#typing this while halfway to a panic attack

[firewolf111]

So I doubt anyone is going to see this, but on the off chance someone does, I could use some help.

So a question to the aromantics and/or asexuals. How do I tell my girlfriend of 2 years that I think I may be aroace but still want to be in a relationship with (although in a slightly different way)?

Like I've tried to tell her I'm asexual, but I don't think I was direct enough. And I am way too terrified to bring up the fact I may be aromantic.

Not to mention, how do you know if you're aromantic?

Like I'm freaking out, and could use some advice from someone who is experienced with this.

Plz help.

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a spontaneous idea for a new year's eve party doesn't seem so brilliant anymore when there's so much to do and so little time left. and when the sound of fireworks wakes you up with flashbacks. but luckily, reid's right there with you. as always.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer x newbau!female reader, baking cookies together, the beginning is really chaotic, reader has a panic attack and flashbacks from time when she was a hostage (in my previous fic but there's no need to read it before. no major references as usual), mention of shooting. penelope garcia slaying. glasses read one more time (will i ever get bored of this?) a lot of jokes (successful i hope) most of the fic is very fluffy, inspired by new year's eve by taylor swift (i recommend listening to this song on repeat while reading)

𝐚/𝐧: this is probably one of my fav fics of mine, i literally cried while writing (because there's no one to clean up the bottles with me on new year's day)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6k

“Okay, I think we’ve got everything. Although, do you think we have enough types of cheese...?”

“There’s so much cheese it won’t even fit on one board, Pen.”

“Exactly, so maybe we should make two…”

“Hey, look. Do you think these glasses will work for champagne?”

“Two boards—one with cheese, more savory, and the other with…”

“Because I don’t think I have any others. Jesus, I need to wash these; they’re fucking sticky…”

“…and on the second one, we’ll arrange the cookies we’re going to bake…”

“Shit, the cookies. I’m not even sure if this oven works…”

“Wait, did we even buy olives? Fuck, how could we forget olives…”

“Screw the olives! Wash the glasses if you can, and I’ll check the oven…”

“What do you mean, screw the olives?! How the fuck are you supposed to make a cheese board without olives?!”

For about twenty minutes now, you and Garcia had been running around the kitchen in your house, talking over each other non-stop and hardly listening. A grocery bag sat unopened on the kitchen island, you hadn’t started preparing a single one of your overly ambitious snacks, and some pesky gremlin was doing flips on your shoulder, whispering tauntingly, you know it’s highly likely the milk in your fridge is expired, right?

Well, that’s just how it goes when you decide to throw a New Year’s Eve party spontaneously—on New Year’s Eve afternoon. Honestly, it was a fucking miracle so many people agreed to come. And once they said yes, there was no backing out. You had to organize everything: the food, decorating your house, outfits, makeup. With every passing minute, Penelope was transforming into a full-blown organizational beast, completely unsure what to tackle first. The two cute space buns on top of her head had fallen apart, leaving her blonde curls loosely cascading down her neck—not that she even seemed to notice.

You, on the other hand, were losing steam fast. All you wanted was to curl up in a ball on the floor and eat cheese without bothering to arrange it on a board in an aesthetic way. Two types of people under time pressure. 

To make matters worse, the doorbell rang.

“Coming!” you shouted, your voice so filled with irritation that, if you were in the visitor’s shoes, you’d have turned and run for your life. Quickly, you opened the fridge and sniffed the damned milk. No signs of spoilage, thank fuck. There was no way you had time to go back to the store…

You made it to the door, and halfway there, you realized you were still holding the open bottle of milk you had forgotten to put back. You sighed, turned around, and with a double dose of rage, anxiety, and sheer insanity, you finally opened the door.

"Hey," Reid greeted, standing on the doorstep. His glasses were perched on his nose, and his hair was slightly tousled from the rather strong wind that day. Without even looking at you, he pointed to the brown bag hanging from his shoulder. "So, about those board games, when you invited me, I decided to look something up online and ordered one that I think you'll like. It's inspired by the works of Jane Austen, and players take on the roles of characters from the Regency era..."

"Is someone trying to sell you something, or what?" You heard Penelope's voice from the kitchen.

"Anyway, I ordered it, but unfortunately, it didn’t arrive, so I just grabbed chess and..."

You could only manage a confused shake of your head.

"Reid, with all due respect, but what the hell are you talking about?"

He looked at you as if you’d asked him for the juicy details of raccoon marital life.

"You invited me over for New Year’s," he reminded you, frowning slightly, as if wondering whether he’d gotten something wrong—like the day, maybe. "Me and Garcia. We were supposed to play board games..."

Your mouth dropped open as you suddenly remembered he was absolutely right. You had invited him. For board games. And then forgot to cancel after you’d all decided to spend the evening in a completely different way.

"Give me just a second," you said, and without waiting for a reply, slammed the door in his face.

Then you screamed. Stomping your foot like a frustrated child. Why, oh why, did you have the memory of a goldfish? Forgetting literally everything, from buying those damn olives to canceling this meeting. Why did the last day of the year have to suck so much? Why couldn’t anything in your life just go smoothly?

"The plans have… slightly changed," you explained with an apologetic smile when you reopened the door. 

Reid rocked slightly on his heels, his hand clenched around the strap of his bag. He had clearly heard what happened after you closed the door and looked as though he was debating whether to hand you a note with the number of a good psychiatrist.

"But that doesn't mean I'm kicking you out," you assured him quickly. "I’m really, really glad you decided to come, seriously. So, sorry about how things turned out. But still—will you come in? Garcia's here."

He shrugged and followed you inside.

"What exactly does plans have changed mean?" he asked.

He didn’t look around the room—he’d been to your house countless times before. Lately, for the past few months, with an increasing frequency. But he did stare curiously at a disheveled Penelope, who was busy loading glasses into the dishwasher.

"Well, we met up for lunch," she began explaining without even turning to face him. You didn’t waste the little time you had either, pulling ingredients for cookies out of the fridge. "We talked a bit about Derek and Elle spending New Year’s Eve in the Maldives. And our princess here decided that she wasn’t going to spend the evening in a nerdy way, playing nerdy board games, with two nerds like us..."

"I didn’t say that!" you protested indignantly.

"...while they’re sipping cocktails on the beach and having a great time. And so, it turned out we’re throwing a party."

The explanation came to an end, and Reid listened to it all without much emotion on his face, something you caught out of the corner of your eye. But you didn’t expect him to be devastated. After all, it wasn’t as if you had canceled an event the two of you had been counting down to like prisoners marking days on their cell walls, eagerly awaiting freedom.

Standing by the kitchen island, he glanced at you, then at Garcia, then behind him, as if unsure whether he should stay or politely excuse himself and leave.

“You’re invited, by the way,” you clarified, because while you thought it was obvious, maybe it wasn’t so clear to him. “So, yeah, if you’re planning to come, you have no choice—you have to help me bake these cookies. Get with it.”

You tossed him one of the aprons. The other you began tying around your waist.

Reid caught the object you threw, looked at it with furrowed brows, then shifted his gaze to you, a hint of something resembling a smile flickering across his face.

“Who said I’m planning to come?” he asked.

His mock-offensive tone didn’t quite match what he was doing—slipping the apron over his head. It made you snort.

“Oh, what, got other plans, pretty boy?” Penelope teased. “Some wild party at the book club?”

She leaned over to close the dishwasher. But instead of straightening up, she froze in place, staring at her reflection in the machine’s door. Her jaw dropped, and she gasped in something close to horror.

“What happened to my hair? I look... I look like…”

“Like a homeless caveman who just barely won a fight with lightning?” you suggested in a syrupy tone. “But only just.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” she huffed.

She left the kitchen, the sound of her heels echoing as she headed upstairs to the bathroom. Reid turned to himself with a smug expression.

“Does a caveman qualify as homeless if he lives in a cave…”

You interrupted him with your outstretched hand, pressing it to his mouth.

“Cookies, Reid. Not philosophy.”

You were planning to bake simple butter cookies in the shape of stars, and then decorate them with edible glitter. You started pulling out all the necessary ingredients from the fridge and cabinets, which were soon covering the countertop in your kitchen. You stood side by side, and your eyes were drawn to the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, barely touching his wrists. Unable to resist, you grabbed his hand and started rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

"You could've just told me..." he began, looking at you in surprise.

You merely shrugged. You found yourselves facing each other, and you nodded towards his other hand, which he gave you after a brief hesitation. Just like before, you rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, but this time much more slowly. As more of his skin appeared before your eyes, you gathered yourself to speak.

"I feel a bit bad about how things turned out with the games," you admitted, not looking up to meet his gaze. You focused on his hand, holding it by the knuckles.

"It's okay," he reassured you, his voice soft without a hint of reproach.

"I should've warned you earlier," you continued stubbornly. "Instead of doing it last minute. And, you know, if you don't want to come to this party, that's totally okay. I know you were expecting something different..."

"I was expecting to spend time with you," he interrupted, then paused to clear his throat. It was then that you realized you were still holding his hand. His fingers trembled slightly when you let go, and he immediately shoved it into his pocket—perhaps to hide it. "We can have a game night another time. On a different day. Like, this weekend, for example. If you'd want, of course. Not that I'm pressuring you..."

"I would like that," you assured him, looking up at him with a smile, amused by his over-explaining. It always charmed you. You used to think it was because you didn't know each other well and he still felt nervous around you, but as time passed, you came to realize that maybe that was just how he was. "Seriously. And it's not just because I feel guilty about how I left you hanging today. I'm genuinely curious about that game you ordered. It’s inspired by Austen's novels, right?"

He started to tell you more about it, while you both added the first ingredients into a large glass bowl. As he began to knead the dough with his hands, you leaned your elbow on the countertop, propping your chin on your hand, listening to him.

"...one of the symbols of excess in 17th century England was a dish called A Pie of a Thousand Birds..."

You wondered when the conversation had shifted to this topic, while Penelope was still in the bathroom.

 "...containing various kinds of birds, sometimes in different layers, cooked together. In the earliest records of this dish, it mentions anywhere from a dozen to several dozen birds such as quails, chickens, geese..."

Reid suddenly stopped when his gaze landed on you. He must have been so absorbed in kneading the dough and sharing this tidbit with you that he was completely unaware of the fact that you were staring at him.

You raised an eyebrow questioningly.

 "Is something wrong?"

"No," he quickly assured you, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He had a bit of dough on his skin, which seemed to escape his notice. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember where he'd left off. "And... quails..."

You couldn't bring yourself to tell him he'd already mentioned them. Instead of that, you moved from your spot, slowly lifting your hands off the counter and approached him to wipe away the stray bit of dough beneath his eye. Reid, wanting to make sure nothing else was left on his face, wiped it with his hand… which was completely covered in dough. At the sight of his expression when he realized what he had done, you couldn't help but burst out laughing, your head resting against his apron from the weight of it. Meanwhile, he desperately tried to wipe away the remnants using the clean skin of his forearms, muttering a few curses under his breath, which only made you laugh harder.

"I see you're having a great time," Penelope returned to the kitchen.

On top of her head were two cute buns once again, resembling little snails.

"The best," you corrected, undeterred, trying once more to wipe his face. This time, not as gently as before, until he flinched back under the pressure of your hand, scrunching his nose tightly.

You glanced at the clock, and your playful mood started to wane. There was still so much to do, and you rallied everyone into action. Penelope rolled up her sleeves to prepare the charcuterie boards (it turned out the olives were at the bottom of the bag), you got to work on the mini sandwiches, and Reid was busy cutting out star shapes from the rolled-out dough using a champagne bottle as a makeshift rolling pin.

“Oh, by the way, Pen,” you began, opening the heated oven to put in the first batch of cookies, “we’re still going to kiss at midnight, right?”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Nothing’s changed,” your friend replied, focused on arranging various types of cheese into the best possible combination.

Reid, meanwhile, was taking off his apron, folding it into a perfectly neat square, a frown of concentration on his face.

“Why kiss specifically at midnight?” he asked.

“You haven’t heard about that tradition?” you asked, surprised. “A kiss at midnight brings good luck in love and relationships for the whole next year. Skipping it means the opposite.”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.”

“It’s just a gesture. Or maybe, better put, a symbol. But anyway, last year I was having a bit too much fun and passed out before midnight. And, well, I don’t think I need to tell you it wasn’t the best year for relationships. Or rather, the lack of them.”

“Doesn’t that mean you should kiss two people this year? One for the previous year and one for the current one?” Garcia suggested thoughtfully.

You mulled it over as well.

“Actually, that makes sense. But who?”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” your friend assured you. “There’s bound to be some handsome volunteer. And if not, Reid could always be your backup option.”

You glanced at him briefly, biting your lip as you considered the suggestion. Funny enough, you hadn’t thought of him at all. Not because you found the idea of kissing him unpleasant or something you wouldn’t want to do. It was just… this tradition felt more like grabbing a random person, the first friend within reach. Something done without much thought—a gesture that, in this context, meant absolutely nothing serious.

Wait, but with Reid, would it mean something serious? Why the hesitation all of a sudden? You shook your head, dismissing the train of thought.

You looked at him again; he seemed to be making a deliberate effort to keep his gaze fixed on Penelope, not on you. Though as soon as he sensed you looking at him, he turned his eyes to meet yours, his expression unreadable.

“What do you think?” you asked before you could stop yourself. To ease the sudden, inexplicable tension, you added with a playful smile, “My entire romantic year would rest in your hands—or rather, on your lips. Would you be ready to take on such a sacrifice?”

“Think carefully, darling,” Penelope chimed in, pointing a finger at him. “Otherwise, we’ll all have to spend the next twelve months listening to her complain about how awful men are and how unlucky she is in love…”

“I’m starting to feel an unjustified amount of pressure,” Reid remarked cautiously. You kept staring at him, arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the oven, its orange glow casting a warm light across the kitchen.

“No pressure. And just so we’re clear, it’s not like I’m taking advantage of you. You’d benefit from this too. Unless, of course, you decide to kiss someone else—then, fine…”

“Considering I probably won’t know anyone else at this party? Slim chances…”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. Both of them turned to you with curiosity.

“What I mean…” you began hesitantly, gesturing toward him. He was objectively handsome—maybe not every woman’s type, but then again, no man was. In your opinion, though, he absolutely was. There was something about his polished, intellectual demeanor that occasionally clashed with his sharp wit, creating a strangely magnetic allure. You gestured at him again, as if emphasizing your point. “Just try not rolling down the sleeves of that shirt until midnight, and you’ll see your chances aren’t that slim.”

He shook his head, utterly bewildered.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, Pen, explain it to him,” you sighed in mock defeat.

“She means your forearms are sexy,” Penelope clarified without missing a beat.

Reid looked down at his hands as though they belonged to someone else entirely. You exchanged an amused glance with Garcia, and the whole midnight kiss topic… well, it drifted away. You weren’t entirely sure if he had agreed or not.

You wanted to casually bring it up again, but soon Penelope left the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone with a tray of freshly baked cookies ready to be decorated. Somehow, to your own surprise, you couldn’t summon the courage to ask.

"I bought edible glitter specifically for these cookies," you said, pulling a small box from the cupboard. "Apparently, it’s flavorless, but it’ll make the star-shaped cookies look magical. Maybe we should mix it with the icing?"

Reid stared intently at the label on the bottle, silent.

"What? What’s wrong?" you asked, suddenly worried.

"That’s not edible glitter," he announced. For a split second, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. But when he noticed your completely bewildered—and now slightly furious—expression, his face quickly returned to its usual stillness. "It’s just regular glitter."

"You’ve got to be kidding me, Reid."

"Since when does edible glitter contain polyethylene terephthalate and aluminum?"

You snatched the package out of his hands, and when his words were confirmed, you slapped your forehead.

"Did I just almost kill all my guests?"

"Maybe not kill them right away," he said, his tone comforting as he took the package back from your hands before you could hit yourself with it again. "Complications from eating include gastrointestinal irritation like vomiting, nausea, and possibly damage to the mucous membranes of the mouth..."

"You're not helping."

"Sorry."

For a moment, you both stood in silence, your gaze still fixed on the tray of cooling cookies.

"But this isn't the end of the world," Reid said gently after a moment. "They still have their... interesting shape. We can decorate them with regular icing. Draw something on them. They may not sparkle, but they'll be just as delicious. And that's probably the most important thing, right?"

You knew he was right, but still, there was a certain sadness in the way you nodded. It took you a while to realize how much you’d been obsessing over such a small thing. You let out a chuckle, and he did the same.

"And I even came up with an idea for what to do with the glitter," you announced after a moment, taking the open box in your hands. A bit of the shimmering particles landed on your outstretched palm, and Reid squinted when you blew on it, sending the glitter his way. "I’ll make you shine. You’ll match the rest of the decorations..."

When Penelope returned to the kitchen, she found herself in the middle of a full-blown war, not even a battle anymore. Reid had both of your hands raised and held still, preventing you from reaching for another handful of glitter. You tried to wriggle out of this trap, kneeing him or doing something, but it wasn't really working. So there you were, looking like you were caught in some kind of bizarre dance neither of you knew the steps to, but your half-smiling faces suggested you weren’t too bothered by it.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to get that glitter out of your hair until the next New Year’s Eve.

*

You had a rule to be careful with alcohol when the party was at your house.

 You preferred to make sure everything was running smoothly. Nothing slipped out of control — no one played baseball with your TV (although you hoped the adult crowd had outgrown that kind of entertainment), no one felt unwell or needed help. Moving between people, conversations, and laughter, asking if anyone needed anything or was having a good time, reminding everyone not to smoke inside. You didn’t notice when it all started to drain you. So much so that you decided to sneak away for a moment in the upstairs bathroom.

You just needed a little time alone, splashing cold water on your neck, playing a game on your phone for five minutes while sitting on the closed toilet seat. That’s all you needed.

Your bathroom had a window, usually left open. The room was on the second floor, so there was no chance anyone could be watching. You never worried about it. The window overlooked the yard of one of your neighbors, whom you didn’t even know. As you returned, you stood with your hands on the cool sink, your eyes half-closed from exhaustion but feeling a sense of relief.

Midnight was in fifteen minutes. The year was ending in fifteen minutes.

A lot has happened over the past twelve months. The most important, of course, was joining the BAU. A huge achievement for someone so young, always commented on with a surprised raise of the eyebrows, so much so that it still hadn’t fully sunk in for you. A fair amount, but still not enough, of cases solved, unsub caught, lives saved.

Apart from the professional achievements, there was also something you couldn’t add to your CV or your dating profile. Memories. The big ones, and the ones often overlooked. The countless smiles exchanged over office desks, the amused nudges of elbows, the hours spent in simple laughter. The nights, the ones spent dancing in clubs or at house parties, the ones in your friends' homes with bottles of wine passed from hand to hand and gossip flowing from your lips, one after the other, in a constant stream of surprised exclamations and sighs. There were also those spent in sad motels during business trips. Many of them, but it was the shabby ones that stuck with you the most. Narrow beds shared with Reid, because of his fear of the dark, which worsened in such places. Sometimes silly conversations and arguments, but also the more serious ones. Comforting. And, of course, you had to include the people around you, those you met this year, and those who have been with you for a long time. All the moments when you were happy, and all the ones when you cried. The books and movies. Those that disappointed you so much that you cursed them for days. Those that made you laugh until you choked, but also the ones that nailed you to the theater seat, your gaze vacant and your mind drifting somewhere on the waves of an existential crisis.

You thought about it all with a small smile on your lips

Unfortunately, when you focused on reflecting on the passing year, another memory hit you—one of those decidedly unpleasant ones. The one where, under the guise of normality, you found yourself in the middle of a robbery, becoming a hostage. And as you watched one body after another drop motionless to the floor, blood pooling around them.

The sink you were leaning against grew warm. Your hands were hot, sweating. You shook your head, trying to push away the uncomfortable memory. Why dwell on it? It was over, long over...

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash in your neighbor's yard. A bright spot rising into the air, even though it wasn't even midnight yet. What kind of idiot sets off fireworks before the New Year? What was the point of that?

You straightened up, an irrational sense of danger taking hold of you. As if that fired projectile was about to crash through your window, causing an explosion in the room. Absurd, you knew that. But then the sound hit. A blast, almost like a gunshot. A gunshot coming from an unknown direction, fading lights around you, and screams. You took a breath as another shot rang out. Fireworks lit up the night sky, a green glow spilling into your bathroom, painting your face. You stayed frozen, breath held, with your chest tight.

You knew you should move, shake off the state that the experience had put you in, but… you couldn’t. Although physically unharmed, in your own home, fear took control, robbing you of your agency. Your heartbeat quickened to an unnatural pace, a sickly rhythm. It paralyzed your limbs, one by one, while images kept flashing before your eyes, intensifying with each approaching shot.

Since your actions and most of your awareness remained beyond your control, you soon realized that you were sitting on the floor. And, worst of all, a silhouette cast its shadow over you. You flinched, expecting to see a pair of leather boots and a gun pointed at you.

“It’s just me,” came a quiet, familiar voice, somehow cutting through the wall that separated you from the world. “Me, Spencer. Sorry I came in, but you didn’t respond when I knocked... okay, that doesn’t really matter right now.”

He sighed and crouched down right in front of you, his forehead furrowed in concern. Hesitantly, he reached for your shoulder, lightly touching it, but you flinched the moment his hand moved.

“No touching, it’s okay. I understand, I get it. I understand... what you’re going through.” He spoke quietly and calmly, but you could see a hint of panic crossing his face as he carefully observed yours, choosing his words. He swallowed hard. “You’re really scared, your hands are shaking, you can’t... you can’t breathe. It’s a panic attack, you know what that means. And... it’s temporary. The important thing is to just breathe. I know it’s hard... but just try…”

The surrounding air seemed thick, like some dense gas filling your nostrils and painfully entering your lungs. You shook your head in refusal, not wanting to do it again.

"Slowly, they don’t have to be deep breaths. Just try to make them steady, okay? Please," he continued, settling down closer to you on the floor. He was also breathing the way he described, trying to demonstrate for you. Focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, you made another attempt. It went... better.

"Exactly like that. We're at a party now, remember? At your house. We baked cakes specially for the occasion. It's New Year's Eve and people are shooting fireworks... those are fireworks, just regular fireworks..."

The green glow crept in again through the window, covering and retreating from your two huddled forms on the floor like a tide. You focused on what he was saying, alternately keeping your eyes tightly shut and wide open. You preferred them closed—it was easier to listen to him that way. But when you closed them, it felt like he was so far away. You reached out with trembling hands, trying to touch him, to make sure he was really there in front of you. And before you realized it, you fell into his embrace, your hands clutching his back in panic with every new shot outside.

You could close your eyes; his presence and scent were with you. You could close your eyes, pretend it wasn’t happening, that you weren’t there.

But it didn’t stop. Reid whispered that it was midnight, and the next round of fireworks shot into the sky, sending those trembling sounds that rattled you. A part of your mind knew why this was happening, so why did your body still react this way?

You buried yourself deeper into his arms, feeling some weight on the top of your head—he must have rested his chin there. You kept trying to breathe, and by accident, you inhaled the scent of his neck, which, surprisingly, helped. One breath after another. In and out. His skin. Another shot outside. In and out.

It must have been many minutes before it finally stopped. You both ended up leaning against the wall, side by side. Your knees were pulled to your chest, his legs stretched out. From downstairs, through the floor, came the muffled sound of music, and that’s what you focused on. On that, and on counting the tiles on the neighboring wall, on the hands of Reid’s watch moving forward. On the details, helping you ground yourself.

"How do you feel now?" he broke the silence that had lasted for several minutes with a quiet question.

You pressed the back of your head to the wall behind you, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Better," you said after a moment. The sound from your throat was raspy, and you swallowed, pausing for a second. "Isn't it... isn't it a strange twist of fate that we're always there for each other when something bad happens to the other person?"

You kept your gaze fixed ahead, and from the corner of your eye, you saw him looking at you. Slowly, he shrugged.

"Isn't that what friendship is about?" he asked.

Then, you shrugged.

"Friendship," you repeated, turning the word around on your tongue. You shook your head slightly. "I guess so. I mean, I guess that's what it's about." For a moment, you paused, lightly licking your lips. Your mind was still clouded, and you struggled to form coherent sentences. "I completely forgot what I was talking about a moment ago. What was it about again?"

Reid smiled gently at the look on your face, the expression confused but calm. And then... his hand slowly dropped to the top of your head, gently stroking it and sliding down along your cheek, where it stopped.

"Friendship," he repeated slowly.

Suddenly, as if realizing something, he turned his head slightly, as if to pull his hand away, but you stopped him. You grabbed it, and even though it had moved away from your face, your cheek, you enclosed it in a gentle grasp with both of your hands, the way a shell embraces a pearl.

You noticed the time on his watch.

"It’s already past midnight," you remarked. "Do you think everyone’s too drunk to look for us, or do they just honestly not care what we've been doing in the bathroom for the past hour?"

He chuckled at your words, amused by your suggestive tone.

"Don’t want to go back?" he asked, making sure.

You immediately shook your head.

"Not yet. I like it here. And I guess I’m not ready," you said, the last part tinged with a slight embarrassment. He nodded understandingly, signaling that it was okay. You didn’t have to leave yet.

You sighed, probably for the hundredth time.

"Honestly, I’ve completely lost my party mood. We could’ve played those board games instead. When I think about the bottles I’ll have to clean up tomorrow, I just feel like I might puke."

"We'll be here. Me. And Garcia," he reminded you. "You thought we were just going to disappear together, expecting you to clean up all this mess by yourself?"

"It's not really your responsibility," you replied with a slight shrug. However, a small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. "It would have been enough if you helped me set it all up. Even if it meant the entire kitchen glittering with sparkles before the party even started."

"New Year’s Eve decorations."

"Right," you scoffed. "That I’ll never get rid of. It will always look like a place where My Little Pony ponies had an alcoholic binge."

As you continued to stare at his hand, lying limp on your lap, and at his watch, you realized something else. A thought that made you tilt your head back with a sigh.

"I missed midnight again," you groaned suddenly. "Third year in a row. Where am I supposed to find three people to kiss next year, when I couldn't even find two this time?"

"You did manage," Reid pointed out, frowning slightly. "Penelope. And if you're counting your backup option, that would be me too."

"Would you?" you asked, surprised.

Pleasantly surprised. This subject had slipped by so quickly that you were sure his final answer would have been a no. You glanced fleetingly at his lips. They were slightly parted, probably in the same way they would have been if everything had gone according to plan. If you had found yourselves facing each other under the full, colorful-blinking night sky.

He nodded slightly in response, his upper and lower lips meeting. You tore your gaze away from them and refocused on the rest of his face.

"Sure," he replied aloud. He was close, the words escaping him with a slight breath of his air. "I mean... I'd also like to have a good year. So far, it’s started well. Anyway... yeah. I don't mind if you extend my backup option subscription for next year too."

The way he phrased it amused you. you lowered your gaze for a moment with a smile. Then you nodded, turning your head back toward him.

"So I guess I have my lineup for next New Year's," you said, letting go of his hand to start counting on your fingers. Both of you only realized then that you had been holding it at all. "First, of course, my husband..."

"Husband?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"I’m being very ambitious this year, Reid," you assured him, with mock seriousness. "Then Garcia, if she agrees again. But she probably will. Unless Derek gets in the way. Oh well, I’ll just send him to the tropics again. And then, number three, you."

"Your husband won’t mind if you kiss me?"

Something changed in his expression, and it was becoming harder for you to maintain eye contact. Your gaze kept dropping, as if it were searching for something against your will. Plus, the whole bathroom suddenly felt incredibly small, your movements slow, like in slow motion. You forced yourself to wave it off dismissively.

"He’ll understand," you said, forcing yourself to take a breath. You had forgotten again, but this time, it wasn’t panic. It was more about his face, so close to yours, the side of your head against the wall, your bodies nearly touching. "Well, he won’t have a choice. If he wants our marriage to last happily and forever, he’ll have to let me make up for all those lost years, those three missed kisses. Sorry... if I’m talking nonsense right now, just tell me, I don’t know what’s happening with me..."

When he kissed you, for a moment, you couldn’t find yourself. Even though everything had been leading to this, with your faces so close for the last twenty minutes, gazes repeatedly falling on each other's lips, it still surprised you. You sucked in a breath through your nose as his lips pressed into yours.

Only when his hand, the same one you had been playing with for so long, the one that had earlier caressed your cheek, fell back into the same place, carelessly resting and brushing the tips of his fingers against a small part of your ear, did you truly feel it. You squeezed your eyelids shut, placing your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you usually associated with New Year’s Eve, one you’d forget the next day or mention with a fleeting smile. Every thought of it was meant to bring overwhelming loneliness to your lips, to make you imagine it still lasting. It alternated between tasting you slowly and carefully and consuming you with the anticipation held captive between you.

You sighed softly against his lips, and he mirrored it when you briefly pulled away. Your breaths mingled, your faces still close, foreheads gently touching.

“I almost forgot,” you whispered, barely lifting your eyelids. “Happy New Year.”

He smiled, his lips brushing yours once more for a fleeting moment.

“May your wishes come true...or something like that.”

“Or something like that.” you whispered, completely distracted, before pulling him back to you again.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling

[samsblades]

my hands are yours — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, injury, canon violence, demons, possession, feelings of guilt, concussion, blood mentions, pet names (honey, baby), no y/n, not proofread, 2.8K words. requested !

summary : sam patches you up, ever guilty, after meg attacks you while possessing his body.

for parts of it, meg made him watch. she kept him conscious as she killed a fellow hunter, forced him to see parts of the encounter with jo and the punches she threw at dean. she went on a chaos-inducing, bloody spree with his body and his hands and she made him watch.

as for the worst part, meg had spent a long while debating how to make it as horrible to sam as she could. does she make him watch the whole while? show him glimpses? or keep him in the dark only to find out later what his hands have done.

she decides that any option would do, so she chooses the in between. for just a moment, she grants sam the sight of you, bloodied and bruised under his body, red on his hands. then it goes dark.

✶.◟

the second sam wakes, finally in control of himself and rid of meg, he’s disoriented. he looks at dean, then bobby. and for some reason you’re not in the room with them.

“sammy?” dean calls out, nose bleeding and bruises starting to form on the side of his face. it all comes back to him and he scrambles to stand up.

“where are they?” he breathes out, panicking already. neither dean nor bobby has to ask who you’re referring to.

bobby shrugs. “they weren’t answering the phone. we didn’t have time to find them before, ya know, you and that demon fucker showed up.”

“dammit,” sam curses, searching his pockets for his phone. he calls you with shaky hands; you’re on speed dial. bobby and dean watch with concern and sam’s face crumbles when you don’t pick up. neither question when sam crosses the room on quick, unsteady feet to grab the nearest computer. he types furiously, and they figure he’s tracking your phone. sam pays them no attention, none at all when he finds your location, or grabs the keys to the impala or rushes out the door.

he doesn’t make it to the car before dean stops him, stumbling a little from all the pain when he grabs sam’s wrist. sam whirls around and almost shoves dean before remembering that he’s injured. instead, sam pulls away easily.

“they’re hurt,” he practically growls, but there’s a hint of pleading behind the aggression.

“exactly,” dean counters, “you’re too freaked to drive.” 

sam looks dean up and down with a quick flick of his eyes. “i’m fine. you’re worse off than me, just– just keep calling them. so they know it’s really me.”

according to your phone gps, you’re only twenty minutes away. halfway through the achingly silent drive, his phone rings. he picks it up in a panic when he sees your caller id on the screen.

“baby?” he breathes into the phone, chest tight and eyes already teary.

“sam,” you sigh out. he wishes your voice weren’t distorted through the phone, but he’s sure he must’ve heard you in worse shape before. you’ve got to be alright, based on the way you say his name. “dean called me.”

“yeah.. it’s me, honey.” he swallows thickly, his fingers tightening around the wheel. “fuck, i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry, baby.” 

“i know,” you whisper, sounding tired. that frightens him. “but it wasn’t you. it really wasn’t you. i know that now, and i knew it then. you gotta remember it wasn’t you.”

sam has to really focus to keep his eyes on the road. he has to blink away tears so that his vision is clear enough to drive safely. luckily the dark highway is almost completely empty. he can’t manage a proper response to your reassurance, so he changes the subject.

“honey.. where are you, baby? the map doesn’t show anything near you except the road.” he’s apprehensive as he asks, afraid to hear the answer despite already knowing it. you cringe softly, knowing too that he won’t like it.

“i’m in my car,” you murmur. you’re sounding more and more tired the longer he speaks with you. “on the side of the road.” sam doesn’t know what to say to that. it sends a pang through his chest. he doesn’t know exactly what happened, but he can imagine it. he can imagine meg finding you, cutting you off on your way to bobby. calling you and telling you to pull over; you haven’t heard that he’s possessed yet. you think it’s him on the phone. you wait just a minute for him on the side of the road. she pulls over next to you and comes out. most likely, you throw yourself into his arms, worried sick. he can imagine the way you’d cup his face and check him over, asking where he’s been.

then he imagines that meg says something subtly horrible to you. your face twists in confusion. then meg gets really mean. talks like him and tells you he doesn’t really love you, and that’s when you know it’s not him. that’s when she hurts you, beats you into the grass on the side of the road. sam knows that part because, in the glimpse that meg gave him, you were lying in the green, little flecks of red decorating the grass and blending in with dirt. and your eyes weren’t open

so you must’ve woken, mind fuzzy with pain and alone and rattled after seeing sam be the one to beat you until the work went dark. and that means you crawled or stumbled however you could, back to your car. he wonders how long you lay in the grass. how badly she injured you, how much it hurts right now. 

he comes back to you. “okay,” he whispers, voice taut and pained. “i’m coming to get you. i’m… i’ll be there soon, baby. just stay awake til then, okay?”

“i know,” you mumble. “i won’t fall asleep.” a soft pause. well, soft enough for you, but stiff and unforgiving to sam. “how long?”

“just under ten minutes now, honey,” he assures you, cursing silently at the way your voice slowly starts to reveal to him your state. it’s weak and tired and tells him that you’re missing him, wanting him closer, wanting his arms around you. you’re still seeking his comfort.

he can’t bear to hang up the phone, even when neither of you really have anything left to say. or really, anything that’s left you can get yourself to say. for you, it’s because you’re running out of energy; sam’ll feel so horrible, but you’re starting to think his fists to your face a couple times has given you a mild concussion. and for sam, he can’t get the right words out. everything gets stuck in his throat. he knows you don’t want to hear apologies from him, because none of it was his fault. but he’s guilt ridden and a little panicked because you only talk when he softly calls your name through the phone just to be sure you’re awake.

when he finally spots your car, it takes everything in him not to speed up to an unreasonable pace. but he peels off to the side of the road with a screech of tires and a worse than haphazard parking job. you’re in the passenger’s seat; you didn’t even try to make it to the driver’s. the door of the impala hangs open as sam runs straight to you.

he feels sick when he opens your car door, crouching down and reaching with sorry hands for your bloodied face. you look at him with soft eyes and a tired smile that he feels he most certainly doesn’t deserve. his stomach lurches at the sight of your blood and bruises and exhausted limbs.

“hey, honey,” he murmurs the second the door is open and you can hear him. “i’m here, it’s me, baby. i’m so sorry–” his fingers tense up just centimeters from your face. it’ll hurt if he touches you there, so he drops them to cup the side of your neck and shoulder. even then, his touch is feather light, as careful as he could get. “i’m sorry.”

“please don’t be,” you whisper back, just as softly, not as sadly. you’re just glad to see him, comforted to have him back. “don’t be sorry.” you watch him, soaking him and in presence. there’s no fear, no hesitation, no worry to have him close. his knuckles are split from making you bleed, but all you’d like to do is kiss them better.

the absolute trust and unadulterated affection that you watch him with could kill him. he knows that, logically, he’s inculpable in the crime of making you bleed. but he can’t seem to convince himself of that. he’s very sorry, and he’s sorry for that too, because he knows you wish he wasn’t.

“alright,” he breathes. “let’s get you out of here. bring you back to bobby’s to patch you up.” he almost moves to scoop you up into his arms to carry you to the impala, but thinks better of it. instead, he leans in and presses a kiss to an unbruised spot on your forehead. your eyes look a little unfocused and it frightens him. “gonna park the impala, i’ll be right back.”

“okay,” you sigh. admittedly, you don’t know exactly what he means in your hazy state, but he says he’ll be right back, so it is okay.

sam only takes the time to park and lock up the impala because dean would kill him otherwise. he makes it a quick job, and slides into your car’s front seat. the keys aren’t in sight when he glances around.

“baby?” he calls softly, meeting your eyes. you’re already watching him with sweet eyes. you had let out a little gasp of pain when turning your neck to look at him. “do you have the car key?” 

you blink and stare at him for a moment. then you give a quiet hum. “mhmm.” your hand isn’t too shaky when you reach into your jacket pocket and pull your keys out. he reaches right out to gently take them from you so you don’t have to move any further.

“thank you, honey,” he murmurs. he sets the keys in the cup holder, then twists in the seat to get as close to you as he can. sam grabs the seat belt and pulls it across your chest, buckling it and carefully rearranging your arms to be a bit more comfortable. his lips brush over your tender cheekbone, and your eyes drift closed for a second. oftentimes, he kisses you on the cheek or the forehead before bed. your lips too, of course. but it’s not time to sleep yet, so you set your hand on his and give a little squeeze before letting go.

his jaw clenches a little when your hand moves away. he doesn’t want to have to do anything but look at you. look after you. he’d much rather watch you than the road. to be sure your eyes don’t droop too much, in case you come to a bump and it jolts you and causes any pain.

sam settles for driving with one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours. you play lightly, weakly with his fingers and it makes his heart ache. he thinks about the way he can feel his heart pound in his chest. it feels different after being possessed, but he doesn’t think he could explain how.

loving you is the same, though. the fact that his heart pounds and pounds for you doesn’t change one bit. you’ve always made him feel like that saying of one’s heart leaping from their chest could really come true.

he has to softly implore you not to fall asleep a few times during the drive. he’s convinced now that you’re a bit concussed, and it terrifies him. no, it horrifies him. that the force of his hands could do that to you. and yet you affectionately fiddle with his fingers like you trust him more than anything.

sam is so soft when he draws you up onto his arms, not bothering to close the car door as he carries you to bobby’s front door. he winces when your cheek meets his shoulder and all the jostling causes you to gasp a little in pain.

and at the door, he pauses for just a second, only because he hates to raise his voice above a comforting murmur around you right now. but he has to be loud enough for dean or bobby to hear him. then the door swings open before he makes a sound, and he sighs in relief. they must’ve heard your car as it pulled into the gravelly driveway. sam ignores them both as he carries you straight to the spare bed, cradling you close and hating having to let you go, even when it means you’ll be much more comfortable on the mattress.

“there we go,” he mutters, half to himself once you’re settled. he feels dean hovering in the doorway, so he turns and tosses him the keys to the impala. “the car’s at the coordinates i left up on the computer,” he says simply, not waiting for any sort of acknowledgement from dean before turning back to you.

he finds the nearest first aid kit, drags up a chair, and commits himself to being the softest he can for you. a hard life has toughened his fingertips, but they are gentle as they erase the blood from your skin and spread ointment over your cuts and bruises. his voice is tender and quiet as he bandages you and says things like i love you and sorry, for the sting of alcohol. his lips are sweet on your forehead. 

“does your head hurt?” he asks softly, already preparing a few pills for the pain. he’s been working in partial darkness to not disturb you.

“yeah,” you answer through a huff of breath, too out of it to lie. your head pounds.

“okay,” he whispers. “we’re gonna have to be real careful. you might have a concussion. so i’m gonna have you take some painkillers, then get lots of rest, alright baby?”

“yeah. feels funny,” you slur quietly, not even sounding upset or anything. just tired, maybe even pleased because you’ve got sam fussing over you in the sweetest way possible. sam’s jaw clenches, but he indulges your tone because you’d rather he not worry so much.

“funny, huh?,” he says as though he’s smiling softly at you. his eyebrows give away his frown, though. “can we sit up for a second to take these pills?” you’d really rather not, so you give him a little pout. you’re just so tired. that look on your face, a little grumpy and stubborn, shows him that you really are a little fuzzy in the head. it’s adorable, certainly, but concerning to him just the same. he slides an arm under your shoulders, leaning over you so that your head lolls lightly onto his shoulder.

sam makes sure you don’t have to exert an ounce of effort to get you up; you lean fully against his body to stay upright. if you thought about it hard enough, you’d certainly be capable of holding yourself up, but he doesn’t give you the chance to have to think about it at all. you’re comfiest like this, so you’ll stay that way. if it didn’t hurt your head, you’d peer up through your eyelashes to catch a glimpse of his pretty face while it’s so close to yours.

he brings his hand to your mouth, tapping your chin gently when you don’t react accordingly. “open a little for me, please,” he whispers. you follow his instructions, just a bit mindlessly because he makes it easy to let yourself be taken care of. he places a pill on your tongue, then grabs a water bottle and brings it to your lips. it takes you two tries to swallow the pill, but the second one he gives you goes down a bit easier. “there you go,” he murmurs, carefully lowering you back into the bed. his big hand cradles the back of your head before settling you into the pillow.

he watches your eyes drift closed before he’s even said the words, you can rest now. his hands find yours.

the hands that hurt you weren’t his. this, you know. the hands that love you and patch you right back up are his and only his. so you hold them over your stomach when he’s done with it all and, eyes still closed, mumble, “i love you. i love your hands, sam.”

the hands that hurt you weren’t his. this, he has trouble accepting. the hands that love you and patch you right back up are not only his, but yours too. so he lets you hold them over your stomach when he’s done with it all and tells you, “they’re yours, honey. ’m all yours.”

[0omillo0]

HAN X READER — JEALOUSY

angst, happy ending

synopsis: During Han’s tour, jealousy and misunderstandings strain his relationship with Y/N.

˚୨୧⋆｡���˚⋆

You curled up in bed, pulling the covers tighter around your shoulders as the concert livestream played on your laptop. The screen glowed with bright lights and the screams of fans, their adoration for Han filling the room. Your heart swelled with pride as he stood on stage, pouring his soul into the performance. He looked electrified, alive in a way only music could make him.

Y/N: Knock ’em dead tonight! I’m so proud of you! I’ll be watching 💜

A second later, his reply came through.

Han: Thanks, babe. Thinking of you. Wish you could be here 😔

You smiled, feeling that pang of missing him mixed with gratitude. Watching him perform was almost enough to fill the space he’d left behind — almost.

The next song started, and you watched with a proud, content smile until something made your heart dip. The camera panned, catching Han as he made his way down the stage, engaging with fans along the barricades. He leaned close, flashing that signature smile that you knew all too well. And then, with one fan near the front row, he took her hand. He lingered, his expression soft as he chatted with her, giving her that devoted look he often gave you. Your stomach tightened.

The minutes stretched on, and you couldn’t shake the hollow feeling that had crept in. You told yourself that it was just fan service, that it was part of his job, but your mind refused to quiet. Why was he lingering so long? Why did it feel like more than just a quick interaction?

Before you could fully process it, your breathing had turned shallow, chest feeling like it was caving in. Panic coiled in your stomach, and your hands trembled as you clutched your phone. You needed to talk to someone, anyone. You thought for a while and after the show, you dialed Felix.

The phone barely rang before he answered.

Felix: “Y/N? Hey, what’s up?”

Your voice came out in shaky breaths, words stumbling over each other. “I—I’m sorry to call so late, I just… I’m freaking out.”

Felix: “Hey, hey, slow down. It’s okay, I’m here. What happened?”

You took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. “Han was… he was holding hands with a fan at the concert. I know it’s dumb, but… it just got to me. They looked so close.”

Felix: “Y/N… I get it, I do. You know he loves you, right? He’s just trying to connect with fans.”

Y/N: “I know, but… it hurt, Felix. He looked so… sincere.”

Felix: “I know it’s hard, but he’s doing it for the fans, not to hurt you. Just breathe, okay? You’re allowed to feel this way, but remember, his connection with you is real. You’re the one he calls every night, not anyone else.”

You exhaled shakily, feeling the tension start to ease. “Thanks, Felix. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Felix: “Anytime, Y/N. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know?”

As you hung up, a small part of you felt reassured, yet doubts lingered. But the comfort Felix provided was something to hold on to, at least for tonight.

Hours later, halfway across the world, Han stood in a quiet backstage hallway, trying to clear his head when he overheard his name. He stopped, listening as your voice, faint but unmistakable, carried through the phone. And then he heard Felix’s voice, soft and reassuring, comforting you. It stung — why hadn’t you come to him first?

When he finally got back to his hotel room, he saw your messages but didn’t open them right away. His thoughts swirled with emotions, jealousy the loudest among them. He opened his messages and began typing, fingers moving faster than his mind.

Han: Why did you go to Felix with this?

You replied almost instantly.

Y/N: I had a panic attack, Han. I didn’t know who else to call.

Han: But you could’ve waited. You could’ve… trusted me to handle this.

Y/N: Waited? Han, I needed someone in that moment. You weren’t there, and I was falling apart.

Han: You don’t think it hurts to hear you went to someone else with this?

Y/N: I wasn’t trying to hurt you! I just… I needed someone, and Felix was there.

Han: Well, maybe… maybe it’s better if you just don’t call me while I’m on tour. This is just too much.

Y/N: Han… are you serious right now?

Han: I’ll call you when I can handle this. But please, don’t message me for a while.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. You stared at the screen, disbelief mingling with a deep, piercing pain. With shaking hands, you set your phone down and shut your laptop. The hollow ache turned into an overwhelming emptiness.

Days passed in a blur of missed calls and unread messages. You’d turned off your phone, needing to escape the world that had once felt so full with him in it. Nights blurred into days, loneliness pressing in on you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Across the world, Han felt every second of your silence, each one heavier than the last. His words replayed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving. He knew he had overreacted, let his jealousy get the best of him, but pride and guilt kept him from reaching out. It was Felix, eventually, who confronted him.

Felix: “You realize what you did, right?”

Han: “Felix, I was upset. I didn’t think—”

Felix: “No, you didn’t think. She called you, desperate, because she needed you. And you told her not to.”

Han ran a hand through his hair, guilt churning in his gut. “I just… I got jealous. She’s close to you, and I…”

Felix: “So you punished her for it. She’s been miserable, Han. Fix this.”

When Han finally gathered the courage, he knew words alone wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to show you how deeply he regretted his actions. He called a florist, ordering 500 roses, each one a silent plea for forgiveness. Alongside them, he sent a letter.

Y/N,

I was wrong. I’m sorry.

I let my own jealousy cloud my judgment and hurt you. You are the most important person in my life, and I can’t bear the thought of pushing you away. No amount of distance can lessen what I feel for you, and I was selfish to let my pride get in the way. Please give me a chance to make this right. I love you, and I’m so sorry for the pain I caused.

Love, Han

When the roses arrived, you stared at them, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and hesitation. Each petal felt like an apology, each one carrying a whisper of the love you feared was lost.

With trembling fingers, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, his voice breathless.

Han: “Y/N…”

The silence stretched, filled with emotions neither of you knew how to express.

Y/N: “I don’t know why you would do that, Han. Why you’d make me feel like… like I didn’t deserve to feel those things. This was the first time I was jealous and I was scared to talk about it. Now I know I can’t do it.”

Han: “ No no no baby, you have to talk about it… I’m so sorry— I know I didn’t react well and I regret every second of it. I was angry… and I didn’t think about what you needed. Only what I felt.”

Y/N: “You really hurt me.”

Han: “I know, and if I could take back those words, I would. I’ll never make you feel that way again, I promise.”

A weight lifted, the ache in your chest easing as you listened to him, his voice full of genuine regret. You felt the love that had always been there, beneath the hurt and distance, waiting for you both to reach it again.

Y/N: “Just… don’t ever do that again. Don’t make me feel like I can’t come to you.”

Han: “I won’t. I swear. I love you, Y/N, and I’ll spend every day showing you that.”

A soft smile crept onto your face as you finally allowed yourself to forgive him. The hurt was real, but so was his love — and so was yours.

taglist

@hannamoon143 @intartaruginha

[rafesdespair]

taking the edge off

rafe shows up to your house on the verge of a panic attack. you do your best to calm him down, but he has his own ideas of what could help his mind go blank. [wc: 2.5k]

tags; smut, edging, slight choking, very mild manipulation, technically dubcon kissing but overall the entire deed is very consensual! there are no pronouns or gendered language used towards the reader so this is entirely gender-neutral. [18+] only ★ [read this on ao3!]

Rafe showed up to your house pacing, hands running through his hair anxiously as he muttered expletives. You were sitting on your porch when he showed up speeding in on his bike. He threw his helmet to the ground and walked right by you and through your front door. He was already in the living room when you followed, practically panting while he walked back and forth.

He wasn’t the type to show up like this. You were hardly friends; you’d seen each other at bonfires or at the occasional party, but mostly at Barry’s. You weren’t involved in the drug scene, but you and Barry had been friends for years. Whenever you saw Rafe, he was either fucked up, erratic, or in a frat-boy-party mood. But the Rafe in front of you then was different. 

When he sat on the couch, you took the chance to finally ask what the hell was going on.

Rafe pushed his head into the heels of his hands and inhaled a stuttered breath. “I fucked up bad, like, real fucking bad. I’m so fucked, dude. I’m fucked.”

You furrowed your brows together. “Okay… I mean, how bad? Like, jail bad? Am I harboring a fugitive right now?” you tried to joke lightheartedly, but it fell flat. 

“I need-” he swallowed and wiped his hands down his face. “I need… fuck. I don't know. Something. What do you have?” He stood up now, looking around.

“Rafe,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “I don't do any of that… Why didn't you go to Barry's? Why are you here? What did you do?”

His face twisted into something angry and he tensed his hands at his side. He took a deep breath and visibly held back the urge to yell or break something.

“Barry wasn't there. I thought he might be here, but-” he threw his hands up, exasperated. He sat on the couch again and tears brimmed in his eyes. “Shit, man.”

You didn't know what to do. You've never seen this side of Rafe; you didn't even know he had a side like this. You knew him as someone detached, maybe a bit cold hearted– someone entirely different than the person sitting before you now. 

You, somewhat cautiously, sat next to him on the couch and put your hand on his knee. “Rafe, just breathe. You need to tell me what happened. Maybe I.. I don't know, maybe I can help.” The fact that he hadn’t told you what brought him to this state to begin with had started to worry you.

He tensed and untensed his fingers multiple times until he spoke. “It’s better if you don't know. Don't get involved in my shit. Just… Give me a minute.”

“Don't get involved in your shit? Rafe, you showed up to my house halfway to a breakdown- literally almost broke down my door. You involved me in your shit. Give me something to work with.” You didn't want him to leave in this state. He was already a reckless driver and you were sure he was far too out of it to get on his bike. 

He shoved your hand off of him and gritted his teeth. “I did some shit I can't come back from. Not just light jail time, this is serious life sentence shit I'm in. Prison type shit.” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence and he shook his head. “It’s over.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to say. You doubted he would tell you any more, and honestly, knowing any more might’ve made you an accomplice. You shoved all questions out of the forefront of your mind and focused on the current situation. 

“Rafe,” you started. He looked up at you, eyes glassy and eyelashes clumped together. “Just breathe. Take a moment to relax. Think. Make a plan. You can't do anything if you're high out of your mind or spiraling. You need to reset.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, unconvinced. “I can't. I can't stop thinking. I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind. Everything in my head,” he tapped aggressively at his temples, “it's all a fucking mess.”

You grabbed his wrists in your hands and locked eyes with him. “Breathe. Take some deep breaths with me.” You loosened your hold and inhaled long through your nose, waiting for him to follow. 

His eyes searched your face for a moment before he surged forwards, crashing your lips together. He held your head still between his hands, preventing you from quickly pulling away. Your eyes widened and you pushed at his shoulders, but he didn't pull back. He kissed you harder, one hand moving down to cup your jaw. 

You took that opportunity to shove him and lean out of his embrace and stand up. “What the fuck are you doing, Rafe?” Your heart was racing and you were entirely tense. 

“You told me I need to relax,” he said, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “This helps me relax. No drugs.” He puts a hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you closer until you stumble onto him.

You lean back and sit closer to his knees than in his lap. “This isn't what I meant!” His hands traveled up your thighs and rested there.

“Please,” he sighed out. “I need this. My life’s falling apart. I- I can't even think straight. I'm probably going to prison. Just,” he paused, “give me this.” His eyes are big and pleading. His hands moved up to your waist, squeezing gently. “You need to help me.” His hips slightly arched off of the couch, emphasizing his desperation.

You'd be lying if you tried to avoid the way your body is reacting to this– the way your skin was heating up and desire was working through your veins. You let yourself slip closer to him, but shook your head. “This won't make you feel better. It won't change anything, Rafe.”

He held you tighter, maybe leaving a bruise. “I don't care.” One of his hands moved between your legs. “I don't think you do either. I think you want this.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and huffed out a laugh. “What is happening right now, Rafe? What do you want?”

“To make my mind go completely fucking blank.” He fully pulled you into his lap now where you could feel him pressed against you. “Will you do that for me?”

“You're fucked in the head,” you said, but there was no malice behind it. His grin in response made you bite your lip. Maybe you were just as fucked.

You leaned in and kissed him with an open mouth. You started gentle, but he grabbed the back of your neck and slid it into your hair, taking a handful to control your head. He bit and tugged at your lower lip before licking into your mouth. Your ‘mmph’ of surprise encouraged him further.

Pulling back was difficult with his hand holding you and your own want telling you to stay like this, but you did. His lips chased yours, trying to reconnect the kiss. 

Before he could protest, you ran your thumb over his lower lip. “If we're really doing this, we're doing it my way. You're letting me take care of you.”

“Oh, I am?” he replied, smirking while taking your thumb between his teeth. You slipped it into his mouth and pressed it down on his tongue. 

“You are.” You slid your thumb out of his mouth, swiping it over his bottom lip before moving down to unbuckle his pants. “Just lean back.”

He settled his hands on your thighs again and leaned into the cushions, watching your movements with amusement. You were taking your time unzipping his jeans, stopping to palm at him and run your fingertips down his bulge. 

You slipped your hand beneath his waistband and held him loosely, moving your hand tauntingly slow. He bucked his hips a bit to encourage you, but you only used your other hand to push him back down. 

You took him out of his pants and take a moment to just admire, which seemed to amuse him. His cock was pretty. The tip was a blush pink that matched his lips and the color that tinted his cheekbones. You ran your fingertip from base to tip, smearing the bit of precum that had gathered. The sensitivity made his cock twitch.

You spit in your palm and watched the way his pupils dilate, his teeth biting down on his lower lip. Motivated, you wrapped your fingers around him and started jerking him off. You started , watching his expressions and seeing what he responded to the best. When you twisted your hand around the head, he gave a quiet mph. 

“I wanna hear you moan,” you said before leaning forward and letting spit drip from your mouth and onto his cock. You moved your hand faster, following the way his breathing picked up.

Rafe gave a proud smirk and said, “make it good then.”

Keeping up pace, you leaned forward to kiss at his jaw. They were gentle and almost teasing until you moved down to his neck. You left open mouthed kisses everywhere and could feel his pulse increase while you sucked bruises into his skin. You loved watching marks slowly decorate him from his collarbone to his jaw.

You kissed your way back up to his lips and spoke against them. “Am I doing good?” you whispered, quickening your speed.

He placed a hand around your neck, applying a pleasing pressure. “Mm, you could do better.” The warmth that spread up through your head made your eyes flutter with a soft whimper playing from your lips.

You doubled your efforts, focusing one hand on massaging his balls and the other working him top to bottom. The two of you held each other's gaze as his breath stuttered, pupils eclipsing the blue of his eyes. He thrusted his hips lightly, nose scrunching in pleasure.

You slowed down then, keeping one hand steadily stroking him and took the other to cradle his jaw while you kissed him. He sighed and licked into your mouth with a needy groan. You let him deepen the kiss and let out another mewl when he squeezed your throat again. 

His head fell back against the couch when you tightened your grip around him, followed by a breathy, “fuck.” Absentmindedly, you rolled your hips against nothing, your body seeking some kind of friction. Rafe almost laughed as he sat himself up a bit.

“Y’want me?” Rafe asked with amusement lacing his voice. “Want my dick, baby?”

Your cheeks flushed as you chewed the inside of your cheeks, shaking your head. “This isn't about me.” You thumbed at the underside of his tip, ignoring the pulsing between your legs. “I'll let you pay me back later.”

You spit on his cock again, putting an end to the retort about to slip from his mouth. Instead, he let out a sigh mixed with a moan before biting his lower lip again. He watched your hand move up and down, his breath unsteady with every exhale. You could tell he was getting closer with every stroke. His chest rose and fell faster and his hips stuttered beneath you.

Then, you took your hand away.

Rafe whined, which caught you by surprise. He let go of your neck and grabbed your wrist hard enough to bruise and scowled. “The fuck?” His voice was hoarse and confusion bordered with frustration was etched on his face. “Why’d y'stop?” 

Your wrist throbbed but his strength and desperation turned you on more. “It'll feel better if you wait,” you said while running your hands up and down his stomach. “I told you I'd take care of you,” you leaned forward to kiss below his ear, “so let me.”

“Why're you fuckin’ around?” He dropped your wrist and squeezed at your hips instead. “S'posed to be helpin’ me.” He tilted his head over, giving you more access to kissing his neck. 

Speaking in between kisses, you said, “I am helping. You feel good, don’t you?” When Rafe mumbles out a weak mhm, you stroke him faster. “I’ll let you come soon, just hold on a little longer.” You palmed his balls and added, “you think you can do that for me?” He nodded hungrily.

You were watching him lose control by the second. You knew the Rafe that everyone else knew: hot-headed, combative, cold. But this version of Rafe was entirely different. He was loose under your hands and unraveling more and more. His eyes were hardly open anymore, brain completely fuzzy.

He reacted the most whenever you would take your hand away when he would get to close to coming. You’d work him up, then go slower until the rush subsided. You’d get him there again, then let go entirely. You felt almost cruel as he practically clawed at your thigh, silently begging for more stimulation.

When it was clear that there wasn't a single thought in his head that didn't revolve around his pleasure, you knew it was time to give in. Precum slicked up each movement, filling the room with a sound that seemed to make him want more and more. You worked one hand steadily up and down while the other took care of his balls. You matched your movements to what made his breath hitch— what made him twitch, shudder, and whimper for more. 

You kept eye contact with him, or as much as he was able to, as he reached his peak. His lips were glistening with spit, parted and panting. His eyebrows were furrowing and his whines and grunts were full on moans. His nails left darker trails in their wake along your skin; you couldn’t wait to see all the marks he had left on you. The finger shaped bruises on your wrist, hips, and neck excited you more than anything else. You knew you’d be pressing on them for days, reliving this.

”Oh fuck,” Rafe hissed and thrusted into your hand. “Gonna come, gonna come, fuck, please.” His clutch on one side of your hips was so tight that it ached, and it only got tighter as he got closer to his climax. His entire body was tensing up alongside a long moan that reverberated through the room, broken only with gasps of air. His cheeks were flushed darker than you’d ever seen them and sweat along his hairline left his hair stuck to his forehead. He looked wholly fucked out and satiated.

Ropes of cum pooled on his stomach and up to his chest. It was more than you’d ever seen before. He finally let all his muscles relax with a splintered sigh and sunk into the couch. “The fuck did you just do t’me?” His voice was debilitated and rough.

“Fulfilled my promise.” His blue eyes were glazed over with a fading lust and relief. His pupils were still dilated, though not as much as before. He was all soft around the edges now.

After basking in the aftermath of his pleasure, you traced a finger through the mess on his stomach and sucked it into your mouth. “All this from a hand job?” you teased.

He weakly shoved at your shoulder with a groan. “Mm, fuck off.”

[nocturnesmoon]

And no room for error (1/2)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader Word count: 5.6k Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Happy ending, Established throuple, polyamory, military inaccuracies, Mental instability, Ambiguous reader CW: Kidnapping, Human trafficking, Torture, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, canon typical violence, Allusions to unhealthy habits A/N: Forever holding these two close in my heart. Can be read as a standalone but might do a part two i dont know yet (Part 2) (Read on Ao3) -They come home to an empty apartment-

Johnny feels sick.

As he stares at the open door at the end of the hallway, he feels sick. The one he spotted when he wasn't even fully up the stairs and made him sprint the last few steps only to stand frozen when it's in full view.

He feels the worry gnaw the insides of his stomach, all the excitement that was eating him alive only moments prior, now transformed into a wretched beast of anxiety. The clutch on his duffel bag tightens, the string underneath his palm cutting uncomfortably against his skin.

He doesn't even need to be all the way there to see that the door is halfway off its hinges, or the hole that's been punched through it. It’s all types of wrong, something that shouldn't ever be, not on their apartment, not with you in it.

It’s as if a part of him fully blacks out, no thoughts, no feelings, only one purpose. He walks the short distance like a man possessed, dropping the duffel just outside the broken entrance before marching through it.

He calls out your name and finds no answer. His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable as your name falls from his lips again, over and over again in a desperate prayer. He moves like a jittery animal through the apartment, he doesn't take notice of its state, he doesn't spend extra time investigating, seeing the damage, he doesn't have to.

He knows what it means, the horrible implications and the terrible outcomes. He flays open the door to the bathroom, nothing, he opens the door to the home office with his shoulder, nothing, he carefully opens the door to your shared bedroom, terrified at the emptiness. The lack of your presence was something he never wanted to feel, something in his heart reaching out to you and failing to find you.

He stops, standing in the middle of the room that's in shambles. He sees the dresser that has its contents flipped upside down, some of your favorite clothing pieces torn to shreds on the wooden flooring.

He sees the splintered wood on the bedframe, a place that they had spent so many orange mornings with you in, the sheets now ruffled and unkempt void of a morning glow. He sees the broken mirror, the same one you insisted on having when the three of you moved in, you said you'd use it, but you never really do.

He sees the damage; he sees the sign of struggle.

The evident feeling of what happened here makes his muscles stiffen, his joints feels like they're about to snap. His head blacks out, fills up with an angry fog, tears prickling at his eyes and cold shame bleeding through his back.

It's a horrible feeling that makes him want to puke up his emotions, a habit they coaxed you out of after extensive support. He wants to think better thoughts, that you are at your friend’s house, and this happened while you weren't here.

But as he feels the looming presence behind him and hears the duffel bag crash against the ground out of shock, he knows this is happening and it's the most terrified he's ever been.

Where were you? Who were you with? Are you hurt? Are you even still alive?

Questions of horror plague Simon's mind as he paces the living room of disarray. The place had been completely ransacked, not only were you gone, but everything they had of sentimental, or material value had been destroyed, not taken, destroyed.

A nightmare come true, no, something worse than. It made Simon's skin crawl, his stomach doing twists in hopes of finding a better feeling. He felt freezing cold, the apartment was frosty, the heater you loved to sit in front of on cold winter mornings hadn't been used in too long.

How long have you been gone? How long has it been since they took you?

He hadn't felt fear like this in a long time, something that came to compare with a certain unspoken Christmas. A fear that kept him from getting too attached to anyone, not until he met Johnny who tore down his defenses, or you who phased right through his walls of reinforced steel.

Now it creeped its way back into his senses, reminding him that they failed to conceal you, they failed to keep you out of view, they did not keep you safe, and you were suffering the consequences of it.

Simon called the cops as soon as he got out of his own shock, he called Price immediately after knowing which of the two would be faster. Price had always been fond of you since the day they introduced you to him. Various holidays spent with Price and his family since they didn't live far, and you clearly enjoyed his cooking just a tad more than Johnny's, even if you didn't want to admit it to their faces.

Simon was still holding the phone to his ear long after Price had hung up with the promise of being right there. The phone was still warm against his skin, making him want to not pull it away and feel the eerie chill that the apartment shouldn't have.

He looks towards Johnny who's sitting on the couch, even more eerie than the apartment itself. He's too quiet for any of this, Simon had halfheartedly expected him to go off the rails in this type of situation, but no. He's completely quiet, staring down at a pair of dog tags in his hands, clutched tightly like they might disintegrate if he lets them go.

It's the dog tags they gave you, the fake ones they got made with each of their names since you were so fixated on their actual ones. Despite how much they adored the look of you with nothing but their tags, they would still need them in the field when they went out. To remedy it, they got you your own, one with Simon’s name and one with Johnny's, a mark to claim you as theirs.

You never went anywhere without it after you first laid eyes on them. You'd always have them dangling around your neck if you went out, or if the outfit called for something else, you'd have them wrapped around your wrist, or safely tucked in your pocket.

It was your piece of them, something to hold close whenever they weren't home. A testament to the fact that they still had their own, that they were not gone forever and would come back to you. You weren't wearing them now; you didn't have them with you.

"Who do ye think it was?" Johnny's voice interrupts the cold dread silence that filled a living room that was supposed to be warm and safe.

Simon's head snaps up, the muscles in his arms finally relenting and letting him take the phone away from his ear. "What?" much like Johnny's, his voice had that constant tinge of fear ever since they entered the apartment.

"Ye know how many enemies we've made" Johnny sighs, his head bowing down to rest his forehead against his knuckles, "Which of the sick bastards do ye think took 'em." It makes Simon sick to even consider, but it’s becoming blaringly obvious that it was what happened to you.

Nothing else would make sense in their heads, this was no ordinary break in. If you were staying somewhere else, you'd answered their dozen calls, and their 50 messages. There was no reason for you leave, no reason for you to ghost them and leave the apartment like this.

"We must've been made a mistake somewhere, left a trail, led them right to here," Johnny continues, going down a spiral road that promises a fall to every turn. "Right to them" he tries to conceal the crack in his voice, biting down on his tongue to stop the rising panic in his chest.

It’s no use, there's no getting past Simons observant gaze, not a feeling to be hid when his eyes flickers over you and brings out every little thought you've ever had. "I called Price," Simon's voice becomes a tether between them, something to bind them together and hold the uncontrollable explosions in their chests at bay.

He pockets his phone and moves over to where his lover is sitting. Every step feels like his legs are full buckets of water, sludgy movement accompanied by a certain lightheadedness. He has to stay strong for the both of them, for you, wherever you are now.

He positions himself between Johnny's legs to take his attention away from your dog tags. His roughened hands gently glide over the stubble on Johnny's cheek, guiding his eyesight upwards and bringing him into an encompassing hug. One to keep him tugged away from the scene, away from the reality. A hug to compress them both together, to stop them from falling apart in your absence.

Simon doesn't view himself as a religious man, spiritual or anything of the sort, but right now he prays. He prays to any god that will hear him, any entity that will look upon his bloodied soul and carry pity for him. He prays for your return, your life, your being, that when they find you, and they will find you, that you won't be hurt, that you will still be you.

Price comes first, as expected, the police shortly after. When he first saw Simon's number pop up on his phone, he felt confused. There was no fear in him yet just confusion because Simon doesn't call ever, unless it's important.

When he found out the reason, he felt the claws of fear himself. A situation everyone in the 141 grapples with, when they have the knowledge of loved ones at home. Knowing it was you only made the fear worsen.

Though skeptical, he had been happy when the boys had introduced you to him, happy that they found something to care for and trust other than themselves. He had multiple times admitted to himself how well the three of you fit together, each of you completing something that the other would be missing.

The paternal or brotherly instinct in him that he held for his boys in the 141 quickly translated over to you as well. Much like for anyone else in his family or the 141, he'd go to great lengths for you. In fact, he's pretty sure he broke a traffic law or two to get here so fast.

He watches from afar by the staircase, Simon was talking to one of the police officers that came by his body rigid ever so tense. He knows that this is something that could destroy these two to a new level, a level Price would not have seen before.

He knew Simon better than Johnny, and while Simon prided himself in looking like he had it all together, he had seen the man in his worst times, and it was destructive. A place he could barely pull the man out of once he sunk down to it.

Johnny had placed himself on the staircase, unable to face the direction of what was once a home of warmth and safety. He was quietly talking to Kyle on the phone, informing him and of what they knew and what they didn't, in a sense helping each other calm down while preparing what needs to be done.

Kyle had offered to come over there asap, sounded practically halfway out the door but Johnny managed to talk him out of it. Price was already here, along with him and Simon and the police it was already a crowd that didn't need more attention than necessary.

Price had stopped listening a while ago, trusting any other finer details for Johnny to deliver. He was focused solely on Simon and the officers. They looked almost bored as they listened to Simon explain the needed details, their general lack of respect firing irritation into his veins.

He knew that he cared for them in a way no superior technically should, this wasn't just about keeping his soldiers in one piece so he could have use of their skills in the field, it was about the bond they shared, the traces of family between them all. It brought them together when needed, they could trust each other to see things through, and help when things seemed hopeless.

That trust extended to you too, a heart full of so much emotion you never failed to surprise Price with your range. He had met so many different people in his time, and rarely did he ever find someone like you, a personality of range so raw it repelled the wrong people and drew in the ones that could handle you.

He looks towards the door that creeks open, red fiery curls, that you had described one time over tea, poking out along with a set of curious eyes. A nosy neighbor you had particular disdain for, finally now looking to see what all the noise is about.

He gives them eyes sharp like daggers, promising blood, and vengeance if they didn't kindly close the door again. It often fell into topic during your teatime with him, petty gossip shared between the two of you. You had called them creepy, perverse, gross, eyes that stared too long at you when you passed in the hallway, and words drawn out as if you keep you close longer whenever you talked.

Price already had plenty of reason to distrust and dislike them, but even more so now because of their plain ignorance. Even if they didn't know how long ago the deed was done, the damage is noticeable, the noise it must have made when it was done isn't something you just miss.

No, your neighbors had deliberately ignored the obvious signs. Walked past it thinking someone else will call it in, someone else will help, but nobody ever did. The red curls disappeared again, most likely got bored with the lack of a scene to watch now that the police were searching the home.

"You think they will find anything?" Price's attention was promptly brought back to Johnny, who had seemingly finished his phone call. Now looking up to him with worry and fear, occasionally glancing back at the open door and wincing at the reminder.

He wants to assure him, to tell Johnny that yes, they will find everything they can, they'll build a case, your sweetheart will be safe and sound within the morning, but Price doesn't like to lie to them when it doesn't benefit them.

"No…" Price answers with a sigh, his arms coming to cross over his chest, "But we will find something."

He can already feel it in the way the officers halfheartedly take on the case, the disinterested stares, their overworked faces. They won't find anything, and they certainly won't find you. Even if they wanted to it's more likely that this is beyond them.

This isn't something simple, it’s something that could go way back. A deliberate hit on the two of them, revenge maybe, or a message. Time would reveal which one, only one thing was certain right now, you were their top priority.

The first few days back on base are like hell for Simon and Johnny. Having to go back to work with the knowledge of your absence makes both of them go a little mad. They know Price is doing everything he can to speed it along, to find out something about your whereabouts, but it takes time.

Meanwhile they're left with nothing to do except work and wait. They both know they can't return back to their apartment with the intent to live there anymore, but the task of looking for a new place is all too daunting. Not to mention it would feel wrong without your input, with your acceptance of their new flat, a big decision they didn't want to make without you.

They have different coping mechanisms in your absence. Johnny is a lot more withdrawn, in his own head all too much thinking about you and what state you could be in now. He draws but its barely an escape anymore, it doesn't help him unwind like it used to, so he goes to the gym, he works out, he punches the bag imagining it’s your captors face whatever they might look like.

Simon swamps himself with paperwork, taking on way more than he can handle, because if a single thought of you presses into his head, he might not be able to keep his composure. He's barely keeping afloat as is, holding Johnny close every night calming each other down the best they can.

Even so there is a definite distance between them, the lack of overlap in their activities and work putting them at bay from each other during the day. The constant separation in the morning and the sleepless nights take a toll on them both.

One that Simon only truly realizes when he opens the door to his room and sees Johnny broken down into a heave of sobs. He wasn't unfamiliar with panic attacks, having them himself on an annoying basis, but he knew they didn't plague Johnny as much as they did now.

Johnny felt sick ever since the apartment, he hadn't been eating properly because how could he when you might not have food, he hadn't been resting because how could he when you might not be rested, he couldn't do anything unless it was to further the task of finding you. Every time he tried, he was filled with an unbridled shame that bled into his bones, and made it infinitely harder to do.

Simon softly closes the door, making his presence known but still being quiet as to not startle him on either end. He walks over, watching his partners state of panic, kneeling to take him in his arms and hold him close.

"Breathe…" he whispers against Johnny's scalp; he's still crying and gasping for air but he melts against Simon like he's always meant to be there. Johnny shifts, pressing fully against him and burying his face into his chest.

"I need you to breathe love…"

Johnny tried gasping for air again, tried to focus on the steady heartbeat in Simon’s chest but it felt futile. "I..I can't…" his voice broke over midway "What…what if we never find them Si….what if they're not even ali-"

"Stop."

Simon pressed his partner even closer, halfway into his lap at this point in an attempt to soothe him. He knew how many times he must've gone there by now, entertaining the thought that there will be nothing to find anymore, that what they're looking for is no longer a thing. He doesn't want to go there, he refuses to believe it as a possibility, because Simon isn't sure what he is going to do with himself if that turns out to be the case. 

He might crumble fully this time, fall with nothing to catch him. He desperately wants to be there for his partner no matter what, but losing either of you would destroy him, and he knows this as a fact.

"What if…what if they think we're not coming" Johnny tightens his hold against Simon’s shirt, "They know that right…they can't think we're abandoning them…they can't."

"We're going to find them Johnny," He promises him, "We're bringing them home" he promises him something he isn't sure if he can keep.

Slowly but surely, they get moved onto the bed, not bothering with removing any layer of clothing. As much as the skin on skin might help, Johnny would still be too out of it. Right now, he needs a steady hand, something to rest against as he cries himself dry.

Simon pulls him against his chest as they lay down, barely even separating at all. Their legs tangling, heartbeats together, Johnny begins to calm down. His sobs become quieter, but the pain in his heart is still at large.

Simon can feel it in his own, from Johnny's, all around them. He doesn't let it be known, nor does he do it loud, but a few tears escape from the corner of his eyes, falling down his cheeks. It makes him hug Johnny tighter, to keep the one thing he still has left close in his arms, because if he lets this go now, he will truly be lost.

Crack

Johnny winces as he hears another finger snap, watching it bend the wrong way and eliciting another broken scream from the guy in the chair.

They've been at it for an hour by now, the fifth guy they've managed to bring in this week alone. It didn't take long before they started finding potential leads of your whereabouts, bringing in blokes who might have even the tiniest clue.

Price was technically supposed to be here as well but had conveniently left them alone with the poor guy, for better or for worse. It was one thing Price knew he could do nothing about, if he didn't help the two bring them in, they'd do it on their own anyway and with a much higher chance at getting themselves killed before they even find you.

Another crack and pop.

Johnny lets out a sigh as he watches his partner interrogate the terrified fella. It almost looked intimate, with how close Simon was in the guy’s face, tapping his hands over the man's hands before snapping another finger. Fortunately, Johnny did know better than that, there was nothing intimate about this, the things said in low threatening voices were things whispered with pure malice, a promise of revenge against the people that took their love.

He was getting a bit dejected however, this guy’s wasn't the first and certainly wouldn't be the last. They hadn't found a single thing about your location; they had a slight idea of the people that took you, but it didn't add up with other evidence they had. Every new thing they learned was either a lie or well-orchestrated plan, something that put them back to square one.

"No no no! Not that anything but that!" The man screamed trying to squirm away from Simon. There had always been something terrifying about the way Simon did his work in here, it made Johnny incredibly grateful to be on the same side as him, to not be the guy in the chair on the receiving end of all that.

"Johnny, do you mind?"

"Not at all LT" There was a certain venom in both of their voices, a danger whispered into the chords. It made them move as one, the same thoughts flowing through two brains almost like telepathy, one goal in mind.

Johnny moved over to the steel table, moving a bloodied wrench out of the way. He pitied whoever was going to clean this up, because it likely wasn't going to be them. They were still counting that this guy had some sort of information. In truth he did give them all sorts of info that they will catalogue and report later, but nothing about you.

He picks up the jumper cables and moves it all closer, onto the tray with squeaky wheels that Price promised to get changed months ago. He looks at the skull mask that’s now faced towards him, he sees behind it, the brown eyes a little duller and not as full of life.

He knows that Simon could go all night if it meant that he would finally get your location, but he was tired, not just physically but mentally as well. They could both use a break, a long one, the type that could give their very souls the needed rest, but neither of them stopped, it wasn't an option.

Johnny rolled the small table over to Simon, letting him do his thing. He lets out a sigh as he listens to the pathetic pleading from the guy in the chair as Simon hovers the cables near his crotch. With a heavy sigh Johnny excuses himself, having had enough of the whining and moaning, and feeling a headache come on.

He closes the door behind him to the room just in time, the muffled screaming from inside combined with Simon's incessant yelling quickly drowned out. He feels the cold breeze on his face, letting the feeling of fresh air fall over him. The warm stench that always got into a room during the torture finally washing away from his nostrils.

It's cold out, he notices as he feels the goosebumps ride up his arms. If you were here, you'd be chewing him out about going outside without a jacket, telling him that he can't get a cold, because if he gets a cold then you'll get a cold, and you really don't want to be sick. He'd ruffle your hair, much to your annoyance, and tell you that he wouldn't get sick, but of course he would a few days later, and even then, you'd be taking care of him so sweetly, despite complaining before it.

But you aren't here.

He takes a few deep breaths and tries really hard to keep the panic looming in his body concealed. He had to stay tactical, calm, and in control, but they had hit too many dead ends. Their first thought was that they somehow had let you be known to their enemies, and that some had come to take you as leverage but the chilling realization that nobody they had tried knew anything about you became an uncomfortable itch.

Maybe that was what was the scariest thing about this situation, it having nothing to do with them and everything to do with you.

The moment they get a proper lead on a location is when things start to go fast. Not even 2 hours after the briefing are they on the plane and landing on a base that would be close by the revealed location. It doesn't take a lot of convincing to have Price agree to the mission, perhaps just as eager himself to finally put an end to the madness.

Was it logical? Not all the way, smart? Fuck no, but it was hope, and Price knew at this point that if he didn't find a way to make it happen fast, then Johnny and Simon would just steal a plane and go on their own, Gaz would likely join them too if they asked.

But the fact remained, someone had finally cracked, who it was, Simon barely even remembers. The past week or so he's been avoiding thinking about you like were you a vicious disease that spread whenever someone mentioned its name, but now you were the only thing that consumed his thoughts, along with a overwhelming brooding rage.

He's not even sure you're going to be there, a human trafficking ring, their supposed base of operations revealed to them. If it wasn't for the anger boiling in his veins, he'd feel sick upon learning the knowledge of all the kidnappings that had been happening in your area.

You hadn't ever said anything, but he didn't doubt that you knew, you just also knew that they would worry too much and wouldn't go do their jobs if they knew. He wants to scream at himself, yell at a mirror for being so stupid and careless, if he had just stayed up to date then maybe he could've prevented all of this.

You might still be at home, waiting for them to join you in bed, the three of you cuddling together in your favorite position. If only he could go back and change his mistake. He knows he can't, he knows he can't change what he did or didn't do, but he will correct it now, and get you back in their arms.

The place is massive, but he barely even registers it, nothing feels real as he pursues anything and everything that could lead his way to you. He's mauling people down with scary precision, unleashing his rage on them while somehow still keeping them covert. He can feel that Johnny is behind him, watching his back, but he never actually turns around to confirm.

They've passed several rooms, or cells more like with plenty of victims, but none of them had you among them. After securing the victims safety, they left it to the other soldiers behind them to get them out of there while they continue to comb through the building.

Johnny starts losing hope once they've nearly been everywhere, all enemies neutralized, and victims secured. Though they have a few rooms left, they've seen no sign of you or anything that might've belonged to you.

And of course, that's when it happens, when they turn the handle on the last door, the last of their hope almost extinguishing, only to spike in their throats from the scene revealed to them.

The room is bigger than expected, at first hand it seemed more or less like another one of the rooms they kept their poor victims holed up in, but there was only one person in there. A body in the corner, naked, bruised, dirty, with unmistakable features that they used to caress at night within the safety of their own bed.

Once again Johnny feels sick, almost bends forward to wretch everything up right then and there as well but he has to keep it together. He wants to scream and cry, rip the person who did this to shreds, but it's likely Simon already did that unknowingly out there.

His partner doesn't stand frozen beside him for long, but likely going through a similar round of emotional turmoil. They both sprint to your side, trying to check your state both for injuries and your awareness.

Cuts and scrapes litter your body like a fucked-up pattern, your naked skin covered in dirt, dust and perhaps even mud. Your eyes are barely open, void and tired, they can practically see the redness and the crust from your crying stained onto your face.

Johnny smoothes a hand over your thigh to check a wound but flinches away when he hears you whimper. They feel a crack in their hearts as they watch you spur a little to life, pathetically trying to inch away from them but having no more energy to do so.

"No no…Sweetheart it's okay…it's us" Johnny tries to be soothing, not forcing touch on you but still trying to guide your vision in his direction. He almost can't bear to look at what they've done to you, inhumane things and then just to leave you here in a room by yourself.

When your eyes finally meet his, he chokes back on a wretched noise, your terrified look is something he never wants to see directed at him or Simon. Not from you. He gently guides you hand up to his hair, in the moment he doesn't care about the blood or the dirt, all he wants to do is remind you. He helps your fingers tangle through like you've done so many times before, hoping to kickstart your memory.

At first, you're stiff, unwilling, but slowly your hands start squeezing at his hair out of your own volition. A little more clarity in your eyes as you choke out his name, and when he hears he nods rapidly. His hold on your hand tightening as he looks down at you with tears in his eyes.

He wants to hold you, crush you against him, but he knows he has to be careful. Along with your visible injuries, they have no idea if you have broken bones or worse going on inside. "Yes, love…it's me….we're here…we found you…" he nods and brings your weak hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

They have to move you, and get you out of here with the rest, but Simon is afraid to touch. Scared that one motion from him could make everything infinitely worse. He's been sitting paralyzed next to Johnny and you, watching as Johnny brings part of you back to reality instead of the mental prison you've no doubt locked yourself in.

He looks away from your hand and back to your face, almost horrified to see that you're now staring up at him. He missed you greatly, but right now, he almost can't bear to have you look at him. He reaches his own hand up, wincing when he sees the blood on it but continuing regardless to pull his mask off.

He sees the tears forming in your eyes as you see him again, his hand gently cupping your face and wiping away the falling tears. "It hurts…" you sob quietly, and all Simon can do is nod, because he knows, he knows all too well about the pain you're in.

"I know love…I know…" He lets out a shaky sigh, giving an affirming glance to Johnny before moving around. They need to get going, and they need to get you to safety. He gently hoists you up, tries to not think of your desperate whimpers of both fear and pain.

He holds you close to his chest, Johnny's hands tugging your matted hair away, so it didn't get stuck on any gear. Simon's grip on you is fierce, a grounding touch you've needed for so long, and with Johnny's warm voice softly assuring you, you start to settle away from your panic.

They keep you close the entire time, assuring you, holding you, keeping you tugged away from the gore and the defiling monsters that lay dead on the ground. They keep you close, closer than ever before, and they won't let you go, not again, not ever. They'll carry you through the recovery, they'll get you back on your own feet again, back to yourself again.

They will never let any of this happen again.

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 10)

Wherein the fight with the serial killer continues.

bit of a delay there, whoops.

Stain dodged the attack, rolling under the worst of the fire and avoiding the radiant heat. 

Before he could attack again, Midoriya was on him. He pivoted around the Hero Killer in a move stolen straight from Bakugō to keep himself in the man’s blind spot, slamming a fist down into the back of man’s knee. There was no audible snap, but it forced Stain to fold down to the ground unless he wanted to see ligaments tear. 

And then Midoriya ducked backward, almost three meters away in a blink and out of range of Stain’s sword. 

Stain pursued. 

“Iida, get her,” Todoroki hissed, snapping Tenya back to his senses. 

And if Tenya’s engines hadn’t strained to breaking during those first vital moments, he could have dragged Gekkō and Native to the street in an instant. Instead, he lurched toward Gekkō and dragged her across the asphalt with apologies spilling out of him like blood. 

“It’s fine, Iida-kun,” Gekkō managed, still as limp as a discarded doll. Based on how long it took Tenya to get control of his body again, she’d be unable to assist them until the fight definitively ended one way or another. 

But Tenya was able to move now, which had to count for something. 

Then the thought struck like lightning. 

“Todoroki-kun, Midoriya-kun, his Quirk activated on Native before I was affected,” Tenya called to his classmates. “Stain’s Quirk has a time limit!” 

“By that logic, there’s some factor we aren’t seeing now,” Todoroki said, over the sound of ice and fire blasting through the battle in turn. Every time Midoriya darted for the roofs to avoid his opponent, Todoroki tried to cut off Stain’s advance with either obstacle type. “Midoriya, did you hear that?”

“If it’s not just time,” Midoriya said as he dangled from a fire escape, “then it might have something to do with amount of blood?” 

“I-I don’t know,” was what Native had to offer. Given the bloodstain on the front of his costume, he likely hadn’t realized there was trouble until Stain had already sliced him open. 

“Iida-kun,” Gekkō interrupted with a hiss, “get me on my s-side. Now.” 

Tenya’s immediate response was a denial. First-aid lessons from years ago made their way into his head and screamed. “Gekkō-kun, if you’re injured—”

“I am,” Gekkō said, enunciating with more care than Tenya ever heard from her, “going to throw up—” 

Tenya hurriedly twisted Gekkō’s shoulder so she was halfway onto her side, with her legs remaining utter dead weights. That left Gekkō’s body heaving, but she just kept breathing while the fight went on. She shuddered her way through what might have been an actual panic attack, though Tenya lacked an expert’s eye. 

And even if he did, he couldn’t make the judgment before there was a sudden cry of shock from the other end of the alleyway. When Tenya looked up, Midoriya was on the ground in an awkward, half-toppled crouch. As though his body failed him halfway through his next step. 

Stain, meanwhile, was in the middle of pulling his lizard-length tongue back into his mouth.

“I think,” Midoriya said in a shaking voice loud enough to carry, “it’s not about the amount of blood! It has to be some other factor. Quick: What are your blood types?” 

“Clever kid,” Stain said, his voice carrying in the sudden silence. 

“I’m type B,” Tenya heard Native say behind him. 

“Type A,” Tenya heard himself say.

Then Midoriya must have gotten barely a nick and taken note. Tenya’s friend was a blessing in many ways, but in this particular case he was also going to be Tenya’s first heart attack. He couldn’t leap to his friend’s defense with Gekkō still helpless at his feet. 

“Put my hands together,” Gekkō croaked. Her eyes were shut when Tenya looked down, brow scrunched and something faintly trailing from the corners. Tears wouldn’t be visible in the dark. And when Tenya hesitated, she snapped, “I don’t need to move to use my Quirk!”

[rumbelleshowdown]

⭐️

Author: Quorra

Group F: “Don’t you dare!”; one of those nights; panic attack

⭐️

First Steps

When Rumplestiltskin had pictured what he’d do when the curse lifted he had imagined many scenarios, none of which had actually materialised. Instead of the instant, if tense, reunion with Baelfire there was an added complication, and now he was stuck in Storybrooke trying to figure out how to cross the damned town line without losing what he had left of his son: his memories.

And yet, he couldn’t regret the fact that nothing had quite gone according to plan. Because Belle hadn’t been in his plans either. And yet there she had appeared, right after all his carefully-orchestrated plans came to fruition, as if to remind him that he didn’t have absolute control over every outcome and that was okay.

It was easier to focus on the task of coming up with a bit of magic to solve the situation with the town line when he could also bask in the miracle that was Belle. Even pale and malnourished as she was she took his  breath away, the most beautiful woman in all the realms. Beautiful on the inside as on the outside as, miraculously, years of imprisonment had not dimmed her kindness or her spirit.

He had enjoyed it immensely, showing her this new world. She was, as always, bold and curious, eager to learn everything about the world without magic. For weeks after the curse broke they spent most of their time inside his sprawling Queen Anne while Rumplestiltskin taught her everything about washing machines, refrigerators and the more daring fashions of Storybrooke, eager to lavish her with anything and everything she desired. She was brave and took everything in stride. She didn’t back away from any challenge, be it the oven, the hair dryer or his rather luxurious shower, with far too many knobs and levers for her liking. 

But after a few weeks Belle’s enterprising spirit began to pay off, her mind absorbing knowledge like a sponge. He had fallen for a clever lass, so it was to be expected that she would be able to master most aspects of modernity right away. And he was happy, really. He was. Except that he wasn’t. Because the more independent Belle grew the less he was able to spend time with her. No longer could he enjoy making breakfast with her at his side, her eyes riveted to whatever he was doing, asking all manner of questions and rewarding him generously with kisses afterwards. He knew it was selfish, that after so long trapped as she had been he should rejoice in her expanding sense of freedom.

Which is why he had no recourse other than to sulk quietly, hate himself for it and cling to the last few chores Belle had not been able to master and, as a result, he got to do for her. He had thought laundry would stay safely his domain for a few more weeks, given how difficult Belle was finding getting the right settings and properly separating the clothing according to colour and level of delicacy, which is why when he heard the washing machine beep musically to indicate the cycle was finished he volunteered eagerly to shift the clothes to the dryer, getting halfway up from the dinner table before Belle stood up, looking resolute.

“I got it.”

She hurried out of the dining room, unable to see him scowl.

“Are you sure you don’t need help? Let me acc-”

“Don’t you dare! I can do this myself, I promise.”

Five minutes later she was back on her seat, a wide smile on her face, looking exultant. It made his cold, black heart shrivel up inside.

“I did it! The dryer will be finished in half an hour, just after dessert. I’ll onload it, you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Wonderful.”

If she caught the sarcasm in his tone she made no mention of it. So gracious, his lady, to a mean old monster who couldn’t even be happy at her accomplishments. Knowing he’d be petty and unreasonable for a while he opted to go down to the basement after dinner, to work on the potion needed to keep his memories past the town line. It was the type of busywork that easily distracted him, allowing him to unwind. Later he’d make it up to Belle somehow, even if he knew she’d never reproach him for being short with her.

He got into the groove of things, preparing and distilling ingredients, checking and correcting instructions, crossing out ideas that did not have the result that he hoped, till a scream broke through his intense concentration. Without even having to think about it, reaching for his magic in an instinctual way that he had yet to regain in this new world, he teleported, willing himself into the bedroom he shared with Belle. The motion unsettled him for the slightest bit, his body still slow to grow accustomed to the immediate displacement. When he recovered he saw Belle, in one of the silk nightgowns he’d procured for her, huddled up in the middle of their bed. Her hands were in her hair and he knew, from previous experience, that she was fighting the urge to yank at it, even though it would be painful. 

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It only took a thought at a sweep of his hands to be clothed in his pajamas so he could climb into the bed and hold her. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to console her, so he knew the routine well. He manoeuvred himself to rest against the pillows, coaxing her to lie down on top of him so he could press her head against his chest. She had told him that the steady sound of his heartbeat was soothing.

Even though he wanted to, he didn't ask any questions. He never did. He simply crooned nonsense at her, holding her as tightly as she would allow, and waited for her to say something. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she described whatever nightmare had gripped her vividly, to the point where he’d have to physically keep himself from teleporting to Regina’s sprawling mansion to rip her black heart from inside her chest and squeeze it in front of her eyes. Only the knowledge that Belle would be hurt if he killed Regina in her name kept the queen alive.

Other times she would not say a word, only huddling as close to him as possible till she stopped shivering and either dozed off or they were chased out of bed by the light of the morning. He would spend the night kissing the crown of her head and murmuring crooning nonsense, bits of modern-world information that might catch her interest and distract her. When minutes passed with her keeping quiet he surmised she was not going to talk, and began to think of a topic to talk about.

“It’s not fair.”

Her voice, thin and reedy as it was, startled him.

“What isn’t, sweetheart?”

Too many things about Belle’s life were unfair, after all.

“I have been doing so well. I thought- I thought the nightmares were over.”

It’s true she hadn’t had a nightmare in a while. Over two weeks if he was remembering correctly. A personal best. 

“Do you know what happened to trigger it?”

“No. I- It was a good day. I was- I was doing alright. Hadn’t thought about the asylum at all. I… I was happy.”

Yes. And he had almost thrown a small fit over it.

“Hush, sweetheart. It doesn’t mean anything. A setback is just that, a setback. It doesn’t negate all the progress you’ve made.”

She nodded, but he knew that, if he let her, she would stew. She would convince herself she had regressed and spiral. She was always so hard on herself. Always pushing her feelings aside, unwilling to give to herself the patience and care she had for others.

“Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be over it. The feeling of still being in that cage.”

He made a flourish with his right hand upwards and, in the blink of an eye, the ceiling disappeared, replaced with the night sky in all its splendour, every twinkling star fully visible the way it wasn’t possible in their modern little town, given the levels of light pollution. Slowly, almost achingly so, Belle turned her head, pushing her hair away from her eyes so she could see. The naked fear etched across her face gave way to curiosity and awe.

“I remember you were reading an astronomy book a few days ago but complained that most constellations were not visible. Fancy a lesson right now?”

She snuggled close to him and he fancied that he could feel her smile bloom against the skin of his shoulder. As a Dark One he had produced magic well beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, and yet he seldom remembered being prouder than he was right then.

“Yes, please.”

[lover-of-mine]

Okay, but I kinda wanna talk about the panic attack conversation with new context, because here's the thing, the wording of that conversation is very on purpose. And Buck is calling Eddie out in a very specific way because what Buck is saying is actually "if you love me you're not going to do that to her" but like, everything about that conversation is crazy. Buck is checking in in a way I feel he's very entitled to considering that he gets Chris if something happens to Eddie, so if Eddie is seeing cardiologists, something might be wrong and I think Eddie gave up the right to privacy about his health when he signed his will, but like, does Buck assume the problem is the shooting because he is still anxious about it? And like, Buck is assuming things are fine with Ana, we have no reason to believe things aren't fine with Taylor, but you don't talk about a relationship you want to be in as just fine, and Buck is talking about loving someone who doesn't love him enough to be all the way in and he's talking about Abby, but is he? The will reveal was a love confession. But halfway done. It was a shield. Eddie hiding behind Chris. "My kid loves her" "Is that enough?". Is Buck saying your kid loves me. You offered him to me. What does it mean? Is that all it takes? If that's all it takes then why aren't you all the way in with me? Why does all I get is a maybe under a condition I can't live with? "Somehow we became a ready made family and I don't know if I'm ready for that" Buck has been taking care of Chris since he found out Chris existed. Someone assumed Eddie, Chris and Buck were a family months into them knowing each other. Is Buck seeing that as Eddie being scared of any type of family? Is Buck seeing that as Eddie being scared of his place in Chris' life? Does he think Eddie would freak out if it was him? That's pretty much the only situation where we see Buck seem genuinely mad at Eddie. Eddie confessed his love hiding behind his child, now he's having all these feelings about someone assuming Ana's place in their life. Is Buck feeling as rejected there because he has no way of knowing if Eddie wouldn't react like that if someone assumed that about them? Because the will is a love confession but is one that Buck can't accept. In his head that is conditional. And the price is something he will never be willing to pay. "If you don't want to hurt Ana, you owe it to her to be honest" "come on, Eddie, if you're not gonna be honest with Frank, at least be honest with me", "look, man, you don't need to pretend with me" was Buck begging for clarification? Was Buck asking if he's allowed to want this? Has Buck been daring Eddie to say it again because he doesn't know if he read what happened right since Eddie didn't mention it again and he can't risk being wrong? Is the miscommunication of this situation even deeper than we imagined? Did Eddie assume Buck rejected what he offered while Buck assumed Eddie didn't love him enough to offer everything? Does Eddie understand that while he offered everything, he put a condition to it that Buck will never take because Buck needs him too much to even consider? Does Eddie understand that he offered Buck everything he ever wanted and put it just out of his reach in a place Buck would never dare to reach for anyway, because he thinks the only way he gets there is if Eddie dies and Eddie dying means he's not actually getting everything he wanted? I wrote in a fic once "I can't ask for more of you, Eddie" "everything is already yours", but do they even realize that that's what's going on? That they are imagining obstacles that could be solved if they were just honest with each other the way they keep begging the other to be? Do they even understand that the only thing between them is the way they keep assuming things and acting on that assumption instead of just asking for clarification? "You don't need to decide right now" does Buck think that Eddie not telling him again means he made a decision already? Are they just looking at each other thinking they can't reach for it????????

Are they just trapped in the moment that gun went off watching the other fall away and helpless to do anything about it??????

[pterodactylterrace]

Okay, but… who would you have as your emergency contact from team green?

Aegon: Prolly not. He isn’t exactly the responsible type. I also get the vibe he would look at his phone, see an unknown number and just being like ‘nope’.

Aemond: He’s pretty loyal, so he will help, but he is definitely going to be passive aggressive the whole ride home. He will pick up the phone, for sure. Just to mock you if nothing else.

Helaena: If she has her phone in her, she may answer if you call her once or twice from a number she doesn’t recognize. There is a good chance she left her phone in the other room, though. And her phone is always on silent.

Alicent: She is going to freak out. She would be halfway into a panic attack before the words “don’t freak out” ever leave your mouth. Absolute last resort. Like, she will help, but is it worth it?

Otto: I feel he has connections, so he could probably get you out of a few sticky situations. He would answer his phone, provided he can remember which pocket it is in before it goes to voicemail.

Criston Cole: I feel like he would definitely help you out, and be really chill about it too. Like, lowkey he has seen some shit in his life, and your shenanigans are nothing new. He would help you out and keep his mouth closed. Man folds like a cheap suit, though. As soon as anyone hints at knowing what happened, he is ready to give a full confession.

*Bonus*

Which Green Dragon would make the best getaway ride? (In no particular order)

Sunfyre: He would come get you, and look cool af doing it. Just dripping in rizz as he whisks you away.

Dreamfyre: Pretty blue would blend in with the sky, making me feel like we are camouflaged.

Tessarion: Has a history of heroic, dramatic entrances. You will escape, and you will swoon over her beauty and grace while doing it.

Vhagar: GET ON VISENYA, WE’RE COMMITTING WAR CRIMES!!!! Granny Vhagar’s got your back. She may be slow to get going, but granny DGAF! She will help you out if you are in trouble and cause so much chaos while doing it.

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Squirrel

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Cute AF

Warning for panic attacks + Abuse

Y/n (me) has a baby (named Lillian) (previous relationship; the father was mentally and physically abusive). Y/n’s baby gets sick (not deadly, just a cold or something) but Jack looks her over and instantly falls in love with Y/n. Y/n likes him too but is scared to get into another relationship. Y/n has panic attacks a lot. Jack helps her and takes care of Lillian as well. Becomes a father figure to Lillian as she grows up. Y/n and Jack fall in love and have another child. POV can be either Y/n or Jack. It can have time skips so that it’s not so long, but I would love to read a lot of Jack helping Y/n with the panic attacks and Y/n during the pregnancy of the second child. There can be parts that are NSFW, but that doesn’t need to be the focus.

"Rock a bye baby on the tree top...When the wind blows the cradle will rock... When the bough breaks the cradle will fall... And down will come baby... cradle and all." I sang as my feet danced gently across the wooden floor, my bare feet gracefully moved across the wood as I held sweet little Lillian in my arms, her head on my chest I kept my hand on her head feeling the heat of her fever. She had been feeling sick the last day or two slowly getting worse, But I just wanted to get her to bed for the night, "Hush-a-by baby on the tree top... When the wind blows the cradle will rock... When the bough breaks the cradle will fall... Down tumbles baby... cradle and all." I sang to her giving her a little kiss before I laid her down in her crib, and tucked the blanket over her and her sweet little teddy bear in her arms, "Sleep well little one," I cooed before I sat on my bed. 

I made sure to watch Lillian as I got changed, unable to stop my fear for her.

I left the room and moved to the bathroom standing by the sink to brush my teeth and looking at my pale reflection, my  hair still in the braid I did a week ago, my Y/E/C eyes seemed hollow to it all. As I glanced at my reflection my whole body jumped as for a moment I saw HIM in the mirror stood behind me. I jumped and washed my face knowing in my better judgment that he wasn't there, but as I looked up and met my reflection again he stood beside me his hand grabbed my neck and I screamed, But again. Nothing there.

I gasped my heart racing, my anxiety overwhelming, the sound of the tap running, my own gasping, ringing in my ears and Lillian crying in the bedroom. 

I forced my own emotions away and ran to the bedroom to pick her up in my arms and soothe her cries, until finally, she fell back asleep so I returned her to her crib and laid down on my own bed for a few moments just staring into space trying to feel calm. 

As much as I didn't like it I knew I didn't have a choice, I walked into the Port Victory Royal Hospital with Lillian on my hip in her little cream dress her  hair in a ponytail. Poor little thing had been coughing all night and her fever had gotten no better, I walked in and up to the small window where a man sat typing on a typewriter. He didn't even look up at me.

"Yes?"

"Hello, I uhh I need to see a doctor for my daughter."

The man looked up at me and glared before he looked back down, "Room three Doctor Dawkins will see you." 

I nodded and went to the small room he told me to, I sat on the bed and I gave Lillian the soothe as best I could trying to make sure she felt okay even if she coughed away. 

After a while the door opened to a strapping man in brown lace-up shoes, some tight brown trousers, and a white shirt with some very large sleeves so long that his cuffs that should have been tight around his wrists were loose halfway down his hands and soaked with bloodstains, a textured blue waistcoat that didn't fit him correctly as his suspender clips poked out the bottom, a green tie around his pushed up collar even if one side was flattered down, he had a sweet face, freshly shaven, and a head of blonde and brown hair that seemed to bounce as he swaggered confidently into the room. 

His brown eyes met me and for a moment he stopped short looking me up and down as his smile grew, he moved his hands behind his back and a wide smile moved across his lips, "Morning,"

"Morning, Doctor Dawkins?"

"The Very same," He nodded, "You are Mrs?"

"Miss actually, just uhh just Y/n is fine."

"Y/n." He smiled, "A very beautiful name and a ravishing young lady, You are welcome to call me Jack,"

"Ohh that's alright-"

"No no, I insist." he smiled as he cleaned his hands, "Now how can I help such a... gorgeous young lady." 

I blushed instantly not being used to hearing such compliments even if part of me tried to put up a wall knowing the sort of things that follow compliments. "Oh, Thank you. But not myself doctor this little one," I said bouncing Lillian on my knee, 

"Ohh I see, The even prettier littler lady," He smiled, "May I?"

"Just uhh be gentle with her."

"Of course, I'm a doctor I'm always gentle." he winked before he picked Lillian up and cradled her in his arms she quickly saw his face and began to giggle at him, "Awww aren't you a sweetheart, what's your name then little one?"

"Lillian," I answered, "she.. uhh doesn't speak yet." 

"Humm unusual for girls her age, still we all go at our own pace." He said, "You have a very charming name Miss Lillian, and a very beautiful big sister." He smiled at me,

"Ohh she's my daughter."

"Daughter? Really? You're far too enchanting to be a mother already." He chuckled sitting on the bed with me as he checked over Lillian, I did put a little space between us but I still wanted to be close to her. "Hang on... Miss? and Lillians your daughter?"

"Yes, doc- Jack."

"Alright, I don't wish to impose but her father is he-"

"six feet. I'd rather not talk about him."

"Okay. I'll do my best not to." He nodded, "How long has she had a fever?"

"A few days now, but the cough only started last night."

"I see, I don't imagine she's sleeping?"

"Not much No," I nodded, "I- I worried it could be whooping cough or tuberculosis, perhaps cholera or typhoid," I explained each word filled me with more panic my heart racing, my mind flooded with fear as I couldn't hold my panic anymore,

"Whoa. whoa. it's alright. It's alright." He cooed as he took my hand, "Shhhh shhh shhh, I'm here. I'm right here. Everything's okay." he said as he soothed me down from the edge of my panic, "It's alright, it's all alright. Lillian will be fine. it's just a cold." He reassured, "I can give her some medicine and she'll be right as rain giggling away in no time."

"Thank you, Jack,"

"You're very welcome, my best advice is to give her the meds before bed and get some sleep yourself." He said his hand resting on my shoulder but I flinched away, "sorry... forgive me I-"

"It's alright, sorry I uhh... I think we best be going,"

"Of course," he nodded handing Lillian back to me, "if you need anything I'm always here alright,"

"Thank you," I nodded, 

He got us the medicine and told me how to give it to her and he gave her one more cuddle before we left, "You get better now you hear me, don't want you causing your mummy any more trouble hey you little jumpy  squirrel," he told her which made her giggle, "And keep well yourself Y/n,"

"I will, thank you, Jack." I nodded, "How much do I?"

"You're welcome," He smiled, "No charge don't worry about it Y/n I know things can't be easy for a lady alone so don't worry over it."

"Thank you," I smiled, I left the room trying to hide my joy, such a sweet man but I did my best to force these ideas away.

I sat rather nervously but still, I needed to get it all looked at, as usual, we were sent to the same room and soon enough Jack arrived with a wide smile,

"Awww why hello, if it isn't my two favourite young ladies, she got another cough or some tummy troubles?" He asked as she cleaned his hands and came over, 

"No uhh, it's not Lillian today,"

"No? Oh... Everything alright Y/n." He said sitting beside me, 

"It's my head, these headaches last for days and they just don't seem to want to pass."

"Ohh you poor thing, alright let me have a look." He said moving to sit behind me on the bed, "May I?"

"You may," I nodded even if I was nervous the mere touch of his fingers was enough to make me jolt, 

"It's alright, just me." he reassured me in an almost pillow-talk tone, he stroked his callus fingers across my temple, then through my  hair, and he moved his hands to massage my scalp which admittedly made me lay my head back and almost moan it felt so nice and relaxing, "Ohh christ... you are tense." he muttered, "When you put Lillian to bed how long till you go yourself?"

"Immediately but I'm up a lot with her."

"I see" he said his hands moving down but the moment I felt his hand on my neck my skin boiled, my blood ran cold, my breath became sharp, my heart raced and I moved away as quickly as I could as tears began to flood my face, "whoa. it's alright. I wasn't going to hurt you. I'm sorry... I'm sorry Y/n I should have said something. Forgive me please."

"It's okay... you didn't mean to."

"It's alright, I should have asked first please forgive me."

"It's alright Jack."

"Okay," He nodded as he held my hands and helped me to calm down again, "I think I know what your headaches are,"

"Oh?"

"Tell me even without Lillian waking you do you sleep through the night?"

"No, very rarely," 

"I thought as much, You need to get some rest you're exhausted." 

"Well I have -"

"I know you're a very busy lady, but if you stay here you can get a good few hours of sleep."

"Here?"

"Of course, they're not the comfiest but you can get a good sleep here."

"But Lillian."

"I'll take her,"

"Yo-you'd really do that,"

"Of course," He nodded happily taking her and cuddling her in his arms, "You need to rest Y/n, you need some good sleep, I am perfectly happy to look after her till you get some rest."

"You don't have to do that,"

"No but I want to," he smiled, "You get some rest, she'll be perfectly fine and safe with me I promise,"

"Thank you, Jack,"

"You're welcome," He smiled kissing my hand, "sweet dreams Y/n," He said as he got up carrying Lillian on his hip, "Now you my little  squirrel are going to come have fun with me while your mummy gets a little nap. Yeah? that sound nice. a little fun afternoon with Doctor Jack?" He cooed, "Come on then you can be my little mascot," He told her as they headed out, 

I laughed but washed my face and hands getting into the bed and doing my best to avoid nightmares as I lay down and tried to get some sleep. 

I did get some decent sleep, and when I woke up my headache was all but gone, and as I sat up I saw a sweet sight Jack stood leaning against the table holding Lillian in his arms playing with her, I giggled to see them together. 

"Awww Hi Y/n," he cooed,

"Hi, was she okay?"

"She was an angel, absolutely perfect, such a sweet little  squirrel," he cooed, giving Lillian's head some kisses, "she was my little mascot today round the ward everyone said how cute and well-behaved she was, and she was even my little mascot for surgery weren't you?"

"she was?"

"Yeah she came and sat on my hip like I did the amputation she was good as gold, kept the guy really calm actually said he didn't want to yell cause he didn't want to upset her, I think more doctors should start carrying around babies,"

"That... doesn't seem sanitary." I laughed, 

"Good point, but we washed her little hands, didn't we? Between every patient we stopped and we washed out little hands," he smiled rubbing his hands in front of her and she quickly moved her hands to his like they were washing them, "Yeah there we go, wash wash little squirrel," 

"Aww that's sweet," I smiled "But babies like putting things in their mouth Jack,"

"Yeah, I noticed that she seems to really like sucking on my scalpel handle, 

"she might be hungry,"

"Ahh yes. Good point. I'll feed her if you're still tired."

"Thank you Jack but I'll get her home,"

"Of course, I'm glad you are feeling better. You know I'm more than happy to take her days you need a little rest, maybe even get one of the nurses to look after her and you and I could go out and have some more grown-up fun."

I blushed hard at such an idea, I did want to but my fears were far too intense, "Thank you but uhh I think I should stay with her,"

"Of course forgive me. Have a nice afternoon you two."

"Thank you, you have a nice day too Jack," I smiled, 

Once again I was back here and arrived at the hospital to see our usual doctor sitting on the bed as he wondered in, 

"Ahhh there's my favourite patient." He smiled as he saw Lillian happily taking her in his arms, "How is my little  squirrel? I have heard you had a little bonk?" he cooed, 

"She fell out her crib,"

"Ohh? Well, what do we expect? Little squirrel must have been trying to climb out and go on an adventure." He cooed, "Let's have a little look." He said looking over her, "Let's get you some bruise lotion," He smiled handing her back to me, "And I'm sure a kiss from your mummy will help too,"

"Aww I'm sure it would," I smiled,

"...Do you think... the doctor could get a kiss too?" 

I blushed hard but I couldn't help to give his cheek a little kiss, 

"Awww! See don't you want that Lillian, it certainly made me feel better." He winked, 

"I think she's just upset she doesn't like getting bruises," I said kissing her little head, 

"I know I don't either, but she'll be fine once she gets some bruise lotion on it, and as she's been such a frowny little squirrel, how about a caramel?"

"She doesn't like caramel,"

"Aww, me either. Alright, but I'm only doing this becuase you my little squirrel," He told her going into his pocket, "How about a little lemon sherbert Hu?" Immediately she went to reach for it, so he unwrapped it and snapped it smaller giving her the little pieces, "But don't think you're going to get this all the time, these are my privet little sweets."

"That's very sweet of you Jack,"

"Well, she's too sweet to say no. You both are Y/n," he smiled kissing my head, 

I stood in the alley doing my best to ground myself my body shaking and Tears streamed down my face, as I cried hysterically, my breath short and shaky, my throat choking and tight with every breath, my mouth dry and sickly, my heart raced to jump in and out my chest, my fingers and toes numb, my head dizzy almost to faint, my every limb shook and sweated, my stomach churned and turned like a hurricane, I couldn't even think, or even begin to know where to start to fix myself. 

"Ohh it's my little  squirrel and- Y/n?" Jack approached as he came down the alley himself of course her first spotted Lillian in her pram and then me, "Y/n what's the matter?" He asked as he came over, "It's okay, it's okay, You're not having chest pains are you?" 

I shook my head and he held my hands in his, he kept me close to him and walked me through my breaths wiping my tears and keeping me in a grip that made me feel so safe but not smothered, he gave me time and space and made sure everything was alright until my panic attack began to melt away to nothing but memory,

"Are you alright?"

"Yes... Sorry Jack forgive me I-"

"It's alright. You frightened me. I'm just happy you're okay. You get these a lot?"

"I do... a lot of... bad memories sometimes come back."

"What sort ofg bad memroies?"

".. Lillian's father. Forgive me-"

"No, no I'm here if you need me you know that. You and Lillian. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." He said wrapping my arms around me to pull me into his chest, for a moment the metallic twang of blood hit my nose mixed with his sweet mahogany scent but I found it somewhat comforting, "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, I won't do anything to hurt you, or Lillian. you know that. I wouldn't dream of ever hurting my little  squirrel and her lovely mummy," 

"You mean it?"

"Of course I do," He said kissing my head, "Come on I'll take you both home."

"You don't need-"

"AH. I said I would. Doctors orders I'm taking you both home" He said as he pulled back and took her handle of Lillian's pram, "Hello you, you alright? Happy little squirrel now mummies feeling better? Good come on then Doctor Jack will read you a story," he told her, 

I nodded and led him back to my little apartment where I put Lillian down to bed, "Uhh have a seat, I guess," I said sitting on my bed,

"Is this really it?"

"Yep."

"You and Lillian? just in this little room."

"yes, we uhh her father use to live with us but of course he uhh..."

"Y/n... I don't want to push, you don't have to tell me but... where is Y/n's father?"

"...Dead."

"How'd be die?"

"He fell down drunk, down the stairwell and broke his neck."

"Ohh... Y/n, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright,"

"Did he drink a lot?"

"He did."

"Did he... No. Y/n... Did he... hurt you?"

I nodded frozen at the idea I was telling anyone, 

"Did he hurt Lillian too?"

I nodded, 

"...Is that why she wouldn't talk?"

"I think so. whenever she cried He would slap her. She learnt not to open her mouth. She cries again now but that's all."

"It happens in children, they learnt early on not to talk I'm so sorry Y/n, If I knew I'd-"

"It's alright, over now."

"Is it? or is he still lingering in your mind?"

"he still does I'm sorry Jack I-"

"Hey, Y/n listen to me." he said taking me in his arms, "I swear to you. I would never ever dream of hurting you. Or Lillian, I'm a doctor. All I want is for you both to be happy and healthy. I care about you, both of you." 

"I know you do,"

"Will you let me take care of you? both of you?"

"Just care for us?"

"I think you know I want more than just caring for you both." He smiled, "If you'd let me."

"...I'd like to let you,"

He smiled and rubbed his nose against mine as she stoked my cheek, "May I?"

"You may," I nodded,

He smiled and closed the gap letting our lips meet. 

I smiled sitting in the little hospital room with Lillian on my lap, as the door opened,

"Awww it's my lovely gorgeous stunning ravishing lady," Jack smiled as he saw me coming to kiss me, "And my little  squirrel too? I'm getting spoilt today." He smiled kissing Lillian's little head as he took her and gave her a bounce, "Not that I don't love to see you but why are you here? you were both alright when I left this morning, this couldn't wait till I get home,"

"No, I was coming into the hospital anyway,"

"Not to see me!" He pouted, 

"No to see, someone else."

"Who? What for? you're alright aren't you both?"

"She's fine."

"And you?"

"... I have some news, Jack."

"Wha- what is it?"

"We're gonna have a baby,"

"A- A baby! Y/n, you mean it!"

"I do midwife told me today, we're having a baby," 

He set Lillian on the floor to play and immediately took me in his arms giving me a million kisses, "Ummm I love you. I love you. I love you so so much. You are so beautiful, so perfect, you're gonna grow our sweet little baby!" He smiled 

"I love you too," I smiled, 

"We're gonna have a baby..."

"we are." 

"I couldn't be happier my darling," He smiled before he kissed me and went picking up Lillian, "You're gonna get a little brother, you excited little  squirrel,"

"I'm sure she is." I smiled,

"Now, you are going on a baby-friendly diet, you are going to relax, have nice hot baths, and I will be here to give you as many back rubs as you need." he smiled "No arguments."

"Yes Jack," I giggled,

"Perfect," He smiled, "And I'll look after Lillian so you're not overwhelmed, and even if you get so much as a whiff of a panic attack I will drip everything to take care of you, Y/n. I promise,"

"Thank you, Jack," 

I smiled as I headed to the hospital courtyard where I spotted Jack waiting for us, 

"Aww, there's my lovely ladies," He cooed, 

"Ahh little one has something to show you," I smiled, 

"Oh?"

"Go on then sweetie," I smiled putting her little feet on the grass,

"You're kidding?" He smiled excitedly as he watched her wonder over to him even if she almost fell a few times, but he scooped her up and soaked her with kisses, "Look at you! such a big girl! you're doing so good! My beautiful little squirrel," He cooed, "You are becoming just as beautiful as your mummy," He smiled, "Now you are walking there is nothing my little squirrel can't achieve! she'll be head surgeon by Sunday."

"I think she has a way to go with that yet Jack," I laughed, 

"I guess, but look at your mummy isn't she glowing? absolutely ravishing," He smiled giving me a little kiss I smiled and gave him a sweet kiss, "She's beautiful isn't she Lillian?" 

"I think she'd agree I am a boat." I laughed stroking my bump,

"Awww you're a very beautiful boat. a boat I shall happily steal and live my life on if I must." He smiled, "How is our littlest one?" He asked stroking my bump,

"Kicking away as usual."

"Alright, come on up to the office I'll give you a back rub, put Squirrel down for a little nap and give littlest one a cuddle and a kiss," He cooed, "Come on let's head upstairs," 

I smiled as I sat in the little bed tired but happy, as I held our little boy in my arms his little eyes were barely even open, Jack beside me playing with little Peter's fingers, Jack had just cleaned off his hands from helping me with the birth. "He's beautiful,"

"He is, he's so perfect."

"Are you okay Y/n?"

"I'm alright Jack," I smiled leaning on his shoulder, 

"Good, I was worried for a while there but you did amazing. My strong beautiful wife." 

"Thank you, You were strong too I don't imagine it was fun for you."

"Terrifying. Watching my own son come out of my wife. knowing if I do anything wrong I might seriously hurt both of you. Yeah not exactly a fun time for me." he laughs, "but it's all worth it, for this little guy," 

"It truly was," I smiled, "Shall we?"

"Shall we? I think we shall." He cooed giving my lips a kiss and little boy's head a kiss before he got up and went out for a moment so I gave our little boy some kisses until Jack returned with Lillian in his arms he brought her over in her little blue dress sitting her on his lap as he sat on the bed, "Lillian? Sweetie, My sweet little Squirrel, this is your little brother."

"You're little brother, Peter, he's very excited to meet you," I smiled letting her see him a little better, 

She came closer looking at him playing with his fingers curiously, "P-peter."

Immediately I got choked up to hear her sweet little voice, the first thing she'd ever said to us, 

"yes, that's your little brother little Peter." Jack smiled,

"Peter." she nodded before she gave Jack, I and Peter a little hug, "Love."

"Aww, we love you too Lillian,"

"We love you very much little squirrel, you, and your little brother we both do." Jack told her, "And I love mummy very much too," He smiled at me,

"I love Daddy very much too," I smiled giving Jack a sweet kiss, 

[ravenwoodalum]

on karamelle, why it sucks, and redeeming azteca's reputation.

I just got to Karamelle for the second time, and good lord. I hadn't forgotten how much I hated it, but it hit me like a wall of bricks. And I'm already preparing myself to marathon it and be fucking done questing here for at least a year.

I think it breaks down like this.

Baby's first workers rights movement/sugary-sweet surveillance state Listen. I know this is a game that doesn't allow for player characters to have much individual impact on the in-game narrative. I know we've had to do errands for cops. I know we work for a war criminal. I KNOW there are flaws in the system. But there's something about the way that Karamelle's set up that makes it all feel so. much. worse. And that's the fact that Karamelle has such a stellar reputation within the Spiral before this. The happiest place in the Spiral, the sweetest treats in the Spiral. Everyone seems to fucking love this place. Almost no one outside of those actually working there seem to understand how corrupt it is. And so the YW is talked down to at every turn, like this is their first exposure to a corrupt environment. And sure, maybe it is within, canon. YW gets isekai'd at a very young age and then made into a child soldier, maybe this is actually the first time in canon that they've been introduced to these concepts. But (and this may just be me) it feels really rude to the player -- who might actually have experience with these ideas -- to make them feel like a fucking idiot with the dialogue options. Karamelle's characters just feel rude.

Oh, so the Gobblers were a fatphobic, Roald Dahl type thing from the start. Cool cool cool. Any of you ever read Roald Dahl's book "The Twits"? It's a very unremarkable story all things considered, except for this bit.

Aside from Roald Dahl's unavoidable history of antisemitism, does this remind you of anything? Honestly, this reminds me of the Gobbblers.

We first meet the Gobblers around level 10 in Wizard City -- creatures driven by consumption. And then we get to Empyrea and hear that the Alphoi -- skinny "civilized" creatures -- can become Gobblers if they eat too much or are unhealthy in their eating habits. Which makes one of our oldest running enemies a loop-around fatphobic thing, ESPECIALLY when we get to them in Karamelle, the home world of the Gobblers. Rosina, especially, just oozes fatphobia and diet culture. The literal vilification of being fat isn't even subtext, it's just text.

The Old One, The Cabal, and what to do when your escape from the world ends up shoving what you were escaping from right back in your face. When I was in sophomore year of college, fall of 2019, I had one of the worst mental health periods of my life. Antisemitism was fucking everywhere, I was always a moment away from a panic attack, and it felt like no one understood. While I'm lucky in the fact that I was able to get an official diagnosis for genetically inherited PTSD, alongside the reassurance that I wasn't fucking crazy, there was a period when I just needed to go home for a moment. So when I was going back to my dorm from the dining hall to make sure all my stuff was ready to go, I opened up tumblr and made a post on a long-gone RP sideblog I had for the Swedish Chef (y'know, from The Muppets? long story), and before I'd even gotten halfway across campus, I'd received threatening and violent messages from someone RPing as Borat, which only got worse when they realized they were talking to an actual Jewish person.

That escape from reality didn't even last five fucking minutes before the horrors I was trying to avoid found me.

Now, Wizard101 has always been a source of comfort for me. I made my account fourteen years ago, and I do not know what my life would look like if I hadn't done that. There are flaws with this game, yes, sure, but over the past five years (since I got a wiz compatible laptop) I've developed a bit of a reliance on it to get me through the horrors. No better form of escapism.

But no art form is free of the horrors.

And Wizard101 has the fucking Cabal and Old One.

The Cabal within the fiction of Wizard101 is a secret, nefarious organization pulling the strings on events across the Spiral, controlling history from the shadows. This term literally originates in antisemitic conspiracy theory, with the term 'cabal' originating from the term for Jewish mysticism, 'kabbalah'. And I promise you, you've heard plenty of applications of this conspiracy theory in real life too. It feeds into the idea that Jews (or 'global elite') control the government, the media, the banks.

And then, we get to the man in control of it all. The Old One. Whether or not this was intended, he's a walking, talking antisemitic caricature. The octopus as a symbol for the mythical Elders of Zion is a longstanding dogwhistle (see attached for a guide to this and many other visual dogwhistles). "Oh, he's based on H.P. Lovecraft-" So he's based on the works of a famous racist and antisemite, cool cool cool.

It's just exhausting, walking through a world that is so clearly modeled after Germany and other parts of eastern Europe, and finding antisemitism around every corner. And even more exhausting considering it's almost impossible to tell if they meant to do it. Antisemitism is so fucking ingrained in the world at this point that I don't actually know what they meant to do here, what they did maliciously or out of ignorance, or if any of it was put in with the purpose of turning it on its head. Over the past few years, it has become glaringly obvious that a lot of people don't realize when they're running across antisemitism, or even taking part in it. Including people I really thought would know better.

Side note. For those of you who know I see Dasein as Jewish, you may be wondering how I balance that out with the antisemitic nature of The Old One, since they share a physical form. I think of it like this. Dasein did not choose The Old One. He did not choose to resemble that, but he can attempt to reclaim it. Dasein's Judaism comes not from the resemblance he holds to the hatred that haunts us, but from the love that keeps us going. He questions authority and longstanding tradition, chooses to do what's right instead of what's expected, and is kind in the face of hatred. He literally makes himself, and a world, out of nothingness. Something out of Nothing. He's so Jewish you guys.

The Spiral's "Worst World Award" goes to... I know we all say "fuck Azteca" pretty often on this website, but I don't think it deserves to be deigned the worst world in Wiz. My main gripe with Azteca is how inaccessible it gets after Xibalba strikes -- the flashing lights aren't exactly photosensitive friendly. Which further lends frustration to my completionist nature, meaning I have to finish all quests, badges, and fishing before I finish the world (making it take forever to finish). Aside from that, there really isn't that much wrong with the world (and if you argue that it sucks because you can't save Azteca, I get it, but some tragedies are inescapable by their very nature). It's a problem of gameplay, versus a problem of plot in the case of Karamelle. And maybe its just because I'm a writer, but problems with plot feel much more egregious. I really do think Karamelle deserves more vitriol than it gets.

G-d, I can't wait to get to Lemuria.

[mickeyluggage]

The dogs + Eddie if they were in Lost

(a show about a plane crashing and the passengers surviving on an island)

Blue:

Dies in the plane crash (sorry).

White:

He unintentionally becomes the leader, he took care of the panic during the initial crash and people then refer to him all the time. He's got some past experience that makes him pretty good at surviving and helping others/managing them. He has trouble accepting that no one is coming for them and that they should focus on long term surviving rather than hope for a plane to rescue them. He'd be the type to sit on the sand and look at the sea for a while, then pull his wallet out of his pocket and longingly look at pictures of his ex wife and daughters.

Orange:

Orange is hurt during the crash, but survives. White makes sure that he gets all the care they can get on the island, and defends him against those who say he's a useless weight to carry and that he's gonna die anyway. I could see this as a reverse situation where Orange is actually a criminal, and was handcuffed while on the plane, but the officer who flew with him luckily died in the crash. He has to lie about his name and backstory to explain why he was flying, so that no one knows who he actually is and what he's done. This causes problems when someone tries to make a register of all the survivors and cannot find Freddy's phoney name on the flight manifest.

Pink:

Pink is the quickest to accept that they won't be rescued by anyone. He often argues with White about this, and ends up going kinda solo on his quest to make sure they actually set up a long lasting camp that could hold up for months. He's really worried about dehydration and stashes a few water bottles for himself before they find a source of drinkable water.

Eddie:

Eddie works a lot with White to manage the people on the island. He keeps track of the rationing for water and food, and he's the one who thinks about making a register. He tries to kill Freddy when he realises that his name is a fake, and doesn't think it makes any sense to waste ressources on an injured guy who's already halfway dead. He's also accidentally going clean as his dope has been washed away in the sea, and he and Freddy have to wrestle for the few meds available on the island.

Blonde:

He seems a bit too chill about the whole thing. He'd collect all the weapons he can find as well as cigarettes and alcohol and make his own secret stash. He definitely tortures then kills someone while they're in the jungle and then lies about an accident or a wild animal attacking them. Doesn't really believe in sharing, and often gets into fights with people who need the stuff he claimed on the first day.

Brown:

Brown insists that he often went fishing as a kid and spends all his time knees deep into the sea to try and catch some fish. He tries multiple techniques and ends up settling on a net, he actually manages to catch a few after a while and that sort of becomes his job on the island. He also claims to be a specialist of survival, and tries to get a fire started on the first day by rubbing two sticks for like an hour, until Blonde shows up with a lighter.

[maochira]

oops i hope u see this before u right the request but can you make it a panic attack comfort type thing? 😭 (the bigbro!karasu request? 🫶🤍)

I can't really write about panic attacks (I don't have enough experience with them) but I can do anxiety attack comfort!!

Requests open! - masterlist

Tags: gn!younger sibling!reader, reader is about 2 years younger than Karasu, reader has social anxiety, comforting, anxiety attack with hyperventilating (how I experience them)

Your parents are both busy with work, so they gave the task of grocery shopping to you and your brother. You actually didn't feel like going at all, but leaving the chore to Tabito alone just felt wrong, so you decided to come along - even though you already noticed today is not the best mental health day.

Most of the time, you manage grocery shopping pretty okay. It does drain your energy a lot, but it's nothing you expected to be as hard on you as it is today. Even if you look away, you can feel the stares of all the strangers in the store, and they feel way more judging than usual. You know that's just your mind overreacting and 99% of the people don't cate about you, but your anxiety still rises each minute.

You try to ignore it and go on with grocery shopping, thinking to yourself it won't take that long anyways. You're more than halfway through the store and there are only a few more items you need to get.

Just to feel a little safer, you grab your brother's hand and hold it a little tightly. Tabito opens his mouth and is about to tease you for holding his hand like a little child, but he quickly notices you're feeling anxious. He immediately closes his mouth again and gives you a soft smile before ruffling your hair.

"We'll be done in a few minutes," He says as he takes a look at the shopping list on his phone, "We only need seven more things. You can get through this, right? I know you can." Tabito ruffles your hair a second time and pushes the shopping cart forwards.

Your brother really thought you could get through this without any further problems. He genuinely thought you'll be fine. That's why he didn't expect you to have an anxiety attack, but the moment your breathing only gets a little heavier, his full attention is on you. Tabito has helped you through your anxiety attacks many times already, so he knows what to do.

Well, except for that all the anxiety attacks he's helped you with were at home after something triggered you there or when the stress from feeling as if you were constantly judged by strangers still overwhelmed you when you arrived at home. Because of that, Tabito has started waiting at the front door to see how you're feeling whenever you're returning home.

Being in a more busy and not-so-private space makes him panic for a moment, but he knows he has to do something to help. Your brother quickly picks you up and walks around, trying to find a calmer area in the store. Because you're hyperventilating, your vision got a little blurry so you can barely comprehend where your brother is taking you. It doesn't make you any more anxious, though, since you know he's going to keep you safe.

Eventually, he finds an empty area where he settles you down on the floor and kneels down beside you. "Hey, hey. It's okay," he tries to reassure you, "Can you breathe together with me?" Tabito takes your hand and squeezes it gently.

Shortly after, he starts counting and takes some deep breaths while encouraging you to breathe together with him so you get your breathing back in control. In between he says short phrases like "You're doing good" and "Keep going, okay?" while you're calming your breathing down.

While comforting and helping you, Tabito doesn't look away for a single moment. Any other person's eyes on you would have made you even more uncomfortable, but your brother's presence and the reassuring look in his eyes calms you down more quickly.

Even though Tabito messes around with you and teases you most of the time, he knows at which moments he has to get serious. And he'll always make sure you know he'll be there to comfort you and keep you safe.

Taglist: @luvistarzx, @kaineedstherapy12, @zyuuuu, @yerinsshi, @luvcalico, @truegoist, @vanitasbrainrot, @deerangle3 - sign up for my taglist here!

[stuckinuniformdevelopment]

@clay-the-watchdog

(Previous) Cyrus, upon getting that stiff response to their confession, intensely glared at Teddy. "Do you really think I had a choice to begin with..?" Then, they continued as they began nervously pacing around, "What if the Reverends, or even Bishop Percival, got word that one of their deacons befriended a traitor to Glorn this entire time?" "Would they even let me have a chance to explain myself before I become the next sacrifice without my say-so?!" They paused before raising their voice at Teddy, practically teary-eyed at this point.

When Cyrus asked if they had a choice Theodore quickly interjected with, “Yes.”

Of course they did. There was always a choice. And they weren’t nearly as powerless as they claimed.

Yet Theodore couldn’t help but falter when Cyrus put on such a believable act. They didn’t seem to be the type who could display such intense emotions on command.

Then again, neither did Theodore. And he had worked himself halfway to a panic attack while stripping the teeth from Sam’s plan to frame him.

Still... It was hard to completely dismiss them. No matter how much he hardened his heart. He struggled to maintain his glare. Sympathy was a weakness here. And he couldn't afford to show weakness. Not after what happened to Thomas.

“You could have claimed that you changed your mind to screw over Sam, or out of spite to keep them from getting an easier promotion than you, or that you only accepted to teach Sam not to trust other Glornists, or wiggled out of it with any number of bullshit you can get away with when your morality isn’t already under question.”

“But you didn’t,” Theodore looked down on Cyrus, literally and figuratively, while he accusingly said, “You handed the recordings over without even considering an alternative.”

“And then..,” he said as he fiddled with his bowtie. “I-” He abruptly stopped, then shook his head before starting again. “You had so much time to work with...”

Theodore clenched his eye shut before raising his voice. “So what kind of friend doesn’t even try!?”

[giftedverse-confidential]

Stormchaser

Basic Information

Full Name: Oya Sorami Oshun Uchenna Hiroyo Oluwaseyi Yoko Amarai Mejia

Nicknames:

Lil' Sis; by Akihiro

Sunshine, babydoll, pretty princess, bonita; by Chuso

Yaya; by Nia

Weather girl; by Saizo

Little storm; by Uche

Little princess; by Hirosora

Granddaughter; by Aosora

Alias: Stormchaser

Birthday: April 9

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Height: 152.40 cm (5'0")

Blood Type: O

Ethnicity: 3/4 Japanese, 2/4 Nigerian

Nationality: Japan

Sexuality: Straight

Occupation(s): Hero, Journalist

Affiliation(s): Heroes Guild, Storm Dynasty; Amarai Family (Grand heiress)

Status: Alive

Likes: Botany, social commentary, Nigerian pop music, the occult and paranormal, mystery novels, legal drama shows

Dislikes: Liquor/Hennessy, rollercoasters, documentaries, horror movies, cod fish, military movies

Description:

Oya is a young woman in her mid twenties with dark brown skin, curly dark blue hair, and brown eyes. She is of mixed Japanese and African descent. Oya is short and fat, which isn't uncommon among Heroes. With the recent birth of her daughter Tenki, she has lost some weight.

Her hairstyles change frequently, and at the moment she is wearing it loose. Her other hairstyles include butterfly locs capped with gold beads, finger waves, and goddess braids.

Oya's initial (and favorite) hero costume resembles something a weather reporter would wear; a dark blue bodysuit with shorts, black boots, and clear raincoat. Around her waist is a stylish utility belt that she can also store her umbrella in.

Her second hero costume retains the weather reporter aspect of her original, but with a few changes. For starters, her jumpsuit becomes a weather proof catsuit with her symbol on the front. Next, her rainboots become a pair of thigh highs made of the same material as her catsuit. Lastly, her raincoat changes to a clear one.

Her final hero costume entirely ditches the weatherman theme and instead opts for a weather goddess one. It is a white halter top catsuit with gold piping and flowing arms. Halfway the sides of the thigh are cutouts. Behind her is a sky blue cape.

Personality

Main positive traits: Kind, nurturing, motherly, charitable

Main neutral traits: Reliable, loyal, blunt, passionate, critical

Main negative traits: Anxious, aloof, uptight, impatient

Nurturing and kind on and off the battlefield, Oya is always willing to lend a helping hand to those in need (hence why she often hosts charity events and other fundraisers). She displays a motherly disposition towards those younger than her, namely her sidekicks and interns. People take comfort and safety in the motherly feeling about her, which has been made even stronger by her daughter Tenki's birth.

Her gentle nature makes her approachable for others and allows them to be vulnerable enough to open up to her. She will listen to them with open ears and help them as best as she can.

Despite her gentle and soft spoken nature, Sorami is incredibly blunt and direct in her talk. This catches people off guard. She makes it well known that she is not a doormat and most definitely not a pushover, either. Oya will not let anyone try to silence her, either, that's only going to make her speak out more. But, she is still mindful of people's feelings– or at least she is on a small scale. She can (and is) very critical of certain people and organizations, and makes these criticisms known.

While she may not look the part, she is easily anxious, and does not like to be put in uncertain and unwanted situations because of this. When faced with a difficult situation, she will become increasingly neurotic and will display symptoms of a panic attack until she starts having a full blown one. Though, she tries her best to avoid these kinds of situations. Her anxiety sometimes interferes with her everyday life.

A big pet peeve of hers is when people try to test her limits or downplay her achievements, even after she's proven herself. Having been doubted by her peers for years has caused Oya to not be a fan, especially when it's because of who and what she is.

Oya is loyal to those who have earned her trust and are in turn loyal to her. She does not follow others blindly simply because they command respect. In her eyes, you must earn hers or be considered her enemy. This also makes her a strong leader as she displays great trust in her sidekicks, the Stormclouds, as well as her interns.

She tends to run a tight ship with any group she's with, family, friends, and employees alike, and anything she's working on. She becomes highly impatient and will sometimes resort to micromanaging to make sure everything is going right. The most minor inconvenience will set her off badly.

When it comes to interacting with other members of high society, she is aloof. She keeps to herself at high-profile events like galas and often gives fellow rich kids the cold shoulder.

Oya is very passionate about things she likes and her interests. She will not stop talking about it for hours and will talk to almost anyone about it, mainly her (rather large) friend group.

Gift

Name: Weather

Type: Energy Based

Range: Varies

Mastery: Advanced

Weather is the name of Oya's Gift and as it suggests, she has full–almost godlike– control over the weather and meteorological patterns of any area she's in. She can cause storms, temperature changes, lightning, etc. She can also control the intensity and range of various natural phenomena. Oya has also exercised control over the elements as they relate to weather.

Oya is capable of using her powers inside a room, even with or without changing the weather outside. However, she cannot extend her control on a continental or planetary level, being limited to just one area (though later she breaks this limit to being able to affect multiple areas). Not to mention that she needs an atmosphere as a medium.

There's a unique ability she has: being able to create constructs such as barriers, armor, and more out of weather phenomena with various solidity and complexity. This is an ability she has fully mastered and can create anything she needs for almost any situation.

She shares a Gift with her ancestor, the legendary hero and forefather of her family: Susanoo.

Hero Information

Name: Stormchaser

Status: Active

Affiliation(s):

Stormwatch Tower

Partner(s):

Cyclone (Agwé Hayes); Sidekick

Tempest (Tempest Shimizu); Sidekick

Squall (Stormi Miyashita); Sidekick

Forecast (Zuriñe Haru); Sidekick

Ichiko Mizutani; Manager

Former Affiliation(s):

Canary's Mine; Work study

Mist Agency; Intern

Rainmaker Agency; Intern

Former Partner(s):

Canary I (Meiko Kanaria); Employer

Mist (Kazuha Kasumi); Employer

Rainmaker (Hirosora Amarai); Employer

Equipment

Stormchaser's Goggles: Stormchaser wears a pair of weather proof goggles. It has a built-in AI system and navigator. They are also highly damage resistant.

Stormchaser's Umbrella: Stormchaser carries around an umbrella that not only protects her from things like rain and snow, but is also a sword and shield. Within the handle is a blade and the umbrella can transform into a shield at her will.

Relationships

Hirosora Amarai (Rainmaker): Father; Retired Hero

Uche Chijindu Amarai (Sunstar): Mother; Retired Hero & former ambassador

Akihiro Amarai (SolFlare): Older brother; Hero

Tenki Mejia: Daughter

Yemoja Mejia: Daughter

Wasakumo Mejia: Son

Koten Mejia: Son

Eliane Mejia: Daughter

Hinata Mejia: Daughter

Aosora Amarai (Blue Sky): Grandfather; Retired hero

Mizuko Amarai (nee Hayakawa) (Downpour): Grandmother; Retired hero

Amalia Mejia (Chagrin): Sister-in-law; Hero & combat teacher at Templar

Gloria Mejia (Havoc): Sister-in-law; Hero

Diana Mejia (Titania): Sister-in-law; Hero

Gabriel Mejia (Powerspark): Brother-in-law; Sidekick

Nia Udoka (Sweet Dream): Friend; Sidekick

Oya met Nia when the latter first came to Mars. Both found a kindred spirit in each other as fellow Nigerians and initially bonded over sharing a similar culture. Nia relied on Oya to get around and find work since Sorami had good connections.

The two shared an apartment together before Nia was comfortable enough to get her own place. During the time they lived together, both women formed a bond over sharing a favorite legal drama show: The Good Woman (parody of the American TV drama series The Good Wife).

From there, the two began to delve into one another's interests and hobbies– Oya becoming interested in mystery books and Nia becoming interested in botany.

While planning her wedding to fellow hero Chargeman (Chuso Mejia), Sorami asked Nia to be her maid of honor and Nia tearfully accepted.

Janet Harkness-Nightwalker (Brainwarp): Friend; Hero

Oya and Janet met at a party when they were younger. Janet found Oya interesting and began following her around, asking her random questions about what her family was like and what she did there. Oya didn't really understand what she was saying (she was just beginning to learn English at this point) but tried to answer them to the best of her ability. With each answer, Janet would tell her about what her daily life was like.

It was an awkward start to their friendship, but it did get Sorami to come out of her shell.

Rie Kanaria (Canary II): Friend; Pro Hero

Rie is the bad influence friend and the stuff she and Oya got into during their time working for her mother, Canary (Meiko Kanaria), is proof of that. Originally put off by Rie's wild child behavior, she soon came to appreciate it whenever the two did something exciting like sneaking out to bars and getting blackout drunk.

Carly Skye (Cloud Nine): Friend; Pro Hero

The two met at an overseas hero convention in Canada during Oya's early hero career. Cloud Nine was a fan of Rainmaker and befriended her without knowing that he was her father. Carly was surprised to learn that she didn't have a boyfriend yet and offered to become her "love coach".

When she found out that her idol was her best friend's father, Carly playfully beat up Oya and called her a traitor for not telling her such important information.

Masao Hyozo (Cryosculpt): Friend; Hero

Masao is her first guy friend (since all the other times guys either tried to use her for sex, wanted to be more than friends when she didn't want to, or more). He reassures her that even though she is his type, he prefers that they exclusively stay friends. The two of them get along well, Masao being like a younger brother to her.

Saizo Kaijura (Orion): Professional acquaintance; Hero

Saizo and Oya have worked together numerous times, but that's really all to their relationship. Neither of them really interact outside of a professional setting and strictly remain coworkers. Oya has even forgotten his name on a few occasions.

Sovann Hou; Friend, Hero defense attorney & legal consultant

Her friend since college. While Sovann is the complete opposite of Sorami, she has proven herself to be both a trusted friend and ally. Sovann defended her from the Justice Bureau when she committed an "infraction" during Oya's early hero career and won. Since then, whenever she's having legal troubles, she always goes to Sovann.

Paired with: Chuso Mejia | Chargeman

They have a very loving relationship. The couple first met at a party celebrating Chuso's world championship and Oya got separated from her friends. She was about to have a panic attack when she bumped into him. Chuso comforted her and actually took off his mask so she could see his face without it. Afterwards, they started seeing each other. They dated for two years before they got married at 25. A year later, they welcomed their first child Tenki.

Trivia

Oya is based on Storm/Ororo Munroe from X-Men. Both have powerful weather based abilities and are of African descent (Storm being Kenyan and Stormchaser being Nigerian).

Oya is named after the orisha of winds, lightning, and violet storms in Yoruba religion.

Her maiden name, Amarai, means "divine lightning". Her married name, Mejia, means "messiah".

Uche insisted that her name reflect both her cultures.

@floof-ghostie @mayameanderings @calciumcryptid @yukii0nna