#where noise isn't a thing! many such places and cases!!!!!

[magnusedom]

i'm so tired of gringos, mainly americans, coming to mexico and complaining about the way we do things here and our cultural differences. they not only want to overstay their welcome and become "digital nomads" earning their income from the US in dollars getting to spend it here where everything is cheaper for them and elevating the cost of living for us living here earning in pesos, they also want us to assimilate and accommodate them, they complain about us not speaking english (why should we be expected to?) and get annoyed at how "noisy" and "loud" our cities are. cause why do you as an american come to mazatlán, a city well known for its music, and get angry at people trying to make a living playing their instruments when that's literally the culture??? there's no party without these guys' "shitty annoying music" in sinaloa! why do you think you as an american have a say on where and when banda music should be played? why are you asking hotels and beaches to put posters around "forbidding" people to make noise or play instruments? you don't love mexico you don't love mexicans you don't love our culture you only love that you can afford to live here with your miserable dollars because had you stayed in your cringe ass country you couldn't afford shit

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Home

Pairing: Captain John Price x f!reader

Warnings: smut mdni (18+) it fades to black sorry, established relationship, fluff

Words: 3.4k

Synopsis: You and Price are on leave together...

You are currently reader chapter 1 of Duty Over Heart

October 2023

You were deep into a book when your phone buzzed beside you. It took you only a moment to break out of the spell of your book before you were fully immersed back into the living room of Price’s apartment. You had settled yourself in the corner of the couch, getting cozy against the plush fabric to the point where you had to read a book to keep yourself from dozing off into a nap.

When you picked up your phone you saw that it was Price. You didn’t hesitate to shut your book and answer it, a smile already pulling at your lips. 

“Why are you calling me?” You teased, your smile growing wider when you heard him chuckle.

“I missed your voice.” Price said and you rolled your eyes.

“You’ve only been gone for three hours.”

“I’d say that’s long enough after being around you for a week.”

You hummed as if you were trying to sound disinterested but you knew he didn’t buy it. You did have to admit that you were starting to miss him even though he hadn’t been gone for nearly as long as the many times you two had been apart. You tried to be unbothered when he had to go back to base for something right after being put on leave, and usually you were since you knew he’d come back, but this time it got you.

It had only been a week, not even, of being with Price uninterrupted without anything to do with work before Laswell called saying she needed a document from him, one that was only on his work laptop he had left on base.

It wasn't so much as him being gone but the knowledge that once he got back, he’d be stuck in his home office. One document always turned into two and then five, and then he was stuck doing extra reports because the workload needed to be split between him and Laswell. He’d spend most of his break working and you had hoped that this time would be different.

You should’ve learned by now not to get your hopes up.

“Isn't it risky to bring work home with you?” You wondered out loud, your smile now faded as you picked at the fabric of the couch.

“Would you rather me stay on base?” He countered and you sighed.

“No.”

You knew he was overly careful when he brought it home with him. You had never seen a laptop so full of protection before so the likelihood of anyone getting anything out of it was nonexistent but you wished that the risk would deter him from bringing it home.

“It won’t take me long, promise.” He assured you but you had a hard time believing it.

“How far out are you?” You asked to change the subject and got up from the couch.

“About forty minutes.”

You walked into the kitchen and saw that when he’d get back it’d be time for dinner. You wondered if maybe he’d skip the meal with you to get the work done as quickly as possible which made you start pulling out the things you needed to make it.

You might as well make it now if that became the case.

“Good, you’ll be home for dinner.” You placed a skillet on the stove and turned the oven on.

“It’s my turn to make it.” You could hear the frown in his voice and imagined his usual scowl. “Put it away.”

“Are you really going to complain about a hot meal being ready when you get home?”

“Absolutely, now put it away and I’ll make dinner when I get there.”

You snorted from the use of his “captain voice” as you called it but didn’t put the skillet away. Instead you fit your phone snugly between your shoulder and your ear as you began to prepare a favorite meal you both enjoyed.

“Okay.” You lied and you must’ve made enough noise for him to know it as he grumbled to himself. 

“You’re lying. Stop that.” He demanded softly and you smiled.

“It’s fine! It might not even be ready by the time you get home so you can help me.”

Price sighed heavily. There wasn’t much he could do since he was forty minutes away and talking to you on the phone. He would have to cut his losses on this one but you knew he didn’t want to and that he would surely find a way to get back at you for it.

“You’ll at least wait for me, yeah?”

“Always.”

You both went silent for a moment, taking in each other's presence even when it was on the other side of a phone. You would’ve been content staying on the phone with him until he got home but you also didn’t want to distract him any further than he already was. You could practically see the far off look he got in his eyes when he had a chance to sit in silence.

“Be careful, okay?” You said softly.

“Always. I’ll be home soon.”

The phone call ended and you set your phone down before you began to cook. You didn’t think about much after the conversion until you had to look at your phone for the recipe and you found yourself staring at the lock screen of your phone.

It was a relatively recent picture of you and Price where you had kissed his cheek just as the picture was taken. You had stared at the picture an embarrassingly amount of times but sometimes you couldn’t help it, especially when you got to thinking about how you got here.

You hadn’t expected to fall in love with him, at least not enough for him to know, but every time you were put on an assignment with him all those years ago you couldn’t help it. 

You’re not sure what hooked you, his charm, work ethic, his looks, or literally anything about him, but you didn’t have any regrets for having feelings for him now. It seemed like you became friends with him almost immediately despite him being a lieutenant at the time but neither of you cared about the difference in ranking. 

It took only three years after knowing him for you to realize that you loved him more than just friends, more than what was appropriate for your job. Back then you thought it was one sided but Price proved you wrong so quick you wondered how you ever had any doubts. 

Since then it was hard for you to remember a time without Price. You had spent every moment speaking to him over the phone and over text before the two of you got together, getting together only meant making the times you were around each other more fulfilling.

It was still relatively recent since you moved in with him. Before the task force had been made you two had to visit each other whenever you wanted to see each other when leave was granted and though neither of you had an issue with it, the task force gave an excuse for you to move closer.

“I think I found an apartment close by.” You had told him and he had given you an incredulous look. “What, you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“I thought you were moving in with me.” He frowned and your heart skipped a beat.

“You didn’t say I could.”

“It’s a given.”

It was unofficial. A paper trail connected to you both could cause issues if someone wanted to snoop around so it was better that you moved in and pretended that you found a place somewhere else. 

It had been four years since you moved in and no one had caught on. You couldn’t help but joke how easy it was for the two of you to pretend that there was nothing romantic between you because you had done it for so long.

Though, part of you wished that things would’ve changed when you were brought on the task force. There were different rules yet the secrecy of your relationship stayed the same.

Even if the task force blurred the lines of fraternizing with differently ranked soldiers, a romantic relationship between a lieutenant and a captain was far different than a friendship. 

Neither of you were sure if he’d lose his job or his reputation would darken, or if the same would happen to you. You may not have affiliation with your respective militaries, but some things carry over, especially because of how long the two of you had been together.

Next month would mark ten years. 

Ten years of love and some hardship. More than ten years of putting your life on the line for the greater good, but the ten years of being with him, loving him, made it more worthwhile.

This would be the first time in your entire relationship the both of you would be home for your anniversary. You always ended up having to celebrate it months after and while those times were special, you were excited to finally have the opportunity to celebrate it on the exact day.

You had no clue what you or Price planned, but you knew he was just as excited about it as you were. Almost every night he was bouncing off ideas with you before bed but neither of you could pick any of the options with how fun or exciting they sounded.

There were so many things you both wanted to do for every anniversary that now that you got the chance to celebrate it on the day, it was hard to choose.

No doubt you’d have the same conversation tonight only to end up nowhere. At the very least you both had the time to think about it without worrying about where the next war criminal or weapons deal was taking place.

The time seemed to flyby as you made dinner,  though your mind was occupied for most of it. You were so preoccupied with cooking that you missed the front door opening and the familiar sound of boots hitting the floor.

Price expected you to call out to him like you normally did and was ready to reply but there was nothing. He wasn’t upset however because it meant he wouldn’t have to wait to see you after hearing you.

He set the bag with his laptop down a little unceremoniously. He knew you were a little upset that he had to go and get it because he was also more annoyed about having to get it as well. He thought he had everything finished before the task force was cleared for leave, but he should’ve known better.

He didn’t regret leading the task force but he couldn’t lie and say that the extra paperwork made the job worth it. He’d much prefer to just stay on the field and do his job there then report on intel or file things, especially since the paperwork seemed to get more and more with each mission.

It took up too much of his time. Time he could be using tying up loose ends or finding intel on Makarov or in this case spending time with you.

He huffed and pushed it out of his view. He’d deal with it tomorrow, right now he wanted to be around you. 

Price knew what meal you had made from the mouthwatering smell that came from the kitchen, a favorite of you both but one of your comfort foods you ate when you were upset. He’d hoped you would forgive him for it and he was about to apologize to you as he stepped into the kitchen, but froze when he saw you.

Even after almost a decade, sometimes when he saw you he still got that funny feeling in his chest. 

You weren’t doing anything other than finishing up dinner but just the sight of you in front of him, doing as you pleased with a content look on your face made him fall in love with you even more.

This happened often. It didn’t matter if you were doing the dishes or laundry, or if you were sitting on the couch reading a book or even just sleeping, he seemed to be completely enamored by you. He had to stop what he was doing just to watch, to drink in the fact that you were in front of him, around him, and at peace.

It didn’t matter how long the two of you were on leave for either. Months from now if he caught you making dinner he’d still find himself staring at you with the same sense of calm and warm heart.

The best part of all of it was the fact that you loved him.

In the past he wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him he’d be spending leave with you in the same flat and dating you for as long as it’s been. He would’ve said it wishful thinking, he would’ve thought they were just trying to get his hopes up.

Yet now he got to watch you make dinner, the dinner he was supposed to make, in your shared flat and he couldn’t help but smile like an idiot.

“Smells good.” He said and you jumped, whirring around to look at him with your hand over your heart. “Sorry, love.”

“John.” You scolded him softly but reached out for him.

Price pulled you into him immediately and wrapped his arms around you firmly. He didn’t waste time placing a tender kiss on your lips that you reciprocated just as quickly. A smile tugged at his lips when you ran your hand through his beard and when you both pulled away, all you two could do was smile at each other.

You felt a little disheartened. It wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him again but you knew a lot of his time would be taken up with work once more. You were prepared to spend nights alone and almost having to beg for his attention while he poured most of energy into getting the work done.

It was unfortunate that his hard work ethic that got countless war criminals and black market dealers in custody or killed also made him spend most of his time trying to power through work to get it done as soon as possible. He spent most of his life working, on and off the job, and you wondered if it bothered him as much as it did you.

You should be used to it by now. You wished you didn’t get as upset as  you did after having been through it for four years now but sometimes it still caught you off guard. 

You’d just have to deal with it.

You tried not to let him know how upset you were but you found it hard to look him in the eyes. So instead you just gave him a quick smile and tried to step away from him.

“Do you want to eat first or…” You began but he squeezed your hip and gave you a quick smile.

“It’s tomorrow's problem.” He assured you and you brightened up immediately. “I’ll set the table.”

“Kate’s okay with that?”

“She will be.”

You grinned. You felt a little bad for Kate and you hoped that maybe she would take a break as well, but you were much more relieved that you had Price for at least the rest of the day. You’d prefer to have him for longer but you’d take what you’d get.

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek and before long the two of you sat across from each other eating dinner like nothing happened. 

The rest of the evening went by normal despite the hiccup. This time on leave seemed to be easier for the two of you to fall back into civilian life as if neither of you risked your lives nearly every other day. Sometimes leave was hard to get into but this time you and Price seemed to ease into it as if you’d never left it.

Later that night when it was time for bed, you lounged in the comforts of the bed while Price went through his nightly routine in the connecting bathroom. You scrolled on your phone through potential ideas for your anniversary, your current fixation being camping, specifically cabins somewhere that was far from people that it gave enough seclusion for a peaceful uninterrupted weekend.

“What about a cabin?” You called out and he hummed.

“It’d be quiet which means we can be loud.” He teased and you snorted. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Me neither.”

“But you liked the beach as well.”

You pursed your lips. It was true that you did find a vacation to the beach for your anniversary an exciting idea. The waves, salt air and warm sun would be the perfect place to relax and enjoy your time with Price…but the cabin would be a nice place too. The beach was expensive but you knew he didn’t have an issue with that and would chide you for suggesting it was too much.

“Dinner somewhere posh, maybe?” Price came into the bedroom and you raised an amused eyebrow.

“And then we could go somewhere nice after. Maybe a day trip?” You suggested and he nodded.

“But that doesn’t feel like enough, eh?”

You sighed. You looked at him and he looked at you, his hands on hips while the two of you stared at each other with slight amusement. The indecisiveness from you both wasn’t too frustrating considering you both understood why neither of you could manage to choose. 

There were just so many options, so many things that you never got to do until now, you both wanted to make the most of it. 

“We’re never going to choose.” You shook your head and he chuckled as he crawled into bed.

“We could just take the entire month.” He pulled you closer to him and propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. “Do all of it.”

“That’s a little overkill.”

“Ten years is a long time, lots to celebrate.”

You put your phone away and looked up at him. You were the only one who got to see his cold blue eyes, the ones that struck fear and respect into others, softened into pools of warmth. The only one who saw him truly relax and the only one who was on the receiving end of the lovesick eyes that he seemed to pull on you every chance he got. You were the only one who could run your fingers through his soft beard that had a few new gray hairs in and the only one who got to feel his lips against yours.

You were the only one who knew him as Captain and John. Your lifelong partner, the love of your life.

“That is a long time.” You mumbled while you ran your fingers through his beard.

Price leaned into your touch as his eyes fluttered shut. He hummed deep within his chest and wrapped his hand around your wrist, rubbing his thumb into your knuckles. His eyes opened when you snaked your hand behind his head and they darkened when you gave him a gentle tug.

He pressed a short kiss to your lips to tease you. He ran his hand down your side and snuck it underneath the shirt you stole from him. He continued to tease you while his hand roamed your soft skin to make you shiver, the rough pads of his fingertips just barely touching your nipples.

“John.” You breathed out a whine and he smiled. 

“What do you want, hm?” He trailed featherlike kisses across your neck up to you the shell of your ear as he continued to tease your breasts.

“Want you to touch me…be inside me.”

Price groaned softly and gave you a heated kiss. He palmed your breasts while he rolled on top of you and pinned you underneath him. He didn’t waste any time touching you the way you wanted, sparking fire across your skin and making electricity race through you while he stole every thought from you with each kiss he gave you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him there even as he made you dizzy. A moan escaped your mouth as he dipped his hand into your panties and spread open your wet folds, gathering your slick on his practiced fingers before he began to play with your clit.

He kissed your neck and you squirmed underneath him, clutching his shirt as pleasure raced through you.

It didn’t really matter if neither of you could choose as long as you were together.

A/n: sorry for the fade to black i'm just not in the mood for full blown smut. we'll have more chances in the future don't worry also sorry this took forever i got depressed lol

Tags: @thriving-n-jiving @writingmysanity @teconkaals @xb14 @misshoneypaper @hers-area @shuttlelauncher81 @mamanmae @sofasoap

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Don't Lie to Me

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: life-threatening situations including a bomb and a Branch Davidians-style cult compound, established relationship, hurt/comfort, explicit language, slight emetophobia warning (nothing graphic) Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You thought Emily was just going out on a typical case until you heard about the standoff at the religious compound. You knew her job was dangerous, but this is a whole new level of terrifying. And you can do nothing but wait. Takes place during S4.E3.

Emily stabbed at the last bit of scrambled egg on her plate and pointed it at you.

"I'd bet my life those kids are being abused," she said, chewing.

You took her plate to the sink, washing up from the early breakfast you'd made to send Emily off on a new case.

"I mean, isn't that kind of the whole point of cults?" you asked, scrubbing at the plates.

"It certainly seems like it." Emily walked over and placed an arm at the small of your back. "Thank you for breakfast. Do you need any help cleaning up?"

"No, I'm okay." You liked the repetitive nature of dishwashing. "You know," you thought out loud, "I was in a cult once."

Emily froze and stared at you, blazer halfway on. "What!?"

"Not that kind of cult. And I got out pretty quick. But... I did believe a lot of crazy things, and I was asked to do some illegal shit."

"Y/N, what!?" she said, slinging her go-bag over her shoulder, reluctant to leave. "What kind of crazy things?"

"Oh, I don't know," you said, drying your hands. "I carried anointing oil around for a while. And I thought shadows in corners were demons. Turns out that's just how light works."

Emily placed her hands on your shoulders, a slightly stunned expression on her face. "I have to go, but we will pick this up later because, Y/N, what!? A cult!?" She shook her head and kissed you, then once again on the forehead for good measure.

"It was just a little cult!" you joked, as she walked toward the door. "It's way easier to get dragged in than you'd think. I consider myself a pretty smart person, and even I fell for some of that bullshit."

"Mmkay," she said, leaning in the doorway. "Well, I'll do my best not to join a cult this week, but no promises."

You rolled your eyes at her. "I love you, Em. Be safe."

"Love you too, honey," she said. "See you in a few days."

You shook your head as the door shut behind her. You didn't tell many people about your "cult year," as you liked to call it, because it hadn't been nearly as extreme as most cults were and because you'd gotten out quickly. But, god, you'd believed in some stupid things. The confluence of moving to a new place, developing a severe mental illness, and falling wildly in love with the girl who was second in command had been a perfect recipe for cultish devotion. No matter. You'd made it out. And, well, fool me twice...

______________________________________________________________

Part of the beauty of working from home is that you could do whatever you wanted most of the day–no pants, no bra, watching the news or TV during lunch, calling Emily whenever you wanted.

You made yourself a sandwich and sat on the couch, turning on the news so that you could fiddle around with your laptop but still have some background noise.

You were scrolling through an article on the best laundry detergents when the reporter mentioned something about La Plata County. You glanced up and turned up the volume. Wasn't that where Emily and Spencer were?

"What is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separatarian Sect. The raid on the compound..."

Your heart started to pound. Maybe you'd gotten the name of the county wrong, and Emily wasn't even close. But she had said she was visiting a religious compound and that she was going with Children's Services...

Breathing rapidly, you pulled out your phone and called Emily. Straight to voicemail. You called her again. No answer. You tried to calm yourself down–no need to panic until you knew for sure. You sent Emily a quick text:

Hey love💕 You haven't been forced into a Waco situation have you? The news is going CRAZY. Please text or call when you get a second so I know you're okay. I love you❤️

You moved your work stuff into the living room, piling it on the coffee table and keeping the volume on the news up. You felt sick to your stomach, but tried to stay calm. There was no reason to think Emily was there. Colorado was a huge state. Probably dozens of religious sects. Why would she be at that one? But the longer you went without a text or call from Emily, the more anxious you grew.

______________________________________________________________

You managed to make it about three hours before losing your goddamned mind with worry. You texted Emily again, called her again, left her an angry voicemail about how people shouldn't worry their girlfriends like this, all with no response. You'd tried Derek, too, but no luck.

Your leg bounced up and down, and you could feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You found one of Emily's sweatshirts in the hamper and pulled it over your shirt, balling yourself up on the couch and breathing in the scent of her. She's okay, you told yourself over and over. She's okay, she's okay, she's okay.

A breaking news alert on the TV prompted another update on the La Plata County situation. Your head shot up, and you turned the volume up, not wanting to miss a thing.

"...tactical team into a forced retreat after losing a 30-minute gun battle with sect members. Nobody knows for sure how many people are inside, but it is believed that at least three of the child service members are still trapped in the compound."

You didn't sleep that night. Not even for a moment. You sat on the couch late into the night, waiting for updates on the standoff. With each hour that passed without contact from Emily, you were more and more sure that it was her and Spencer in the compound. You'd tried calling a few more times, but the calls seemed pointless, knowing where she was. You'd waited until a decent hour the next morning to call other team members again–Derek, Penelope, JJ. No one had answered, and you'd only grown more terrified. You were scared to know for sure, but you needed to.

You looked down at your phone and took a deep breath, looking at the one number you'd resisted calling so far: Hotch. You knew Emily'd given you his number for emergencies only, but what was this if not an emergency?

The phone dialed for a few moments before picking up.

"Hotchner."

"Where is she!?" you demanded, all the emotion and fear you'd been putting off for the last day rushing to the forefront.

"Y/N," he sighed, and you could tell just by his voice. "She's–"

"Don't lie to me, Hotch! She's in that compound, isn't she?"

Hotch's words were calm, determined. "We're gonna get her out."

"Don't lie to me." Your voice shook, tears slipping down your face.

"Y/N, I swear to you, I will get her out."

"Okay," you whispered, feeling small and scared.

"I'll call as soon as I can to let you know she's okay, but it's gonna take some time."

"Thank you." You dashed tears from your eyes, sniffling.

"Of course."

The line clicked off and you sat in stunned silence for a few minutes, watching the repeated footage of the compound flash by on the TV. Emily was in there. Emily was in there. And there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it.

You paced back and forth for a while, waiting and waiting for news updates, then decided that all this waiting was futile. If Emily couldn't get home to you, you'd go to her. You booked yourself on the next flight to Durango, packed just the essentials, and ran out the door, filling Sergio's bowl and making a mental note to text a friend to check in on him if you were gone for more than a day or two.

______________________________________________________________

The hours you were in the air–with nothing but shitty airplane WiFi service–were the worst for you. You refreshed the live news page over and over again, terrified that at any moment, you'd hear news of a mass death.

When you finally got to Durango that night, you drove the rental car as close to the compound as you could, but ATF had it locked down for miles. For now, this was a close to Emily as you could get.

You booked a nearby hotel and, still wrapped in Emily's sweatshirt, sat moon-faced and bleary-eyed on the edge of the bed, watching the news, and waiting, waiting, waiting.

You'd nearly drifted off to sleep when the room filled with a blinding white-orange light. Your eyes grew wide as you watched the screen. The compound went up in flames, debris flying far and wide.

"Oh my god," you said, covering your mouth. "Oh my god."

You ran to the bathroom and vomited, then sat on the cool floor, shaking. You coughed as you hyperventilated, unable to get enough air into your lungs. You wrapped your hands around your head, rocking. There was no way. No way someone would have survived an explosion like that.

You felt like your heart was being ripped apart. It was the hope that hurt the most. The maybe she hadn't been in there? But almost certainly she was. Maybe she was okay? But probably she wasn't. Most likely, she didn't even exist anymore, had gone up in smoke with the rest of the compound, the thought of which made you vomit again. You couldn't fathom it, couldn't envision a world without Emily. You needed her. You hunched on the floor of the hotel room, leaning into the bed, and waited. Waited for news of Emily's death. You hoped that Hotch would call you first. It'd be so much easier to hear it from him, but the reporters were like vultures, and they often got the news first.

______________________________________________________________

At the compound, a deeply battered Emily, now running out of adrenaline, leaned heavily on Hotch as he walked her to an ambulance.

"You don't have to come with me," she told him, her voice gravelly. "It's not that bad."

"Prentiss, you can barely walk," Hotch protested, watching in concern as she winced climbing into the ambulance. "I wish you'd get on a stretcher."

"I am on a stretcher." Emily gave him a little wave from where she now lay, an EMT strapping her in and taking her vitals.

"I meant before now." Hotch smiled slightly. His team was beat up, but they'd be okay.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. "You need to make a call," he told Emily, putting the phone on speaker as it dialed.

"Oh, god," Emily groaned. "She's gotta be worried sick."

When you picked up, your voice was timid, rough with emotion.

"Hotch?" you whispered, terrified of what he might tell you.

"Hi, honey," Emily said, her voice heavy with love and exhaustion. It hit her, all of a sudden, that there was a good chance she might not have made it out. That she would never have seen you again. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

"Em!" you cried between sobs. "Are you okay!? Are you hurt!?"

"I'm a little banged up, but I'll make it."

"You scared the shit out of me!" you yelled, equal parts furious at her for putting her life in danger and relieved that she was okay. Emotions tumbled through your body like ocean waves.

Emily smiled and wiped a few tears from under her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Is Spencer there? Is he okay, too?"

Emily exhaled shakily. "Yeah, he's fine. We're all fine."

"Where are you?"

"Uh, in an ambulance."

"Which hospital are they taking you to?" you asked, pulling on your shoes and grabbing your keys off the hotel desk.

"Mercy?" Emily said, repeating what the EMT told her.

"I'll meet you there."

"No, honey, you don't need to come all the way here," Emily protested. "I'm okay. I'll be home in a few days."

"I'm already here, Em. Don't even try to fight me on this."

"You're here!? In Colorado?!"

"At a hotel. As close to the compound as I could get."

"You came?" Emily confirmed, her voice quiet, like she couldn't quite believe someone would love her enough to be there.

"Emily," you breathed. "Of course I did."

A few tears escaped Emily's eyes, and Hotch looked away.

"Now," you said, clearing your throat and trying to pull yourself together. "Please, please, let the doctors take care of you. I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Emily said, before hanging up and handing the phone back to Hotch.

The EMT handed her a paper towel to use as a tissue and she laughed, dabbing at her eyes and nose. "Thanks," she said.

Hotch smiled, watching her.

"What?" she said.

"She really loves you."

"I know."

______________________________________________________________

At the hospital, Emily heard you before she saw you. You were the first thing she heard after waking up from surgery, and she couldn't help but smile. You were giving the nurses a run for their money, which was saying something. You were usually so patient, so accommodating. Not today.

"Look," you railed at the nurse's station. "I've been in the waiting room for hours! I have been awake for three days straight, and my girlfriend has been a cult hostage that whole time! I am not in the mood to be held hostage too! Take me to her now, or I swear to god I will get the fucking FBI director on the line."

Emily's face brightened when you came in the room, but yours fell. She looked awful. Her face was bruised and swollen, bandages covered her body, and her arm was in a cast.

"Oh, Em," you said, your voice breaking, as you grabbed her hand, pressing your palm gently to her cheek.

"I'm okay." But she wasn't, and you could tell.

"It's okay, baby," you reassured her, running your fingers gently through her hair. "You don't have to be okay now, alright? I'm here. I'm here to take care of you."

Her breath hitched, and you could tell she was fighting off tears. It broke your heart. She always felt like she needed to be strong. It was time to let someone else be strong for a change.

You lowered the railing of the hospital bed, and lifted yourself in, gently pulling Emily into you. She grasped desperately at your shirt and fought off sobs.

"Shh," you whispered, cradling her head. "Let it out, love. I'm right here. You're safe now."

You held her while she cried, heartbroken that she'd been so scared and so hurt and, yet, proud that she handled it like no one else in the world could. And for neither the first time nor the last, you felt the immense weight and honor of being someone Emily Prentiss felt safe enough to break down with.

When she quieted, you rocked her and held her and placed small, gentle kisses on her head, trying to convey all your love for her, all your protectiveness toward her through osmosis.

You remembered, quite suddenly, the last conversation you'd had before Emily left, about cults.

"I told you," you whispered, giggling.

"Told me what?"

"That it was easy to get dragged into a cult."

"That is not the same," Emily argued, playfully shoving you. "I was held hostage. You were just dumb."

"Ouch."

"You didn't hoard weapons or anything, did you?"

"No," you scoffed. "Of course not."

"Well, what'd you do?" she pressed.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you did some illegal shit in the cult, so what did you do?"

"Oh," you laughed. "Nothing too serious. We bugged some people's rooms, recorded conversations."

"...Why?"

"We thought they were in cahoots with the devil."

Emily laughed, then grabbed her ribs, wincing. "'Cahoots with the devil!?' God, I'm so glad I found you after your religious days."

"What can I say? You get the very best of me."

Emily beamed up at you, pulling you down by your collar to kiss you. You stayed gentle and soft, mindful of her split lip and bruised face.

You held your forehead to hers, breathing in her scent. That familiar Emily scent that you'd been so sure you'd never get again.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," you whispered.

"I won't," Emily said, burying her face in your chest.

"Don't lie to me."

You felt her smile into your skin. "I'll try."

You sighed and grinned. "I guess that'll do. But only because I love you so much."

[gallusrostromegalus]

the 'Kon :)' in the list of things you're pleased about in aeiwam has be EXCITED please tell us more (if you want to)!

Soon after Masaki died, Isshin Kurosaki moved his family. It's mostly because the original clinic didn't feel haunted- if Masaki's spirit were still here, Isshin would know what to do, but instead he felt like his heels were dogged by the hole where she used to be.

It didn't hurt that the new place was larger, in a better school district, and closer to his friend Ryukken. He's almost feeling cheerful about the new place when Ichigo runs up the stairs and from room to room before calling dibs on one, because he's a big kid now and doesn't want to sleep where he has to listen to his dad snoring all night >:(.

Isshin felt slightly less cheerful when he looked out the big window in Ichigo's room to determine if he needs to put up some child safety grates, and realized their new neighbor was a taxidermist.

"I feel like it gives them a sort of dignity- A Life After Life, if you will." she said when he went by to make sure his neighbor was only eccentric and not something out of a horror movie. He wasn't entirely sure which, actually- Ms. Tanaka was an octogenarian with skin like tissue paper and a back like a question mark, but her living room was a veritable zoo of reconstituted animals, many of them former pets, if the number of domestic cats was anything to go by.

"Oh. Yeah!" Isshin grinned, terrified, and was struck by the idea of some goon in the 12th division slavering in the afterlife, desperate for her to shuffle off the mortal coil and bring her undoubted skills with dead bodies to R&D. "We've always been very spiritual people."

(Continued under the readmore)

"Oh, just like the nice young man who used to live in your house!" said Ms. Tanaka, sitting down in her armchair that was adorned by an ostentatious past-tense peacock perched on the back. "Odd fellow. Worked nights, spoke like he was born in the Sengoku Era or something, but very nice."

"He's BEAUTIFUL!" said Ichigo, staring in awe at an enormous Ginger Tabby Cat by the window, mounted in repose on a emerald velvet cat bed. Ms. Tanaka had done an excellent job conveying a sense of benevolent egotism on his whiskered face, but Ichigo's growing fascination with the Macabre was beginning to worry his father- Ichigo had seen the taxidermy stoat in the back window and INSISTED on coming along.

"Isn't he?" beamed Ms. Tanaka. "His name is Bostov! He was my very best friend for many years."

"Wow! Can I pet him?" Ichigo asked, eyes wide with delight.

"Ichigo, that's uh- that's not a real kitty-" Isshin began to sputter.

"Of course he's a real kitty!" Ms. Tanaka laughed, a noise like an ungreased gate. "You can pet him if you're very gentle." Ichigo stroked the deceased animal with exceptional delicacy for an overexcited Kindergartner. "He's so soft!" he gasped.

"Do you like him?" asked Ms. Tanaka.

"I LOVE HIM!" Said Ichigo, cheeks flushed and eyes bright for the first time in months now. Perhaps having a distant relative of the Addams family for a neighbor isn't so bad, if her creepy hobby cheers Ichigo up... Isshin sighed.

"In that case, why don't you take him home with you?" Smiled Ms. Tanaka. "I'm sure he'll be a good friend to you too."

"UH." Isshin blurted out, nearly spilling his tea on a flock of quail under the side-table.

"I have SO MANY friends in my home with me- it's bordering on a fire hazard!" Ms. Tanaka chuckled. "I'd be delighted to send him to a home where he'll be loved. Please- consider him my housewarming present!"

"CAN WE? CAN WE TAKE HIM HOME? PLEASE DAD??PLEEEEEEEASE-!!" Ichigo asked, stars in his eyes.

Isshin froze, horrified at the prospect of having... That. In his house. Watching him. ...and at the same time, completely unwilling to dash his little boy's dreams.

"yEaH oKaY." Isshin grimaced, soaked in a cold sweat.

*****

Bostov The Former Cat was bad enough, but at least the taxidermy beast 'lived' on Ichigo's bedroom dresser and not down in the living room where Isshin would have to look at it's green glass eyes, which seemed to follow him around the room. It wasn't right having a hollow thing in the house like that- any wandering spirit could decide to climb in there! He resolved to have it warded, but Kisuke said he was on a trip to the Caribbean for "Botanical Research" , and wouldn't be back until "After the Big Holiday on the 20th". Isshin hung up the phone, groaned and rubbed his face. It was fairly late, and he was still at the kitchen table, going through all of the licensing paperwork to get the clinic up and running.

"Hey Dad?" Ichigo asked, holding up a small plastic toy. "What's 'Soul Candy'?"

"Soul Cand-?" Isshin frowned, turned to look at the toy and nearly jumped out of his skin, swiping it away from the boy. "WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS? DID YOU EAT ANY??"

"...it was upstairs, in the back of my closet." Ichigo pouted. "-and no, I didn't eat any strange closet candy. I'm not stupid."

"Oh thank the Gods..." Isshin sighed, sitting back down at the table and shaking the small, duck-headed pill dispenser. Empty. "-I'm sorry I yelled Ichigo, but this is Very Dangerous stuff."

Ichigo arched an incredulous Eyebrow at him. "Really? Is this the same kind of dangerous that the half my Halloween candy you confiscated and ate was?"

"Ah- well. No. That was Dad Tax. This is actually dangerous. Here, come sit with me a minute." he pulled out the other chair at the kitchen table. "Remember how I told you about the ghost that lived in my attic when I was your age?"

"The Shinigami?" Ichigo asked.

Isshin did not *enjoy* lying to his children, but a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and not enough even more so, so he'd concocted a little fantasy to explain why he knew all about ghosts and why the children never saw their grandparents, so he could tell them about the dangers of this world without telling them too much.

"That's right- His name was Kaien Shiba, and he was a Soul Reaper. At night, he'd turn into a ghost and leave his body behind, and go escort spirits to the afterlife or fight hollows." Isshin said. he'd named the fictional soul reaper after his favorite nephew in a fit of inspiration- he'd started telling Ichigo a tale from his days as a Shinigami one night after slightly too many drinks and had to convince Ichigo that that was only a distant acquaintance.

"...Like what killed Mom." Ichigo muttered.

"Um. Yeah." Isshin nodded.

They were silent for a moment.

"-Anyway, the way he turned into a ghost was that he'd swallow one of these little candies that would come in these tubes-" Isshin pulled the duck's head back to show Ichigo the mechanism. "-and Poof! he'd jump out of his body as a ghost so he could use magic to save people! But-there was a little soul inside the candy that would come out and take care of his body while he was away! Like a babysitter, but for his own butt! After a few hours, the little soul would stop working, and Kain would be home to climb back in."

Ichigo blinked at the mechanism, thinking. "So. There's a little person in these candies?"

"If there were any in here, yeah." Said Isshin. "They're not like. Whole people. Just little collages of behaviors and phrases. You know, like the fake voice that talks on the phone when you call to refill a prescription!" Ichigo frowned, considering something. "...There weren't any candies in this thing, were there?" Isshin asked, suspicious.

"No." Said Ichigo, frowning at him. "It'd be really lonely, being just a little soul, stuck in a candy, wouldn't it?" he asked.

"I suppose so, but I don't think the little souls are aware while they're in there. It's like being asleep for them." Isshin shrugged, lying to himself as much as his son about that.

Ichigo still frowned. "...What happens if the candy goes into a body without a soul in it? Like a dead body?" "Huh." Isshin frowned. "I dunno, actually. I guess the little soul would run around and operate it for a while, until it faded out, like it did with a normal body?"

Ichigo nodded, still preoccupied.

"Why?" Isshin tried.

"...No reason." Ichigo muttered, kicking his little feet. "Just thinking."

"Alright. Promise me if you find anything else weird or see any random candies to not touch them and tell me right away, okay?"

"Yeah okay." Ichigo nodded, only sort of paying attention. "I'm gonna go to bed. G'night dad." he muttered, getting up from the table and handing the dispenser to Isshin before giving him a quick hug and stomping up the stairs.

Isshin watched him go, aching a bit. I wondered how old he was gonna be when he started keeping secrets from me. He sighed, looking down at the Soul Candy Dispenser. Not that I'm being a Paragon of Honesty for him to follow...

---

"GIRLS? ICHIGO? HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN MY STETHOSCOPE?" Isshin hollered, searching fruitlessly under the couch cushions.

"NO!" Hollered Karin from where she and Yuzu were playing in the small front yard.

"TRY ICHIGO'S ROOM, HE TOOK A BUNCH OF LAUNDRY UP TO SORT." called Yuzu.

"THANKS GIRLS!" he called back stomping up the stairs. Ichigo was at karate- he'd finally returned to classes, or at least, Tatsuki had finally physically dragged him back into the Dojo. "Man I hope I didn't put it through the washing machine-" he muttered, opening the door to the boy's room and started searching through the basket of laundry on his bed.

Isshin stopped, and stood up, frowning around the room. Something was off.

Ichigo was a tidy boy, somehow, and his room was usually in order save for whatever video game he had out to play and the bed he never made but... Isshin turned fully around trying to figure out what was off before his eyes finally landed on the top of the Dresser.

The Emerald Green Velvet Cat bed, home of Bostov The Cat, was empty.

"Did he take the cat out of the bed to play with?" Isshin wondered aloud, hoping that that, and not several other horrible scenarios, was what was happening. He could hear Karin and Yuzu giggling through the window, and he peeked down at them- they appeared to be having a tea party on the thin strip of grass, and the guest of honor amongst the dolls and stuffed animals was a familiar-looking ginger tabby. "Oh! The GIRLS took him out to play with." he sighed with relief, leaning against the window to watch them.

...and watch a strange man approaching down the street, who stopped at the garden fence. Isshin frowned- maybe he was just watching the girls play, in a normal, wholesome way like he was doing right now. ...or he could be taking candy out of his pocket and waving the girls to come through the gate.

Isshin jumped on the bed, tore open the window with such force it jumoed out of it's track and was halfway out to jump down at the man from the second floor when the most EXTRAORDINARY thing happened.

Bostov, Who by all accounts had been deceased for the better part of a decade and was made of little more than a skin and some glass stretched over a wood-and-cotton frame, Suddenly leapt up from his chair, claws and teeth drawn like swords and leapt upon the man, battering him visciously with a stream of einvective so foul it made Isshin's barrack-hardened linguistic sensibilities blush, before chasing him back down the street like a short, furious, ass-seeking missile.

"GIRLS!" he shouted, jumping down anyway. "-ARE YOU OKAY?"

"DON'T GET MAD AT ICHIGO OR KON!!" Shouted Yuzu, tears in her eyes.

"...ichigo or who?" Isshin blinked.

"Way to spill the beans, Yuzu." Karin groaned. "Yeah Dad, we're FINE- Kon was here, he'll beat the crap out of anything."

"Who's Kon?" Isshin repeated.

"HEY DAD." Shouted Ichigo, skidding into the garden in his karate gi, and out of breath, clutching an unconvincingly stiff Mr. Bostov under his arm. "SO. UH- WELL MR. BOSTOV CAN MOVE NOW. FOR SOME REASON."

"Uh-huh?" Isshin glared at the cat, who glanced away nervously. "Why do you think that is?"

"...it's a Christmas Miracle?" Tried Ichigo.

"Ichigo, it's fucking April." groaned Karin.

"...Passover?" tried Ichigo.

"-This wouldn't have anything to do with that Soul Candy Dispenser you found, would it?"

"uhhhhhhh..." said Ichigo. Honesty might not have been one of the boy's virtues, but at least he was a terrible liar.

"PLEASE DADDY DON'T GET ANGRY!!" Sobbed Yuzu, throwing herself around his calf and wailing. "MR. KON IS THE MOST NICEST KITTY IN THE WHOLE WORLD! HE PLAYS TEA TIME AND DRESS-UP WITH US AND TELLS JOKES AND CHASES AWAY DOGS AND SCARY MEN AND HE ALWAYS WAKES UP ICHIGO WHEN HE'S HAVING A NIGHTMARE-!"

"Yeah, actually, Kon's like. the first thing to make me laugh since. Well." Mumbled Karin, plodding over to Isshin's other leg and leaning heavily on him. "Please? he's weird, but he's a good guy."

Isshin sighed, then glared back down at the cat. "Alright. Who are you?" he demanded.

Ichigo and the formerly immobile cat glanced at each other and the feline unfolded as Ichigo set him down, shaking himself out and sitting on the walkway.

"So, uh- Hi. My name's Kon. Kon Bostov, if you wanna be formal, in honor of the beast whose body I currently inhabit." He nodded, waving a paw evocatively. "-And, uh. Well, how much do you know about the afterlife?"

"-Being from a long line of psychic mediums and prone to hauntings, my parents rented out our attic to a Shinigami when I was a child, and he told me pretty much everything." Said Isshin, and Kon winced. "So. Is 'Kon' short for 'Mod Konpaku'?"

"Ehh... well, Yeah." Kon winced. "-But hey! It wasn't my idea to be cooked up in a lab by some maniac and then put to death minutes later for something I didn't even do!" he snarled, fur bristling.

"What?" asked Karin.

"Kids I- Look, I didn't mean to lie, there just wasn't a good time to bring it up but. Technically, I'm wanted by the law. I'm an artificial soul created for battle to be put into dead bodies, but literally four and a half minutes after I woke up, the soul society- where all the Shinigami are from- condemned me to die, because they didn't like how strong some of the other Mod Souls were. I managed to roll myself off of the table and into a box of normal bodyminders to hide, Got put in a dispenser and then the shinigami that had been here accidentally left me behind." Kon explained.

"COOL!" Shouted Karin.

"NOT COOL. BAD!" Shouted Isshin. "Okay, okay I- I mean you're right, I never- I mean, the way Kaien told it, the whole Mod Soul program was pretty shady and it sounded really unfair. But why would a Shinigami just leave an important and dangerous tool lying around?"

"...I don't know how much spiritual sense you have my guy, but this town doesn't have a Hollow problem so much as the Hollowpocalylse goin' on." Kon grimaced. "-I really hope that guy's okay, he seemed pretty cool from what I could tell. I don't actually remember hearing him get called back to soul society." Kon muttered. "-Anyway, about three weeks ago, your brother found me in the dispenser in the back of his closet and put my candy body into this taxidermy cat, and I've been hanging out with the kids since then! You know, like a cat is supposed to do!"

Isshin stared blankly at Kon. The girls hugged his legs, lips wobbling, but he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, firming up his resolve- no matter how nice he seemed, a Mod Soul was a dangerous thing- and one crafty enough to live right under his nose for the better part of a month? No, absolutely n-

Isshin opened his eyes to see Ichigo had picked up Kon, cradling the cat to his tiny body, eyes wide and beginning to glisten with tears.

"...Ah. What the hell. You make the kids laugh." Isshin sighed, and all four cheered, thanking him profusely and promising to be extra-good and take good care of Kon- "But you put so much as a Whisker out of line and you're in deep trouble, got it?" Isshin leaned into the cat's face, scowling menacingly and shaking his finger at Kon.

"Understood sir!" Kon Saluted. "So when's dinner? Ichigo's been sneaking me scraps but I could really go for some chicken, or maybe ham-" he asked, tail thrashing excitedly.

"You can eat?" Isshin asked. "I thought you were all... Whatever they stuff taxidermy animals with?"

"-Might've been, but I'm all complete now? Fluff, guts, claws-the works!" Kon shrugged, hopping up on Isshin's shoulder. "-Between you an' me, I ain't even neutered! But that ain't a problem- Plenty of hot pussy around, if you know what I mean, especially that sweet little tuxedo bobtail just up the street- Me-YOW, huh?"

"Oh gods." Groaned Isshin, covering his face. "What am I letting into my house?"

"An intact male cat is called a 'Tom' Dad." Karin called over her shoulder.

"Alright Kon, a few rules- No more swearing in front of the kids, no bringing ladies around the house and for goodness sake DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU'RE HERE!" Isshin snarled at him.

"Alright, alright!" Kon sighed, rolling his eyes. "Out of curiosity though- What rank was your guy Kaien?"

"Hm?" Isshin asked.

"Only that I thought only the captains and a few lieutenants ever knew about project Spearhead." Kon glanced at Isshin, arching an orange-striped brow at him. "-funny thing, having a seated officer doing routine patrols, isn't it?"

"I dunno?" Shrugged Isshin, trying to keep his shoulders from tensing up, "-He didn't actually tell me all that much about how the soul society is governed."

"Huh." Kon nodded, smirking just a bit. "Interestin' guy, this Kaien. You should tell me about him sometime!"

"KOOOOONN!" Yuzu called. "My Dollie's shoe got under the fridge!"

"Coming Sweetie!" Kon called, jumping off Isshin's shoulder to reach his skinny little cat arm under the fridge and swat the missing accessory out from under the appliance. Yuzu applauded with delight and hugged him, laughing for the first time in ages.

Isshin watched them play for a bit and sighed. He not a bad guy, this Kon. All the same- Isshin took out his phone and dialed a number.

"~Urahara Shoten, home of Karkura Town's finest Candies, Cell Phones and Card Games! I'm on sabbatical 'til the end of the month or so, so if it's an emergency, hang up and call the Kurosaki Clinic! Or die! If it's not an emergency, leave me a message with what you need and I'll hook you up when I get back! Bye!~" Urahara's voicemail recording sing-sang over the line.

"Kisuke. It's me, Isshin. You will not fucking believe what my kids found in the new house. Call me as soon as you get back."

[ghostsbimbo]

TF141 x Disabled!Reader; Cerebral Palsy

a/n: writing this from my own experience. i am mobile & independent w/o aids due to years of physical therapy, but it's getting harder. Please note, this disability is rare. There isn't much representation in media either, it's quite hard to find, there's 2 or 3 actors, a comedian or two. so I kind of want a small thing, y'know?

Task Force 141 [ General Statement ]

Okay, so this disability is rare (200k cases per year in the US - I do not know about other countries). I have the genuine belief that when they first meet you and you tell them that you have the disability, they actually start looking it up right in front of you. Not only out of curiosity, but because they want to help you.

John Price

He knew it was one of those days for you. He could tell just from you sitting up in bed and hearing the wince you had tried so hard to hide from him. He sighed softly, mentally questioning himself before finally deciding to ask it. "Wheelchair and cane day, love?" "Yeah...Wheelchair and cane day." You admitted, sighing softly. He sat up and leaned over, kissing your head before getting out of your shared bed, ready to help get you whatever you needed.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You two were at home while he was on leave, eating dinner - steak, a favorite of yours - but you were struggling with cutting it with the knife. Growing up physical therapy focused on the use of your dominant hand - especially with writing - so when it came to using your non-dominant hand? it was beyond a struggle to do things. Cutting up foods was one of them. "You want my help, love?" Simon asked, tilting his head. He understood you didn't like asking him for help, he understood you wanted independence when it came to even the simplest things, but he could also tell when you were getting frustrated. You simply nodded, placing the fork and knife down and carefully pushing the plate over to his side for help.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You tried your best to not be a messy eater. Like, to the point where you were constantly wiping your mouth, taking small bites of food, eating slow. but then there were days you just couldn't put that much brain power into being a conscious eater. It was a 'low spoons day' as you put it. Your body already hurt constantly due to your stiff muscles, which took a lot out of you on rainy days, so why make the effort to not be messy considering your body was already in so much pain. "Babe...You uh, got a little..." Gaz started, before getting a paper towel and carefully wiping the ice cream off your upper lip and the tip of your nose. You just blushed brightly and mumbled out a quick thank you and an apology. He just let out a soft chuckle and smiled at you. "It's alright, love, at leas you're enjoying something today, yeah?"

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You were scuffing your feet instead of actually walking walking. A habit that took years of physical therapy to break. You liked not having to think about not having to walk when you were in pain, but not many other people appreciated the noise. It irritated them. And that's how you got where you are now. In your work's break room, shakily texting your boyfriend to come pick you up. A customer had berated you in front of other customers and your boss in the store. He did get kicked out by your manager of course, but due to you being low spoons, that was your breaking point. Johnny was aloud in the break room on these kind of days. It was something your manager understood you might need on certain days. "C'mon love, you already clocked out, right?" You nodded and you guys walked out to his car, hand in hand with him rubbing small soothing circles on the back of your hand.

[codeopathy]

TW for domestic abuse mentions

Hi. I never usually make theories or analysises in depth but I wanted to do one for @laikascomet cause I think the series is so fuckin neat

Under the cut will be a SPOILERS zone so please read the comic before you read!!

Okay so! There's a lot to this chapter so I'll probably make this post specifically about the colors of this chapter + some small details relating to it.

Firstly, the chapters run into each other subtitle wise.

Start -> You can only move forward

End -> Don't look back.

This can be read as "You can only move forward, don't look back" OR "Don't look back. You can only move forward." which are two VERY different tones to me which relates heavily for the chapter we have before us.

When Laika first enters into the dimension/dreamworld, it's all really pink and coated in hearts. This is TYPICALLY a sign for innocence, love, and whathaveyou BUT I also want to add on another idea that could subert our expectations;

It is more safe on the outside than inside...

So to explain it'll probably need some color context. For Laika in the dreamworld, she's mostly coated in pinks or colors like pink much like the world around her. Which before hand, it's seen she has a loving family and she doesn't have many issues in the present moment beyond possibly getting in trouble.

Now for Mars...

They are mostly blues with pink eyes. Which if the first instance of the blue rabbit isn't telling (full on going to attack Laika who notes; "...That's the most hostile I've ever seen [them get]...") then we have a general color association scheme already happening.

Pink -> Safe

Blue -> Unsafe

So moving on! Mars has photos depicting the comet falling onto their house (or a piece of it) as well as a potential friend? [Photo below]

SHOULD ALSO NOTE. THEIR ROOM IS PINK, THE DINING ROOM IS BLUE. But anyways the photos show the story of the comet and potentially what happened (though not EVERYTHING) as the characters go on up!!

Though note here that the parents DO NOT have pink eyes.

This could potentially be how kids are still more innocent over the adults but also how Mars still sees safety in what they live in over Laika who IMMEDIATELY knows shit is wrong in this place and Mars shouldn't be here. Also another color thing.

(Pink for innocent/safety)

(Blue for fear/no safety [in this case in regards to mars])

Which I think after I make one more note, I can confidently place down a potential theory for Mars. There's the scene where Laika intercepts a potential traumatic flashback for Mars and they snap back with:

Which I find interesting it's more of an orangey pink over a blue- Could mean Mars is attempting to be honest BUT also is repeating things They heard their parents say to them when Mars tried to speak up as well.

((Also just noticed this but GOD the little detail of the plate breaking and Laika getting cut in the same area is so NEAT btu also considerably heartbreaking if you consider THOSE implications.))

ANYWAYS.

Now for the actual theory or well. ya know.

I feel like Mars was potentially in what we will call a "hidden" abusive home where on the outside everything seemed lovely and nice but the inside... Not so much. Mars obviously seemed to have much more comfort in their bedroom, isolated away despite it ruining their mental health. But when they are out and eating with their family (meals that likely weren't as sustaining or delicious as what they should have), it felt overstimulating because of how their parents talked. Which it was like static noise that they have to sit and eat through to just be able to run back and stay in the pink safety zone.

And Mars had to witness potential domestic violence or even more to themselves considering how everything is so violent as Laika pointed out (and even Mars implies in a scene as well I realize which is included below)

Which if this is the case, everything we see is a replay of their trauma from their home. Which happens a lot with children who experience horrible things, they tend to "act out" the scenes to process through it and generally make it "not as bad" in their heads.

TDLR; Pink and Blues mean so fuckin much in this chapter as well as that Mars likely is relieving their trauma with the star powers due to not knowing any better.

So with that, I think this story is so wonderful. I myself grew up in a similar home and it's nice to see Mars potentially get help in the future.

[generalsdiary]

a tired gem

Aventurine x Dr. Ratio

warnings: description of overstimulation (not the sexual one)

word count: less than 1k

a/n: back again with another mental health + comfort oneshot about the gays lol, not beta read, we go to superhell with aventurine and castiel

description: Aventurine comes home overstimulated and tired, later comforted by Dr. Ratio

Aventurine's hands felt like they were on fire, they felt swollen, the day was too hot. he is rapidly taking the gloves off his hands, the pretty golden rings off his fingers, the expensive watch slipping from his wrist- and running them under a cold stream of water. Aventurine raises his head, meeting his own gaze in the mirror.

despite the years passing, and him getting older - it still comes back to bite him in the ass. the way his skin feels like it is burning, the overanalyzing of too many people around him – because what if he could be in danger, or even what if someone calls him a fraud, or sees through his oh-so fragile façade. there was too much noise- too many conversations surrounding him, too many unpleasant and various smells- it brings it all back. the starving scorching hot days of little Kakavasha, the slavery of "blondie"... that feeling of which he doesn't even wish the recall the memories of. he feels the repulsion of any human touch settling back in him.

he had gotten better, he knows- Aventurine repeats in his head, he knows how to deal with others and exist normally. how to keep his clothes straight, clean and his shoes polished. how to appear wealthy and smell like a perfume commercial.

Aventurine takes a deep breath. it does little to calm him down, the lukewarm air filling his lungs where a crisp cold air would feel much better to him in the moment.

after rapidly taking his clothes off, and gently folding them even in this moment when he is stressed because how could he just throw those clothes away… after all, they are his mask, his stage presence so to speak, and for Aeon’s sake the price alone could feed every person on his long gone planet. he sits on the shower floor and allows the water to cool down his body- just like the rain of Sigonia-IV did.  Aventurine got over it, he learned to accept and even relish in human contact- with chosen people, yet he cannot even imagine being perceived in this moment. the mere thought of it makes him squeeze his eyes shut in pain.

biting his bottom lip, which shakes slightly in anger and tiredness, he stands up. he has to take care of himself- create a safe environment- and then if he must, wallow in the pain which is overstimulation.

the water washes away any bump from a stranger passing by, any phantom touch that didn't actually happen, but he still had to mentally prepare himself for it just in case it did, any scent which isn't his own. the clean, rough texture of the towel feels pleasant on his skin as he dries up and puts on comfortable clothes.

with complete silence and everything in its right place, he lies on the bed, eyes trained on the ceiling. familiar steps approach the bedroom door and the figure leans against the frame. "rough day, dear gambler?"

Aventurine's eyes meet Veritas', not saying a thing. to the doctor, it speaks louder than words. the apparent smirk fading off, his body language turning a tad softer and he exhales. he is quick to deduce exactly how his counterpart feels. Veritas is well aware that any sound or even a question that requires verbal communication would be awful to Aventurine at this moment hence he, with a soft step, walks over to the bed and lies down beside him. not close to touch him accidentally- with a healthy distance, yet still there.

Aventurine appreciates it, the doctor had already learned how he can get... how rough it can be. feeling exhaustion wash over him, he moves to his side, and those breathtaking gem-like eyes close, letting the poor blond man rest under the watchful eyes of the older man.

a couple of hours later, he wakes up, his eyes opening to be met with a quiet Veritas reading a book in the same place, unmoving except for the occasional page turn. Aventurine quietly observes, obviously noticed by Veritas. the doctor surely noticed the shift in his, now awake, breathing, and the colorful eyes opening to stare at him.

he grounds himself in reality and in the moment, taking shorter breaths and shifting to stretch his body a bit, taking care of the soreness. he feels better, soothed... his head is quiet, and his body feels okay to exist in the present, to exist now. Aventurine outstretches his arm, and hand, barely noticeable, tugs on Veritas' shirt, causing him to move his gaze to Aventurine. beat. he hums quietly, giving him a nod in silent question. it feels inviting and safe, Aventurine moves his body closer, into the taller man's side. as he does, Veritas closes the book putting it away, and moves his arm so that Aventurine can rest his head on his collarbone.

the second part of grounding. comforting touch, from a safe person with a safe scent. there is a silent appreciation for the doctor’s frequent baths and cleanliness. Aventurine's eyes close with a soft sigh, it feels right, it feels comfortable. Veritas' hand, at first, very gently moves through the blond locks, after a few seconds of body language analysis, he continues caressing his hair. Ratio's other hand moves to his face, his thumb caressing for a moment Aventurine's cheekbone. "better?" he hums in a deep tone with a rumble in his chest.

those gorgeous watercolor eyes open, the softest smile forming on Aventurine's face and a small nod. "yes"

a/n: yes, the ‘watercolor eyes’ is a reference to the song Dear Arkansas Daughter

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Burning a shapeshifter's skin

I came across this werewolf folktale from France, in which a man saves a strange woman from the werewolf curse by burning the skin she uses to transform:

A hunter from Montrond had returned to a cabin at a time when the people of the mountain had left their cabins. After a while he heard a loud noise; he hid in a corner and saw the door in the middle of the barn open, and a werewolf with a bear skin on its back came into the cabin. He shed his skin and a beautiful young girl emerged. She lit a fire in the hearth. She had beautiful big hair and she started combing and grooming herself. When he saw this, the man came out of his hiding place and grabbed the girl by the hair; she began to scream and struggle, but nothing helped: he held her with force and, with his other hand, he took her bearskin and set it on fire. When it was completely destroyed, she thanked him wholeheartedly for freeing her of that thing. (Collected from Philomène Sambuis by Joisten Charles in 1961)

Despite the presence of violence, the story frames this as an act of kindness. I'm rather glad it doesn't end with her marrying him, but it did make me wonder why I've never seen a folktale where the animal skin of a selkie or swan maiden is burned...

One the one hand it makes sense, because werewolves are generally seen as cursed humans while selkies and swan maidens are born shapeshifters. But on the other hand, while burning a werewolf's skin or belt is a common theme (Dutch examples), there are also tales about werewolves who scream and flee in rage or terror when their skins are burned (Het weerwolfsvel verbrand). And there are plenty of fairy tales who use this trope in various ways:

• In many variants of the Romanian tale "The Enchanted Pig" a prince is cursed to be a pig but can take his skin off at night to become a human. When his wife burns the skin he is furious and she has to redeem herself. Sometimes it is implied the curse would have lifted on its own if she had been patient, but in others he just seems angry she did it at all.

• The Russian tale "The Tsarevna Frog" is similar. The Tsarevitch who marries a cursed maiden burns her frog skin and has to suffer for it. Because instead of breaking her curse it turns her into a swan that flies away for him to rescue.

• In the some versions of "Hans my Hedgehog" burning the hedgehog skin is punished too, while in some it cures the shapeshifting (even while in some cases the hedgehog wasn't born to humans, but was an adopted animal, like in the Indian stories about a crab husband). But in the Grimm's version Hans specifically instructs to burn his animal skin so he can be human permanently.

• In the folktale "The Dog Bride" from the Santal Parganas in India a herdboy marries a dog after seeing it shed its dog skin and become a beautiful maiden. She only turns human when her husband is asleep, but one night he manages to catch her and burns her skin, leaving her permanently in her beautiful woman shape. The story does not say she was cursed.

• In the story "The Mouse Maiden" from Shri Lanka the princess does seem to have been cursed to shapeshift between a girl and a mouseling, but she weeps when her husband burns her mouse jacket at the advice of her mother.

• The girl in the Greek tale "The Goat Girl" seems just as upset. She is the goat child born to a woman, who can shapeshift at will, and tries to throw herself into the oven her groom burns her goatskin in. It isn't clear if this is a compulsion or an act of grief.

• And there's also the tale "The Little Donkey", collected by the Grimms, in which a queen gives birth to a donkey who is then married to a princess and only then starts to turn human at night. The father of the bride burns the donkey skin, but unlike the other shapeshifters on this list (except for the Mouse Maiden) the donkey prince does not even notice until the next morning. He is terrified and tries to flee, until the king begs him to stay.

All this to say, these folktales are very divided on whether burning a shapeshifter's animal skin is the right thing to do. And it does not always depend on whether you are dealing with a cursed human or a born shapeshifter either! So I really wonder if there really aren't any folktales about selkies or swan maidens that involve the (attempted) burning of their skin, or if I just haven't found them yet...

[dumpster-diving-rat]

Rating bsd characters (ADA) based on how likely I think they are to fall asleep on you

(This is mainly while you're in work at the agency, but if you want to think of it as anywhere, do so as you will)

Atsushi Nakajima

5/10

-He gets a little stressed sometimes, with all that fighting it's definitely tiring

-He rests on your shoulder (next to you) and slowly falls asleep

-I think he'd be a pretty heavy sleeper, so if you need to move him, he won't wake up from it

-Stays asleep for around thirty minutes to an hour before waking up

-Barely moves in his sleep, but occasionally shifts his head slightly

-I don't think he'd really make any noise, but he would quietly mumble a few things in his sleep sometimes

Overall he is very easy to deal with when he is asleep, and he doesn't get too many nightmares unless the day has been horrible for him.

Dazai Osamu

7/10

-Anything to get out of work tbh

-Half of the time he's just pretending to sleep

-He just wants the comfort as well as not doing work

-Doesn't really speak the entire time, and his head is resting on your chest (closer to your collarbone)

-Suddenly this is normal behavior for him

-He is a very light sleeper, but depending on how tired he really is, he could be more of a heavy sleeper

-When he is actually asleep instead of pretending, he unfortunately gets a lot of nightmares

-If the nightmares continue on, he may start to silently cry in his sleep

-Just wake him up if he does start crying, or if you think he's having a nightmare

-He speaks sometimes when having nightmares, but if they get worse, he may scream or yell instead of just speaking

-Hugs you tighter in his sleep without realizing, also buries his head into you without realizing as well

-Just hug him back, he'll do a little better, asleep or not

He is not horrible when asleep, unless he gets nightmares, but other than that he just clings to you as if he's afraid of letting you go.

Kunikida Doppo

2/10

-Considers it unprofessional to do so in the workplace

-He does wear himself out sometimes, so he can get slightly more tired than usual

-When you notice he's tired, he tries to say he's fine, but he just isn't the best at lying

-Sighs, and then hugs you, while resting his head on your shoulder (facing towards you)

-Slowly but surely falls asleep

-This rarely happens, and multiple people (mainly Yosano and Dazai) like to tease him for it when it does actually happen

-Wakes up and immediately looks at his ideals to make sure his schedule wasn't messed up

-It wasn't, and he apologized for sleeping on you

-He then gets up to continue his work at the desk

-Internally screaming and madly blushing because of the interaction though

-Slowly calms down, but Dazai and Yosano start teasing him, and now he's more red

-Save this man from Dazai and Yosano I beg

Decent sleeper, but panics slightly when he wakes up, because he didn't realize he was falling asleep in the first place. He ever so slightly clings onto you in a hug while sleeping as well.

Ranpo Edogawa

8/10

-He didn't have any cases left at the moment, and felt bored

-So naturally he goes up to where you are, and rests his head on your lap

-He gets cozy, and falls asleep

-Is a very heavy sleeper, so good luck trying to wake him up if you need to

-Doesn't speak in his sleep, but does rest comfortably

-All you can really hear from him is his breathing

-Only wakes up when Kunikida has to yell at him to wake up and get back to work

Very heavy sleeper, but is still very calm and nothing really disturbs his sleep (unless a yelling Kunikida appears)

Yosano Akiko (Potentially OOC)

5/10

-Being a doctor is hard sometimes, honestly

-Although she mainly goes shopping after a stressful time, sometimes she takes a break in different ways

-That is, by resting her head on your lap, and closing her eyes, sighing calmly (occasionally, she sleeps on your chest, with her head turned to listen to your heartbeat, which calms her)

-She does sometimes request for you to run your hands through her hair

-She's a pretty light sleeper, but doesn't wake up extremely fast

-The only thing that could disturb her sleep is the time she was 11, with Mori there

-She wakes up slightly stressed after those dreams

-If you play with her hair, and talk to her quietly about how she's okay, and you're right there with her, she'll calm down slowly

-Will ask to just hold you hand, while she starts to inspect for injuries anywhere on your arm and hand

-It's oddly therapeutic for her to check for injuries on people, mainly ones she cares for though

While her past can haunt her dreams sometimes, it's actually somewhat rare, but you making an effort to calm her down really helps her more.

Junichiro Tanizaki (Potentially OOC)

3/10

-He rests his head on your shoulder and falls asleep

-It doesn't take him too long to fall asleep

-He's a light sleeper, and sleeps comfortably

-He wakes up after around half an hour

-Quickly apologizes for accidentally falling asleep

-Him falling asleep on you happens very rarely

-He does move on with his day afterwards, but is still a bit embarrassed about what happened

-Que Naomi teasing him, because she witnessed the whole thing, and took pictures

-Covering face with sleeves, he can't handle the embarrassment of the pictures

He's okay while asleep, but he's very embarrassed about it when he wakes up. Maybe it's best to not mention it to him in the future

Naomi Tanizaki (Potentially OOC)

2/10

-I doubt she'd ever sleep on you, but just like her brother, she'd also fall asleep on your shoulder

-She'd also be hugging you while asleep (one arm around your shoulder, the other around your waist, she was facing towards you)

-She is a light sleeper, and is also sleeping comfortably

-She does not speak that much in her sleep, but she does mumble sometimes

-After waking up, she continues to stay hugging you

-She will get up to continue working eventually, but for now, she's hugging you

She's a peaceful sleeper, but does like to hug and cuddle you as she sleeps.

Fukuzawa Yukichi (Might be somewhat OOC)

2/10

-He's got a lot of work, and can not just fall asleep as the president of the ADA

-However, instead of sleeping on you at the agency, there are a few times he sleeps on you at home

-He rests his head on your lap, slowly falling asleep

-He is a light sleeper, and if you were to say his name once, he would immediately wake up

-He sleeps peacefully, and feels comforted by you just being there

-If you run your fingers through his hair, it just makes him all the more peaceful

-He doesn't speak in his sleep, and barely moves in his sleep as well

-Your presence comforts him as he sleeps, and he knows you're safe in that moment because you're there

He hasn't really fallen asleep while at the agency, but when it's just you two at your house, he's does sleep.

Kenji Miyazawa (Potentially OOC. Also, everything to do with him is platonic, the most you do is just hold hands and hug, I will be adding this to practically everything he's in, just for clarification. The meaning of platonic for those who don't know is, "of love or friendship, intimate and affectionate but not sexual.")

8/10

-He gets tired after eating, so it wouldn't be surprising for him to be sleeping next to you

-Falls asleep while resting his head on your shoulder

-He is a very heavy sleeper, yet sleeps comfortably and peacefully

-He barely moves, and mumbles very quietly

-Can sleep for hours at a time, so you might have to move him

-If you do move him, that's fine, he won't wake up anyways

-He wakes up after a long time, and will mention, with a smile on his face, that it was very comfortable to sleep on your shoulder

The heaviest sleeper on the list, and definitely would not wake up even if you were loud.

Kyoka Izumi (Might be OOC. Also, just like Kenji, this is strictly platonic, the most you guys do is hug and hold hands, nothing more. I will be mentioning this to practically every post with her, for clarification. Again, platonic means "of love or friendship, intimate and affectionate but not sexual" for those who don't know)

2/10

-I feel like she'd stay awake around everyone, unless she's really comfortable around them

-As she got closer to you, she felt herself slowly get tired around you, feeling a sense of comfort

-She would rest her head on your shoulder, and fall asleep quickly

-She's a light sleeper, makes no noise in her sleep, and doesn't move around either

-She finds it easier to sleep around you, but mainly when you two aren't near many people

-If there's multiple people around, she struggles to fall asleep, unless she's comfortable enough around them too

-When she wakes up she doesn't pay attention to what happened, she just gets back up and does her work

-She appreciates you letting her sleep on your shoulder

Sometimes Demon Snow likes to be next to Kyoka as she sleeps, so don't freak out if you just see Demon Snow there.

Okay I'm thinking about just turning on my ask box bc I'm getting bored not figuring it out lmao. Also for requests if there will be any, do not ask for incest, non-con, dub-con, or NSFW things please. I don't necessarily write fics, it's mainly headcanons, or stuff more in the format of headcanons. Thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed! ♡

Okay editing this like a minute later, but I turned on my ask box. Don't know what to do with it, but I'm just hoping I figure it out soon enough

[split-spectrum]

Water and Rock

Chapter 6

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: explicit content, smut (particluarly in this chapter), drug use, dubcon, elements of noncon, mild non-graphic violence, elements of sith!obiwan

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

The sound of your belt clattering to the floor echoes against the duracrete walls of the cell. His hand is buried in the fabric of your robes, pulling them to the side, and he's kissing you like a force of nature; like the kiss will be the end of you both.

And it will be, and you know it will be, and you're beyond caring.

His hand slips beneath the fabric at last, the feeling of his fingers on your skin making you suck in a breath through your teeth to keep from moaning. His thumb traces over your bare hip, moving up to your back. Then he flattens his hand, pulling it down to your stomach. The tips of his fingers are threatening to finally, finally, drop beneath your waistline and you're unable to resist the urge to squirm, desperately wishing you could reach down and guide his hand where you need it.

But he hesitates, unmoving. You suck in the muscles of your stomach, pulling your body to the side, just to feel some movement - any movement. His hand drags deliciously across your skin, sending shivers all the way up to your neck, but the movement isn't his. It's movement you're manufacturing for him. He's fixed in place, eyes wide and darting over your body like he's not even really present in the room. Like he's watching from a distance, removed from himself.

Slowly, in a way that you could interpret as cruel if you didn't know him well enough to realize he's not intentionally teasing, he leans in to kiss you again. His lips meet yours so tenderly, so softly, that your eyes squeeze shut. It's almost painful to be held so gently by him.

As he brushes his mouth over yours, his hand dips lower. Then he curls his fingers inward, pulling them back. It's as if he's trying to drag his attention away from where his hands are about to go.

You give a soft whine at the denial and he stops kissing you, mouth falling open. He says a word in a language you don't understand, but from his tone and the way he yanks his body away from yours, you can guess it's a curse.

"This is completely wrong."

He pulls away from you, extricating his hand and leaving you burning, alone, and practically trembling. He brings one hand to his chin, stroking it downward, almost seeming to wipe his mouth clean.

He's shaking his head. "I am the one in control, here. You can't move. I must be the one to stop."

Your eyes are drawn to the center of his body. You want to see the evidence against the case he's making, but sadly his tunic is covering everything. Even as impressive as he felt against you, there's no bulge to see when he takes a wide stance.

You shift your hands uncomfortably in the binders, and he looks up at the noise of the chain. You didn't mean to draw his attention to your frustration. Or maybe you did. It's hard to tell anymore.

"What difference does it make?" you ask, trying to mask the desire in your voice by speaking quietly. "We've already broken our oaths, haven’t we?"

He brings his eyes up from the floor and gives you a look that's stern and knowing, and for just a moment he looks like himself again.

"You know the difference," he says in a soft, low tone that shoots straight to your core.

You want him. You've never wanted anything as much as you want him to touch you, right now, looking like that.

"Obi Wan..." you trail off, staring at him.

Stars, he's so perfect... just touch me...

All at once, his eyes lose their coolness. He continues to look at you, determination melting into unabashed lust, and he takes a long, slow blink. He leans into you again. You feel a rising in your chest as he wraps his arms around you and brings his lips to yours, only to halt, achingly close, and pull back with a furrowed brow.

He looks at you. You look at him. When you both realize what's happened, your heart sinks into your stomach.

"Did... you..." he starts to ask, but doesn't finish, just staring, wide-eyed.

You'd tried to mind-trick him. You'd implanted your thoughts into his mind. He'd felt it, and he was strong enough to stop you, even in his state. But you had tried.

"I..." you have no words for the horror you feel at what you'd nearly done. But he interrupts you before you need to go any further.

"This is what I mean. You are not yourself."

"I..." you try again, your head still spinning with the implications of your actions. "I didn't mean to..."

He's still holding you. You're surprised he hasn't pulled away. "I know. You don't mean to do any of this."

His hands are resting lower now, sliding to the small of your back. "This is not what either of us wants. Not really. It's an illusion of the drug. Just focus; try to remember a time before this."

His attempt to soothe you is only making you burn hotter, his voice deep and smooth in your ear. You can't take it.

"That isn't going to work."

"If you just try to remove yourself from..."

"It won't work," you interrupt him, tired of talking and tired of waiting. Your blood is burning and you can hardly wait for him to stop talking so you can feel his lips again.

"How can you say that when you haven't-"

"Because there's never been a time I didn't want you."

His eyes widen for a moment before his brows push together in a tormented look. Then, all at once, he kisses you, and you're lost in a desperate, wanton stretch of whispered groans and dragging teeth.

When he gasps into your neck, "You can't... say... It isn't..."

You simply keep talking over him. You'll say anything to have him like this. "I want you now. I wanted you on Keoth. I wanted you on Pantora."

He lets out a soft, long breath, just beneath your ear. You know you've crossed a line. You're trying to break him, to do anything to keep him touching you. You don't care anymore about what is wrong and what is forbidden.

Pantora was one of the last missions you'd had together as Master and Padawan, before you took the trials at 21. It had almost been Obi Wan's last mission altogether. He had fallen through a crevasse, where his leg had gotten pinned. Your mission team couldn't risk breaking the ice around him, as it could potentially cause an ice shelf to break off and destroy a village below it. He'd had no choice but to painstakingly chisel himself free, and as the only other Jedi on the mission, only you could reach him. No one on the team had ice climbing tools, but you could use the force to jump down to him, and jump back out.

You had spent an entire rotation alone with him, both of you taking turns carefully digging him out, and as the hours passed, you felt more and more devastated by the knowledge that you wouldn't be sharing missions like this anymore; that you'd never be this close again. The stories, the warmth, the intimacy you'd experienced... it was the first time you knew you'd carry your bond with him for the rest of your life. Back then, you'd interpreted the feelings as healthy affection for your Master. Looking back, you could call it what you really knew it was.

This time, when he leans up to kiss you again, you pull on his bottom lip with your teeth, almost digging in. Some part of you wants him to taste the pain you feel when he pulls away. But he doesn't shy away from your bite. He tightens his grip on your waist.

"Touch me," you finally gasp when he parts your lips. "You have to touch me. Please. Please."

You hear your own voice as if it belongs to someone else. You know you're debasing yourself in front of him, but it doesn't matter anymore. You don't care how pitiful you sound when you beg. When he stares back at you, the dim light in the room catching his face at just the angle to illuminate his features, a simple thought fills your mind: You should consider yourself lucky to beg into such beautiful eyes.

He swallows. "Please, don't."

The animalistic part of you that's taken over can't focus on his words; only the way he says them. You can hear his resolve crumbling.

"I... I need it. Anything. Just one touch, just..."

You whimper against his mouth when he closes it over yours.

He pulls back once he's silenced you. "Stop. I can't think with you... like this. You must stop."

You grind your lower half against him. "Fuck. Please. I'm so..."

He's biting his lip, and all at once, he's snaking his hand through your clothes.

Your brows knit together in desperate need, and you stifle a gasp when he makes contact with your skin again.

"Don't stop."

His lashes flutter when you speak, and his hand trails lower while he leans in to kiss your neck. "I'm afraid I'm at a point... beyond stopping. Even if I were to try."

You melt at his words, at first. Then, suddenly, you pull back slightly, using the last of your strength to resist. "I'm not... I wasnt...?"

Fear begins to creep back into your features when it occurs to you what he may be implying. You hadn't felt yourself reaching out in the force. Any attempts at control hadn't been intentional.

You try to read his face, but his expression is unreadable, his eyes glossy. When he sees your reaction, though, he shakes his head.

"No," he says, putting your fears to rest. "No, you weren't."

You let out the breath you'd trapped in your chest.

"And yet..." he goes on. His eyes are dark, his voice thick.

"I can't refuse you."

He captures your lips in a perfectly sweet kiss as his fingers dip below your waist and slip between your legs.

You let your head sink back against your arms, a broken moan ripping out of you. His fingers are even more perfect than you'd imagined - gentle and strong and smooth. He slides further down, to where you're soaking, and when you slick his fingers he lets out a soft sigh, his breath hot against your neck.

He strokes you perfectly, with no urgency, just curious concentration at your body's response to his touch. He pulls back to watch you, his lips slightly parted. His eyes are heavy, lashes flickering up and down as his gaze drags over your face to catch every gasp, every twitch, every movement you make. When his eyes meet yours, he slowly pushes two fingers inside you, holding them there.

You're sure you must have died, because only becoming one with the living force could feel this good.

"Shiiittt..." you sigh, eyes closing, the feeling of him inside you overwhelming all of your senses.

He blows air out softly through the "o" shape of his lips as he curls his fingers and starts to fuck you with them. You can feel his hand getting wetter as he works to build the heat inside you toward detonation. When you open your eyes again, a deep pulse of electricity runs from your center down to your toes. Watching him do this to you, watching him become undone by doing this to you... it's too much. It feels too good. It almost aches.

His fingers - you've seen them so many times, doing so many things. Wrapped around his saber hilt in deadly combat. Writing dilligent notations in his personal manuscripts during late hours in the archive. Straightening the collar of your robe, gently reminding you to present yourself neatly in the temple.

And now they're buried in you, working you steadily and deliciously as you writhe, fucking yourself against his hand.

You moan shamelessly, your hands grasping helplessly up at the ceiling above your head, opening yourself up to him, to whatever he'll give you. He pushes even deeper, hooking the first of his knuckles methodically back toward himself over and over, bringing you closer and closer to oblivion.

You curse again breathlessly, trying to hold yourself at your peak; trying to make it last as long as you can. But he's making it impossible for you.

"Do... do you remember Pantora?" you murmur to him, talking to keep yourself from tipping over the edge.

He misses a beat at the sound of your voice, not answering right away, pumping his fingers a few more times, listening to your breath becoming more and more uneven.

"Of course I remember."

It sends a shiver through you and makes you more bold. Or maybe it's the drug making you bolder. Perhaps both. Either way, you have the courage now to ask a question you never would in your right mind.

"Did... you want me then, too?"

He gazes at you, slowly drawing his fingers out, as if thinking it over, and then slides them back, continuing his curling motion.

"I didn't think of you in... that way, no. You were my Padawan. I saw you as my Padawan. Until-"

He cuts himself off, and you suck in a breath at the word 'until'. You repeat it back to him, questioningly. He pauses again.

"That day in the gardens." His fingers slow. "You always wore your hair up, in braids. The day before you took the trials, we spoke in the garden. And you... wore it down."

You remember the day. "You... noticed."

"I noticed," he says. Then his fingers quicken. "I noticed, and I wanted you. I wanted to touch you, just like this."

The tendons in his wrist clench as he works his fingers steadily inside you, then reaches down, brushing the wet over his thumb and using it to slide over your clit. You jerk and let out a sharp whine at the pressure, feeling like you're about to explode.

"Fuck, don't stop. Oh, stars. Please don't stop."

He groans at your desperation, pulling the arm he's wrapped behind you closer, squeezing your bodies together. "Oh, yes. You like that, don't you?"

No words will form in your mind, only thoughts of the bliss he's sending through every part of you. You nod, mewling through your nose. He slows his movements, sending you spiraling, and you meet his eyes, wondering why.

He curls his lip. "Then, say it."

The words pour out of you at his command, tumbling over your lips, ragged and insistent. You'll say whatever he asks. You'll invent new words if it's what he requires to keep doing this.

"It's so good. Fucking- Ngh- fucking amazing. It's... you're going to make me-"

He strokes you perfectly until your breath hitches and you tumble over the precipice, crying out his name, whimpering and writhing in your chains, pussy twitching around his hand as he draws out your orgasm. You're a shaking mess by the time he finishes with you, leaving his fingers inside while delicately pulls his thumb from your oversensitive clit, your whining gasps telling him you're spent.

When just the two fingers inside you are left, he smirks at you, pulling them out so, so slowly.

"My goodness, we certainly made a mess," he says thoughtfully, the tips of his fingers still inside you, coated with you.

He hesitates. "But, something tells me..." He pushes back in, the filthy sound of how wet you are filling the room. "...You're not satisfied."

You let your eyes flutter quickly at the feeling, and when you open them to look at him again, you suddenly realize how dilated his pupils are. His gaze is hungry, shameless and wanting.

"I..." you can barely speak, you're so drained. But looking at him like this is stirring something within you that goes deeper than the physical. "I want..."

You shudder. Your head is spinning, filled with conflicting feelings. You know precisely what you want, but seeing the look in his eyes reminds you how far gone you both are. Whatever he may be right now, this man is not your master. When he looks at you like this, there's a word you can't quite put your finger on that describes him.

He brings his mouth to your ear, and in a voice you've never heard from him before, he growls, "I know what you want."

At that, it occurs to you the word you've been thinking of is 'dangerous'.

He finally slides his fingers from you, your thighs trembling around him. He doesn't pull your pants down yet, just uses the hand, still wet from you, to palm himself through his own pants. He still has one arm wrapped around you and his eyes are roving over your body greedily, like a starving man about to sink his teeth into the perfect meal.

Some distant part of your mind tells you that you'd normally feel self conscious, but that part of yourself is so far removed and muffled by the drug flooding your mind that it's white noise. Your only present thought is that you hope he gives in to his craving quickly.

"I will give it to you," he says. "I want to give it to you. But first..." he brings his hand up to your face and cradles your jaw. "You must tell me what you want."

You nearly choke at the demanding tone of his voice. It doesn't occur to you to be concerned at how dark his eyes have become. You imagine your eyes have a similar quality right now.

"Master, I need..."

His eyes widen when you speak, but before you can finish the sentence, the sound of footsteps outside cuts you off.

As the footsteps approach the door, Obi Wan releases his grip on you, parting your bodies, but only just slightly. His posture isn't one of a man who's been caught. His shoulders are stiff, and his expression holds irritation as the door slams open again.

A Falteen guard enters, hand on his blaster. When he sees the way you're looking at him, he pulls it and keeps it raised, staying near the open doorway. He clicks a button on his wrist.

"Possibly some effects here. Tell Marg we're bringing the prisoners out for interrogation soon."

"Are you?" Obi Wan asks coolly when the guard switches off his commlink. "Who is 'we'?"

"Wasn't talking to you, Jedi," the guard grunts as he backs toward the door, blaster still raised.

"How impolite. And I thought we were guests."

"Shut up," the guard snaps, then speaks into his wrist again. "Did you hear me? I said the prisoners are ready. Get here, now."

Catching sight of the way Obi Wan is looking at him, the guard abruptly turns to leave and close the door behind him.

"Ah, ah," Obi Wan admonishes, raising a hand that keeps the guard frozen in the doorway. "Keep us company, won't you? Until your friends get here."

The guard's face shows considerable effort in turning his upper body backward and raising his blaster halfway. Obi Wan smirks, and in an instant the blaster is across the room and in his hand. With his other hand, he makes a rising motion, then grips around an invisible throat.

The throat is, in fact, attached to the guard, who is now clutching at it. The guard's feet are off the ground, kicking uselessly. You almost think it looks... amusing.

Obi wan is certainly entertained. "Not feeling sociable? That's quite alright. I don't mind a quiet evening."

The noises of the guard's windpipe being crushed go on for some time. It disgusts you somewhat, hearing the pathetic creature struggle, but finally it comes to an end when Obi Wan clenches his fist, snapping his neck completely and dropping him to the floor.

You sigh, glad it's finally over, and Obi Wan wastes no time in aiming the blaster at the floor where his chain is mounted. He fires off several shots, eventually managing to free himself, the chain still around his leg but no longer attached to the ground. He comes over to you, running the back of his hand down your face.

"It appears it's time for us to go."

You nod. Despite the drug's insistence that nothing is as important as what you were about to do, you still understand the concept of life and death. To your immense irritation, you want to live.

"They took our lightsabers in the first room... I think it was to the south of the main room. They locked them in a grey box," you tell him. Your aching shoulders want you to ask him to blast you free of the wall,  but your hands are too close to the top of the chain. He gives you a nod in return, then walks to the door.

"Don't worry," he says with a casual smile as he raises the blaster in his hand and fires down the hallway. "I won't be long."

You watch as he leaves, frustrated that you can't accompany him, but confident in his promise. It's abundantly clear he's not the one in danger.

Screams echo down the hallway and blaster fire lights up the walls. The sound of bodies being flung, followed with silence, confirms what you had thought. He's gone for what feels like an eternity, but in reality, was probably only a few minutes. When he returns, he's cut himself out of his chain and he's carrying both of your lightsabers. He quickly cuts you down, then holds his saber still for you to push your bound hands into it, separating the binders and then cutting them off completely.

You roll your shoulders. Sharp pain shoots through them, but it's a sweet kind of pain. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he says with a smile. "Shall we?"

You follow him back down the hallway, now littered with bodies. It seems a stray blaster bolt must have clipped one of the light fixtures on the wall. It's flickering on and off, illuminating the bodies intermittently and casting shadows over Obi Wan's face.

"I suppose we'll need to steal a ship to get out of here," you say, relatively disinterested in the carnage that surrounds you.

"My thoughts exactly," he replies, stepping over a dismembered arm as you reach the end of the hallway and enter the main room again where the large table now sits empty. "I believe our host was about to save us the trouble."

You walk around the table to find Marg splayed out on the ground, looking up at you with an anguished groan. One of his legs is bent at a sickening angle.

You say the only thing that comes to mind. "Oh. Hello."

"Augh," Marg responds, gripping his leg and gritting his teeth at you. "Whatever you want, just take it and go. Remember, I let you live."

Obi Wan raises an eyebrow.

"Let..." the word rolls off his tongue slowly. Then he shakes his head just slightly, circling the table to look down at Marg himself.

"You know, I do owe you thanks, Marg."

The Pyke trembles when Obi Wan comes closer, gazing down at him with an almost bored expression.

"When I was a padawan, my master used to tell me that fear is the path to the dark side. Fear of loss, fear of pain, fear of death..."

His eyes trail over the table as he speaks, a streak of crimson staining the stone where evidently someone's body had been dragged.

"But what is the dark side without fear?"

You watch a grin spread over his face when Marg tries to inch away from him.

"Power."

Your eyes are drawn to the way his jaw sets after he says the word. He's magnificent.

He reaches toward Marg, whose hands suddenly rip at his throat, trying to pull at invisible fingers. "So I really must thank you, for showing me a new path. Now, if you would be so kind as to assist me further, where is the nearest ship with a hyperdrive?"

Marg's eyes are bulging and Obi Wan releases him slightly so that he can speak. Just as he's about to, a handful of guards enter the room. Your eyes snap up. They raise their blasters, training them all on Obi Wan.

You squint angrily at the interruption. How could such insignificant life forms threaten him? They should simply die.

And they do. The instant the thought enters your mind, they turn their barrels toward themselves and pull triggers.

Six bodies hit the floor almost in unison. Obi Wan stares, confused for only a moment before turning his gaze on you. His smile widens.

"Well done, young one. Very impressive."

His words of praise shoot through you, setting every nerve ending on fire. You were already burning for him, and now it's an inferno.

He turns his attention back to Marg, who's still squirming in his grip. "Well?"

The Pyke leader bites out a series of directions to the nearest landing platform and gasps when Obi Wan lets him go. He drops down with a heavy thud and sucks in shuddering breaths, scowling up at you.

You look back into his eyes, annoyed that he does not appear to be grateful at his release. You flick your wrist, lightsaber illuminating in your hand, and behead him.

The dark cloth of his ceremonial headcovering drapes behind his head as it rolls across the floor, and Obi Wan looks at you in mild surprise.

You shrug. "It will take longer for them to organize and follow us if he's dead."

His lips tug into a tight smile. "Very well; have it your way."

You follow him into the main entrance, back the way you'd originally been dragged into the compound, and you follow the dead Pyke's instructions to reach the landing platform, where you help yourselves to the largest ship available.

Obi Wan seats himself in the captain's chair, checking fuel gauges and testing the controls before take off. You busy yourself closing the hatches and preparing the ship. Once everything is secure, you give the all-clear and the ship lifts off, quickly exiting the atmosphere.

Once you've entered hyperspace, Obi Wan keys in the coordinates for Coruscant and heaves a sigh of relief, settling himself back into his seat. You walk over to him and he looks up at you from over his shoulder.

"What an ordeal that was." He looks down at his chest, seeming to notice the blood stain on his tunic for the first time. "And I'll have to get my robes cleaned. Blast."

You gaze down at him, hardly listening. You're still aching for him, and you feel no need to hold back your tongue. "Master... I believe you said you had something to give me?"

He turns his chair to face you, lowering his hands to the arm rests, seemingly unfazed by your bold change of subject. He raises his brows just slightly. "Is that how one should ask?"

You weren't expecting his simple retort, and for a moment you're unsure how to respond. He takes your silence as an answer.

"I was very clear."

His voice is imposing, almost terse. It makes your knees a bit weak.

"I... want you to touch me," you start off low and quiet. You put more effort into your voice for the second attempt. "I want you to fuck me."

His brows flick up, then his face relaxes into an amused smirk. "I'm just not sure..."

"Please. I want you to fuck me."

"It's something in your tone..."

You let out a slow breath, barely able to keep yourself from falling to the ground and begging. You need to convince him, but you can hardly form coherent sentences, just looking into his eyes like this. A thought crosses your mind.

"I... can show you."

His gaze becomes a bit more intense. "Show me what?"

"Now that I'm not tied up, there's a lot I can show you," you say, leaning down to place a kiss on his neck.

His eyelids dip briefly, and then he pulls you into a full kiss, gripping you and pressing his thumb into your jaw.

"Do you think you've earned it?"

"I... what?" You yelp in pain when his thumb presses harder.

"I wanted you to ask me for it, properly. Now, you can beg for it."

He kisses you again, his tongue forcing itself deep into your mouth, teasing until you feel like you're going to lose your mind. You could scream, you want him so badly.

When you break apart, you're panting. "Please, let me show you how much I want it. I can make you feel so good."

You snake your hand down his chest toward the center of his body, but he stops you, catching your wrist.

He pulls you almost into his lap, gritting into your ear. "Have you forgotten your place, young one?"

Your thighs clench together. "I haven't, I..."

His hand tightens on your wrist. "Get on your knees."

You scramble out of his hold to lower yourself to the floor, looking up at him furtively to make sure you're following his instructions as intended. Once you're kneeling, he looks down at you from his seat, his posture composed.

"Better."

You stifle a groan at his encouragement, soaking between your legs.

He leans his shoulders back, spreading his arms wide in his chair, and crosses one leg over the other, with the ankle of one boot resting on the opposite knee.

"You will show proper respect."

You bounce your head in a vigorous nod. "Yes, Master."

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that word, and it's enough to let you know how to proceed. You bow your head down, leaning forward, and press a soft kiss into the heel of his boot, holding it delicately in your hand. He doesn't stop you. He just tilts his head in slight surprise.

You kiss it again, and again, and then without thinking you turn your head sideways and press your tongue flat against the tip of his boot, dragging it slowly up. The heavy notes of leather fill your mouth like a fine scotch as you continue all the way up while gazing into his eyes, which are completely fixed on you.

"That is... " He swallows. "Very good."

When you reach the top of this boot, you want to kiss him, but he's too far away. You would need to stand, and he wouldn't allow it. You place the tips of your fingers on the calf of his boot, looking up from under your lashes.

"I could lick something else for you," you tell him, tugging slightly to move his legs apart.

"Oh?" is all he says in return, his voice deep, more words seeming to be stuck in his throat as his leg follows your guidance, spreading his knees apart. His chest is rising and falling faster now.

Your hand slides between his legs and you palm him through his clothing, your pussy tightening when you feel his size properly for the first time. Your mouth is already watering, imagining tasting him.

"If you'll let me?" you ask, gripping him gently and giving a few tugs through the fabric.

His posture is still stiff, the regal curve of his chin unmoving, but you can see the way he's pressing his fingers into the arm rests. You wait for his response, and he finally gives it. He wordlessly nods, giving himself away with a bit too much vigor, his hair falling forward.

He slides a hand through his hair to put it back into place while you pull the waistband of his pants up and over the head of his cock. There's a spot on the fabric starting to soak through from the leaking at his tip, and you can't help yourself from swiping a thumb over it, watching him suck in his stomach at the contact.

You tug his trousers down further, releasing him the rest of the way, and no sooner is he free than you suffocate him with your mouth. You suck his glistening head between your lips and the taste of him makes you throb with need. You allow yourself the pleasure of swirling your tongue just once before you take him all the way, and when he hits the back of your throat it makes you rock back on your knees a little.

His hips jut upward when you slide him all the way into your hot mouth, tightening your lips around him, and you start to work the length of him, savoring every inch as you look up at him in pure worship. His gaze is locked onto your mouth, watching you swallow him over and over. His jaw is starting to slacken.

You slow your movements and watch as the tips of his fingers go white, grasping at the arm rests. He licks his bottom lip.

"Fuck," he growls, his lower teeth jutting out in a half-snarl.

You pull your mouth off him with a wet pop, dragging your fingertips over him teasingly. "Which do you prefer, Master? Shall I go slow..."

You lower your head, spreading your lips over him again and inching down his thickness with an agonizing lack of speed, sighing through your nose at the way he fills your mouth perfectly. Then you pull back up, continuing the same languid motion, and look at him again.

"...or a bit faster?"

His eyes are cloudy now, his breath ragged. He doesn't answer. He just removes one hand from the arm rest and threads his fingers through your hair, slowly guiding you back to full speed.

He groans as you quicken your pace obediently, and every thought in your mind is replaced with the image before you - your master with his eyes closed, arching forward in his seat, holding your head between his legs as you slide your mouth up and down his leaking cock.

His eyes open again and he's staring down at you with an animalistic, almost delirious expression. He twitches inside your mouth and you can tell he's near the edge. You don't want this to end. You want to keep tasting him, keep unraveling him like this forever. Without realizing it, you've slowed down, and he takes notice.

His hand grips your hair more tightly and he starts to move into you, meeting your rhythm halfway and fucking into your mouth.

He gasps, biting out raggedly, "That's it. Don't fucking stop..." as his hips start to snap forcefully, making you choke for air.

You feel his hand slide from the back of your head to the side of your neck, and suddenly he's pressing into your throat, holding you against himself, moaning your name. Your eyes shut for a moment as your senses are overwhelmed. All you can do is keep your pace, keep sucking him, keep making him feel this way so that he never, ever wants to stop. You can't remember anything before this. The only thing that matters is this moment.

His fingers stiffen below your jaw, he grinds your name between his teeth one more time, and then he cums.

He explodes into the back of your throat, making you gasp to keep breathing as you swallow him, drinking everything he pours into you. You tighten your lips to keep moving up and down while he finishes, pressing your hands flat against his lap while his hips buck recklessly against you.

His mouth falls open as he collapses back against the chair, watching you drink the last drops of him, sucking him more softly. You finally let him slide from your mouth when he twitches, spent, and you run your tongue along your bottom lip, still searching for anything left of his taste.

He lies there, panting, his legs splayed shamelessly with his wet cock still on display, while you collapse sideways, leaning on your hand, looking up at him from the floor.

He looks divine. Literally - a god. His skin glistening, his hair disheveled, and his eyes wild, he's an exquisite mess. When he seems to regain some semblance of consciousness, he looks at you questioningly, still half-dazed.

"You swallowed... all of it?"

You nod up at him, unable to speak yet.

He breathes out, "Good girl. Very good."

It's too much. You nearly moan out loud. You reach up tentatively, grasping one of his hands and pulling him out of his seat. In his satisfied state he doesnt resist and kneels next to you, the muscles of his arm doing nothing to prevent you from pulling his hand beneath your clothes and between your thighs, showing him what he's done to you.

He sucks in a breath at the feel of you dripping over his fingers. You gaze at him desperately. "Good enough to be rewarded?"

He's silent, sliding his fingers in a circle, and then murmuring to himself. "So wet..."

He brings his eyes up to yours. "You're so wet," he repeats, playing with you absently, seemingly not concerned with the way you twitch and moan at his touch.

"Please..." you sigh, chest heaving. The words come out in a hoarse, broken whisper. "Please, I need you to fuck me."

He smirks at you. "My padawan has finally learned how to properly beg."

Moments later, you're spread on the floor, his body over yours, his pants at his knees and your legs hooked around him. He's teased you into oblivion, and you're a weakened, shaking shell of your former self. Your mind is gone. Your only thoughts are sin. Your whole existence is centered on the feeling of his index finger, which is swirling over your clit and dropping back down to drag through your wetness. And all at once, your existence turns to nothingness, because he pulls his touch away.

Your world bursts back into light when he finishes taking off his shirt and leans his body over yours, sliding the head of his cock through your lips, coating himself in your slick. He shudders at the feeling, wrapping one of his hands around your thigh to steady himself.

"Tell me what you want," he rasps into your ear.

"Fuck me," you moan, repeating the only words you can conceive at the moment. "Fuck me, Master."

He slides down, resting heavily between your legs, starting to spread you open. "Say my name."

"Obi Wan," his name wrenches out of you, your brows pinching together with all-consuming need. "Obi Wan..."

"Ah, you'd better remember that," he instructs you, easing your legs apart as he slides inside you. "You're going to be screaming it by the end."

He thrusts his cock deep into you, burying himself in one fluid motion, and draws back to start delivering every inch as promised...

And the next thing you remember, you're awake.

You blink.

The room comes into focus. You're in a bed, unclothed, and wrapped in unfamiliar sheets. You sit up, slowly. You're in pain. Your head is pounding and your throat is parched.

You squint around the room, trying to clear your blurry eyes. This looks like the crew quarters of a ship.

You look down at the bed again, and you realize you're not alone. Beside you, someone is sleeping. Someone with light brown hair and a handsome profile. Someone who smells like sage and spice and comfort. Someone who looks... like...

You flinch in recognition, and it jolts the bed. Obi Wan's eyelids squeeze tightly, then flutter open. He looks at you, bleary-eyed, and makes a confused noise in his throat.

He pulls in a deep breath through his nose and sits up, the sheets falling forward from his bare chest. "Commander?"

Your pulse is racing. Your head spins while he looks around the room, the same way you did. His blue eyes fall back onto yours, wide with confusion. "What is... how did we get here?"

You shake your head. "I'm not sure. The last thing I remember, we were drugged on Oba Diah, and then..."

Your eyes widen to match his, images starting to play in your mind. He's searching your eyes, still lost, and then he lowers his gaze to your neck. He tilts his head to look closer.

"Your neck... you have a mark. It looks like a bite-"

His words stop abruptly, just as yours did, and you see the recognition on his face. He doesn't speak for a long, long time. Neither of you does. Your blood is frozen in your veins, your stomach turning.

He gathers his side of the sheets, leaning over the side of the bed as if he's about to be sick.

He whispers with no emotion in his voice, just blank despair, "What have we done?"

--

Tag List: @cosmicsierra @projectdreamwalker

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Masterlist // Next Chapter >>

[theheromira]

Nimona Movie appreciation post (Part 2 of idk how many)

Sooo, here's part 2 ^^ another pic for attention ;)

the whole first interaction of Nim and Bal is pure gold, also that "jumpscare" with the music in the background, like I already said: Christophe Beck (and everyone in the music department of the movie for that matter) did a more than amazing job

"Did it bleed a lot? Did they let you keep the old one?" Nimonas expression just XD and Bal also answering her with a "No"

Loving Nims lil laugh when she says "Little girls?" and her just casually stopping the saw with her arm

the whole interaction with that little girl/how old he thinks she is

you'd like it to stay that way, yeeaah sure, you gotta just have that one 1000+ years old child

I love how Bal says kebab

also: where did Nim get the paper, there is some gold symbols etched in, almost looks like stationary from somewhere?

"Up here"

the whole to-be-your-sidekick-speech

also great foreshadowing with the phoenix and stuff

also Bal regretting his life choices while Nim does her lil speech and then him being jumpscared by the plate she throws against the wall

also that is a veeery clean plate for that kind of dreary place but hey, I'm also a very picky person when it comes to plate (and utensil) cleanliness (just gastronomy things in my case I guess lol)

Bals face after "Or we could just… talk"

The punchable face scene lol

all the little details of the innocence-wall

"Yeees!", looks at shattered bottle he wanted to kill the intruder with (probably), throw it away

Love how she seems disappointet that he isn't a villain but sshe already decided to adopt him, so it doesn't really matter to her anymore if he is or not

"It's complicated" 1x

Character-in-a-movie-says-he-won't-do-something-only-to-do-exactly-that-in-the-next-scene-clicheé (which I always love btw)

"I love lunch" lol same

the Director is such a good actor but in retrospect I really noticed how she speaks about Bal ("someone like you could be a hero" I mean, how that flew over my head the first time around I don't really know) or to the other knights ("you act like common children" as if there is a difference between normal children and those of commoners/as if commoners are not worth as much as them)

spotting Nim in rat-form when Bal asks for a chance blew my mind the second (or third) time I watched the movie

No matter what you try, if people think one way about you, you're always gonna be that in their eyes is a lesson I also learned when I was really young and ngl that's probably one of the things that made me be a completely different person when I'm not on the internet, soo… that's also one reason I can relate and why I love this movie so much

"I gotta hand it to ya.", she says and hands him his arm lol

Violence is also a code

loving the little noise she makes after she says "You know there's no toilet in there"

the whole murder 'em/ hide scene

"That's a hard No" made me laugh way to much

that whole break out scene until "They were like this when I got here" lol best break out scene of all time

Nims joke with the club of the one armed XD also the lights reflecting in her eyes as a little foreshadowing that she's not human

Nim casually knocking out that one knight with the axe

Bal reacting to her plan like: "Of course. The old something, something, something, we win." As if he alreay knows that plan and you can't convince me that that wouldn't be because Amb likes/ liked/ used to make plans like that

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 6: Oliver's Cell

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Imprisonment, mind control, slavery, abuse

Oliver walked behind Cecily, glancing into the cells as he did so. They were small and many, and most had occupants. People laid on cots or stared off into the distance. Some watched him as he passed with sad or fearful or curious eyes. Two people were curled into balls, sobbing. A few seemed glassy-eyed, like the enthralled man behind him. One was even smiling.

They stopped in front of a particular empty cell. The cell on the right side was empty, but the woman in the left cell was looking at him with sharp, intelligent eyes. Cecily opened the door and motioned for him to go inside.

If he tried to make a run for it, could he get past the man standing guard next to him? Would it be worth it?

"Well?" said Cecily.

He stepped into the cell, and the door clicked behind him. There was a thin cot with sheets and a pillow, a faucet with a cup, a chamber pot, and a small wooden crate. The door had a small opening with a shelf, too small for an adult to climb through, likely meant to allow delivery of meals. Next to it was a little iron bell.

"There are a few rules and guidelines for you to know," said Cecily, as if reciting a script. "Meals are three times a night. Use the faucet water for drinking and washing, and use the chamber pot for toilet needs. If you need the chamber pot cleaned, place it on the shelf and ring the bell. You can also ring the bell for attention in case of an emergency, but if you abuse it, you will be punished."

Oliver nodded, trying not to think about the sheer indignity of having to do his business in a chamber pot in a tiny cell.

"Excessive noise is not allowed. Hurting yourself or others is not allowed. Disobeying a vampire is not allowed. When we need to remove you from the cell, you are not to resist, or you will be punished. When the lights are out, those are quiet hours, and disruptions will be punished."

"What's the punishment for breaking these rules?"

"Whatever suits us. This isn't a human prison where you might expect rights. You're our merchandise. Don't forget that," she said. "And now I have to attend to other matters. Be quiet and obedient and you won't be harmed."

Oliver couldn't help but laugh as she walked away. Claiming he wouldn't be harmed was quiet a thing to say when she was a vampire keeping him imprisoned. He walked over to the crate to see what was inside it -- a few old magazines and pulp novels and a ratty deck of cards.

He sat down on the cot and couldn't help but think of home, what he'd normally be doing late at night. The small apartment above his shop was tiny but cozy. He'd sit in his overstuffed chair with a mug of tea and read by candlelight until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, then he'd crawl into bed and wrap himself in blankets to sleep. 

He'd never see any of that again. Never go home. Never wake up and go downstairs to open the shop. Never hunt down a particularly interesting book. He might still be alive, but the life that he knew was over.

Just as he began to cry, the woman from the cell next door spoke. "Hey! Hey, you! New guy!"

"Yes?" he said, grateful to have someone to talk to. "My name's Oliver, what's yours?"

"Emily. Did you just get here?"

"Yes. I was taken from my shop earlier this evening," he said. Hard to believe how fast his life had changed...

"I've been here four days, I think. Are you okay?"

"No, of course not."

"Me neither," she said. "How'd you get caught?"

"A vampire entered my bookshop. She had some kind of power to paralyze me so that I couldn't get away. Then she drugged me and stuffed me into a car and drove me here."

"That's not very different from me," she said. "I'm an artist, and a man came into my studio, claiming he wanted to buy some art. He stabbed me with a needle, I passed out, and when I woke up, I was handcuffed to a pole in their examination room."

"That's awful," he said. "There's so many people here. I had no idea anything like this ever existed."

"I knew a little. My mom was a fortuneteller and she would tell me about the supernatural. I never really believed her. Guess I believe her now."

"I read so many vampire stories. I always imagined myself to be the hero in one. Instead, I'm just the fodder." He remembered something, something that had slipped his mind with everything else that had happened. "Alexander... he knew."

"Who?"

"One of the patrons of my shop. He tried to warn me to close up early. I didn't close up fast enough, and then this happened. He had some kind of mind control power... he must have been a vampire, too." Oliver's chest tightened as he realized that one of his most valued customers, the man who had bought so many of his rarest books and chatted amiably about interesting finds, was in league with these monsters. He had seemed so gentle, so mild mannered and sensible. True, he had tried to warn Oliver, but that didn't mean he didn't feed on humans.

"Maybe... maybe there's still a way for us to escape," said Emily. "I've been thinking about it, but they're so much stronger than us, and they're guarding the doors. When I tried to fight them... it was over pretty quick."

"You tried to fight them?"

"I tried to run, but they just caught me again." She sighed. "I'm not very large or athletic to begin with, you see, and the vampires have inhuman strength."

"I'm not large or athletic either," he said. "You said you've been here four days. What's it been like?"

"Terrifying but also incredibly dull, if that makes any sense," she said. "They haven't laid a hand on me since locking me up, but the woman in the cell next to me..." She hesitated.

"What happened to her?"

"She's a waitress. She got here a little before me and we had been chatting. She was really nice and would sing." Emily sounded like she was crying. "Then last night the vampires took her from her cell. She was gone a few hours. Now she doesn't talk or sing. I can hear her moving around in the cell, but she doesn't talk to me. I don't know what they did to her."

Oliver swallowed hard. "The vampire who captured me said that they were conditioning people here..."

"Conditioning? What do you think they mean by that?"

"Maybe what they did to your neighbor... maybe making us more obedient, like little drones."

"They're going to do that to me, aren't they?" she said. "They'll take me away and my mind will be gone. I'd rather be dead."

He wished he could reassure her and tell her it wasn't true, but he couldn't bring himself to say something he knew was false reassurance. The vampires could and probably would do the same to her, and if they did, there was nothing he could do about it. And they'd do it to him, too, and he'd lose his precious mind forever and be just like Emily's cellmate or the thrall that had escorted him to the cells. Part Five >> Masterlist >> Part Seven

Tag list - please note if you'd like to be added @d-cs

[pizzatowerconfessions]

Ever since i finished up the game, ive always wondered why is that the tower has so many weird decisions when it comes to the structure, building or just decorations inside the tower.

let me elaborate on that a little further; lets first start with the fact that every level you play in the game is tecnically inside the tower (perhaps that is a little obvious but whatever). At first glance, it isnt that really surprising. But what about levels that are like.. huge and look like you're actually outside the tower? like Deep-Dish 9 for example. The structure of the level is already odd enough, but at somepoint in the background, there's a huge planet in the distance and also a space pizzamart, as the game refers it. And if we think about it, that means that the tower must be HUGE, like REALLY HUGE, because how do you fit a (probably way smaller than average) planet? And there is still all the other levels and bosses too! Ill talk about The Noise's battle section because he's stupid and he's probably one of my favorite bosses in the game. Once again, the room is HUGE! Peppino is obviously not allowed to roam around these places as this is a videogame and in this case he needs to fight The Noise but if you look at the background, you'll see that there is a literal building in the background (as well as huge Noise balloons and stuff). I personally believe thats just really nuts because, once again, that shows that the tower is really big!

But back to the important part of this rant, the point is that the tower is really big and has these huge rooms full of stuff with each room having a way different theme than the other. And if we think back to the intro of the game where they sort of explain the history and context behind Peppino being in the tower, i believe its implied that the tower was not there before the events of the game. So, considering the fact that Pizzahead had to build this whole tower by himself, this makes me really wonder why is it that there is so many rooms with really random stuff and everything is built in a really odd way.

Although we do not know fully what is the intention behind the actual tower building, we do know that the tower was probably meant to protect Pizzaface/Pizzahead as he was about to destroy Peppino's Pizzeria. But i then think, why does Pizzahead need a room that's full of bacon and has a menacing pig in the background? Why does Pizzahead need a secret tunnel that leads to a pumpkin grandpa on a chair? Why does Pizzahead even need a pig city in the first place? I could go on and on about this but i guess you get the point.

And at first i thought: "Oh well, all of these levels and other things are just meant to protect Pizzahead and distract Peppino for eternity!" And although i believe that is kinda true, (its never confirmed in the game but i guess its some sort of headcanon?), in the game its confirmed that it doesnt work and if you progress in the game it means that Peppino was strong enough to get through all of the tower's obstacles. But yet, i still think there are some rooms that are just unnecessary and dont even help Pizzahead in anyways (like the bacon room, as i mentioned it earlier if im not wrong).

The closest answer i ever had to these questions was the possibility that Pizzahead was just fascinated with the idea of having a tower, so he just had all sorts of stuff in it because he was messing around and he found it amusing. If this is even true at all, which probably not since it's a headcanon of mine, i still think its pretty funny to think about Pizzahead in this way.

(a quick side note to my rant, i believe that there isn't as much Pizzahead content in the Pizza Tower fandom despite him being one of the main antagonists of the game and it would be nice if people would start making more content about him as i believe he's a really interesting character, despite how little he appears in the game.)

I wanted to clarify that im aware that im probably thinking way too much about this silly pizza game and most things are probably just there because it was funny and its also a goofy videogame. But yet i still find entertaining to overanalyze it and make all sorts of theories because i love this game that much and im sure im not the only one who gets all nerdy over this but yeah you get my point.

.

[donniesexceptionalmind]

Side note: I’m sorry for giving you so many asks

I am very close to having a meltdown/shutdown at the moment. I’ve lost one of my huge comfort items; my noise-canceling earbuds.. or at least the case. That’s the worst part. I set it down on my bed and went to eat dinner. Haven’t seen it since. After an hour of searching, I’m trying to ignore the fact that it’s lost and pretend that it’s still in my bag because I am still wearing the actual earbuds. It’s not working too well.

Is there something to help with loosing comfort items? and if you don’t mind answering another question, what do you find is the most helpful thing to do when you’re having a meltdown or shutdown (especially in social situations- ones where there isn’t a place to escape)?

again, sorry to bother you

I'm sorry to hear you lost your comfort item. Given the information you provided, it could be that you just misplaced it, which I dearly hope turns out to be the truth. /g 💜

I immediately panic when I believe I misplaced or lost a very loved comfort item.

This is not the greatest strategy for coping & it messes a lot with me because it usually means I'll have a meltdown.

If you truly lost a dear comfort item: grieve it properly & don't let anyone call you childish or extreme for being upset about it.

The answer to your second question isn't simple because if I am in a situation where I am not safe or I am not able to have a meltdown for any other reason, I dissociate.

Dissociation is a mental process of disconnecting from one's thoughts, feelings, memories, or sense of identity.

It's a survival technique to overcome traumatic/painful/frightening/dangerous situations.

I learned to cope via dissociation at a very young age & it's involuntary. I can't control it. And to all you angst lovers: no, I can not tell you the reason. This coping mechanism is the truth for many autistic people who are able to mask/camouflage their autistic traits or were forced to hide their traits.

The best solution would be to leave the situation that caused/causes the meltdown, even if you think you can't leave because socialising is involved. You need to have this meltdown or shutdown. If you bottle it up, it will come back later, more intense. Trust me, I have done this a lot.

Your safety & wellbeing are more important than any social situation.

It is also helpful to know the triggers of your meltdowns & shutdowns to prevent them. Prevention as a form of self-care (yes, you got that right), is the key, but don't let it fool you: even if you do everything in your power to prevent them, you will still melt down or shut down. Keep in mind that this is not your failure.

Also, if you have a person you trust, tell them about your struggles & maybe you can make up a sign that you need support & they can provide it by speaking up for you (it even can be an excuse for you to leave temporarily).

E.g. Nardo & me communicate via ASL in such cases.

I hope I was able to provide some advice!

[azalea-romanoff]

HAPPY AUTISM AWARENESS DAY!

First: happy autism awareness day to all my mun/mods with autism or who have characters with autism. (in my case, it's both!)

So in honour of Autism Awareness Day and month, I'd like to tell you all about my levels of autism <3

Tics and Fidgets: I'm on the spectrum such that I have a lot of tics and fidgets. Usually it's the repititions which feel nice, and it can often annoy others. I have a tendency to: click my tongue, snap my fingers, flap my hands, rock back and forth, and i make popping sounds. the more subtle tics are pulling my hair, picking my fingernails.

Poor Eye contact: Poor eye contact with me is only with people i don't know or during stressful situations. like if i'm in a meeting with Nick Fury, i'll be fine. but if i'm greeting new agents? hell no. (//ooc: i can talk to my class teacher just fine, but with maybe the delivery man, a cashier, i can't look them in the eyes.).

Abnormal Posture: ...as an agent, this is a huge no-no. the only reason i got the job is because my abnormal posture is literally me just keeping my fists clenched at all times, and keeping my left foot a bit more in front of the other. a tense fighting stance if you will. Convenient!

Anxiety: Shockingly, it's low! I only get anxious in places which are too loud or too far from home. loud places make me really anxious because it means i have too many thoughts in my head and too many things to process at a time. and being deaf, too, with hearing aids, it makes it 100x tougher. Sorry, but Azalea Romanoff-Maximoff isn't the girl you take to a party or a club.

Social Difficulty: I have moderately high social difficulty. as in, i have trouble communicating my thoughts when in big groups, and making friends is a bit...daunting as a task. And sometimes i miss on non-verbal cues like sarcasm, subtle joking, even a few metaphors here and there. So iF YOU NEED A SPECIFIC BIRTHDAY GIFT, TELL ME TO MY FACE. DON'T HINT IT-? I WILL LITERALLY NOT GET YOUR POINT.

Noise Sensitivity: ...have you met me? i am VERY sensitive to noise. Vacuum cleaners, power drills, gunshot sounds (//ooc: movies, especially), someone typing loudly on their laptop, so many of these day-to-day sounds drive me to a meltdown sometimes because it's just so annoying.

Abnormal/Flat Speech: Nope. Most people can tell how i'm feeling by my voice, except in situations where i'm confused on how to react. like if someone says they're pregnant, i'll just say 'oh, nice.' like, are you happy or sad or like-? eH???

Fixations: I have plenty. But my biggest ones? Top Three: Animals, History, Space. iF i get bored, i will literally talk about this for hours, and dare you show even an iota of interest in the same, my friend you're gonna be there a WHILE.

Depression: only on sensory overload days, or on days where i randomly get sad. a result of the anxiety, honestly. i think wayyyyy too many 'what if' scenarios.

Aggression: And finally, I'm not a very aggressive person. Only if i'm very overstimulated, if i'm not being heard, or if i'm just having a bad day in general, i might break a pencil or two. maybe throw a few books down a shelf.

BONUS: soooo i hate the colour yellow or anything that is yellow. like, i haven't ever touched a banana. my favourite colour is red, and my favourite animal is the panda. i hate the feeling of shag carpets and i don't like the feeling of nylon on skin. i don't like the scratchiness of yarn and i don't like the sound of chalk on a chalkboard. i do like the hum of an air conditioner though, and looking outside a window helps calm me down.

SO that's all about my autism! I hope i made you all aware! Reach out to any fellow autistic people you may know, and do find out about their fixations, if they're non-verbal or verbal. accept them for who they are, don't try and fix them.

autism isn't a disease. our minds are just wired differently. if you can figure out how a complex video game works within 24 hours, how hard can a person be?

🤟 love you all!

bellow is my autism spectrum evaluation results (mod's) for people who are close to me, like @moongirlwidow @wandabug @supermilkshakebanana @nevaeh-daughterofvalcarol @capt-carter-mostly-official @esmerxyaugusta and @pietro-maximoff-official <3

[authormeat]

URBAN LEGEND

Eyeless Jack Plot: The city has had a spike in urban legends coming true. Eyeless Jack is behind most of them. To think the targets are not the suburbia homes but apartments instead. Word Count: 1.4k

Warning: Description of Gore, Break-in.

Reader discretion is advised.

Urban Legends are in themselves myths. They are usually made as a warning to children who live in cities or in remote places where it's just not safe. To think one would be so close to home. The bustling city has been put into a close crisis, so close in fact they have initiated a curfew.

People have reported waking up in their bathrooms with organs missing. Kidneys, for the most part. Some have reported their gallbladder or horrifically; a lung. However, that case has been closed since yesterday. Deceased.

Standing outside your emergency fire exit the city below is eerily silent. Several people are out as well. Smoking, playing music, enjoying the gap of free time. Others have boarded up their apartments. Everything rolls in the blue hue of the night.

Clouds block the sky above, which would be drowned by the light pollution anyways, and only the small chatter keeps company. A beer is in your hand. The buzz warms your body from the cold air. In truth it's freaky, especially as many friends and co-workers have had second hand knowledge of some of the reports.

'It was in my apartment complex.' Mark Heber, missing appendix. 

'I knew them from down the street.' Katherine Rook, missing kidney. 

'She was such a sweet lady. She ran that ma and paw shop on 14th street.' Evelyn Sharon, missing kidney.

'He lived in your apartment complex.' Martin Grant, missing lung. 'Right across from your apartment.'

There were a few others. Targets of random chance, but at least never in the same place twice. Sipping the last of the cheap beer made little difference to the spike of paranoia. As the night grew darker and the people slowly retreated in for curfew the silent city stilled further. Lights are a little dimmer. Everything was blue.

Crawling back through and closing it with a soft click the T.V. helped little with how dark it was in the apartment. Shuffling over you click on a tall lamp to bring in some yellow to the drowning blue. How little it helps to comfort the anxiety. Truthfully, these murders disturb you more than any of the other Urban Legends being fulfilled. The imagery of awaking with organs missing. The numb pain which breaks through the nerves. Indescribable.

You busied the rest of your night with watching a Late Night Show. At least until your head lulled forward and the live audience's laughter drowned out the fear. Yet, even as you slept it never crossed your mind; you never did lock that window.

So, as the beast made the stalk across alleyways. Up the many stairs of fire exits and digging their gloved fingers under the window lip, only did they find one this blue night. The pull is slow, mumbling of a T.V. being the cue of any noise.

The draft flows in, snapping you awake. Looking at the window your senses kick into high gear. The first thing you grabbed was the remote to the T.V. which cut off the joke mid-sentence. Wind brushing through, whispering in your ears of danger. The apartment is no longer safe and you can recognize this.

You check your pockets for your phone scanning the living room. The space isn't big and the lamp had been shut off, causing your adjusted eyes to be blinded by the dial keyboard.

9

You fail to notice the massive figure looming in the darkness of your open bedroom door.

1

The blue mask has blended in with the surrounding hues.

1

Your alert senses fail to hear the hushed breath below the howling wind.

Pressing the dial the phone rings. You take careful footsteps toward the kitchen, which holds the front door just beyond a tiny hall. The safer option is to circle the kitchen for a weapon and run out into the hall to alert neighbors.

"911, what's your emergency?"

You check the bedroom doorway. No one is standing there. Even as you squint.

"I think someone is in my apartment." You whisper.

The voice on the other end becomes soft. "Where are you? Are you safe?" Scanning the small kitchen, nothing is hiding in the dark.

"No." You whisper your apartment complex address, as clear as one could get while you pull a knife from the block on the counter.

"Are you able to get out of the apartment? Do you know who's in there with you?"

"I live alone." The island separates you from the living room, and what lurks on the other side. "I'm heading for the front door."

"Stay on the line we're sending over to the closest dispatch who can help you, which floor are you on?"

"The 8th." The hush of hopelessness across your voice enveloped the fear.

Circling the kitchen you finally make it to the front door. Clacking sounds of sliding locks and a click from the front door knob had you so close to freedom.

Until the force of something slamming into your back.

The phone tumbles from your hand but the knife is gripped tight. Struggling to swing the weapon, a strong grip grabs your arm and wrist. Twisting it so far you're forced to let go.

A scream rips into the air for a moment until another force covers it.

"Who knew playing with food would be such a hassle." The bellowing low voice rumbles through the air. You struggle.

"I'm quite hungry, taking one organ is becoming inefficient." You struggle harder. The hand wraps tighter around your arm and face. Muffled screaming unable to reach through the thick leather of the beast's glove.

"Suppose explaining to you would be purposeless, but meat always tastes better when it’s doused in fear." The creature looms over. Pushing you against the blazing surface behind. It's too hot. The holes of the mask are dark. Where are their eyes?

"Because our time will be short I'll be binging on your organs." Breath becomes quicker, your mind is muddy from the hand covering your mouth and nose. "All of them, or at least the ones I choose to rip from your body."

The police would find the front door wide open. Blood covering the doorknob. A broken phone and abandoned knife just behind the entrance. The bloody path leads them into the bathroom.

The visceral horror of the victim's body is nothing short of brutal. The blood was encapsulated in their bathtub. For the most part.

The arms and wrists snapped and shattered. Legs ripped from their sockets and dislocated, bones twisted inside. The rib cage ripped open and muscle was missing. They would find it later having been thrown against the wall. Their throat slashed and torn, bitten as though from some sort of wild animal was on it.

Several organs have chunks missing, no parts found. Dental review of different sized teeth, canines, incisors, and molars. Humans, wolves, bears, mountain lion teeth, and many other animals. All shapes and kinds. Whatever took them wasn't human. The bloodbath of it all was contrasted with a strange, handwritten note. Left neatly folded by the edge of the tub with no blood.

"Life is a privilege for the food I choose. Cold snacks are bland in contrast to the blazing heat of adrenaline. Do remember to check the locks in your homes, even a simple window may let me inside. I was trying to play peacefully, taking only what I craved but when the cold was too much and the snack too tedious, a meal was in order. A buffet of choice, a king's meal. I am full."

There were no reports from neighbors of any sort of struggle or sound, neither down stairs nor sides. There was no footage from the halls or outdoors. There were no fingerprints to match nor DNA to save. Nothing but the blood which pooled around a clogged drain. Nothing but the victims.

The 911 call is recorded only till a loud slam is heard, then a short crunch of what would be concluded the phone being completely crushed.

The city feared the Urban Legend of finding themselves in a bath of ice. But now even more so. As it seemed the organ collector wanted more than just a donation.