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weekend-conspiracy-theorist · 10 months

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An entry in the tim&steph role swap au. It starts serious then rapidly gets ridiculous. As many things in this AU have been wont to do.

(Also, help me remember to go back and cross post once ao3 is back up, lol)

Then.

Over the last several months, Stephanie had learned how to drop from ten or so feet and absorb the landing so completely that her feet didn't make a sound, even on gravel. This drop was not even that high--seven feet, at most; just a little higher than Bruce was tall--and onto solid concrete.

So it was deliberate, when she landed with a quiet but emphatic thump.

Batman--hunched over so severely that you wouldn't know he was only eight inches shorter than that fence--didn't look up, but she could see the way the muscles along his spine tightened, even through the cape. They'd been working a lot on reading each other's body language, so that reacting to each other's movements in a fight would be instinctual.

She bet he hadn't considered the other ramifications of those drills.

"Robin," he said. A growl; a warning.

She kicked a rock, whistling lowly as she wandered closer, gauntleted hands clasped behind her back. "Damn, this how we're playin' it these days?" she drawled, letting her Gotham accent flow thick and heavy in her own little homage to the boy who'd come before. "'Cause you know there're a few mooks in Blackgate I wouldn't mind payin' a visit to if we're bashin' teeth in."

A muscle twitched in Batman's jaw. "I told you to stay with the car."

"Sure." She kicked another rock, sharply this time. It pinged off the dumpster nearby, leaving a scratch in the paint. "I didn't listen."

She'd circled close enough that she could see the guy Batman was crouched over now. Close enough that she could see the hands fisted in his dirty blue tshirt; close enough that she could see the blood dribbling out of his mouth, and the whites of his eyes as they darted back and forth between her and Batman, too scared to speak in case it drew the Bat's attention back to him.

"Good thing, too," she added quietly.

Batman looked over at her, finally. He was scary, in the mask--all sharp angles and blank eyes and bleach white teeth, somehow sharper than they usually looked--but he was scarier out of it, when he was looking at her like he was disappointed. Like he was angry.

(Bruce Wayne, Stephanie knew, would never do or say the kinds of things she was used to from male authority figures. It didn't stop some part of her from expecting him to, when he got that twist to his mouth.)

Uncowed, Robin stared back at Batman, silent. Present. A couple strands of hair had escaped the vice grip of her hairspray, and she reached up to tuck them back. Then she gestured, expectantly, for him to continue.

Dared him to continue.

Slowly, Batman released the guy with one hand, pulling a zip tie out of his utility belt, and flipped him onto his stomach to cinch his hands behind his back.

(Bruce liked to think he was difficult to understand. That he was enigmatic, mysterious; that no one really understood why he did what he did, or why he did it the way he did it.

But Stephanie did.

She'd also been lost, lonely, desperate, afraid; she'd also chosen to don a uniform of her own making and attempt to change the world with her own bare hands. She understood that this kind of vengeance, the kind that was enacted on behalf of someone else, was still personal.

It was always about the little girls like Stephanie. It was always about the little boys like Bruce.

Stephanie and Bruce; Batman and Robin. They were so angry, both of them, but they were choosing not to give in to it. Helping each other not to give in.

One criminal at a time.)

Stephanie breathed out, as quietly as she could, and clasped her shaking hands more tightly together behind her back. She'd seen what this guy had done; she knew why Batman didn't want to stop hitting him. She wouldn't have wanted to either.

But she also knew that Batman had to draw that line, and not even for any frou frou ideological reasons about honor and ~not stooping to their level~ or whatever. Stephanie had a touchstone that Bruce Wayne didn't, when it came to men like this.

His name was Arthur Brown.

Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. One half of the reason she was on this earth; her dear old dad; The Cluemaster. She hated him so much that she'd become a vigilante just to ruin his plans. She hated him so much that she'd visited him in prison just to kick the shit out of him until the guards had pulled her off of him.

And yet, she'd cried when he'd been sentenced. Wasn't that funny? She poked and prodded at the memory sometimes, trying to see if she could force it into any other shape, trying to deny what she knew in her gut was true, but she couldn't. They'd been angry tears, mostly, but also tears of frustration and relief and--this was the part she got embarrassed about--worry. Sadness. Maybe even regret.

She didn't really think her dad was capable of changing--he'd have to want to do it, to choose to do it, and she couldn't imagine a world in which he would--but if he did... There was a part of her that remembered him taking her to her piano lessons, teaching her how to solve riddles, and putting a bandaid on her skinned elbow. That part of her would be capable of forgiving him.

If he really did change.

(Which he wouldn't.

...But if he did.)

Giving someone the chance to change wasn't about the guy with his face smushed against the concrete under Bruce's knee: it was about the little girl like Stephanie who might be waiting for the day that this guy would come home and be different.

(Maybe there wasn't a little girl; maybe there never would be. It was a metaphor, all right? For all the theoretical people that lurked in this guy's future that he might affect positively.)

Batman finished tying the guy up so tightly he'd be lucky to wiggle his fingers, and then he tucked a note into the collar of the guy's tshirt and pressed a button on his gauntlet that would put in an automatic call to the GCPD to come pick the guy up. Over and done; neat and (mostly) clean.

Stephanie glanced down at the guy as Batman stood and turned--with a great dramatic swoosh of his cape--to walk away. The guy met her eyes through the blank lenses of her domino, and Stephanie pressed her lips together. She wanted to say something; she didn't have any idea what it should be. She settled for shaking her finger at him as sternly as she could, then spun on her heel and chased after Batman.

She leapt onto his back with a whoop, catching him around the neck with both arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. "I want burgers," she said cheerfully, as Bruce grunted, reaching up to support her thighs in a delightfully automatic motion. The Robins before her had trained him well. "And fries. And a reeeeally big orange soda!"

"Robin," he said, and this time there was none of the growl in his Batman rasp--just quiet exasperation.

"I think I'm goin' through a growth spurt," she declared, perfectly straight-faced even if he couldn't see it. She rested her chin on the cowl, in between the ears. "I need sustenance. You're not gonna let me starve, are you?"

"There's perfectly good food waiting back at the cave," Batman told her, similarly deadpan, and Stephanie cackled.

(She'd been working on her Robin cackle. She was getting really good at it.)

"That was a joke!" She beamed, releasing her death grip on his neck to reach up and pinch his cheek. "Jeez, B-man, I'm so proud."

"We're going back to the cave to talk about you disobeying orders," Batman reminded her, because he was a buzzkill like that. Whatever: two could play at that game.

Stephanie snorted. "Yeah, and I'm definitely totally gonna listen to that lecture." She used the ears of the cowl to tilt his head back, forcing him to look at her as they reached the Batmobile. "If you take me out for burgers first."

He could deny it all he wanted, but Stephanie saw the smile that twitched briefly across his face. She let go of the bat ears, smug, and hopped down from his back.

"Besides," she added, as she jumped and slid across the hood to reach the passenger side, "once you're done lecturing me, it'll be my turn to lecture you."

***

Now.

"I thought they weren't dating," Jason said.

"They aren't," Cassandra confirmed, amused, as she gazed down at the cot, arms crossed over her chest. "Think Dick and Donna."

Cassandra always liked watching Stephanie and Tim together. They joked about being soulmates, two halves of a platonic whole, but they really did move like they barely knew where one of them ended and the other began; a result less of divine providence than of having grown up in each other's pockets. Whatever incompatible edges they'd once had, they'd worn them down years before, playing tag on the rooftops and arguing about camera lenses and clues.

Jason made a noise, halfway between a snort and an understanding hum. "If I were a crueler man..." He lifted one heavy boot off of the floor and mimed tipping the cot over.

"Don't even think about it," Cassandra warned, her tone just a little too sharp, and when Jason bared his teeth at her she looked over at him to bare hers back. Frustration crackled along his spine, the violence that he so happily embraced not far behind it, and Cassandra felt her own metaphorical hackles raise in response.

It had been a long week. Too long for either of them to maintain their hard won civility for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Been a while since you took a swing at me." Jason's eyes were heavy-lidded, peering down at her with a panther's nonchalance.

"Waste of my time," Cassandra told him, with flat confidence. "You don't put up enough of a fight."

Jason snarled, jerking like he wanted to step closer, intimidate her with his height, his bulk--but he was smart enough to know moving closer only put him at an even greater disadvantage against her. "You should--"

"Oh my god, shut up, will you?" Stephanie mumbled, without opening her eyes or shifting from her position, spread-eagled across Tim and the big fluffy blanket with her own face on it that she'd given him for Hanukkah the year before. "It's hard to sleep through your ongoing ideological feud."

Tim snored, as contrary as ever despite being passed out with his face smushed against the rough fabric of the camping cot.

"For those of us who have normal human sleep schedules," she added, shifting one hand to pat Tim on the back of the head. She missed, slapping him in the face instead, and he snuffled and squirmed, but didn't wake up.

(Cassandra had always found it a bit rich of Stephanie to make fun of Tim's sleep schedule the way she did when--as a civilian vs a vigilante--he definitely still slept more than she did. But the last time she'd brought it up to Tim he'd just rolled his eyes and said, "That's Steph for you," like it was an explanation in and of itself. She supposed it kind of was.)

Cassandra kept her gaze locked with Jason's for another beat as she folded the furious center of her compassion back down deep, reminding herself that he was her brother and she loved him, even when she wanted to slam his head into a concrete wall. He wasn't as good at compartmentalizing as she was, but he took a step back, breathing out through his nose, and Cassandra knew he was trying.

She looked back to Tim and Stephanie, then crouched down on the balls of her feet as she reached out to brush a strand of blonde off of her best friend's forehead. "Why are you sleeping in the Cave?" she asked, amused.

Stephanie huffed, cracking one dark blue eye to peer back at her with annoyance. "Tim looked comfortable."

"As in comfortable for you to sleep on."

"Duh." Stephanie squirmed deeper into the nest of blanket-and-Tim that she had claimed for herself. There was a nasty cut on the back of her shoulder, visible around the strap of her tank top, and it glistened with the tell tale sheen of Neosporin. On top of the blanket as she was, it was pretty clear she had literally walked over and face planted down on top of him after dealing with her injuries.

"Okay," Cassandra said patiently. "Why is Tim sleeping in the Cave?"

"Y'know he's been helpin' Alfred work comms," Stephanie mumbled.

"Uh huh."

"Week fr'm hell. So li'l sleep. 'N we won. N'more worr." Her fingers twitched, some exhausted simulacra of a "there you go" gesture.

Cassandra snorted. "Right." She flicked Stephanie lightly on the forehead and added, "Some work still left, actually."

Stephanie shoved her hand away, scowling heavily, and hissed, "I will write my stupid reports tomorrow, I promise."

"We need your help convincing Bruce to go to bed."

It took Stephanie a long moment to process Cassandra's words. Then she buried her face back into the blanket to muffle a frustrated scream.

"Remind me again why we need the pretender when we could just drug his tea?" Jason kicked lightly at the bottom of Cassandra's sneaker as Stephanie pushed herself slowly up onto her hands, muttering obscenities under her breath.

One of her palms smushed Tim's face further into the cot, and he snorted himself awake, flailing instinctively at finding another person straddling him--

Stephanie squawked, Tim yelped, and they both went crashing to the floor as the cot overbalanced.

"What the fuck, Tim?" she groaned, pressing tenderly at her nose. "You elbowed me in the face!"

"Whuh? Stephie?" Tim asked, groggily, as he squinted at her.

Cassandra picked his contact case up off the floor from where one of the legs of the cot had sent it flying and held it out to him.

He accepted it, adding, "Cassie?" in an even more deeply confused voice.

"And Jason," Cassandra told him, and Tim's lip lifted in a sneer.

"Jason."

"Riiiight," Jason drawled, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. "I'm tired of the Three Stooges act. I'm just gonna go throw the old man off the roof; the coma will be very restful. You go back to sleep, Blondie."

"No, shut the fuck up, I've got it." Stephanie clambered to her feet, raking her fingers through her hair as she yawned. "It's been forever since I've had a chance to lecture him, are you kidding me? I just gotta fill in the blanks on my powerpoint."

"Your... what?" Jason asked. There was glee hiding somewhere under the confusion.

"Cool," Tim said, holding out a hand for Stephanie to pull him to his feet. "I've never gotten to see this in person before."

"This is why we need Stephanie," Cassandra told her little brother, jabbing a teasing elbow in his ribs as she slipped around him. She pulled Tim (scowling indignantly) up off of the floor, since Stephanie had ignored him. She tipped her head expectantly, and Tim obligingly leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.

"I was Robin during a very delicate time in Bruce's life," Stephanie was explaining to Jason, burying another yawn behind her hand as she jogged up the stairs towards the Batcomputer. "We were mutually responsible for each other in a way I don't think any of the rest of you ever really were. I mean, I wasn't his kid; he didn't have that kind of authority over me. Not that him and Dick's whole thing wasn't also convoluted back in the day, but Dick was younger when he started, so Bruce still had more automatic authority." She waved a hand. "Anyway, said mutual accountability had its downsides--"

"Like being the fourteen-year-old emotional support sidekick for a fully grown man who should have been in therapy instead of making his problems a teenager's responsibility," Tim muttered, and Stephanie rolled her eyes and flipped him off--

"But it also afforded me certain advantages." She spread her hands as if indicating a broad vista in front of her.

"Like the right to lecture Bruce," Cassandra confirmed.

"Dick lectures Bruce all the time," Jason pointed out, leaning on the back of the big chair as Stephanie logged into her account.

"Dick yells at Bruce all the time," she corrected. "It's different. And he doesn't really listen."

"Barb lectures Bruce all the time," he said, stubbornly.

Stephanie tipped her head, sending a wave of blonde hair cascading down over her shoulder, to concede the point. "Babs is Babs, though. And he still doesn't listen as much as he should."

"Which is always," Cassandra agreed. "Even when she's wrong, which is rarely, she still has a point."

"I've also lectured Bruce before," Tim added, leaning against the desk. Cassandra watched with horrified fascination as he put one of his contacts in. "Different when he's not your dad or your vigilante--"

"I have told you before, if you keep calling Bruce my vigilante sugar daddy, I am going to throw you off the roof of Wayne Tower," Stephanie said flatly.

"Superboy would probably catch me. He doesn't like me very much, but he respects the bit."

"He likes you fine," Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. "You're the one who thinks he's an asshole."

Tim coughed into his hand. It sounded suspiciously like, "He is."

"Kon's just annoyed that you and Cassie started getting along," Cassandra added. "Making fun of you used to be a traditional Young Justice pass time."

"Oh, it still is," Stephanie snickered.

Tim skated past that revelation with the ease of a man who already knew his platonic soulmate's favorite pass time was making fun of him. "Wonder Girl would definitely catch me, but that plan would have to rely on me successfully reaching her on the phone before I hit the--"

"No, no, go back. When have you lectured Bruce?" Jason interrupted. He looked--and sounded--annoyed. Not everyone appreciated the Tim&Steph Show the way Cass did. "You barely know the guy; what could you possibly have to lecture him about?"

Tim looked over at him, similarly annoyed, with one hand reaching around his head to pull at his eyebrow and the other hovering near his eye, second contact poised on the tip of a finger. "Jason, you were there."

"Tim's literally our union conflict mediator," Stephanie said, at the same time.

("Ah, right," Jason said, awkwardly. He leaned over to Cassandra, whispering, "I got bored real quick at that meeting."

He was lying--he was as tired as all the rest of them were, and forgetful because of it--but Cassandra let him get away with it.)

"Do not say that like it's an actual position I've agreed to accept," Tim said warningly. He pointed his contact at Stephanie. "That was a one time deal."

She snorted. "It's cute that you think you won't crumple like a tin can the next time I ask you."

"I will not," he protested, and Cassandra met Stephanie's amused glance with a smirk of her own. "Oh, fuck you," Tim complained, returning focus to his contacts. "I didn't crumple like a tin can when you asked me."

"No, but it took about ten seconds as soon as I outsourced to Dick."

"Deeply embarrassing for you, by the way," Jason added.

Tim's eye twitched. "One of these days I'm going to snap--" his contact case shut with a loud crack-- "and you're really going to regret the attitude that you have with me, Jason."

"The attitude that I have with you," Jason repeated, incredulous.

"Yep."

"The attitude that I have with you."

Cassandra stepped between the boys, not bothering to acknowledge either of them with so much as a glance; all it took to defuse the moment was the reminder of her own silent presence, despite being too short to even break their eye contact. "How long do you need?" she asked Stephanie, reaching around the back of the big chair to squeeze her shoulders.

"Five minutes," Stephanie told her, as she scrolled through a selection of clipart four poster beds. One of them resembled Bruce's actual bed--the cursor hovered over it for a moment, and then Stephanie deliberately clicked on the next picture down.

"Drawing room?"

"Yep."

"I'll get him there." Cassandra squeezed her shoulders again, pointed two-fingered at her eyes and then at Tim and Jason, and jogged to the stairs back up to Bruce's study.

One of Bruce's studies, anyway. She ghosted her fingers along the edge of the picture frame, holding a painting of Thomas and Martha gazing adoringly down at their bright-eyed son, every inch of their body language telling a story of love and pride and respect. The artist had been talented. Cassandra wondered if they were still working in Gotham--and how many of her brothers she could wrangle into sitting for a portrait.

She filed the idea away for Bruce's birthday as she slipped out of the room.

Bruce was currently holed up in one of his other studies, the one on the second floor with the big blue rug and the ergonomic chair that he hated. It was the one right above the family room and the kitchen--the loudest rooms in the house--which was a dead giveaway that he was having to work harder to stay awake than he wanted to pretend.

Cassandra passed Alfred on the way up the stairs--"Drawing room, five minutes." "Ms. Brown has always worked quickly."--and then drew to a stop outside the heavy oak doors, straightening her shoulders and pulling on her best serious face.

She didn't knock; the door hinges were too well oiled to squeak; and her footsteps were silent on that big blue rug. Bruce looked up anyway. He was making a good show of things, but even if he could have fooled anyone else in the house (which he couldn't have, except maybe Tim), he certainly couldn't fool her. Cassandra saw the sluggishness in his fingers; the bruises forming beneath his eyes; the slump of his spine.

Bruce sighed. "I already told Alfred and Dick--"

"Something's come up," she said, brusque, and Bruce's spine straightened immediately.

"Report," he said sharply.

She jerked her head. "Easier to show you."

Oh, Bruce, she thought fondly. Trusted her so fully that he was standing and moving before she finished her sentence, too sleep deprived to wonder why she had him take the lead. He wasn't a talker--she could relate--but she could see the thoughts spinning in his mind as he strode down the corridors of the mansion, Cassandra on his heels like a wisp of shadow.

She'd feel bad about worrying him, if he hadn't spent the last four hours quite stubbornly forcing her to be worried about him.

Two steps away from the drawing room--which was dark and silent behind its cracked double doors--Cassandra exploded into motion. She caught Bruce's arm, forcing it behind his back and up, throwing him off balance as she drove her shoulder into his side. They crashed through the doors, and a hook of her ankle behind Bruce's heel sent him tumbling downwards into the chair Alfred had left waiting.

In the split second between him hitting the chair and Cassandra spinning it and shoving him into place at the head of the table, Bruce's eyes--betrayed--met hers. She offered him a sunny smile.

Duke released his grip on the lights, and Dick and Damian closed the doors with an ominous click.

"I should have known," Bruce said, resigned.

Stephanie--across the table from him, standing in front of the projector--held up a finger as she finished chugging her americano.

"Yes," Cassandra said, and her hands came down on his shoulders, a gentle warning, before he could do more than consider trying to stand up and walk out of the room. "You should have."

Stephanie set down the coffee mug, sliding it sideways over to Tim--he slid a full one back to her--and wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist. She looked exhausted, outside of the obfuscating lighting of the Cave. Her blonde curls were a mess, half fallen out of her bun, and there were smudges of bruising underneath her eyes. She was also barefoot.

Cassandra met Stephanie's eye and winked. Steph's lips twitched, and she blinked innocently back. She'd had a good nap, on top of Tim on the cot down in the Cave. This air of patheticness was calculated.

"I can skip the pleasantries, right?" Stephanie asked, rhetorical, as she clicked the button to progress the slide on the projector. There was a smattering of laughter from those of them in the room who'd never experienced Stephanie's lecture series before.

The cover of the kids' book Teeth are not for Biting had been edited--poorly, with big red X's and hand written edits--to read "Beds aren't not for Sleeping", with a big clipart picture of a pink Barbie four poster bed slapped over the little girl's face.

Stephanie progressed to the next slide without comment, meeting Bruce's gaze with her best deadpan expression. The slide had the title and abstract of a research paper analyzing the effects of sleep deprivation on decision making. Steph clicked to the next slide. The title and abstract of a different research paper, this one regarding its effect on reflexes. Click. Another paper, another symptom. Click--

"Stephanie--"

"Shut up, Bruce," she said, flatly, and clicked to the next one. And the next one. And the next.

"You've made your point."

"I may have made it, but I doubt you've internalized it."

Click. Click. Click.

"Are these repurposed from the last time you and Harper staged a deeply hypocritical intervention about my sleep habits?" Tim asked, curiously. "I recognize these titles."

"Other way around," Stephanie told him, pausing on one particularly long abstract so she could take a sip of her coffee. "Bruce and I have had this conversation before. Do I need to remind you how that went when you ignored my advice?" she added, her voice icy as she cut her gaze back to Bruce. "Because one of us ended up chasing a moderately homicidal Batman around Gotham for months while the other one underwent treatment for spinal trauma."

"How's Jean Paul doing these days?" Dick asked idly.

"A lot better," Cassandra told him. "We got lunch last week."

"Glad to hear it," Stephanie said, sincerely. "I should thank him, honestly. Operating solo after getting literally thrown by the neck out of the Batcave did set the precedent of independence that allowed me and Tim to get up to just so much bullshit." She and Tim high fived without looking. "Say, Damo--"

"I will found my own unique team of juvenile superheroes on my own time, Brown. Stop pushing." He flicked the nub of an eraser across the table at her, and Stephanie dodged, shrugging.

"I'm just saying, if Bruce is bound and determined to enter another funk, now's your chance to do it with a minimum of hassle." She threw her hands in the air. "Back to the presentation!"

Click.

A screencap of an episode of Jersey Shore, captioned THE SITUATION, with a dramatized tabloid photo of a sleezy Bruce Wayne photoshopped over Mike Sorrentino.

Jason barked a laugh. "I need a copy of that."

"Everyone present will receive a digital copy of the lecture with links to the papers included in the bibliography for their later perusal," Stephanie informed him. Then she turned her gaze to Dick. "Nightwing, report."

"We're all aware that we've been fighting the good fight on three primary fronts for the last week," Dick began, folding his hands in front of himself on the table as he leaned forward.

"Mobs," Jason grunted.

"Riddler," Duke sighed.

"Aggrieved scientists," Damian muttered.

"Actually, it was four fronts," Tim corrected apologetically.

"Aliens," Stephanie agreed. She waved a hand, nearly sending the projector remote flying before she fumbled to catch it. "Don't worry about it; I tapped in some backup."

"There were aliens in Gotham this week?" Bruce asked sharply. He tried to sit forward in his chair as well, but Cassandra's grip on his shoulders tightened, and he relented. "Why did I not hear about this?"

"Don't worry about it," Stephanie repeated. "I tapped in some back up. There was a minimum of property damage and the commish barely even got abducted. Dick, continue."

Dick did not continue. "Commissioner Gordon got abducted by aliens," he said flatly.

"Not that he remembers," Tim said. "It's a long story, but nobody even noticed. Except Oracle. And four blocks of the East End who were woken up by the light from the tractor beam."

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face. "Why were you two the only ones involved with this?"

"We weren't."

"I told you; I called in back up."

They rolled their eyes, in unison, and Cassandra laughed. "Let me guess: Superboy and Impulse."

"I plead the fifth," Stephanie said, straight-faced.

"She gave them free reign of my fridge," Tim complained, throwing his hands in the air. "There aren't even crumbs le--" He broke off into a wheeze as Stephanie elbowed him in the diaphragm.

"Don't worry about it," she repeated, insistently. "Dick, tell Bruce how we did such a good job saving the day that he can stop fucking worrying about the city falling apart if he takes a stupid nap."

Dick rubbed at the bridge of his nose, sighing, but obliged her this time. "The mobs have been settled--"

"That's one word for it," Jason said, and Cassandra bared her teeth at him.

"Please don't start fighting again," Dick said, long-suffering, and then continued. "The Riddler's back in prison, good job Signal and Batgirl--"

(Duke leaned forward, pointing at Stephanie. "Is the alien thing why you just straight up disappeared for like six hours after telling me you were going to the bathroom?"

"Don't worry about it," Stephanie told him. "But the gas station sushi contributed, too."

"Shoulda just got a hotdog like me."

"The relish on that hotdog was glowing."

"Gotham special, baby," Duke said, and he and Jason high fived.)

"--and Robin and Catwoman prevented a general technological apocalypse," Dick soldiered on, loudly. "Plus, apparently, Bruce can sleep well knowing that Superboy and Impulse are here to hold down the fort."

Stephanie face-palmed. "They're in space now, actually," she said, voice muffled. "The aliens were just looking for some help fighting a planetary dictator. Run of the mill stuff." She shook her head, huffing, and clicked forward several slides of the presentation. "Screw it, we're jumping straight to the 'You're almost fifty years old and I'm sick of having to teach you how to act like an adult' portion of the presentation."

Duke whistled. "Harsh."

"Warranted," Dick sighed. "Stephanie deserves a Nobel Peace Prize after putting up with us alone for years."

"If it makes you feel better, the whole time she actually had me available to listen to her complain about you behind your back," Tim offered.

"Bonding," Stephanie agreed, setting her hand on his shoulder, and Tim bumped his temple against her hip with a grin.

"Actually, that kind of does make me feel better," Dick said thoughtfully.

"Does it make you feel better?" Stephanie asked Bruce, tipping her head to the side curiously.

"No."

"Go figure," Tim said dryly. Stephanie flicked him on the forehead.

"You're very bitchy tonight."

"I'm exhausted," Tim said, exasperated. "As is every person in this room, whether they want to admit it or not."

"Funnily enough--" Stephanie clicked onto the next slide. In big black text on a plain white background, it read:

EVERY PERSON IN THIS ROOM IS EXHAUSTED, WHETHER THEY WANT TO ADMIT IT OR NOT.

Click.

YOU AREN'T SPECIAL.

Click.

YOU ARE ONLY AS HUMAN AS THE REST OF US.

Click.

I'M GOING TO LET JASON THROW YOU OFF THE ROOF IF YOU DON'T AGREE TO GO TO BED OF YOUR OWN FREE WILL.

"Fuck yeah," Jason said.

"Who gave you the authority to 'let' someone throw Bruce off a roof?" Duke asked, making air quotes around the word 'let.' "I mean, I'm into it, great solution, but I am curious."

"Batman did," Tim and Stephanie said, in unison and straight-faced--

And the entire table turned, knowingly, to look at Cassandra. She smiled back at them beatifically.

"Bruce is asleep, by the way," she added. She'd felt him begin relaxing as soon as the adrenaline from the alien invasion reveal had passed out of his system; she wasn't even sure he'd actually understood what Stephanie had asked him, so much as responded instinctively to a Robin tilting their head at him like that.

Stephanie tossed the projector remote onto the table, scoffing. "Every fucking time! He never actually lets me get to the good part of the lecture!"

The impact against the desk advanced the presentation to the next slide.

YOU KNOW, IF YOU PARTIED AS MUCH AS YOU PRETEND TO, YOU'D BE BETTER AT DEALING WITH SLEEP DEPRIVATION. YES, I'M AWARE THAT IS NOT A SCIENTIFICALLY ACCURATE STATEMENT. GET BENT.

"A self-defense mechanism, I believe," Alfred observed drolly. He rose from his seat, patting Stephanie on the shoulder, and turned--beckoning Duke and Jason to open the doors--to help Cassandra maneuver Bruce's rolling chair out of the drawing room. "The excitement has concluded for the evening. Please get some sleep--" He turned back to gaze at Tim and Stephanie, sternly. "Guest bedrooms have been made up for your use. Do not let me catch you on a cot in the Cave again."

"Who, me?" Stephanie asked, innocently.

"Of course, sir," Tim said, utterly sincerely, which was actually ten times as suspicious as Stephanie fluttering her eyelashes like that.

"They're probably going back to Tim's to crash there," Cassandra murmured. She gently lifted Bruce's head to keep it from hitting the doorframe as Alfred steered.

"My young madam, I strongly suspect that they intend to crash in your room. Which is why I took the liberty of placing three sets of sweatpants and tshirts out on your bed, regardless of what I just claimed to Ms. Brown and Master Drake."

Cassandra hummed consideringly. "Also possible."

***

Then.

"So is it my turn yet?" Stephanie interrupted, and Bruce paused, looking down at her.

She was slouched in the big chair by the Batcomputer, her feet hanging down just low enough for her toes to brush the ground, letting her push herself back and forth idly. She was out of costume, dressed now in an oversized purple sweatshirt and a pair of checkered leggings, but with her hair still hairsprayed and the outline of her mask pressed into her skin. The empty wrapper from her burger was crumpled up next to the obscenely gargantuan cup of soda that she'd ordered instead of fries.

"Sorry?" he asked, bemused.

"It seems like you've kind of been saying the same thing over and over in different ways for the last five minutes, so I figured you were pretty much done, and my notecards are getting sweaty," she explained.

"Your notecards," Bruce repeated.

Stephanie withdrew her hands from the front pocket of her sweatshirt, flashing them at him briefly. He only saw enough to be sure they'd been written in glitter gel pen. "I didn't want to forget any of my talking points."

"Such as?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, looking so precociously fourteen years old for a moment that it made his heart do something funny in his chest. "So it is my turn now?" she asked.

He leaned back aginst the railing, folding his arms over his chest and nodding at her. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Okay." She scooted back in the chair so she could sit upright, although it meant her toes no longer touched the ground. "My public speaking class said it's super important to introduce yourself and your topic whenever you give a presentation, but since it's just us, I can skip the formalities, right?"

"Right," Bruce said, slowly, as he came to the creeping realization that he was in over his head.

"You've been teaching me a lot about where and how to draw the line when we're fighting people," Stephanie recited, her eyes stuck to the notecards in her hand. "So I know that you know you crossed that line tonight. And I also know that you know why you shouldn't, but I thought maybe you could use some reminders."

She flipped to the next notecard, clearing her throat. "First, some people do become better people when they're given the chance to. And yeah, some people don't, but since we aren't psychic, and since actual psychics' ability to predict a single person's future is questionable at best due to the unpredictability of time and the branching nature of reality, we don't have the right to decide they don't even get the opportunity."

She set the notecard aside. "Second, obviously the American legal system is flawed at best, hence our entire existence as vigilantes, but deciding that we alone have the right and responsibility to decide how to 'punish' people, by grievously injuring, maiming, or killing them, is a slippery slope to fascism and just generally driving ourselves to the brink of madness."

She set the notecard aside. "Third--"

"You don't need to keep going," Bruce interrupted gently. "I've gotten your point. But I would like to see the rest of those notecards."

Stephanie looked at his extended hand, dubiously, and then tucked the cards back into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. "No," she said. "I think I'll save 'em for next time. Except--there is one thing I didn't get to, and you need to hear it."

"Okay," he said, certain that his expression was just as dubious as hers.

"I can't 'wait at the car,' Bruce," she told him. "You need me to remind you about this stuff. So every time you tell me to hide, I'm not going to listen."

Bruce shook his head. "There are times--a lot of them--that it is too dangerous for you to be in the middle of things," he told her. "I need you to trust me when I make that call."

"And I need you to make that call," Stephanie told him, her dark blue eyes locked onto his, her jaw tight and determined. "Not the one where if I don't see you do the scary things, then that means they don't count."

Bruce looked at her for a moment--this villain's daughter, this fourteen year old kid, this Robin.

And he said, "Okay."

#stephanie brown #bruce wayne #tim drake #cassandra cain #the tim&steph role swap au #canon tim signed on for the role of fixing bruce; trtverse steph didn't! she didn't know what she was in for!! but she stepped up anyway 😭#I was going to hold this fic until I had more of the union mediation fic written but it's making me crazy so I think I'm just gonna post

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xthelastknownsurvivorx · 4 months

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ajtl/yngs x hello saturday

after watching the actual hello saturday episode that the cast attended I got inspired and decided to write a version with the characters from ajtl because i'm missing them and why not. you can watch the full episode here with english subs but I've also summarized the main points in the post in case you don't want to watch the full 1.5 hour show (though imo it's worth it because it with very fun)

The episode basically follows the games/structure of the actual one that the cast of ajtl appeared on: the antidote carrier trying to create a team of non-poisoned swordsmen through hints acquired by winning various mini-games to successfully draw the six-sided sword from Malan Mountain

The games include an action version of "radish squat" to choose their identities as one of the antidote carrier (1), a poisoned swordsman (4), a non-poisoned swordsman (3); pop culture pictionary, except using up to 5 emojis instead of drawing; 3, 2, 1, look here!; group pose description game; some action-based game to replace the don't sing, move game because I didn't find this segment very interesting

Instead of only having four characters guest star on the show, I'm replacing the usual hello saturday cast members with four more characters

In total, there are two teams consisting of: Ren Ruyi, Ning Yuanzhou, Yu Shisan, Yang Ying AND Li Tongguang, Qian Zhao, Yuan Lu, and Sun Lang

In the first game, Ren Ruyi picks up Yang Ying for one of her actions and flusters her

Li Tongguang has to do the same thing thrice with Sun Lang, who gets very flustered and giggly over it suddenly I have a new rare pair ig

Yang Ying chooses to sajiao and ask for a kiss from Ruyi for one of her actions, which forces someone from the opposing team to do it towards their other three team members

I can't decide whether that someone should be Li Tongguang or Qian Zhao because both feel like equally amusing options

Also someone makes Ning Yuanzhou pout cutely during this game

Following a loss during the emoji pictionary game, Ren Ruyi is the only one not to be frightened by the balloon popping while Yang Ying flinches at the sound

Ren Ruyi trades away Yang Ying after this game, much to Li Tongguang's smug satisfaction ("It seems that shifu doesn't want you either")

Ren Ruyi doesn't understand the rules to 3, 2, 1, look here! and splashing Li Tongguang when he won

Yang Ying gets flustered and splashing Ning Yuanzhou when he won instead of protecting Li Tongguang (who also gets splashed) and profusely apologizing to him (不好意思，远舟哥哥!)

"Shouldn't you also be apologizing to your partner?" He laoshi (the host) jokes. "He's far more soaked thanks to Ren Ruyi"

At some point Ren Ruyi and Ning Yuanzhou switch so it's master vs disciple, which of course ends with Ren Ruyi winning

There's an occurrence where Ren Ruyi chooses Li Tongguang to come to her team which has him ecstatic, but she immediately trades him away the following round when she suspects he's been "poisoned" (the others on his team make fun of him for this)

Qian Zhao's stoic face during the group pose game makes everyone laugh

After the final game Ren Ruyi has to choose between Ning Yuanzhou and Yu Shisan to leave her team, with the former giving a very serious appeal before it dissolves into petty accusations between the two of them

Ning Yuanzhou: "Ruyi, I promise it's not me. You know me and that the clue in the last round is definitely about me. So please, trust me once again."

"As if you didn't break your promise to her! Beauty, listen to me, I'm a much better choice than Ning Yuanzhou. Who else is as handsome and reliable as me?" "Ruyi has never chosen you before, so why would she start now?" "You also lied about being poisoned to all of us for several months!" "For the sake of the mission! I didn't want to hurt morale" "Do you really think you can trust the guy like that? I worked hard this entire episode!" "Yu Shisan—"

In the end Ruyi chooses to keep Ning Yuanzhou and send away Yu Shisan ("Beauty! How could you?") and this proves to be the right choice

if someone wants to write a fic based on my hc please ask first

#a journey to love #ren ruyi #ning yuanzhou #yang ying #li tongguang #yu shisan #ajtl #a journey to love fic #yngs

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rio-the-bio · 1 year

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Ah yes, two months of inactivity :)

I apologize for being inactive but I’ll try to do better

I have simply been unmotivated to do any sort of drawing along with art block but now I’m back!

I’ve decided to do something over my current break and that something is doing a spinning wheel thing!

Basically I make choices, the wheel spins, chooses fandom, then I spin it to find out how many grumpuses I’m doing (or maybe another fandom later on idk-) and then have the wheel choose who I’m making!

Currently I’ve gotten “Madness Combat” (I’ve heard of it via friend, got into it a bit but not enough to know everything so madness combat ppl don’t come at me lol), I’m doing 6 grumpuses, and The grumps chosen are Gramble, Floofty, Wambus, Chandlo, Snorpy, and Filbo! Although I have only currently done Floofty and Gramble, I wanna give you guys something after so long! :)

#bugsnax #bugsnax art #floofty fizzlebean #bugsnax grumpus #floofty #bugsnax fanart #gramble gigglefunny #bugsnax gramble #Mixing fandoms! this was really fun and I’ll have more out later!#i tried #Floofty the tank #Gramble the Co-medic

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23point5degree · 2 years

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For the top 5 ask game top 5 Bad Buddy Edits :)

Hi, thank you for your question, anon!!! 💕 Even if it was a super difficult choice!!! Also, I didn't know if you meant like my edits or the edits of other users ... I will go with other user edits because i have a lot of love for all your creative people in this fandom!!!💕💕💕

Alright, so I can't put these edits in order, I just love them all so much!!!

I will start with the 'already home, harry styles' edit by @sunsetandthemoon. I just really really love this! Let's start by saying that the photos look amazing! I am a very big fan of making everything but Pat and Pran blurry edit! Also, the lyrics fit so freaking well!!! It just fits so so so so well to the show but also to scenes chosen!! I think my favourite part was the three pictures in one edit 'is this really happening? This is really happening. Can this keep on happen ?" I just love everything about it! The way it just fits perfectly!! Also, the way the edit ends is really so good! I love the chosen photo here, especially with the words home!!!

Okay, the next one is a 'sappho' InkPaa edit by @lovepattranite. I just everything about this!!! The gifs are so sharp and the coloring is truly so pretty!!!! I adore the purple focus!!! Seriously, I could stare for hours at this gif set! It's so pretty!!! That aside: it fits sooooooo well!! The way Ink slowly comes into focus together with the words 'I can not weave' I LOVE IT!! It's soooo well done! Also, the 'longing' is so clearly to see in Paa's eyes! it's really so well done!! I just love this whole set so much! It's the kind of pretty set InkPaa deserves!

Alright so the edit, 'i don't think i ever saw this man draw a building' by @icouldhyperfixatehim is absolutely comedy gold!! I saw this month ago for the first time and I still think about it!! It's just so very accurate! The scene that was chosen just fit so perfectly and his face!!! I love Pran and this edit!!! After i made my friends bad buddy this was one of the first edits i showed them because I knew they would appreciate its accuracy and humor!

So, the next one is by @patprans and I really had a hard time choosing from all the amazing edits they made but I had to choose 'Thank you. For what? For trying to make a silly guy like me happy.' I just really love that trope and I didn't even realize while watching the show that they fulfill this trope!!! Now I always had to think about it when I see pat do something so silly and stupid!!! Pran loves Pat for all the stupid stuff he does and I adore this edit for showing me!! Also, I love the way they edit photos overall!! It's always so sharp and done so well! I am in awe every time!! I think my favorite part is Prans face during the 'Ah, regrettably' because it just fits perfectly!!!

So the last one to mention is Happy Birthday Pat Napat! by @nanons and it's just soo well done!!! It has such a happy aura and it fits pats character so well!!! The gif quality is seriously amazing!!! The colours are just stunning and i just love it!!! it's really pretty and the whole the text is used here just makes it even better!!!

Choosing just five was like super hard because i have so many favorite edits and honestly I always fall a little in love with every single edit that I see on my dashboard 🥺

#lovely asks #anon #to everyone i tagged in this post I hope you don't mind! if you don't want to be tagged just tell me and i will change it :)#top 5 ask game #ask game

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professionallydeadinside · 2 years

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DID SOME TINY EDITS ANYWAY TAKE THE FIC I WAS TALKING ABOUT WASKJHGFDFGH

“Well, this is a predicament.” TDK thought, the left side of his body falling asleep under a passed out Blackguard.

Cory Pitzner and Richard Hertz had been dating since the day the squad ate shit, jokingly started as a half assed pact TDK agreed to when Blackguard was complaining about having to die single. But even after they came back from the mission alive, neither of them ever called off their makeshift relationship.

In the end, TDK got away with a few bullet holes riddling his arms and Blackguard somehow escaped with just a nasty looking scar on the left side of his face. (As well as a broken nose from Boomer knocking him out for being a rat). Luckily, there wasn’t any bad blood between them, Rich already having explained how Waller promised to completely wipe his sentence in exchange for him playing the part as a distraction so Squad B could sneak in.

The others relented a bit more after that, knowing if they’d gotten the offer they’d probably have taken it too.

But that was four months ago. Now, instead of being cooped up in Belle Reeve, Squad A found themselves in a situation similar to the one that’d been offered to Squad B. The opportunity to live in an apartment complex together as a reward for risking their lives (even though they technically failed, Savant drove a hard bargain).

That’s how TDK found himself in his current situation.

Alive, on the apartment’s communal couch, and with his technically kinda somewhat boyfriend gripping his arm like Boomer did to that unicorn when he thought no one was looking.

Now, he had three options. 1: let him sleep and possibly lose all feeling in his arm unless he wanted to detach it, which, was kinda a pain to do for long periods of time, 2: wake him up by pushing him off the couch, or 3: draw dicks on him and take photos to send to the group chat and only maybe get killed by him later. The nice thing to do would be to take the L and choose option 1, but option 3 was looking plenty more enticing, if it were anyone else he would’ve chosen option 3 the second they were confirmed to be asleep.

Yet something was stopping him. Maybe it was how comfortable Rich’s face looked squished against his arm, or how his mouth quirked up into a cat-like smile, or how his eyeliner was beginning to smear, or how his hair, which he’d let get a bit longer, started to let wispy strands that couldn’t be contained within his black hair tie fall across softened features and oh god Cory really was in love with him.

When the fuck did this happen?

Reaching out with his free hand, Cory gently carded his fingers through his kinda boyfriend’s choppy, blonde hair, something he could only do when Rich was either asleep or too tired to say anything other than a snarky one liner. His hair was soft, the tips sticky with product that’d come out by this point in the day.

He’d never thought he’d be like this, domestically laying around, not having to worry about suicide missions unless Waller really needed them. It was, nice.

“TDK?” Cory flinched as Rich stretched himself out, letting out a strained groan before curling back into his previous position.

“Mornin’ Dick Hertz.” Cory tested his luck and continued practically petting Rich, only receiving a grumble in response to the ‘Dick Hertz’ comment and the blonde pushing his head closer to Cory’s arm.

“Hey, so like, I was thinking- hey don’t fucking fall asleep again.” Cory flicked the drowsy gunsman in the temple as he noticed his eyes beginning to reclose.

“What the hell dude?” Rich jolted, giving a look that made it out like Cory was the bad guy in the situation and not him, the one crushing his teammate and trapping him in couch hell.

“So, um, what are we exactly? Like are we dating? Or just friends? Or…?”

“Yeah.” Rich said, nonchalantly. “We’re practically married.” With that he laid back down, changing his positioning so his head lay on Cory’s lap, snuggling into his thigh and going back to sleep.

“Now don't fucking wake me up or I’m dumping you.”

“Wait what?? No, don't fucking fall asleep! Rich? Richard?? Dude?!”

Cory sighed. Looks like he’d be stuck to the couch for a little longer. After all, he wouldn’t want his now confirmed boyfriend to dump him.

#ITS CHEESY BUT I HAD THE IDEA AND I WAS COMPELLED TO CREATE KJHGFDSA #god. should i tag this.#the suicide squad #blackguard #TDK #cory pitzner #richard hertz #my post

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luthienblacks · 6 months

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My first try on this 6 Favorite OCs challenge took me months to finish!! But still I had lots of fun with it!! Well, since I can't choose favorites amongst my OCs and FCs I decided to throw their names in a wheel of names and I let it randomly choose them for me lol

The first character chosen was ma earth boi Emerald 💚, from my original story "Dragoria". It's one of those stories that exists only in my head and I do need to write it down before my genetically inherited Alzheimer's hit me for good. May I find strenght to do it asap, probably to do so I might give you guys a proper introduction of my Dragoria OCs...

The second character chosen was my dear Judy Watzit, my Lazy Town FC! I was soooo happy to draw her again 'cause I love her so so so sooooooooo much! 💙🍎💙

The third character is my pinky dinky Nikki! She's my beloved Doug FC that I treasure so much! I was so happy the wheel of names picked her as well! I decided to make her in the OG Doug style and doing so brought me many fond memories of fun Doug drawings I made back in my dA days... 🥰🥰🥰

For the fourth OC, the chosen one was my goth babe Agatha, a.k.a. Lady Darkness, from my original wrestling story (that's in the same place as Dragoria, only in my head lol) I was glad that the wheel picked some characters I haven't drawn in a while. I missed my goth girl.🖤

I also loved that Lester popped up on the wheel, I miss drawing my Monster High FCs sooo much 😭💕 I tried to pull out the MH style here, I think I did ok... I got lazy with the background this time, just copy/pasted a MH generic background from Google... And of course I HAD to add Sir Lucky Cloverleaf to this 'cause he's so cute and here his fur is extra golden 😂

And the last chosen OC of mine is Candy, my The Urbz OC! I never made a digital art of her before, so it was a lovely opportunity to do so! And tbh I missed drawing big tiddies 🤭💕 TBH all my Sims characters tend to be a little slutty, so that's why she looks so naked lol

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homerforsure · 3 years

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Whumptober No. 6 Bruises / Touch Starved / Hunger Whumptober No. 30 major character death / left for dead / ghosts

Me: I can’t believe I have to post this absolutely incomprehensible piece of writing.

Me: You don’t... have to?

Me: No, I’m gonna.

Buck has an exceptional number of pillows on his bed. There are six, before he knocks a few to the floor every night, and he burrows into them like a nest, curling up with one against his chest, two pressed against his back, one between his legs. His sheets are a ridiculously priced, cool, crisp cotton that welcomes him in, surrounding him. The blankets he uses aren’t weighted, but they’re heavy and thick and he keeps his air conditioning turned up so he doesn’t have to give up the feeling of nestling into them in the heat of summer. Along with the white noise machine on his night stand, all of it is chosen to trick him into sleep. To keep back the feeling that night time in his own apartment is the loneliest part of Buck’s day.

It wasn’t perfect, pre-covid. It’s been a long time since Buck had someone share his space, share his bed, someone he could reach out and touch whenever he wanted. But his life outside of home was full. He didn’t lack for closeness; in some ways he had more than he’d ever dreamed. So while he had lonely moments, they weren’t a constant ache in his chest.

These months though. These months hurt. Facetime isn’t a substitute for curling up on Maddie’s couch with whatever silly-labeled wine she’d liked best that week. It’s definitely not a substitute for Eddie’s couch and losing to Christopher over and over again at Mario Kart. The last time they talked, Eddie had reached over and ruffled Christopher’s hair and Buck felt it. First as a tingle up the back of his scalp and then as a bruise to his heart. Eddie’s touches, so constant and so casual, became essential somewhere along the way and Buck feels himself reaching out for them even when he knows it’s not allowed.

“Six feet, gentlemen,” Bobby says gently when their orbits swing toward each other and Eddie makes a dramatic show of raising his hands and taking a giant step backward. Bobby just shakes his head and reminds them it’s the price they all agreed to pay for not wearing masks in the firehouse.

Buck starts dreading the end of a call when taking off his heavy turnout coat leaves him feeling cold and exposed. He folds into himself, claiming a chair, putting in earbuds and crossing his arms tight over his chest, pulling his knees up even though he knows better than to put his shoes on the furniture.

It’s a similar position to the one he lies in at night, clinging to the pillows, trying to draw comfort out of the smooth fabric. In those moments, his loneliness is so loud it might as well be a beacon sent out into the universe, a burning shout of need.

And that shout is heard.

***

“Have you guys heard of exploding head syndrome?” Buck asks one morning when the calls are slow and the crew is all lingering in a lazy way rather than rushing off to take care of their other duties.

“What, the band?” Chimney asks.

“I think it was an album,” Bobby says.

“No,” Buck sighs. “It’s a sleep thing. It’s this loud noise that you hear when you’re falling asleep like a massively loud explosion. Only it’s just happening in your head.”

“Is your brain actually exploding? Like an aneurism?”

“No. It’s just the noise.”

Just the loudest noise Buck had ever heard. It woke him up with a feeling of abject terror. It was an explosion that didn’t echo. It just rang, clear and true through his eardrums like the end of the world. Even as he struggled out of his sheets, searching for the source so he could run from it, part of him knew it wasn’t a sound that left any physical evidence. What could it even be? A sound like that? An old fashioned safe dropping from two stories up? A car crash without the crunch? Just a high speed collision of two immovable objects, all of the equal and opposite reaction of their momentum forced to escape as sound.

Once his heart rate had slowed, he googled. He wasn’t initially sure what to google. “Ridiculously loud noise woke me up” seemed at once too vague and too specific but sure enough. Exploding Head Syndrome. It was what happened. Obviously. But Buck remained too full of adrenaline to sleep. As he sat up in bed, he couldn’t shake the urge to look around. Under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. He didn’t feel alone.

“I’m just glad it’s happening in your head instead of mine,” Chim laughs. “Maybe try putting some earmuffs on before you go to sleep tonight.” ***

The sound doesn’t reappear. Buck is relieved, but sleeping doesn’t get any easier. He tries to soothe himself with obscenely long hot baths, by ordering a hoodie that’s more fluff than fabric, by running a foam roller across his muscles, trying to pry them into relaxation. It’s so much work and it does so little. Buck’s entire body is screaming out at all times for a hug or a massage or even just a really fucking good haircut. It takes longer and longer to fall asleep and the little sleep he does get isn’t restful. It’s like whatever meager comfort he manages to give himself during the day is leached away in the night.

He doesn’t even notice the bruises at first. It’s an easy enough thing to miss. Their job is heavy physical labor and Buck barrels through a scene like a one man stampede. Bruises are as common as the smell of smoke in his hair. The ones Eddie points out on his arm though are different.

Buck’s carrying a kitten at the time. The fire they’ve been fighting is beaten back to smolders. Buck shucked off his coat, wet and dripping from the hose and too cold for the shaking animal, and grabbed a blanket from the ambulance to wrap her up and cradle her against his chest. He’s rubbing his face against her damp fur, feeling the softness like a concentrated shot of endorphins when Eddie asks, “What the hell happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Buck asks and Eddie’s hands are pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his shoulders while Buck’s trying to hold onto the cat.

“You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” He’s maybe a little ruder than he means to be but the sleep deprivation makes him cranky and the touch deprivation means that Eddie’s gently probing fingers feel like a dream on his skin. The care in the brush of his hands makes Buck’s knees weak.

“Your arms are bruised to hell,” Eddie says. “Are you- Did someone grab you or something?”

“I swear to god, Eddie. I don’t feel anything.” Except grumpy and exhausted and longing.

“Jesus, it goes all the way up your shoulders. It looks like-” He stops, pulling Buck’s collar aside and tracing a small spot that Buck can’t see even if he turns his head. “They look like fingerprints, Buck. Are you seeing someone?”

“What!”

“These are handprints. And they’re dark. Do you really not-”

Buck wrenches himself from Eddie’s grasp so he can turn around and look at him because if Eddie’s really accusing him of putting everyone at risk by trying to date someone right now… But Eddie’s face is nothing but concerned. Which makes Buck scared.

“Is it really that bad?” he asks, clutching the cat to his chest.

Eddie rubs a hand up Buck’s back (it feels so good, hot like Buck’s t-shirt isn’t even between them and is it just because it’s been so long or just because it’s Eddie?) without looking around to see if Bobby’s watching and that’s really all the confirmation Buck needs. It’s bad.

***

After that, Buck starts to feel them. He wakes up and he can’t breathe. He wakes up and he can’t move. He wakes up on the floor. He spends every moment that he’s asleep fighting to wake up. Buck can only remember fragments and pieces of the torment but he knows that it feels like drowning. Like being held down. Like being grabbed and pulled and smothered. He thinks he remembers long dark hair.

Google is useless. Sleep apnea. Sleep paralysis. Sleep terrors. Even sleepwalking. None of them can account for the worst of it. For the physical signs of whatever is happening to him while he sleeps.

Bruises bloom blue on the pale skin of his hips. Purple on his ribs. Green on the back of his neck. The ones that Eddie saw first on his arm fade to yellow. A long scratch runs down the side of his face. Dark circles under his eyes grow darker every day.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks his reflection.

All he wants is to be able to ask that question with someone’s arms around him. He wants anyone to hold him tight and shush his fears and tell him that it’ll be okay.

It’s easier than he thought to hide it. Buck just chooses his shower times strategically and opts for a long sleeve uniform, complaining that he ruined his short sleeves ones by grabbing bleach instead of detergent while he was half asleep.

He’s always half asleep these days.

At least in the bunk rooms, he gets some semblance of rest. Whatever presence he feels in his own bedroom doesn’t cross this threshold and Buck sleeps deeply, almost missing the scream of the alarm.

“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” Eddie asks, cornering Buck in the locker room. Buck can’t help but nod and Eddie steps closer as if to touch him.

Buck flinches away and Eddie pulls up short as though hitting an invisible wall.

He breathes Buck’s name on a pained exhale and says, “You have to get some help. Whatever it is…”

“I don’t know what it is!’ Buck answers. “It’s living in my house and it- it- God. Maybe I need an exorcism.”

“Maybe you should come home with me,” Eddie suggests and Buck recoils again.

The firehouse seems safe but there’s no guarantee that Buck won’t be followed anywhere else. He’s desperate to be safe--desperate for Eddie to make him safe--but not at the expense of anyone else. Not when he doesn’t know what he’s facing.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “But call me in the morning.”

***

The burned girl screams louder when she sees Buck than she did while they were putting out the inferno of her car.

“Stay away from me!” She shrieks. “Stay awaystayawaystayaway.”

“Miss, we’re going to need you to calm down,” Hen says to her. “Buck, you wanna move aside? Like preferably somewhere she can’t see you?”

Buck does because the patient’s well-being is more important than anything, but his skin feels like ice. He wants to demand to know what else she sees when she looks at him. Wants to know how she knows. For half a second, he imagines following her to the hospital and waiting for her outside the glass doors.

They aren’t far from her house (52% of accidents happen within five miles of home) and the girl’s father arrives on the scene before they finish prepping her to be transported. And he sees Buck.

He freezes when he does, but at least he doesn’t scream. He ignores Buck completely, instead going to the ambulance where his daughter is still crying and trying to soothe her. Hen offers to let him ride in the ambulance, but he says that he’ll take his car.

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” he says, returning to Buck as the ambulance pulls away. “What you summoned… That’s not a normal ghost.”

“I didn’t summon anything! It just happened.” Buck’s voice is high-pitched and he just barely stops himself from grabbing onto the man’s arm, but the man doesn’t seem afraid of Buck the way his daughter was. “What is it? How do I make it go away?”

The man shrugs, “She came in through an open door. Which door depends on the person. But she’ll do everything in her power to keep it pried open. All you can do is try to close it again.”

It is… the least helpful advice Buck’s ever been given in his entire life. But the man’s daughter is on her way to the hospital and he needs to follow her. He vanishes.

***

They’re about to have four days off. Buck’s bracing himself to meet the woman in his dreams. To look around in that dreamspace for open doors and slam them shut again. He can do it. He has to.

***

The next night Buck wakes up and he can’t move. He’s paralyzed on the bed. He’s paralyzed on the bed and someone’s standing at the top of his stairs.

She’s not… right. Buck can’t quite see in the dark and he can’t lift his head but the woman on his stairs isn’t solid in the way a human should be. The outline of her is strong, but it’s like she’s a shell wrapped around a cavernous emptiness. She’s across the room but she’s already pulling at him.

Buck tries to thrash but his arms are pinned as if her hands are already on his wrists. He needs to reach the lamp. If he can just turn on the light.

“Get away from me,” he pleads and the part of her face where lips should be turns up, revealing pointed teeth that stand in front of a void.

“You called me,” she says. The words don’t come from her mouth and Buck doesn’t hear them with his ears. It’s wrong wrong wrong. He throws himself hard to the left and he rolls, flying further than he expected to, suddenly free, and crashes hard into the table, knocking the lamp to the floor. It shatters, bulb and all and pain scrapes across Buck’s shoulders.

“Poor boy,” the ghost mocks. “Poor lonely boy. Just wants someone to touch him. Just wants someone to stay with him. I heard you.”

“No,” Buck says and he tries to scramble, but his feet can’t find purchase on the floor. “I didn’t want you.”

He doesn’t deny the call. Can’t deny it when his heart is reaching out in the same pleading, desperate way now. Please. Anyone.

In the time it takes to blink she’s in front of him. She’s so close. She shouldn’t be able to get that close without standing on him but she’s there. Her voice whispers in his mind, “You should choose your words more carefully.”

And then her hands are around his throat.

The pressure is insistent and her motive is unmistakable. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to squeeze the life out of him. He’s going to die here and Eddie’s going to find his body because Eddie’s going to come rushing over as soon as Buck doesn’t call him in the morning and what if this thing is still here waiting for him.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Buck’s mind yells for him like his lungs did when Eddie was buried except now it’s Buck who’s too far away, who’s trapped somewhere deep and dark with no hope of escape.

He tries to breathe and his breath whistles. It’s like the first time someone handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he tried to drink through the plastic stir stick. Black stars twinkle in the room and tears build in his eyes.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

There’s a shift as she adjusts her grip and it’s enough for the stars to clear. Buck throws himself forward, shaking his head like he isn’t a ragdoll trapped in the jaws of a rottweiler, like he has a hope of breaking free and then he does. The ghost is thrown off balance and Buck jumps, scrambling back over his bed for the stairs. He can’t even think about defeating her, finding out the secrets of where she came from, closing whatever fucking door he left open. All Buck wants to do is live.

A force behind him swells like a wave to lift Buck off his feet and slams him into the bathroom door. He expects to slide off of it and onto the floor, but he’s held in place hard, his head turned and his cheek pressed to the wood, toes just brushing the ground.

“You begged me to come,” the ghost hisses. “I’m here for you, lonely boy. Don’t fight so hard.”

A hand skims up his back, nearly gentle, but leaving a numbness in its path and Buck shudders in disgust. He jerks against the door, but his arms are wrenched behind him and he screams. He realizes it’s the first time he has.

“I didn’t call you! I don’t want you here! Get out.”

“I came because you needed me.” A long finger trails down his cheek and Buck whimpers. She’s taller than him now. Was she always? “I could feel you from so far away. An aching ball of need. I’m here for you now.”

“I don’t need you,” Buck growls and the room flashes like lightning. He hopes to fall, almost expects to fall, where he can scramble again but instead, Buck is hurled away from the door completely. He has time to see that he’s above the stairs, throw his hands out uselessly and then he’s frozen.

Buck hovers there in the air above the stairs, dangling in the grip of the ghost, like a cat grabbed by his scruff. Kicking wildly, he grabs for the invisible hand that’s holding him, yelling “No, no, no, no.”

“Need me now?” the ghost asks.

Smothering the terrified part of him that nearly answers yes, Buck forces himself to stop twisting and just hang there. He doesn’t want to fall. He doesn’t want to die. But what he needs isn’t going to come from the ghost.

“No,” he answers.

And he can’t explain how he knows what her face looks like when it’s screwed up in fury, but he does. It’s vicious and vindictive and Buck’s not surprised at all when he’s flicked away from her and down the flight of stairs.

He seems to hit each one as he falls, something that should be impossible with the speed that he’s traveling and the force with which he bounces off of them, but the ghost is obviously responsible. Air leaves his lungs as his ribs crack against the stairs. His elbows and knees scrape. His head bangs the rail. Buck’s long, long legs seem to tangle as he falls, cartwheeling him down and he lands in a heap at the bottom.

As he tries to figure out if he can still move, the door flies open.

Warmth rushes in. Buck hadn’t even realized how cold it had gotten since he first woke up, but the room seems to thaw around him. It’s like sunlight.

It’s Eddie.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Evan. Buck. I’ve got you, Buck. I’ve got you.”

Tenderly, he scoops Buck off the floor, unsnarling the mess of his limbs and feeling all over for the damage he can’t see. “I’ve got you. Open your eyes. Come on.”

The ghost stands at the top of the stairs and then she’s at the bottom. Buck clambers backward again, digging his heels into the floor to push himself upright in front of Eddie, to try and hide him from view. Eddie doesn’t seem to see the ghost. All of his attention is still on Buck, stroking his hair, promising over and over that he’s there, that he has Buck.

All of the ghost’s attention is on Buck too. “You need me,” she says. “You called for me.” She sounds different now. Bitter. Like Buck wasted her precious time.

“I don’t need you,” he says and he reaches behind him to grab Eddie’s hand. “I already have everything I need.”

Lights flicker and that impossibly loud sound bangs in Buck’s ears again. He gets one last look at the ghost’s vicious, violent visage and then she’s gone.

And then Buck wakes up.

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letarasstuff · 3 years

Text

The Aftermath of being kidnapped

(A/N): This was requested by an anon and is based on this and this post

Summary: Spencer’s daughter was kidnapped. What does the aftermath look like?

Warnings: Angst, but it’s also real fluffy

Wourdcount: 1.4k

✨Masterlist✨ ___________________________________ Spencer doesn’t let anyone in his life easily. His circle of close people is carefully chosen and picked. It’s for his own safety. After all, the young agent doesn’t want to get hurt by anyone again.

But ever since he held his daughter for the first time, the tiny little human being that from now on depends on him for the rest of his life, he is willing to get hurt by her, if that means she is happy. In this moment he decided that her happiness means everything to him. It’s going to be his first priority to keep her content.

He still tries to keep that promise to himself, even after over three years (to be exact 3 years, 4 months and 8 hours). That’s one reason why the last 8 hours were the worst of his life and believe me when I say that Spencer has sadly a great pool of bad times he can choose from.

Since (Y/N) went missing, all he can do is stare into the air, thinking about all the good memories he has with her. Her first word (“dada” of course), her first steps, reading every night to her either in person or over the phone.

But right now his little baby isn’t here and he isn’t able to help her. His brain is no use and the young father isn’t able to get out of the loop inside his mind.

Spencer is scared. Scared to never be able to hold (Y/N), his lifeline. Scared that the last word she heard from him is a promise he couldn’t keep, “Daddy is going to tuck you in tonight, I promise Sweetheart” instead of “I love you, Sweetheart”. Scared that she is scared at the moment. Scared that she is in pain.

There are so many things Reid is afraid of, one thing worse than the other. Having the dreading 24 hour clock above his head and all the child abduction statistics on his mind don’t help either.

Since he is captured by his own thoughts, Spencer doesn’t notice the team gearing up. Even the sudden quiet doesn’t alarm him. He is too lost in his mind to be able to register anything from his environment. Not until a small scream he is more than familiar with reaches his ears.

“DADDY!”

(Y/N) wiggles out of Hotch’s grip, leaving Spencer nearly with a heart attack as she is close to falling down. When she wrestles herself out of the Unit Chief’s grasp, she runs to her father as fast as her little legs can without tripping. The father crouches down and they clash together.

“I missed you, Daddy. I was so scwared. I- the woman was so mean and creepy. Please, never leave me again”, she cries into his chest, sobs racking her body. Spencer draws soothing circles on his daughter’s back while shifting so he sits with his legs crossed down on the floor and (Y/N) on his lap.

“I will never leave you again, Sweetheart. I love you. God I love you so so much. And it’s all over. The bad woman won’t hurt you anymore. I’m here now”, he whispers into her ear. Together they rock forth and back. As she calms down, Spencer looks up at his team. They all watch the scene go down, the strings of their hearts pulling at the painful sight.

“She still needs to get checked out. (Y/N) refused to on scene, wanting to go to you as fast as possible. She nearly bit the paramedic.” Hotch looks at his agent, who clings to his daughter. “You got a feisty one there, Reid”, Morgan adds. Spencer nods and glances at his colleagues.

“Thank you guys for saving her. I-I don’t know what I w-would do-” “And you don’t have to. Take the next two weeks off, you are more needed at home than in the office.” Hotch cut him off, smiling a little to reassure the young man.

Spencer nods in thanks. “Sweetheart, are you ready to go to the doctor’s to see if you are hurt? Are you in pain?” (Y/N) shakes her head, but he isn’t sure to what it is the answer. “Ok, come on.” He gets up and hoists her up on his hip. The little girl whimpers and hides her face into her father’s neck.

“Um, I guess I wish you a goo-” “Spence go, she needs you.” “Ok, yes. Thank you JJ.” With that Spencer takes (Y/N) to the next metro stop, never letting go of her.

Luckily they don’t have to wait long in the emergency room at the hospital. Soon Spencer’s name is called and he finds himself with his child on his lap explaining to the pediatrician the situation.

“From what I see I conclude (Y/N) only has superficial wounds and bruises. Just make sure she takes it easy the next few days”, he explains. “A-are you sure? Don’t you want to look over her for a second time? Just to be safe I mean?” Spencer looks down at his daughter, who slowly drifts off.

“With all due respect, Doctor Reid, I’m sure. Your daughter is fine.” “No, you don’t understand. She was kidnapped for crying out loud, you need to check her out a second time, to be sure.” Shockingly to him, the agent can’t think of statistics to feed his statement. He just argues out of his feelings.

“Allright. I’ll look over her again.” The doctor sighs and does his job, knowing Reid will have his way anyway. Nevertheless he doesn’t find anything new, in addition to having a now grumpy toddler, who doesn’t want to be prodded at anymore.

Later that evening after a quick dinner and a bath for (Y/N), Spencer puts her in his bed. “I’ll have to go to the bathroom and then we get to cuddle, ok?” This is anything but ok for her. As soon as the father presents his idea she begins to cry. “I-I don’t want you to leave, D-daddy”, the girl hiccups. “Daddy has to use the toilet. I’ll be quick, I promise Sweetheart.” It takes him a while to calm her down, eventually he is allowed to go to the bathroom on his own.

He is quick to get back to (Y/N). As soon as he climbs into his bed, she crawls on his chest and snakes her hands around her father’s neck. “Pwease wead two me”, she demands drowsily. Before Spencer is even able to get past one page, the toddler is fast asleep. But Spencer still continues, just savoring the feeling of his daughter close to him.

It’s safe to say that the next two weeks consist of lots of cuddles, reading together and talking. Well as much as you can talk with a three year old about what happened.

Taglist:

Spencer Reid:

@calm-and-doctor

x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x child!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #x child!reader #x daughter!reader

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fleurlia · 3 years

Text

here is part two of this.

[7:13 pm] for all the phases you have been through in the past few months, all of them were disastrous. a couple of months after jeno has told you about his proposal karina and he appears with new rings, explaining to everyone how both just choose to make things more swiftly and not wait until graduation.

you already knew it but that didn't stop you from spending at least twenty minutes crying pathetically in the ladies' room.

certainly when you thought things couldn't get any worse, believe me, they did. you were convinced for the moment karina asked you to help her choose the dress. again, you couldn't blame anyone against yourself.

renjun and donghyuck stood next to you, holding their laughs as she was asking for help in the most loving way. just for when she was gone the duo were shouting loud and attempting to comfort your poor heart. following that, you saw yourself sat there watching karina trying on more than a thousand wedding dresses, for getting married to the love of your life.

it would be easier to hate her if she was a bitch and 20% less attractive. you thought.

and talking about him, you couldn't even hold his gaze without looking weepy and bitter. your friendship existed only by devices, which you believed would be turned off the moment he said yes to her.

after a year of planning and torture, the big day has arrived and even though you have created every possible excuse, none seemed good enough to not going to your best friend's wedding. including a sweet smile, your mom comforted you as you got ready for the wedding, holding up tears and making yourself at least looking attractive on the worst day of your life. you asked more than once for your mother to be merciful and to fake an accident but she keeps telling you how could you get over it if you didn't see "the dead body".

instructed to stay at least a few minutes late, you made everything possible to be delayed. not wanting to arrive and have to deal with the reception and face the bride and groom. not craving to deal with the fact that if you held more than five seconds alone with jeno, you would presumably tell him the truth that was stuck in your throat. then when you arrive everyone was already at the ceremony, your entry causing a small noise that drew attention. jeno's eyes catching yours immediately.

the couple looking supremely beautiful, like always. the dress that karina and you have picked just not fits her but makes everyone around her look poorly ugly. oh my god, i hate myself so much. that was the only thing going through your mind.

sitting down next to renjun, he sends you a glance. "it's almost ended, i thought you were not coming."

"as if i were that lucky"

he chuckles but gently takes your hands. even though you said more than a thousand times that you didn't want anyone feeling sorry for you, he tried his best to make things a little better.

while the minutes started to grow, your mind stopped a few more every time that ceremony got close for the "yes". holding up every tear you possess in your body, you almost failed as the old lady next to you smile in your direction and whispered;

"what are you from the groom??"

"i... i am his best friend, since freshman year at college."

"oh, that's why he is looking right here all the time."

quietly you agreed with her, not even daring yourself to look up and catch all of his stares. the moments pass with you staring to anywhere, you couldn't even look at them without feeling your chest squeeze in sharp pain.

"so lee jeno, do you take this woman as your wife to lover her, respect her, and looking for her?"

wishing to not stand there or even existed, you were close to starting to crying but renjun squeezed your hands and all that people heard at next was; "yes, i do."

lee jeno, the love of your life just got married... but it's was not whit you.

later on, — this including the time you spent crying and sobbing in the car — you were supposed to go to the celebration and that's is what you did as a supportive friend.

the first hour was going like a blink, you have to pretend so much happiness that the idea of the newlyweds just got blanked out of your mind. it was the last straw when jeno's sister approached you with a gentle smile, you could feel her pity just by the look on her face and you felt even more miserable when she said it in a low tone: ''i always thought that on a day like today, you would be my new sister.''

that hurt so much.

the rest of the night passed like a blur, a slow and painful blur. you had taken so many pictures and you were sure that you looked ridiculous in the picture with the bride and groom, donghyuck and renjun were there to support you but your false happiness was quickly destroyed by jeno's stares.

almost at the end of the celebration, everyone full of the food and tired from the dancing, people decided it was time for the speeches and in the crowd of invited people you hid behind your friends. if by any chance the universe hated you that much you would be chosen to give some words and you were ready to make a whole speech based on rose's in "love, rosie". it would be tragic.

karina's mother said beautiful words to the couple and praised jeno so much that you at that moment felt happy for him. many relatives passed by, all of them talking about how perfect they were for each other and at end wishing them happiness. you felt like a jealousy bitch at every second.

almost at the end of all your torture, you already agreed that renjun or one of his friends would take you home because you didn't even want to talk, it was the newlyweds' turn to speak. karina sounded so perfectly in love with every word she spoke out. you were thankful to be far away from the couple because your stomach flipped as you watched jeno stand up, straightening his suit and black hair.

you were about to get up and walk away, not wanting to hear about how much he loved her and was grateful to be married to her but after a second thought, you knew you would draw pitying and pitiful glances in your direction.

"i can give you more than a thousand and one reasons about how i ended up here, married to karina." his soft voice echoing throughout the room. "one of them is because sometimes... we don't notice that what we need is right under our noses. sometimes we even notice... but only a few people dare themselves to confess their love to that person.'' at that point nobody else understood where he was getting at with that speech. just like all evening, you didn't attempt to look at him and be unlucky enough to find him also watching you.

''one more reason why we are here, on this particular night, is that maybe i took too long to realize, waited for too long. i wish i could confess this earlier because... deep down i always knew it was you. the love of my life and my best friend.''

something inside of you clicked. back when you started to date, jeno looked you up one day and you fought, he was just being jealous that your then-boyfriend also claimed to be your best friend and you didn't say anything, the point is that he would never call karina his best friend. on that day, both promise never forgets about their besties and never, never calling anyone ''best friend''.

nobody knew about that.

"if... if i could only go back in time... maybe i would tell myself how i should confess to you.'' you looked up, getting his gaze. you stood surprised when you noticed that his eyes were tearing up. ''if only i had known that we would be here today. i never would have let your lips leave mine years ago, on new years'. i never should have walked away. i never should have panicked. i never should have lost all those years without you... because i've realized that no matter where you are or what you're doing, or who you're with, i will always honestly, truly, completely love you.''

you couldn't believe in your damn bad luck.

you couldn't discover what was more pathetically tragic. the fact that karina would watch the video of her wedding in the future and see her husband confessing his love to someone who wasn't her. or the fact that jeno had chosen his wedding day to acknowledge that he loved you.

karina never kissed him on new year's, their first one was in a cinema. only you did, once in your second year as friends. you two never spoke about it.

karina didn't like romantic comedies, she was a literature major and only liked movies that was focussed on classics. you did. you had made jeno watch "love, rosie" so many times that you both knew the script.

with tears rolling down their cheeks, the two of you stared at each other for what seemed like hours. he loved you too. you both now knew about the other's love. inaudibly while you wiped your tears you both agreed that; maybe in another time, another life, we were meant for a happy ending. but not here, not at this moment.

but it didn't matter, only you two knew how much you loved each other and always would.

ok guys, sorry for making this so long and for any mistakes. let me know if you wanted to me doing scenarios, reactions or timestamps or even let my asks open for requests.

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wenellyb · 3 years

Text

I have a general comment to make about the whole Sebastian thing, not on the Instagram picture, because it is not my place to comment, but a general comment about dealing with racism in the fandom, and some of the behavior I have seen on Tumblr.

I have a story to share first and it's not really related to fandoms, or shipping Sambucky or even Sebastian Stan directly but it's about how White people see racism, so I hope some people will read this and think about it.

I just want to say one thing... if you want to comment this, please read until the end before you do.

And please bear in mind that I'm not talking for anybody else but only my own experience and my opinion.

I see a lot of people get defensive when racism is called out in the fandom,whether it is them or a celebrity they love, and a lot of them try to deny it, or try to find excuses.

I understand why they do it, but it's really not the right way. The correct way is to sit down, listen, think about it and THEN only then can you deny or accept the accusations.

Here’s the story:

I was once with my group of friends and I don't know what prompted the question but they asked me if I thought all White people were racist. And you can guess it, I'm the only Black woman in my group of friends. We're all French and 5 of my friends have Asian orgins (Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos) and 3 of my Friends are White. Just planting the decor, lol.

I don't know why they asked, but we're always having debates like these on different topics so i just answered...

I told them that yes, that I thought all White people are racists, and that racism is not just hating all Black people, or all non-White people, but also includes a multitude of other aspects that enables racism to prosper.

It can be some unconscious feeling that you or White people in general are a tiny/ a lot better than Black people, it can be making or laughing at racists jokes, it can be denying racism even exists anymore: " But it's 2021, those kind of things don't exist anymore" this is also harmful, because then when your friends come talking to you complain about an encounter that was racist.... you will minimize it because "racism doesn't exist anymore so it can't be racist" so even though your intentions may not be bad... You are protecting the racists, intentionally or not etc...

There are so many more aspects to racism than just being a far right extemist who hates all foreigners. Racists don't only look like that.

I won't expand on this, but there are many more aspects, I mean I could expand, but it's not the point of my posts, the point of my post is that they asked me and I made a mini essay to explain that the way I see it, there are "levels" of racism (for lack of a better word), and that in that aspect, all White people were racist. People think that you need to be a far right white supremacist, to be racist, you really don’t.

And I told my White female friend, let's call her Alice, that she was the only White person I knew who wasn't racist (implying that my other two friends were racist).

To be honest, I don't think that all White people are racist, my uncle is White and he's the furthest from racist you'll ever find, but I said it anyway because otherwise some people would never question themselves. If I say this people will either get defensive and deny it, or reflect on it and try to assess if they have some internalized stuff they didn't explore and didn't know. But if I say that not all White people are racists, my friends would have directly thought they were off the hook.

What I do believe is that a lot of people are racist and just don’t realize it because they only think about the "extreme" cases of racism.

So I said to my friends that I thought all white poeple were racist and two things happened, and I wasn't expecting any of it:

- My White male friend, let's call him Pierre, listened carefully, and said that in what I had described, he admitted that he was indeed racist, he acknowledged that he did have some prejudice if he was being honest, and also that he had made some racists jokes so that even though he never considered himself racist, hearing what I was saying he said that on some levels, he was indeed racist.

Bear in mind that this is the friend whose favorite character in Black Panther was Martin Freeman, and had already argued in other conversations that positive discrimination made it difficult for White straight Men to find a job (When by the way he has never struggled to find a job a day in his life so go figure, besides there is no postive discrimination policies in France or anything, so I don't even know why he said that).

So knowing my friend, I knew he had some kind of prejudice, obviously, I just didn't think he would really think about what I was saying and admit it.

This was kind of a big deal, and I would never have thought that he would have admitted it, I thought he was the one I would have to argue with, but nope, he listened.

- Then my friend Alice, the one I had told was the only White Person I knew who wasn't racist, got mad and got defensive, even though she was the only one I hadn't called racist to her face. I said specifically she was the one White person I knew who wasn't racist because from previous discussions she was the most open when it came to discuss issues on racism.

However, she's the one who wouldn't really listen and said that I should not generalize about all White poeple, all that kind of stuff, so eventually I had to apologize to her and told her "It's not because all White People I know are racist that all White people are". I had to rephrase this way.

A few months later, I received a message from my friend Pierre, he's Alice's boyfriend by the way. He texted me that they were having Sunday lunch with her family, and someone asked Alice about a Black woman she knew, and Alice answered " She's pretty for a Black girl"...

So many things to unpack, the violence of those words thrown around so casually, those words being said by someone who doesn't consider herself racist, and also, the fact that I would have never known this if her own boyfriend hadn't texted me this.

"She is pretty for a Black girl" is one of the most disgusting and White Supremacist thing she could have said: All Black people/women are ugly by default but that girl is a little bit over that standard?" I don't know any context where that sentence isn't awful.

And also, I'm her friend, am I supposed to be relieved that maybe I'm in the basket of the "pretty ones" or should I consider myself as a member of the other crowd?

There's no way around it, what she said was so f*cked up.

This is why your " I can't be racist I have a Black friend" doesn't mean anything by the way. It doesn't mean anything. She's one of my closest friends.. we had a group trip together for my birthday. So she's not a casual friend, she was in my close group of friends.

The only silver lining is that by doing this, she exactly proved my point.

So according to you, who's the "ally"?

A White guy who recognizes he has prejudice and works on his racism and will call it out when he sees it, even if it's coming from his own girlfriend?

Or a White woman who considers herself an "ally" and doesn't think she is racist, but in the safety of her home doesn't hesitate to say racist stuff when she is surrounded by her White relatives?

It's no use being an "ally" if you're going to be defensive and deny everything or forget you're an ally the minute it is your favorite celebrity being called out.

Getting defensive whenever people start talking about racism is suspicious. If you feel called out, think about it, work on yourself and find out if what you’re being called out for is legitimate or not. And you know what maybe it isn’t? Maybe you Tumblr user X are not racist or you don't have prejudice, but you will never know if you don’t ask yourself and shut down the discussion from the beginning.

Just after the picture was posted a lot of people had already chosen their camp.

Even if you first reaction is defensiveness and wanting to deny it all, the first step should always be to sit back and think about it, and it's not only about racism, you listen first, think about it, and THEN and only then do you deny it or confirm it. Nobody is perfect, but the people who choose to stay obtuse in certain situations are really not helping and are by far the worst.

Stop finding excuses for Sebastian, of course don't go on his Instagram, don't harrass him, don't insult him... But also stop finding him excuses before you have taken the step to listen to the people who have something to say about it. Listen first, you’ll find the excuses later.

Also, most probably the people who are calling him out here on Tumblr are not the ones going on his Instagram to harass him (well at least I hope not) so why can't we have the conversation here?

We can have the conversations here on Tumblr, and discuss it... But the discussions will go nowhere if everybody just gets defensive.

Same thing when we call out racism in the fandom... Your first reaction shouldn't be to get defensive but to listen, I’m taking the example of the MCU but if we say there was racism in the Stucky fandom, don’t try to make it seem like there’s a Sambucky VS Stucky “ship war”, listen to why people are saying this, and then you can draw you own conclusions.

Here, for the Sebastian story, let's listen to what Buddhist people have to say, first. Maybe they will say the post was problematic maybe not... And we'll learn something.

My first thought is also to get defensive when I read a post and feel called out, but that's not the correct way, you may have some prejudice and not even realize it, or realize it and be in denial...

This might be contreversial but it is my opinion that most people are not hardcore racists. But their unwillingness to acknowledge their racist tendencies, working on it... or even staying silent when blatant racism is on display is what enables racism to live long and prosper.

On Twitter or other Social Media people will be openly racist without a problem, but Tumblr prides itself in being open and tolerant, but when it comes to really calling out racism, then it’s crickets-

If you don't want to do anything about racism... It's ok, I really mean it... It is ok.

If it doesn't disturb you when the non-White characters are treated differently in your fandoms it is ok, I'm serious... If you want to enjoy your Tumblr life without thinking about racism it is more than fine, you really have no obligation... It’s ok to stay away from some conversations.

But please... please, please don't stand in the way of people who are trying to do something about it.

And most importantly don't say you want to fight racism or that you are an "ally" but when you are called out or someone else is called out, you try to minimize everythin with "Not everything had to be about race"

Yes, not everything has to do with racism but you'll never know if you don't sit down and think about it first. Maybe Seb’s post wasn’t offensive, I don’t know. But how will we know if it was or not if we don’t listen to the people who are affected by that post?

This isn't even really about Seb himself but about the way some people in the fandom behave... How people just go to extremes without even trying to discuss first.

I love Seb as an actor, but I don’t know him and I’ll probably never meet him, I won’t spend the next days trying to defend him or accuse him, he and I live different lives that will never intersect, and it's fine like that, but I will listen to people who have been affected by his post and have something to say about it.

Seb will be fine, his career will be fine, he probably even has someone handling his social media... But the people on Tumblr who have to accept racism in silence and have had to do it for years will not be fine, if the coversations keep getting shut down before they even start.

Everyone skipped the listening part and jumped to the defending or condemning part. And also a lot of things from the past re-surfaced (take a knee post, some instagram likes I guees) which makes it even more difficult if people skip the listening part.

To me, there are 2 groups of people, people who have prejudice and want to do something about it and people who have prejudice but don't want to do anýthing about it...

I don't know in which group Seb is and I don't know him so I won't be spending days trying to figure it out...

But from what I've seen, at least in the MCU and Star Wars fandoms, I know in which group a lot of people in Tumblr users are and if some of them want to switch groups, it’s never too late.

#fandom racism #sebasian stan #long post #I didn’t insist on harrassement and all but of course never harrass anybody on the Internet celebrity or not.#I tried to put too many things in there.. I hope #it's still understandable #MCU fandom #tfatws #I know this is long #And I know that I have repeated some stuff... But some stuff needed to be repeated #Sometime we need to sit down and think about why people do the things that they do...#bucky barnes

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