.

Once they leave you lock the door, though that doesn’t make you feel safe anymore. 

That hadn’t been enough before, what would stop them from doing it again?

You lean your back against it, before letting out a sob and falling to the floor.

Your fingers tangle in the roots of your hair and you tug in frustration as you cry. 

Why you? Why now?

You weren’t working, the little bit of savings you did have had to be used to pay bills and buy groceries. You had no idea when you’d be allowed back to your job, and you had no one to rely on to help you.

What were you supposed to do now?

Your phone chirps from your pocket again, and when you bring it to eye level, you notice you have 18 missed messages.

[Sarge:] What do you mean?

[Sarge:] Doll, please answer me.

[Sarge:] Clair, you’re scaring me…

[Sarge:] At least let me know you’re okay.

[Sarge:] Clair, please?

[Sarge:] Say something, anything..

[Sarge:] Fuck..

[Sarge:] I’m such an idiot for letting you go out without getting your phone number or address

[Sarge:] Please let me know you’re fine

[Sarge:] Tell me I’m overreacting

[Sarge:] Clair..?

[Sarge:] I’m freaking out over here

[Sarge:] Baby, you’re scaring me..

[Sarge:] Answer me

[Sarge:] I’m begging you

[Sarge:] Just send me a fucking smiley face, anything

[Sarge:] just let me know you’re alive

[Sarge:] Just.. call me, please..

The last message included a phone number.

Your thumb hovers over the assortment of digits as you take in a shuddering breath. You didn’t want to call and have him hear you like this. You’d always imagined the first time you spoke on the phone would be full of awkward giggles and flirty compliments given back and forth.

Not you on the verge of breaking.

Your thumb finally presses the numbers, and as if to question your choices, a message pops up on your screen: ‘Calling.. Are you sure you want to do this?’

You hit yes without a second thought.

The line rings once before the person at the other end answers.

“Clair?”

You’re too emotionally devastated to appreciate the timbre of his voice, the concern laced in the first word you’ve ever physically heard him say.

“Please, say something..”

He’s begging at this point, and there’s a quake in his words that weighs down your already heavy heart.

“I-It’s me.” 

The whisper has him letting out a sigh of relief before he speaks again.

“What’s going on? Talk to me.”

That’s when you break.

You tell him everything through hiccups and sobs.

When you’ve finished with your story, he releases another sigh before speaking again.

“Baby, you gotta breathe. I know it’s hard, but take a couple deep breaths for me okay? Can you do that?”

You follow his instruction, taking a few deep breaths in, and releasing them just as slow.

“There you go.. I’m gonna take care of this, okay? I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t worry about a thing.”

You’re so entranced in your breathing that you almost agree to his words blindly. Luckily, you catch yourself.

“What.. What do you mean, J?”

“Let me help you, Clair, I.. please.”

You sit in silence for a moment or two before he speaks again.

“I know you well enough by this point to know you’re too stubborn to let me send you money, but.. Let me replace your things. Let me send you some groceries. Let me pay for a goddamn security system… Please.”

You knew he was kind. That was one of the first things he’d let you see of himself.. But this? This was different. Nobody just offers to do this for someone they haven’t even met.

“J, I.. I can’t.. That’s too much.. You don’t even know me..”

He sighs yet again, but you can tell this one is out of frustration. 

“Clair, please. I am literally begging you to let me help you, I.. I’m doing this because I care about you..”

Contemplating in silence, your eyes begin to water again. 

What choice did you have?

You didn’t have the money to replace your things.

You’d barely have enough to replace the groceries you’d just ruined in the rain, and you certainly couldn’t afford a security system.

“J, I.. I can’t pay you back..”

“That is literally the least of my worries. I just want you safe. Please. I can have someone at your place tomorrow morning to install the system. The replacement for your computer might take a little longer, but I’ll get it to you as soon as i can, just.. Let me do this. I want to.”

Before you know what’s happened, you hear yourself agreeing to his wishes and giving him your address.

“You live in the city?” There’s surprise in his voice that you don’t miss.

“You’re closer than I expected..”

Before you can ask him what he means, he’s speaking again.

“I have a friend, I’ll text him now and see the earliest he can come by tomorrow, okay? You can trust him, he’s a good guy. Do you have a spare phone charger for the night?”

You inform him of the one you always carry in your purse and that seems to ease the tension in his voice.

“Clair?”

“Yeah, J..?”

“I’m sorry this is how our first phone conversation had to go, I.. I pictured it differently in my head..”

You let out a sad laugh, “I know what you mean.. I’m sorry too.”

“But..” another sigh, “I’m not sorry I finally got to hear your voice.”

“I’m not sorry either..”

 You swear you hear him lick his lips, just before he speaks again, “Doll, my friend is calling me.. can I call you back?”

You take a look at the mess around your apartment before thinking that it might actually be for the best if you get off the phone.

“I should probably get off here and clean up all this glass anyway..”

He hums softly, “Call me when you’ve finished? I.. I just wanna know you’re safe.”

It was endearing how worried he was about you.

You also knew it was with good reason.

“Of course. I’ll call you back in a little bit. Bye, J.. and.. thank you.”

“Anything for you, Doll.. I’ll talk to you soon.”

HIM

The moment she ends the call, I slam my fist down on my desk. She was so close, so fucking close, and yet so far.

I couldn’t just show up, hold her and comfort her and protect her. It was too soon for that, plus with the required social distancing.. I don’t even think she’d trust me. 

Sam’s voice breaks my train of thought.

“What’s up man, I just got your text?” 

He’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom, still dressed in his sweats from the day before. 

I scoff at the sight, “One, you need to shower and change, dude. Two… I need you to do me a favor..”

He snickers and smirks, “This have anything to do with this girl you’ve been texting? Need me to track down some selfies for you to stare at?”

Had it been any other night, I might’ve entertained the idea of that, but instead I let out a quiet groan, “No, I… her apartment got ransacked today.. I need you to go over and install a security system for her.”

The smile falls from his face and his eyebrows raise. “Wait, what? She lives close? Why don’t you go?”

I shake my head, eyes falling to my left hand. The vibranium appendage almost glitters under the light of my computer screen, and when he follows my gaze he understands. “She doesn’t know yet.. who you are.”

I shake my head, and it’s his turn to sigh. “Yeah, man.. I can do that for you. Is she.. is she okay?”

I shrug, staring at my phone screen and willing her to call me back, “I.. I have no idea, man.. hearing her cry just now..” I have to pause and clear the emotion from my throat. 

“This quarantine is killing me.. all I wanted to do was go to her, hold her, and I—“ I pause again, cheeks flooding with warmth as I realize how vulnerable I just sounded.

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” He wonders, cocking his head to the side with a small smile.

The heat in my cheeks burns hotter as I nod slightly. 

“Just give me the address. I’ll make sure she’s got a system as good as ours.”

Just hearing him say that puts me at ease. I’d know her comings and goings, where she was in the apartment and if anyone was even close to entering. 

Stalkerish? Maybe a little, but.. 

If I couldn’t be there in person to protect her, this would be the next best thing.

HER

Aside from the missing appliances, you can barely tell what took place in your apartment today.

You’d swept every room, scrubbed every surface.

It might even be the cleanest the apartment had been since you moved in. 

J texted you earlier, asking for a list of your missing belongings and an idea for groceries.. you were a bit reluctant at first, but eventually gave in and handed over the information. 

You pushed your couch behind your front door out of paranoia before taking a shower, and now you sat on the edge of your bed in silence. 

It was hard not to let your mind wander to a dark place, to think of what you must’ve done to deserve this. 

Tears are starting to return to your eyes, just as your phone begins to ring again.

It’s J, of course.

“Hello?”

“Hey, doll.. how are you feeling?”

You’re calmed down enough to appreciate his voice now. The slight drawl to it, the sound of your nickname leaving his lips. It’s deep and warm and, god, you just wanted to wrap yourself in it and stay there forever.

“I.. I’m okay I guess.. it’s weird, y’know?”

“I’m sure.. I’m sorry you had to go through this.. I wish..” He pauses and you find yourself rather curious as to what he was going to say.

“You wish what, J?”

He hums before he finishes his thought, “I wish I could hold you, Clair.. Make you feel safe. Protect you.”

He’s making you blush, and it’s different than all the other times he’s done so through text. 

Actually hearing him say it brought it to a whole other level.

“Would that be alright?”

You can tell he’s second guessing his confession, and his timid behavior makes you smile.

“I would love that.. If only that was allowed right now..”

This quarantine was really messing things up for you. In more ways than one.

“I’d break the law for you, just say the word.”

You laugh at the thought, but you know he’s at least a little serious. 

“Have you um.. ever really thought about it?”

He hums again, and you find you’re addicted to the sound. “It’s embarrassing how much I’ve thought about it.. how about you, sweetheart? You ever think about me holdin’ you?”

The heat is back in your cheeks and you bite your lip to hold back the grin that’s taken over your entire face. “I.. yes. I have. I’m thinking about it right now, actually..”

Laying back on your bed, you pull a spare pillow to your chest and hug it tightly.

“What are you doin’ over there? Laying in bed? Do me a favor…”

It’s your turn to hum, and he chuckles.

“You got any extra pillows? Hug one of ‘em close, and close your eyes.. Just imagine it’s me, holding you to my chest… if you concentrate hard enough, maybe you can hear my heartbeat.. I’m sure it’d be goin’ crazy from being so close to you..”

You do as he asks, sighing happily into the phone. “Mine would be too.. it already is.”

You hear soft rustling from his end of the call, and you’re sure he’s settling in for the night too.

“Just wanna hold you.. kiss your forehead, ‘cause I remember you saying how much you like that.. Tell you how special you are to me..”

He’s making your heart beat wildly in your ribcage, and for some reason, tears trickle from the corner of your eye.

“You okay over there, baby?”

His new name for you was quickly becoming a new favorite.

“Yeah, it’s just.. you’re too good to me, you know that?”

“I’m the perfect amount of good to you, doll.. you deserve the whole world, and I’ll do my best to give that to ya.”

He’s making you forget the events of the day with each moment that passes, replacing them with sweet memories instead.

“J.. I adore you.”

“Not as much as I adore you, Clair.”

That night, you’re lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing.

TAGS: (I wasnt sure who to tag, so if you dont want to be, I’m sorry!! Just trying to get this out there. ALSO if you wanna be tagged INBOX ME! I tend to miss people in the tags :( also some tags don’t work, so i’ve removed them if they dont. Sorry about that!  ).  

@mindingmyownbusiness@plumfondler@buckybarnesappreciationsociety@loricameback@tinaferraldo@geminimoonbeamx@preserumsteverogers@moderapoppins@lowkeysebby@buckyshattergirl@jayattemptstoruletheworld@the-observant-fangirl@moondancewrites@moonbeambucky@trinityjadec@stevieang@bionic-buckyb@eyecandybarnes@propertyofpoeandbucky@promarvelfangirl@ballyhoobarnes@bucky-plums-barnes@cate-lynne​@witchymarvelspacecase@imaginingbucky@theimpossibleg1rl​ @wonderlandmind4​@buckysthing@formulafun@curvybihufflepuff@fanficsformarvelkillme@shadyskit@lostinthoughtsandfeelings@reading--mermaid​@fuckmestan@siliverin@verygraphicink@sallyp-53​@thatsbucknasty@steadyphantomcat@booktease21​@drayshadow@theperditioncrasher@mmyepic@feelmyroarrrr@alien-beans@heartsaved@sideeffectsofyou@dreamingofonceuponatime@just-a-littlebit-of-everything@bluerorjhan@tarynsnotokay@jamdropx35​@pinknerdpanda @starkrobb @marvelgirl7 @unscriptedtimetraveler @fangeekkk @wonderlandmind4 @pinkisokay @mrsdaamneron @rynabarnesrogers @wish-i-had-something-better @stanning-seb-stan

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #online au #quarantine #sebspocketsquare #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky barnes

[itstheelvenjedi]

Abled people quit acting like disabled people are automatically inferior and need “fixing” just because we can’t do things you do/do things different to the way you do them challenge

Ableds will deadass go “I don’t mean to be insensitive and offensive but...” and then immediately say something, shock horror, insensitive and offensive.

Example, because this is brought on by a convo I had with a friend who I am sure was well-meaning but here’s the thing bc to disabled people it doesn’t come across that way and you ableds need to learn that bc you keep doing it and it’s so annoying:

Talking to a friend about art stuff etc. they immediately attempt to suggest that because I shake so much & holding pen(cils) - including tablet pens - is both painful and impractical for me, I should do x, or buy y, z thing to “help” me draw with a tablet pen.

This might seem like well-meaning advice to you if you’re able-bodied and haven’t had to go through the struggles I have to learn to do art the way I do it and then on top of that to like the art I make, but let me break down to you why this is actually a very bad thing to say.

I’ve practised, learned and to the best of my ability perfected the way I draw with a mouse for oh...about 12 years now. And it’s taken me at least 7-8 of those years to

a) stop comparing myself to other artists who are able-bodied, more skilled than me, or both of these things

b) develop a style of my own that is aesthetically pleasing enough to get me a little bit of interaction/comments/whatever, and not totally drain every spoon I have in the process of doing so

c) after all of that, not over-criticise and belittle the hard work I did put into a piece, such that I break it down so much that I hate it enough to never want to make another piece of art ever again

I’m not selling my art, and again, it’s taken me at least 8 years to make peace with the fact that because of my limitations (& my shitty self-esteem caused by them) I will never be able to sell my art.

But that’s okay. I don’t really want to sell my art anymore. I make it for fun. I make art because I enjoy making art. So, I don't need to be "better at art" than some other artist, it's not a fucking competition & I don't lose anything by drawing in the medium I've got the most skill & practise in. So, if my goal/reasoning for making art is to have fun and enjoy what I'm drawing, then why in the ever loving fuck would I want to put the 12 years of hard work I put into it in the garbage and go all the way back to square one (including hating the way everything I draw looks so much that I want to cry and feeling so unhappy with it that I never want to draw another piece in my life ever) just because someone else thinks It Would Look Better if I did.

Now, imagine all of that, and then an able-bodied person comes along and says:

“well it’s good, BUT it’d be better if you learned to use a tablet-” or “have you considered trying x instead of your current drawing method because that would be better”, or variations thereof (and I’m not saying that you have to like my art style, you might not, and that’s okay! Everyone has different tastes and some things will appeal to one person, but not to the next one etc.) *

But you really have to be a special kind of priveledged to look at someone’s hard work that they are proud of for what it is and then go on to do nothing but tell them what’s wrong with it according to you. Would you go to a rock concert and then complain about the music being “too raucous because you like classical music”, for example? I don’t think so. I mean, you’d be pretty stupid if you did (and also an asshole), So stop doing it to artists, especially disabled artists. I am begging you.

*And I am not saying “don’t ever provide (constructive) criticism to disabled people’s art” either before some abled clown jumps on that. There’s a big difference between “hey I noticed this particular thing in your art/style and I think if you tried to do more of x thing differently or added a bit more of y thing it would look more (anatomically accurate, atmospheric, highlight a part of the piece well, whatever)” - I’ve received many criticisms of this nature that have been very helpful to me over the years and my art has definitely gotten better by taking it & applying it to my drawing process - and “well able-bodied artists who draw with tablets do this infinitely better because they literally have physical abilities you don’t and therefore that invalidates any number of years or amount of effort you’ve put in to make something that you’re happy with because it’s not perfect enough”

or, and this one bothered me the most today

“I hate knowing that (because of your disability affecting your ability to hold pen(cil)s) causes issues with your art skills”

Note the particular words I’ve highlighted in this case, because the thing is, with this wording, this is what that sentence sounds like:

“Oh wow, you must feel SO bad that you’re not good enough! You definitely shouldn’t feel happy or proud of the progress you’ve made, because it’s not as good as an able-bodied artist’s work and that must be TERRIBLE.”

Kinda a douchy thing to say when you put it like that, huh? YEAH. THAT’S THE POINT. When you make comments like this, it implies that any progress I have made over the 12 years I’ve been practising and drawing things for fun because I like doing it, doesn’t fucking matter because I don’t match up to some arbitrary standard of “How Art Look Good” set largely by, abled people. You’re calling the HOURS of time & effort I put into getting myself this far a fucking issue as if it’s something that is inconvenient or in the way and not an achievement I’m allowed to be proud of because it’s “Good Enough” according to The Ableds(tm).

Bitch, NO, I’m PROUD of how my art looks and I’m fucking sick and tired of abled people coming in with their “well meaning” comments like this.

It’s not well meaning, it’s insulting. Fucking stop it!

Or I’ll start hitting you with my crutch and telling you to stop complaining that it hurts because it doesn’t hurt me when I hit you with it so you know, it can’t possibly be painful for you, and see how you like it.

This one got very specific relating to art/the convo I had, but I feel like the basic principle can be applied to any situation, really.

As a mildly-tangental closing note: Also, if a disabled person responds to a statement of this sort saying something like “well actually I don’t really think it’s a problem that I need to fix because I’ve put a lot of effort into getting as far as I have and I’m proud of myself for that”

For the love of all that is holy, do not then start your abled pity party of “oh my gosh I’m so sorry!! I feel so awful!” and “I feel guilty now, I didn’t mean to offend you!”

Why? Because the Laws of Social Decency dictate that if I say “well you should feel guilty, because what you said was shitty and it did offend me, actually. Stop doing that.” then I am the asshole because I hurt your poor widdle feelings.

So what do I then have to do? Immediately pander to your feelings by saying “no no, it’s okay!” and “I get what you were trying to say, it’s fine, it wasn’t offensive” (even though it was incredibly offensive!) just to defuse the situation and not look like a dick.

If you didn’t want me to call you out on it, maybe you should check yourself before you start shit and make yourself look like an ableist dick.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#a talking post #elven rants #tw: ableism #long post #hi i'm salty and therefore i must yell about it

[badlydrawnmanic]

time for episode 5 because i’m bored as heck

• just thoughts during the theme song but i wish we got to see more of aleena • the extras in this opening scene look passable for mobians which is a surprise • sleet explains something to dingo while looking directly into the camera

• WHAT IS THIS CATERPILLAR DOG THING UGH • it’s a legal requirement for thief children to have wack hair • kjsdgsd max snapped • i think i remember some people shipping manic with this kid • what animal are any of these characters supposed to be • that bungee jump thing makes no sense at all which is terrible • who gave sonic a drivers liscence • sonic your whole thing is to help people and then some poor kid comes in your van like “help me” and you’re like “why should i” what is the truth • shit dude that van turns on a dime • nobody in this show knows how to drive do they • this little goblin dude juggling is kinda cute, his design ain’t bad. weird colors but that’s a given • what sleet turns dingo into reminds me of the koopalings right down to the voice • is manic older than max or does he just say “little bro” because max looks even shorter than manic does • manic: stealing’s wrong   max:

• max brings up a good point about like... how are they gonna survive without money from the shit they stole • i think i redesigned max at one point? i think i made him a xoloitzcuintli (those weird mexican hairless dogs)

• OH I DID, this was back when i mainly did lineless art (it was easier doing art like this rather than lined art with a mouse, i haven’t tried this style with my drawing tablet yet), i really like what i did here skjdgs small boy • there’s two background characters with names, there’s a girl named allegra with a huge nose and some pig looking gremlin critter named clifton, i think that’s interesting • is it like a cultural thing for all the thieves to have earrings or did the character designers just go “yeah only punks have piercings” • sonia’s being really mean about their music for no reason when it doesn’t sound awful, just let these kids play their accordions and violins in peace dude • manic is a gross boy and spits all over this girl to show off one of his little tricks, disgusting • the headcanons about dingo involved something about this episode i think, i’d have to go digging through dms to remember tho • there’s this bird character between allegra and clifton who looks depressed as shit • sleet looks ugly enough to be a passable spore creature and i might just try that if i have to look at his nasty face any longer • i understand what manic means when he’s like “haha this whole thing reminds me of when i was little and stole shit all the time” because i was a little kleptomaniac when i was a kid and like... getting away with it is fun as shit. of course i feel bad now but like... hey i get it • for once the siblings yelling out of surprise has some energy to it, though i wish it was less like “oh aah” and more like... y’know, actual startled sounds, it’s not super convincing • sleet is standing there with his gaping maw wide open pointing in one direction with no animation like a statue and it’s weird • swatbots are on the same level of aiming as storm troopers • what even are these lasers? are they lethal?? do they hurt??? i don’t think anyone’s gotten hit from what i remember so like what’s the danger • sonic just fucking... vaccums up all these children with wind from running, he’s gonna hurt someone, he’s so damn reckless • WHERE’D THEY GO • the little animation where manic takes out his drums doesn’t look half bad! it’s a pleasant surprise when bits of animation are higher quality than normal

• after saying that i realized his gloves disappeared in the shot i was just praising sndkgjds • how was the production of this show? did they color digitally or was this still in the time of hand-drawn animation cells? i wonder how rushed production was • is “amigas” proper spanish?   [googling]   yes it is nevermind   spanish class as a required class was pointless apparently because i don’t remember jack shit from it • dingo you aren’t allowed to steal the “main man” title from manic (my nickname in our discord server was “my main man, manic” for the longest time sjkdgbs)

• it’s kinda neat seeing where all these pics my boyfriend gave me when i was looking for refs came from • i’ve thought that a song was gonna play tiwce now so now i’m wondering when it’ll come in and if it’ll be plot relevant • bummer majores • i get the point of “aw man i can’t believe you have to give all this money to robotnik because he’s evil and demands taxes” but hey either tax the rich or eat them dude • this old man’s outfit is horrendous • sonic and sonia just hid behind behind a thing hanging on the wall and that just wouldn’t work • manic and max both like drums... ;v; • why are manic and dingo just throwing glass bottles and shit back and forth at each other, is this a game • DINGO YOU HURT THE BOY • god what are these masks • SONG TIME • again, manic’s just talking in the middle of the song, and i get it’s for plot but the visuals are, again, sickeningly distracting, i can’t tell what’s happening • how does nobody notice the drummers changing place in the middle of the performance? how is there not a gap in the drum/cymbal beats? • these poor children, wow dingo • it’s really sweet that this old man helped the thief kids find parents and homes to go back to, that’s very nice • manic has one (1) coin and everyone takes that as evidence that he robbed the old man of all his money when that also doesn’t make sense, yes he took it from the vault thing but he didn’t take the whole thing? • why does manic just let the robot handcuff him, i know he feels guilty but like he isn’t an idiot, he knows what’ll happen if he does that so why does he??? • why do sonic and sonia immediately believe what sleet says about manic, shouldn’t they be on guard whenever this fuck’s around and have some suspension of belief here • this man went from 0 to 100 real quick huh • SONG TIME??? • i forgot that the song already happened because of my confusion during the sequence and now i feel like an idiot • anyway the song was like a 5.5/10, it has the energy i think they were going for and it doesn’t sound awful, it’s a little better than alright, though i wish the scene was more coherent and easy to follow • sonia’s classist as hell damn • sonic’s faith in manic being honest is nice to see • the thief children didn’t get their homes after this?? i’m upset • two bros laughing manically in the sewer in front of a very small crowd of children, as you do • manic talking to himself in jail kinda reminds me of movie!sonic but like... slower and less interesting, also why do they just throw him in jail? doesn’t robotnik roboticize everyone? • that one kid dares to look in max’s direction and he’s like ShShHhH like your hushing is gonna get you caught dude not that kid • MAX IS THROWING METAL THINGS IN THE BACKGROUND WHY??? YOU WERE SHUSHING THAT KID FOR SAYING NOTHING • max should be like... directly in sleet’s line of sight rn • of course they gotta very clearly explain the plot directly to the audience • everyone’s so shitty to these poor kids, damn • you’d think that huge laser blast would have injured manic in the process of blowing a hole in the wall • why’s sonia so concerned about the police chasing them? aren’t the police chasing them all the time? • manic nyooms again when he gets out of the van • these robots aren’t observant at all are they • for once, reusing animation makes sense • yay the poor kids get homes now • as nice as this ending is, it isn’t easy to kick bad habits like thievery, especially when it’s like... part of your nature at that point? it’s odd

• god the perspective • also, this is exactly why i give everyone on this blog extended muzzles and more clear divides between their eyes when they’re looking to the side, otherwise they look cursed • IT’S TIME TO JUICE AND JAM

#sonic underground #not an ask #ooc #sonic underground rewatch!

[bumblebeetlejuice]

IDK HOW TO USE THE READ MORE BREAK ON MOBILE SORRY

Beetlelands human/college au

slight nsfw

“Don’t say shit!” The unholy screech echoed through the library, disturbing the other students there.

Adam was standing over his partners, hands raised in a nonthreatening gesture. Barbra couldn’t help snickering, but she didn’t turn away from the monitor. Beetlejuice, on the other hand was full on glaring. The open word document on his computer was still impressively blank.

“If you say a single goddamn told you so, I’m going to crush your sexy twink throat with my thighs!”

“Alright! Alright! I came to support you not to antagonize you!” Adam reminded as lovingly as he could. Quickly he pressed a kiss to Beetlejuice’s forehead before he could be swatted at.

“Shut the fuck up.” He dramatically spun back to the screen.

Even though Beetlejuice put on an expression of indifference, it was true. He had practically begged Adam and Barbra to spend the night in the library with him. Out of his five classes there was only one he wasn’t failing and that was World History. Beetlejuice had somehow maintained a solid seventy all semester which meant this last essay was the only thing between him failing or passing.

It didn’t matter that much to Beetlejuice. Since third grade there wasn’t a single class he hadn’t had to repeat or at least take summer classes for.

But Adam and Barbra were taking American History next semester. If he passed, that meant they could all sign up for the same course.

They’d be forced to spend an entire hour with him!

And he could copy their homework!

Finally the tapping on his shoulder broke through his thoughts. Beetlejuice spun to face Barbra.

“It’s almost 7, BJ. Start on your rough draft.” Even though it was a command, Barbra made it sound like the gentlest of suggestions.

“Fiiiiine.” His eyes moved back to the screen. He could see Adam’s reflection. The brunette had settled in a chair behind them, typing something on his tablet.

Beetlejuice scrubbed a hand through his crunchy hair. Green flakes rained down in front of his vision.

What the fuck was he supposed to be writing about anyways? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to that stupid class. October had been a blur of frat parties and drug experimentation. November had been a blur of seasonal depression and long cocaine binges.

God he could really go for a hit of something right now.

Beetlejuice looked over at Barbra. She probably had some weed in her bag somewhere. Then again, she actually knew how to balance her school and party life. She was the type to get high then come to the library, not bring a joint inside.

“Beetlejuice.”

“What? I’m thinking!”

Barbra tilted her head, “Looks like you’re not thinking about the right thing.”

“I didn’t give you consent to read my mind, babe. You guys are always riding my ass about this kind of stuff so what’s with the double standard, huh?”

<!-- more -->

“Here.” Adam had stood up. He leaned over BJ to get to the mouse and keyboard.

Beetlejuice ended up with his neck sandwiched between Adam’s arms. The top of his head was brushing against Adam’s chin.

“Let’s start with the heading.”

“Mm actually Adam, while you’re at it, why don’t you type the essay and I’ll proofread it.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, love. I’m here to help, not to do it for you.”

“But you’d be helping by doing it for me-” BJ whined, “Don't put that! My name’s Beetlejuice!”

Adam corrected what he had typed, without arguing, “Okay now what’s this essay about? I can help you with the outline.”

“Good question.” Beetlejuice casually rubbed a hand over Adam's, interlacing their fingers.

“Do you have notes or anything?”

“I’ve got a few notes. I can’t hit the high ones too well anymore on account of my balls dropping.”

Adam took that as a no. He clicked open a different tab, scrolling through BJ's folio account. Eventually he found a link for the essay requirements. It was pretty tame as far as college essays went. Three hundred words over any of the topics listed below. AP format. The works cited page even counted toward the three hundred.

“Alright, so which of these topics do you know the most about?” Adam asked highlighting the list.

Beetlejuice chewed the red nail polish off his ring finger as he forced his eyes to focus on the words.

Blah, blah, blah, empire, blah, blah, blah, crusade, blah, blah, blah, civilization.

Using the hand not in his mouth, Beetlejuice poked a random topic on the screen.

“The Byzantine Empire?”

“Yup.”

“Alrighty! That was an interesting period of time, especially architecturally.”

Of course Adam knew a lot about boring history stuff. That sexy nerd was majoring in the most boring major there was: architecture.

“During thi-"

“You guys hungry? I’m starving!”

He could see Barbra raise a brow out of the corner of his eye. The two of them had already stopped to get food before they got here. Barbra had insisted, since she knew how hard it was to get things done on an empty stomach.

“Don’t give me that look, babe. You know I’m a fucking fatass.”

Her expression shifted, “You’re beautiful, sweetie.”

She pulled a dollar from her pocket, “Here. Go get something from the vending machine.”

Adam moved back as Beetlejuice snatched up the dollar.

“Hold up!” BJ grabbed his backpack and dug out a roll of masking tape.

The couple watched as he carefully taped one side of the dollar then carefully taped the other side. He’d seen it in a video once and was eager to try it.

Beetlejuice jumped up, zooming to the vending machines on the other side of the room.

If this worked he was going to clean out every vending machine on campus.

The dollar disappeared into the slot easily enough. Beetlejuice held on to the tape, waiting for the pulling to stop before he yanked the dollar back out.

B3.

A bag of m&ms edged forward before dropping into the slot.

“Fuck yeah!” Beetlejuice yelled.

At least thirteen people glared at him. That didn’t stop him from cramming the dollar back in.

Beetlejuice managed to snag two bags of m&ms and a honey bun. He was waiting for a bag of doritos to fall, when the bag stopped.

“What the fuck? Hello?” He banged on the machine once.

The chips were stuck.

Beetlejuice let his other snacks fall to the carpet. He shoved the dollar in his coat pocket before winding up and kicking the machine. The resulting sound was loud but the chips didn’t budge.

Fine. He could do this the hard way.

He took a small running start, then slammed his shoulder into the machine.

Nothing.

He backed up and did it again.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Someone might have been saying his name, but they’d have to wait.

He slammed into it again.

Suddenly Adam and Barbra were standing in front of him, looking equally concerned.

“Beetlejuice!” Barbra snapped.

“Huh? What!”

“What the heck are you doing?” Adam joined in.

“Chips got stuck. Now move.”

“BJ, sweetie, don’t worry about the chips. We can get someone to open it later.”

“Yeah, look at the snacks you’ve already got.” He hadn’t seen Adam pick up them up, but there they were in his hands.

Barbra wrapped an arm around Beetlejuice’s back, steering him back to the computers, “Come on. If you break another vending machine I don’t think they’ll let you off with another warning.”

“It’s bullshit anyway. We already pay to go here! Why do we also have to pay for food and parking and stupid books we don’t even use!” He was accidentally yelling.

Barbra pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her and Adam managed to wedge him into a chair between their chairs, with a hand on each of his arms.

“We know, BB,” Adam practically purred, “You can’t keep picking fights with vending machines though. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m…” It was hard to argue when they ganged up on him with their special brand of gentle affection. Beetlejuice practically melted, “…Fine. Whatever.”

They stayed like that for a little while until Beetlejuice’s attention shifted back to the food. He dug into the honey bun while Barbra asked for critique on her own paper. It was for some literature class and wasn’t due until the next night.

From what Beetlejuice heard as she read aloud, it sounded pretty good. Adam gave suggestions on some sentence structures. Beetlejuice suggested she add stuff about reverse cowgirls.

She put on the final touches, submitted it then turned back around expectantly.

“So, BJ.”

He spit the bit of m&m wrapper he’d been chewing onto the floor, “So Barbra.”

“What time is your paper due?”

“…7AM. I got an extension because I’m stupid.”

“You are not stupid.” The couple spoke in perfect unison.

Beetlejuice waved them off dismissively. It was already 8:57… somehow.

Whatever. He still had like twenty hours.

“Now that I’m finished, we can all focus on getting your paper done!” Barbra chirped.

“Yeah!” Adam pulled BJ and himself back over to the computer, “I was going to suggest writing about the architectural aspects of course, since I could really help you there, but you’re probably not interested in that.”

Beetlejuice bit off another piece of wrapper, chewing on it thoughtfully.

“What about the fall of the empire?” Barbra suggested, “You love dissecting weak societal structures.”

That was true.

Beetlejuice nodded.

“Okay this is good.” Adam excitedly began typing, “You’ll have an intro, three paragraphs then a conclusion. Your intro can explain the inner workings of the empire…”

Beetlejuice looked back over at the vending machine. His poor chips were still in there, just waiting for someone to free them. Someone, meaning Beetlejuice. If anyone else tried to take those doritos he was going to break their fucking shins. That was a promise.

“Beetlejuice, we pulled up a few links that talk about the fall of the Byzantine empire. All you have to do is sort through the information and use it to support your topic.” Adam explained.

Beetlejuice blinked, “That doesn’t sound difficult to do at all.”

“Of course not. It’ll be fun!” Barbra smiled.

BJ moved the mouse around the screen, clicking through the links they had pulled up. So many words. So much reading. He was getting tired just thinking about reading.

One of the links was a video. Beetlejuice immediately went for that one.

“This is one of my favorite educational channels,” Barbra informed, “It’s certified as academic content and they really get right to the point.”

Beetlejuice checked the video length, “Fifteen minutes! How the fuck do you get right to the point in fifteen minutes?”

“I’m sure it’s possible.” Adam pushed a notebook and pen into BJ's hands, “I want you to write down anything interesting you hear in the video.”

Beetlejuice groaned loudly, “Can we take a break?”

He expected them to say no and call him lazy since he literally hadn’t done anything yet.

“Yup. We can take a break after the video.” Barbra said instead.

That was… fine. A fifteen minute video then a fifteen minute break. Beetlejuice gnawed on the end of his pen as the video began. Vaguely, he realized he had swallowed the wrapper piece.

Adam and Barbra took turns hitting pause whenever they noticed the scratching of pen on paper. They even made the video interesting by making jokes about people in ancient Rome.

By the time it was over, Beetlejuice had accumulated an entire page and a half of semi usable notes. His handwriting was barely legible, but if he stared long enough he’d probably figure it out.

“Break time!” The notebook and pen landed messily on the floor as he jumped to his feet, “You guys wanna make out on the staircase?”

Barbra smirked sideways at a blushing Adam, “We'd get in a lot of trouble if we got caught.”

“Who gives a shit!”

Obviously Barbra and Adam did. The goody two shoes. Even though they hadn’t admitted it, Beetlejuice knew they’d chosen to meet at the library because every time they did a dorm study night, no one could keep their hands to themselves.

Clearly they had underestimated his love for exhibitionism.

Beetlejuice pulled them both closer as he aggressively smushed a sloppy kiss to Adam’s lips. Adam only resisted a little, shoulders slumping.

“B-"

He cut Barbra off by immediately turning and connecting his lips to hers'. It always caught her off guard when he was gentle. She gasped lovely and perfectly into his mouth.

“Beetlejuice Shoggoth.” Adam snapped, pulling him from Barbra.

Apparently he had underestimated Adam’s goody two shoe-ness.

“Getting in trouble for public… inappropriateness does not look good on a permanent record!” He hissed.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes, plucking himself down onto Barbra’s lap, “God Adam calm down. Why you gotta be so sexy.”

Barbra stroked his back while she giggled. She was still a bit dazed from the kiss, “We can have all the fun we want when we get back home.”

“Can we go now?”

Adam shook his head, “I’m setting the break time for ten minutes. That’s not really enough time to walk there and back.”

“We don’t even need to go back to someone’s room! There’s a unisex bathroom right there!”

“Absolutely not!” Adam’s face was a delicious shade of cherry red.

“Beetlejuice, darling, Adam said no.” Barbra stepped in, pressing her face into Beetlejuice’s shoulder.

“Baaaaaabs!” He whined, leaning into her.

“Don't babs me! How about you and I go for a little walk, clear your head, then we can knock out this essay?”

Beetlejuice had already forgotten about the essay. The reminder almost completely extinguished his mood.

“Yeah… okay. Adam, make sure no one steals our shit.”

Adam nodded, face still very red.

Beetlejuice stood up, clutching Barbra’s hand.

He didn’t spend a lot of time in the library. The last time he’d been there, he’d been stoned to the point that his roommate had had to give him a piggyback ride home. The time before that him and Barbra had taken a nap on the floor of the satanic cult book section. They’d been pretty hungover that day.

“Did you know there’s four floors?” Barbra asked as she led him to the staircase.

“Me and the library don’t really hang.” He mumbled back.

Barbra went on as if she hadn't heard.

“My lab partner told me that the fourth floor is haunted! Apparently there was some sort of smoke problem and a few people didn’t make it out. She said that’s why no one uses the fourth floor.”

“You know what?”

“Hm?”

“That sounds like the perfect place to make out.”

Barbra gave him an absolutely filthy grin, “Six minutes. I don’t want Adam to worry.”

Beetlejuice hurried his ascent of the stairs, eagerly pulling Barbra with him, “Six minutes is all I need!”

It was weirdly empty on the fourth floor, not that either of them was really paying attention.

They bee lined for one of the walls not lined with windows and Barbra was immediately on top of him.

They may have gotten a little carried away.

Beetlejuice blamed Barbra. She was fucking hot when she dropped the polite exterior and took what she wanted.

So fucking hot.

Really fucking hot.

Maybe too hot.

Beetlejuice stuffed his underwear in the bathroom trashcan.

He rarely went commando in a suit. The general sweatiness and chaffing made it a little uncomfortable, but today he would take it instead of the other option.

Beetlejuice rejoined Barbra at the top of the stairs. She looked a little embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly as they descended.

“Babe. Baby girl. Babs. I would do it again in a heart beat.” He gripped her hand.

It was a lot easier to think now, he had to give her that.

Adam looked surprised to see them, when they got back to their corner. “Wow. You guys were almost on time. Ready to get back into it, Beetlejuice?” Coming from anyone else it would’ve sounded sarcastic and patronizing, but from Adam it was genuine.

“No, but let’s do it anyway!” BJ snapped with fake enthusiasm, “Byzantine empire and how it fell, huh.”

Fell.

Like the way vending machines sometimes fell and crushed people. That was one of the many Die-o-ramas from that old Crash Bandicoot game. What was the name of it? Whumpa racing? The villain was that ugly whumpa guy, but there was also that green guy with a German accent that was probably an offensive German stereotype. What was the name of that game? Beetlejuice used to play it at his cousin’s house all the time. Lydia only played it sometimes. Her skills mostly lay in backseat gaming. Was it a one player game? He definitely remembered playing it with her, but he also remembered Crash being the only playable character. That was probably in adventure mode. God that game was great. Next time he was back in his home town he’d have to play it again. What was the name of that game though?

“Nitro…? Nitro racing?”

Beetlejuice realized he’d been muttering bits of his thought process out loud. Barbra and Adam were staring at him blankly.

Fuck it.

He pulled up a search engine and attempted to spell Bandicoot.

“Should we…?”

“Let’s let him find it, or else it’ll bother him for the rest of the night.”

Adam knew him very well.

Beetlejuice spent the next few minutes typing and scrolling and retyping while Adam and Barbra did their own things on their phones.

“TAG TEAM RACING!”

There was a reason the seats around them were empty.

“What a stupid fucking name! How’d they go from Twin-sanity to Tag Team Racing?”

“The 2000’s were a simpler time.” Barbra shrugged.

“The only reason Crash died is because he jumped on top of that shit. RIP to Crash, but I’m different.”

“What?” Adam closed the tab, “Wait, no, never mind. BJ, you need to get back to your essay.”

Beetlejuice huffed. It was only…

He looked at the clock. It was already past ten.

“Holy shit! It’s almost midnight! I thought you guys were gonna fucking help me!”

“W-“

“Wait, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. Sometimes I lash out at others when I’m really just disappointed in myself… and by sometimes I mean always.”

“It’s okay, Bee.” Barbra rubbed his back comfortingly.

Adam picked up the abandoned notebook, “Yeah we know school's tough, but you did come to us for help. Acknowledging your problem and accepting help is the first step to improving.”

“Didn’t know this was an AA meeting.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile, “Okay. How about you type up these notes then we can start incorporating the rest of the sources into the body.”

Beetlejuice nodded. Typing in Microsoft word was baby work.

It didn’t take him long to do at all.

All he had to do now was read a bunch of stuff and type three hundred words.

“You finished the notes?” Barbra asked.

“Yeah.” Beetlejuice picked up the pen, clicking it idly.

“Alright so, what I would do is read through some articles and find parts that explain your topic. You can copy and paste them into the word document then we’ll go back in and rewrite a lot of it.” Barbra stared into his eyes as she spoke, ensuring he was listening.

“Find parts, copy and paste. Got it.”

Beetlejuice returned to the internet tabs. All of the articles had looked boring when he first flipped through them so, he picked one randomly. It was a lot of words in tiny font. He sighed, settling his chin in his non occupied hand as he began mentally scanning the page. Every time he began reading a sentence, his eyes would bounce to the bottom of the page and he’d lose his place.

“Would it be easier to read aloud?” Barbra more suggested than asked.

Beetlejuice glanced around at the steadily emptying library. If he spoke at the volume of an average person, only Adam and Barbra would hear him.

He pulled his eyes back to the screen.

“In three-thirty A.D the Byzantine empire was it’s title- dubbed it’s title by empire Con… Con- Constant? Constant. I?” He squinted at the words, “What the fuck.”

“Emperor Constatine the first.” Barbra supplied.

“Yeah. That…. He it- wait, fuck. He declared it New Rome on an Ancient…” Beetlejuice lost his place for a moment.

Refusing to submit to dragging his finger across the screen and forgetting the highlight feature of the mouse, he took a good minute to find his place.

“Ancient Greek colony.” Beetlejuice hated fucking reading. It took him so long to read that one sentence.

He blinked and scrubbed at his tired eyes.

“You’re doing great, bug!” Adam chirped, rubbing his back.

Beetlejuice wanted to call out Adam for lying, but he couldn’t. The compliment and acknowledgement of how hard he was trying, felt good.

He gave his eyes one last hard rub, before resettling in his seat.

This was going to be a long ass night, but at least he knew Barbra and Adam would be there to help him through it.

#beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #barbra maitland #adam maitland #beetlelands #fic #BUZZFIC

[khiphop-stories]

Getting Off The Wrong Foot

[Christian Yu | Chapter IV]

Previous Chapters: Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III |

“Are you and Christian a thing now?“ Jay asked you out of the blue as he glimpsed at you from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction. But he didn’t get any from you. You kept your eyes on the display, continuing to watch the music video he wanted to show you. Jay was one of your closest and oldest friends. You had met him when you both were still immature teenagers who didn’t know a thing about the world. You both took a leap of faith and moved to Korea to start a career. You didn’t have a single clue about the industry. You bonded quickly as you were going through the same struggles, like missing home, feeling alienated and being thrown into the cold water. Back then the two of you were almost inseparable, where you go, he would go too. However, life happened, you both became busy, he as the CEO of two independent labels and you also had your own employees to take care of. But something that never changed was that he valued your opinion a lot. It was a tradition that never changed; before he would release something, he always had to show it to you first. 

“I saw you two leaving the bar together,“ he then added. Realising that he wasn’t going to drop this topic until he received an answer, you let out a long sigh. “We fucked. Big deal,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders, acting like sex wasn’t something meaningful to you. But it was and Jay knew. You weren’t the type of person to casually hook up with a random stranger. No, you were more of a hopeless romantic who believed in the great love. Well, at least before your heart was shattered into bits time and time again. 

“Do you like Christian?“ Jay further interrogated trying to figure out why you were acting so unlike yourself. It wasn’t a side he knew of you and it made him worry. “I had sex with him, I’m not falling in love with him,“ you rolled your eyes at him.

“Is this because of him?“ “I don’t wanna talk about it, especially not with you,” your eyes darted back to the computer, signalling this was the end of the conversation.

“It’s like you became a new person after the break-up.”

“What do you expect me to do? Lock myself inside my room and cry all day? Been there, done that, didn’t make me feel any better.”

“Jumping in bed with the next best guy isn’t the solution either.“ He sounded like a parent giving their child a lecture about how to behave. He wasn’t usually like that. Jay was someone who you could always count on. He would always have your back and support you no matter what. He respected your decisions and never forced his opinions and views on you. Why out of the sudden was he being so over protective?

“I had sex with him and I actually enjoyed it. For once I didn’t have to think about that son of bitch. What’s so wrong with that?” You retorted as you pressed stop on the video. His interrogation made it impossible for you to focus on it. You turned your eyes to your friend, giving him an icy look. 

“That was a bit harsh. I know he hurt you, but—.“

“Don’t even start,“ you shot him a glare.

“He made a mistake, we all do. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.“ “Jay, I’m already mad at you because you didn’t tell me although you knew. Don’t make it worse,“ you warned him sharply.

“It wasn’t my place to say anything. He had to tell you himself.“

Jay had always had a strong sense of morality and loyalty. He was someone who would always try to make it right for everybody, someone who would put his own needs aside to please others. He would never, not even in a million years, turn on his friends and your ex happened to be one of his close friends. Jay was stuck in the middle and no matter what he decided to do, he would end up disappointing one of you. Knowing his personality, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. You knew how much he wanted to tell you. He tried to tell you in every possible way, without actually telling you. He hinted at it, he urged you to talk to him and to advised you not to take everything as it appears. However, you were too stupid to see through his lies. You didn’t even suspect him, that’s how much you trusted him. You were in a good place. You had nothing to complain about since he always treated you well. He was a good boyfriend. No matter how busy he was, he always made sure to make time for you. He even dropped everything to go on vacation with you. He made you feel special and important by occasionally sending you small gifts and flowers. Little did you know, he did it all out of guilt. “Well, he didn’t! I had to find out through his fucking side chick. Do you know how humiliating that was?“ You suddenly raised your voice at him, the anger boiling in your chest. 

“He really did want to tell you.“ “I don’t care want he wanted or planned to do. Fact is, he didn’t. That’s all that matters. Why are you even picking his side?“

“I’m not picking any side. But I know how much you love him and I know how much he struggled. It’s not black or white. I just don’t want you to regret anything.“

“Trust me, I’m not gonna regret breaking up with an unfaithful bastard.“

“And you think Christian Yu is the better choice?“Jay asked in a mocking one. “For god’s sake, Jay. I’m not dating him!“ You let out a long sigh, tired of having to justify yourself.

“I have a meeting in half an hour, send me the video I will watch it at home.” You packed your bag and grabbed your phone which was lying on the table next to the mouse. Then you got up from your seat with Jay’s eyes following you and put your coat on. 

“I know when you’re lying.” “I’m not lying, Jay. I really do have a meeting soon.”

“With whom?”

“DPR,” you replied shortly, leaning in for a quick hug. “Wait…you’re working with him?” His eyes widened at you in disbelief as he grabbed your arm, before you could pull back. He knew you couldn’t lie into his face, that’s why he held you in place, observing your reaction closely. “It just turned out that way,” you shrugged your shoulders as you turned your arm, so he would loosen his grip on you. 

“Min, I love you, but I don’t think that’s smart." “Stop judging me,” yous said in a whisper. You dropped your gaze since you couldn’t bear to look into his judgmental eyes for any longer. 

“I’m not, I just don’t want you to get hurt again,” his eyes and voice softened. “Why do you hate him so much? You’re not usually the person to judge someone based on rumours.”

“I just don’t have a good feeling.” “You know something, don’t you?” You scanned his face, trying to read it. It was obvious he was hiding something, probably wanting to protect you from getting hurt.

“Jay, tell me,” you demanded as his silence was the answer to your question. “Remember when Ashley and I got into a fight and broke up for a minute?”

He didn’t have to go on, you already knew how the story would end.

“He used her vulnerability, fucked her and left the next morning.” “You think he did the same with me?” You asked him in a whisper, a cold shiver running down your spine. “I don’t know...but you were vulnerable and he needed a quick fuck.”

~*~

[Time leap]

The first thing that caught your eye when you entered their office, was the colourful DPR neon sign hanging on the wall. You liked their office, it wasn’t anything flashy. Quite the contrary, it was kept simply and minimalistic, yet aesthetically pleasing to the eye, just like you imagined their office would look like.

“Where’s the rest?“ You looked around, but the office seemed to be empty. It also was a little bit too quiet in here. You had a couple friends in the music industry and whenever you would visit them in their studio, you would hear music blasting through the speakers.

“Dabin had a performance in Busan this afternoon. They all accompanied him. They will be back later, but for now it’s only me.”

Christian led you into their meeting room which you could see from outside through the glass wall. It was small, but it had all necessary equipment.

“Hold up, I went through all the trouble coming here to discuss the project and they’re not even here?“ You looked at him in disbelief. 

“I already told you on the phone that we weren’t done with the song yet, but you insisted to come. I wonder why,” he chuckled softly.

“What are you hinting at?“ You furrowed your brows at him in confusion.

 “Miss me much?“ A teasing grin appeared on his lips.

“Christian, I came here to do some work because I might not be there next week for the shooting. This is not about you.” “Relax, I was just playing with you.” He tried to ease the tension between the two of you that had obviously built up. “Just show me what you have,” you rolled your eyes and stepped inside the meeting room. You put the black file and your iPad down on to the table as you took a seat. Christian quickly followed suit. Since he didn’t want to anger you any further, he quickly played an excerpt of the song without saying a word.

As you listened to the song, a little smile crept onto your lips. The lyrics were witty and meaningful. Dabin’s deep voice in combination with Cream’s track blended in so well together. 

“I love it,” you nodded your head impressed and Christian let out a sigh of relief. You saw how the tension in his muscles eased and he could finally breathe normally again. It almost seemed like he was afraid to show you their progress, afraid that you would criticize everything and they would have to start again from scratch.

“This is the set design,” you unlocked your tablet and showed him the drafts. “If you want anything changed, now’s the chance to say so.”

“No, I like it the way it is.”

“Ok great. I told the team we will be shooting next Wednesday. Will you be able to finish the song by then?”

“Yeah, Dabin has already finished recording, Cream just needs to do the arrangement and some mixing.” ”Then we’re done here,” you took your stuff back into your possession and got up. 

Christian walked first and he grabbed the door knob, as though he wanted to open the door for you, but he didn’t. Instead he just stood there, staring at you confused.

“Step aside, Christian,” you rolled your eyes in annoyance. You didn’t want to be in a room with him for longer than necessary. It felt like recently everybody was disappointing you, as though the world was against you and didn’t want you to be happy.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked you out of the blue.

“I’m not if you’re opening this damn door,” you hissed at him sharply as you threw him a short glare. 

“You’re suddenly acting so distant like we’re strangers.”

“Technically we are,” you responded with a shrug of your shoulders. “We worked on a project. Twice. We slept together. Twice. I think we’re past being strangers.”

“And you expect me to fuck you again today?” Your eyes darted to him, taunting him.

You didn’t know why you were so mad at him and seeing his face angered you even more. Maybe Jay’s words did get in your head somehow.

His eyes widened, staring back at you as he was lost for words. He was so startled by your outburst, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Where is this coming from?”

“Christian, can you just be honest for once?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shook his head in confusion. “I can’t believe I fell for you.” “Fell in love with me?” His pupils dilated and you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lips slightly twitch upwards. “No! Fell for you damn stupid act,” you looked at him full of disgust, as though the idea of being in love with him was nauseating. “What act?” “You act like you care, but you don’t. You just want a quick fuck and you would use any means to get your selfish desires satisfied.”

“Ok, first of all, you were the one who kissed me! You made the first move and I responded and—“ “That’s what you tell yourself to feel better?” You cut him off, not even letting him finish.

“That’s how it was, Minhee. I’m not gonna lie, I thought you were hot. I felt hella attracted to you and of course I wouldn’t have turned down a chance to sleep with you. But I didn’t make a move on you, until you gave me the green light. I flirted with you verbally, yes. But I didn’t physically force myself on you.” “You knew I was vulnerable that night. You knew I just went through a break up.” “I had no idea about your break up!” “Why did you approach me then?” “I didn’t approach you with the intent to fuck you that night.” “Then why?” You insisted. “I don’t know! I just…I saw you there and my feet moved on their own. I had no idea what would happen. I didn’t think about it that much.”

“You’re saying you didn’t think there was even a tiny chance that I would jump in bed with you?” “I…I-I mean of course I fantasized about you, but…Minhee, this is so unfair right now. You’re twisting my words.”

You parted your lips about to respond when suddenly five guys appeared on the other side of the glass wall. Dabin quickly recognized you and waved at you enthusiastically with both of his arms, a smile appearing on his face.

You waved back at him awkwardly as your conversation with Christian was cut short and forced the corner of your lips to rise upwards. 

~*~

“I’m going home now, I discussed everything with Christian. He will give you a heads up.”

“Wait Minhee, do you by chance drive a white Benz?”

Your eyes darted to Joo Won confused by his sudden interest in your car.

“Yes…why?”

“Well…it just got towed away." “What? Why? Am I not allowed to park there? Christian, you told me to park there,” you eyes trailed back and forth in utter confusion.

“It’s posted property. You need a special ticket to park there.”

“Shoot…I forgot to give you visitor’s pass! I’m sorry,” Christian slapped his head the moment he remembered. “I totally forgot about that!”

“Can I get my car back now?” “I’m afraid it’s not open until tomorrow,” their manager informed you. 

“Dammit,” you cursed out loud. Luck just wasn’t on your side today, was it?

“I’ll drive you home,” Christian quickly offered, maybe because he felt guilty for getting your car towed away and this was an attempt to make it up to you or maybe because he really wanted to finish the conversation you had started.

“No thanks, I’ll take the cab,” you turned his offer down politely. “Cabs don’t really come to this area. The last time I called a taxi, I waited over an hour,” Dabin complained

“Just let Rome drive you home. It’s his fault in the first place.” Joo Won agreed.

“Yeah don’t let him get away that easily,” Scott let out an evil laugh. “He needs to suffer.”

~*~

[Time leap]

It was a silent ride, neither of you said a word. But you could literally hear his brain working to come up with something to break the silence. You knew he desperately wanted to say something, he opened his mouth several times, words on the tip of his tongue, but he ended up staying silent. With your head turned to the side, you observed the people in the streets, before they slowly vanished from your vision.

“I’m sorry,” Christian said out of the blue, but you didn’t engage. You showed no reaction, not even a blink of the eye. You didn’t want to be in a car with him in the first place, much less have a conversation with him. You only agreed, because he was pestering you about it and if you didn’t, the guys would have noticed something was going on between Christian and you. The last thing you needed right now was having rumours about you doing their rounds. “Not for your car, I mean I’m sorry for that too, but…I-I didn’t want to make you feel used. I honestly didn’t even think that far. I really didn’t plan to sleep with you that night. When I saw you... there was this look on your face that really bothered me. Maybe I knew something had gone wrong in your life. I could tell by your expression. You seemed sad and I thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone. That’s why I approached you. Not because I thought you were easy and wanted to fuck you. I just wanted to see you again, talk to you and…I don’t know. I didn’t think that far...but then...then you kissed me. You gave me that look…and I just kinda lost it from then. I couldn’t think straight anymore. I just knew I wanted you, right there, right then.” [To be continued...]

What do you guys think? How will she react to his apology? Do you think Christian’s apology was genuine or is Jay right about him? Please let me know what you think! I’m already working on the next chapter, will be posted soon...really soon! :)

#christian yu #christian yu scenarios #dpr scenarios #christian yu imagines #christian yu scenario #khh scenarios #getting off the wrong foot

[twistedstorm]

This is Super Important...

*bashes through my newly repaired closet door which has been bashed through many times before* WHAT UP BITCHES I’M QUEER AS FUCK!!

It’s National Coming Out Day and although I’m pretty sure you all know how queer I am I’d still like to do a little re-introduction to all of you and today is a good day for it, and because I’m a nerd Imma do it like I do my D&D character pages. Here we go:

Name: Zeta

Nickname(s): ZZ, Z, there’s more but these are the ones I use here

Age: 19

Gender: Genderfluid and lately I’ve mostly just been in a nebulous state of like “yeah I’ve got a gender just give me a sec *rifles through pockets of my jeans* no really I know it’s here somewhere *searches jacket pockets* just a sec *checks my purse, finds some lip balm, a rainbow flag, and a stuffed tarantula* Okay so yeah I dunno what it is today, I think I left it in my other pants, just pick some pronouns ta use for me today, whatever is fine” 

Sexual Orientation: Partially sex repulsed Demisexual Panromantic and I’ll include Polyamorous here too cause that’s a thing that I am  

Race: I’m fifty shades of white but I totally wish I could be either an elf, a halfling, a day walking vampire, or a water spirit of some kind 

Class: Pirate/ Witch/ Annoying feminist nerd/ Artist

Height: Just under 5′7″ on a good day

Weight: Sitting at a solid 200-205lbs 

Eye Color: Hazel-green

Hair Color/Cut: Dyed bright red/ one side shaved, undercut all the way around, rockin the emo fringe on top

Abilities: Is ADHD an ability? Cause I think it should be....at the very least hyperfocus should be considered an ability....

Special Talents: I can work my computer with my feet, like I can type pretty accurately, work my track pad or a mouse, play solitaire, all with my feet. I can also easily read backwards and upside down and write upside down and backwards pretty well too. Oh and I can fall asleep anywhere if I’m sleepy or just really calm (Notable examples: On a roller coaster, while standing up, while on the ground after I fell over cause I fell asleep standing up, upside down, two feet away from a speaker playing aggressively loud death metal, etc)  

Other Stuff: I’m loud by accident cause I have no volume control and I talk really fast and I end up slurring my words together really often which is annoying but most of the people close ta me are good at understanding me by now so I don’t have ta constantly repeat myself because my words came out mushed together, I also stutter and stumble over words a lot because my brain and my mouth run at different speeds and I fucking hate it because it makes me feel stupid when it takes me three minutes ta say two words cause I couldn’t get them ta come out right. Oh and don’t get me started on not understanding what people say ta me until they repeat themselves like five times because sometimes I just don’t process auditory stuff very fast. I’m learning sign language (ASL by the way if you wanna know which type I;m learning) so far I can finger spell super fucking fast and I often ramble with my hands (I also know how ta say “Please go away” “can you not” “please feed me”and “I need an alcoholic drink” because yes there’s a specific sign for alcoholic drinks over non-alcoholic drinks, I can say more stuff but those are my favorites) it’s hard ta learn but I really like it so I keep trying. 

Relationship Status: Currently dating a huge nerd boy whom I like very much and just so you know just because I’m dating a guy right now it doesn’t erase my Pan-ness and if you think it does you can fucking fight me and also yes Ace people can date, we can even have sex if we want to, we can fall in love too just so ya know *finger guns* 

Daily Gear: Ipod and earbuds because music doth sooth the savage beast (aka: music helps regulate my mood, block out other sound when I get overloaded, eases my anxiety, helps me focus, and keeps me from going homicidal), cellphone, battery bank and cord for ipod cause it’s old and dies a lot, six rings (three for each hand: three silver, three stainless steel cause I’m allergic to pretty much all other metals), one metal tablet rune necklace with the Nordic rune for warrior/sword on it from my aunty, one digital watch because I have trouble reading analog and my digital one lights up, one bracelet made from a skinny black shoelace, one bracelet that’s actually a cats cradle string wrapped around my wrist which is good for fidgeting, one bracelet made of lava rock beads with the chakra colors on six of the stones (my mom bought it for me at her last craft show cause she thought it might help me feel more grounded, it does), comfy worn in jeans (almost always), hoodie (currently my boyfriends hoodie), wallet, lip balms of various flavors (my mint eos one is my current fave).

Random Trivia: My favorite color is blue (almost any shade of blue but midnight black-blue with silver flecks like stars is the best), I own a bearded dragon named Seto Zuko Kaiba and he’s a total dicklizard but I love him, I love Monster High dolls, I do horror/FX makeup in my free time and plan on going ta school for it soon because I love it so much, I do swear filled dirty embroidery whenever possible as well as pride embroidery (for the queer community and also for feminism stuff) and I plan on selling it at craft shows under the name “Queer as Stitch Embroidery”, I crochet dishcloths when I get stressed, I’m a reformed nail chewer and I’m going on six months of not chewing after nearly 16 years of chewing my nails down ta nothing, I’d kill a man for garlic bread and lasagna as well as for apple crumble, I love Halloween more than any other time of year.

Alright so that’s my little reintroduction to you guys cause a lot has changed in the years since I started this blog and things are still changing and I like ta keep you guys updated on who I am and how I feel as well as keep a sort of log of my progress over the years for me ta look back on ta see how much I’ve grown. Today seemed like a good day ta do this since it’s National Coming Out Day and being queer is a really big part of who I am and it means a lot at me to be true to myself and even though coming out fucked up some stuff in my life I’d never take it back, I am out and loud and proud and if someone doesn’t like it they can shove a cactus up their ass cause I’m gonna be myself and love who I love, however many I want to love, until I die. And even then my ghost will be queer as fuck too. 

Now to all my fellow LGBTQA+ peeps out there, out of the closet or not: I love you all, you are valid, you do matter, and you do belong here and anybody who says different is a piss weasel and doesn’t deserve your awesmazing presence in their life.  

And now for a little change (or big change in a way I guess), as the oldest of my followers know I’ve been signing off every post on my blog with “Back to your insanity” pretty much since I started this blog and now it feels like it’s time for a change, so my dear Twisters:

Back to your own world

Signed your queer and crazy blog owner

~ZZ

(P.s. I might change my sign off around some more before I settle on one and might not, we’ll just wait and see)

#my personal life #national coming out day #lgbtqa #demisexual #Panromantic #genderfluid #ZZ talks being Queer #polyamourous #Ace and proud #pan and proud #poly and proud #genderfluid and proud