#your ask is tickling my brain stem

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

hi! i was thinking about the difference in kaveh’s reaction in a parade of providence’s ending when it is alhaitham vs the traveler telling him about his father with relation to sachin. with traveler, kaveh readily and openly admits that he still feels guilty anyway. with alhaitham, he curiously doesn’t, and I wonder if that’s conscious or unconscious. Does he know, however subconsciously, that alhaitham disagrees with him feeling guilty over his father’s death, or that alhaitham was trying to help him overcome that guilt? but he is not ready to let go of it so he specifically doesn’t mention it to not provoke a discussion and give alhaitham the chance to further show him reasons why he shouldn’t feel guilty? both to avoid being swayed and more arguing about a painful topic… (or maybe he just got distracted by alhaitham’s teasing about ‘thank you’s. or maybe the teasing was alhaitham’s olive branch and a way to go back to their usual banter because he knew the new info was still not enough and kaveh wasn’t ready yet…)

anyway, just wondering about how kaveh, while having no problem discussing delicate and private matters with alhaitham (this conversation, and then when he was homeless at the tavern) presumably because he trusts him and still feels close to him in a familiar way, is very, very careful to not mention his guilt still… could also be trauma after their final thesis argument, maybe?

hiya!! thank you so much for this ask!! HAPPY ONE YEAR TO A PARADE OF PROVIDENCE!! <333

you raise extremely valid and scrummy points, thank you for giving me an opportunity to talk about this event hehehe

i think it's deliberately ambiguous as to kaveh's thinking here, as you've said, with the traveler, kaveh openly admits that although his father's depressive slump after the interdarshan championship and him joining a research project in the desert wasn't directly connected to him, rather it was sachin's influence, kaveh still believes he was the catalyst for this chain of events, and therefore he believes he is still to blame

with alhaitham, however, this mention of guilt is omitted, and kaveh thanks alhaitham for letting him know about 'all this', which reads not only as alhaitham letting kaveh know about sachin's influence over his father, but also as a reference to their discussion about their respective philosophies - with alhaitham concluding that their issue is not who is right or wrong in their approach to life, because as is concluded within this event - 'correctness' is a subjective way of thinking; alhaitham being 'right' about egoism, or kaveh being 'right' about altruism, ultimately doesn't matter, but, to alhaitham, what does matter is sacrificing oneself for the sake of a subjective ideal - this is a fate he does not want for kaveh

the difference in context between the traveller telling kaveh about sachin versus alhaitham, is that kaveh knows that alhaitham is looking into sachin but he doesn't know why alhaitham is specifically interested as he (rightfully) knows that alhaitham isn't interested in nihilism. this contradiction in alhaitham's behaviour is such an issue for kaveh that he repeatedly questions it within the remainder of the event after discovering alhaitham's note, seemingly about sachin, but addressed to kaveh in a language only they know. when the traveller reveals the news to kaveh, this context is removed, and the connection between the discovery and alhaitham is severed. the element of personal has been omitted.

when alhaitham tells kaveh the news, however, kaveh questions why alhaitham is interested in sachin's research, only for alhaitham to tell him that it isn't because of philosophies at all - it's due to sachin's connection to kaveh's father. this is personal. alhaitham is the only one who knows about the source of kaveh's guilt, in comparison to the traveller and paimon, who kaveh evaded confiding in. it's revealed to kaveh here that alhaitham has personally looked into this matter for kaveh's sake - but the question left unanswered is why?

in terms of kaveh's understanding of alhaitham, this is a pretty big deal, since kaveh interprets alhaitham as constantly criticising his ideals and his philosophies (whereas, alhaitham is actually highlighting the detriment of kaveh's pursuit of his ideals). alhaitham openly stating that they have moved on from asserting 'correctness' over each other, and that this isn't the issue, actively prompts the question of what the actual issue is - coupled with this is the impact of alhaitham's actions in this event. alhaitham leaves kaveh a cryptic note about the idealist never being able to accomplish happiness for themselves if they detriment themselves for the sake of achieving happiness for others, which kaveh (rightfully) doesn't understand in relation to sachin. and then alhaitham reveals to kaveh that he looked into his father's disappearance, and kaveh is not the sole instigator as he believes himself to be.

your point about kaveh's guilt never openly being discussed is crucial here i think in terms of subtext. the source of his guilt, being his belief he lead to his father's passing, is questioned by paimon and the traveler, to which kaveh evades telling them. alhaitham is the only person who does know the reason kaveh detriments himself in his altruism, as shown in their argument in their akademiya days. alhaitham looking into sachin must tell kaveh something, but again, it isn't revealed exactly what kaveh thinks, and alhaitham never reveals the reasons why he looked into it, and what he hopes to achieve.

although i think this is more due to narrative reasons, the wounds left from their argument are definitely a factor in this evasion of mentioning kaveh's guilt - a parade of providence deliberately highlights the miscommunication between alhaitham and kaveh, and this is solely due to their past argument. kaveh not mentioning his guilt could be because he doesn't fully understand why alhaitham has looked into this incident for his sake, and alhaitham says nothing more about it because he knows it's still too early for kaveh to process - narratively, i think this is what's at play here

alhaitham teasing him is definitely a way to revert back to their normalcy, however, i also think it serves as a distraction - and it works!! kaveh is relatively cheery in comparison to how upset (as described by paimon) he is when the traveler tells him the news. narratively wise, i think it's a good place to leave it as nothing is inherently confirmed - the potentiality for kaveh and alhaitham separating is eradicated; kaveh and alhaitham continue living with each other, and kaveh is seemingly no longer intent on moving out of alhaitham's house, having thanked alhaitham for his words, rather than finding them 'infuriating'. this is an open ending and gives their narrative arcs freedom to potentially (hopefully) be developed in the future

(from the leaks, i'm going to say that the 'good' ending, or the ending that coincides with the arc that these characters are undertaking, is the ending in which it is alhaitham who tells kaveh of sachin's involvement with his father - i'll have more to say about this at another time!!)

Thank you again for your ask?? Your points were really insightful into their messy little psyches!! Everything you said rings true <333

[autisticempathydaemon]

Hi! If you're still doing the ask pairing thingy, here's my submission! This is kind of a lot of stuff, so a quick apology for the Sheer Volume of Said Stuff, and let's get into it!

Do you love gargantuan Youtube video essays, and if so, which is your favorite and why?

Channeling the Idiotic Nerd Energy here, but hear me out:

Mathy video essays are my lifeblood. What can I say, rat brain craves sustenance. These are two of my favorites.

This is an hour-long essay on the continuity of splines, and Holy Shit. It tickles the few braincells I have left in the most wonderful ways... (Cool stuff!!)

https://youtu.be/jvPPXbo87ds

This one's a little shorter, but it explores the basis and applications of a different number system than the reals, known as "p-adic numbers." (Also cool stuff!!) Scratches the brain cell SO GOOD.

https://youtu.be/3gyHKCDq1YA

What song are you fixated on at the moment? What lyric or verse, and why?

И ты пытаешься снова дать очень дельный совет мне/Но я бы твоему рту предложил лучше скотч.

(Trans. You're trying again to give me such wise advice, but I'd offer that your mouth is better suited for scotch.)

The above lyrics are from 19 by ssshhhiiittt! (Fantastic song, though a little depressing). My russian is limited, but I Love this Song. This lyric, along with the rest of the verse, stands out to me because it captures the feeling of needing to change in some way, but nobody is giving that advice that you need; the advice that is pertinent.

Re: the Bois

As for the Bois™, I was never able to vibe with Asher or David (at least, not in a romantic sense.) Nothing against them, just not that into them. Platonically, I would forcibly befriend Lasko for nothing but "nefarious" reasons (DnD and hyperfixation talk).

Re: Eepy Talky Subjects

I get eepy and talk about either fountain pens or pretty dice. They bring so much joy to the rat brain. I could talk about fountain pen inks and bodies and makes and models until the universe dies, probably don't quote me on that though.

Tell me about that one book/movie/tv show you know all the words to.

I could probably recite most of Fantasy High or The Unsleeping City (both season 1) off memory. They're both part of Dimension 20, a live-play DnD show hosted on Dropout, and just, *chef's kiss*. Brennan Lee Mulligan (the GM) is a goddamned national treasure.

Other stuffs

Other than this, I'm just. A Guy. I'm studying to be a math teacher and I'm a type 5 on the Enneagram. I can tend to be a nervous wreck, and I also have Extreme Cool Guy Syndrome (my doctor says it's called ADHD.) So, ye! Have fun deciphering this trainwreck of an ask!!

Oh, we abso-fucking-lutely stan a couple in STEM. The nervous math teacher and the soft-spoken technician- you and Anton would be a great pair.

Type Five’s are characterized as inquisitive, innovative, and intellectual; it can be so fun to pair Fives with together because you’ll learn so much from each other and it’ll be flirting! Maybe even do the flirting in Russian, because that definitely was a factor in my complex, matchmaking algorithm.

Anton seems like the type who would love to listen and absorb, to pass the minutes hearing about the hyperfixation of the moment. Your students, math, dice sets- I don’t believe this man’s ever played a single session of a TTRPG in his life, but he’d try just because of the way your face lights up when you talk about it.

Song:

So, please, you must have faith in me/ There's no place, I'd rather be than home with you/ Where all is safe and warm/ But now I need to fight this storm

I’ve obviously got to plug my favorite Russian-singing boy. What can I say? Rybak is a dreamboat, and 5 to 7 can work really well for Anton missing you while he’s sequestered away at ETS. (Ignore the sad bit. Don’t listen to the third verse, or do! Maybe you’re an angst with a happy ending kind of babe.)

Runner-Ups:

Gavin, I like for you because I think he would be immensely charmed by the ADHD, nerd energy. Like with Lasko, there’d be so many teaching double entendres. Guy, I also like because he strikes me as a TTRPG kind of guy. He’d love actual play podcasts and series, and his chaotic energy would be great for improv if he actually played.

Note: oh my love you don’t need to tell me who Brennan Lee Mulligan is I worship and serve at the altar of Adventuring Academy 💌

Want a match-up of your own? Read this post, and tell me about yourself! 💌

[sweetdreamsbuck]

I was just re-reading you deserve a soft epilogue, my love and this popped up on my pinterest home page:

https://pin.it/1gHYpch

and I thought if Bucky was roaming the farmers market by himself, these looked like the type of arrangement he’d get for you when he stumbled across them 🥰🌹🌸🌷🌻🌼💐 and if it’s in the beginning he’d be all shy giving them to you.

in layman's terms

beefy bucky x f!reader (you deserve a soft epilogue, my love AU)

warnings: slight angst, entirely too much fluff

wc: 2k!

a/n: this is the first thing i've written in months. i'm feeling a lot of emotions, i really thought i'd never share something on here again– but i'm thankful my brain let me think on the sweetest boy for a brief moment in time. and a special thank you to my Col for always encouraging me and being the best cheerleader ever <3

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

The uneven cobblestone streets seem just a bit more solid under Bucky’s heavy boots.

Walking swiftly through the once frightening streets of Bucharest, his careful gait grounds him steady along the known trek, and the low bun laced with your hair tie bounces against his neck as an annoying reminder of the heat– just a couple more errands and he’ll be home with you. A few loose tendrils tickle his skin as his feet briskly carry him towards a cart he remembers you stealing glances at, several times, during your countless walks together.

The smell of honey and loaves of fresh bread swirl by him as he strides past more meaningless produce and knickknacks alike, pondering why you’ve never asked to grab a quick bite and stop to actually admire the flowers now directly in his line of sight.

The crowding of somewhat blurry and familiar faces doesn’t seem to bother him the way it used to– no reason to cause him to cower, to keep his head down with the threat of being seen.

Bucky has you to turn to, to encourage him when he needs reminding of who he is. He has you to go home to. He never imagined walking so weightlessly.

Still as alert as ever, the looming threat of danger is never something that will leave him; but he no longer needs to worry about being unsure of himself in this small bit of his routine. The cart appears right in front of him quicker than he expected, his walk seeming all too short when you’re not there to enjoy it with.

The sun beats down on him with a cool breeze, kinder than it’s been in a very long time– maybe, that’s why a faint smile has been stretched across his lips since he left his apartment. Maybe, that’s why he doesn’t pay any mind to the kids playing a rough game of tag or the loud arguing of the people just behind him. He feels a calm kindness meant for him; Bucky breathes along with it.

The breeze follows his content steps and at the prospect of one of your “secret” joys– one where he finds himself alone and able to indulge in his own selfish desire of loving you–, the flowers and stems you always gleam at, bustling with their vibrant hues of corals and luxurious creams, immediately caught his eye.

The blush of the petals reminds him of the sound of your honeyed laugh; the ghostly whites nestled between an almost neon green array of garnish indulge him with the fuzzy feeling of melting inside your sweet embrace.

Everything seems to remind him of you. Lovely and nothing short of exquisite. It would be sinful if Bucky didn’t buy these– you’re deserving of something almost as telling of your effervescent glory.

Even now, walking alone, the small walkways between seas of overbearing people and bruised fruit now sound of only delicate fingers held tightly in his; of soft whispers nestled just behind his ear only for him to hear; of those hidden kisses teasing at his neck, crashing against the life of his pulse.

Bucky reaches for the arrangement without a doubt in his mind.

“And who might these be for?” the smirk rests playfully in the florist’s brown eyes before Bucky even notices someone standing right there, watching him. It wasn’t meant to be patronizing, but embarrassment and something naggingly familiar floods his chest. The sudden swell is all too warm and somehow, anxieties of being questioned by an unknown person aside, it’s welcomed.

Almost as if he was a 14-year-old boy again. Almost as if he felt his ma’s voice taunting him while she stood over the stove, stirring his favorite afterschool soup in her dented pot and prodding him about the crush she heard him and Steve giggling about.

“My girl. Uh, well my gir– she…”

Girl? His girl?

Did he really say that out loud?

But that wasn’t what had Bucky’s brain diving headfirst 100 miles per minute into the depths of his chest trying to revive the unrelenting muscle.

No, it wasn’t girl. It was the two-letter guarantor of possession sitting right before it.

My.

What were you? Surely, he was yours– wholly and completely.

But what were you?

Looking at the delicate velvet petals brush against his glove– a lot of things, Bucky realizes.

Sunrise and sunset. Understanding. Fresh air. Relief. The bundle of pale petaled softness tucked safely within his black leather gloves. An angel. His angel– his girl.

There was never a defining title placed on it, but hell if he’d let that stop him from claiming something so necessary for once in his damn life.

“They remind me of my girl. And she’ll love ‘em.” His confidence hardly surprises him– these flowers reek of you. How you lay nestled against him at 3 in the morning under cream sheets with the pale white of the moon dusting the tops of your cheekbones, your hands tracing shapes along the scars of his back. How your eyes crinkle looking right at him and that calming, gentle sound that fills the air as you tell him all about your dreams, your fears, your joys.

Bucky could already die a happy man from the overwhelming thought of you, grabbing for the bouquet with the most precious of hands, smiling down at the soft peach petals then up at him with those eyes– like he just handed you the damn keys to every castle in the world.

“Must be a pretty special beauty then, huh?”

Bucky could feel the boyish pink flooding his stubbled cheeks, out of his control and entirely too revealing. And for once, his flustered state doesn’t deter him from looking an intrusive stranger in the eye.

Maybe if you were there with him, that blinding light and stunning glow that seemed to follow you and infiltrate every last molecule of the very air he breathed, he’d find his words.

You’d be there, looking up at him while he stumbled through the sludge of muddled thoughts and feelings, gracious fingers stroking soothingly at the nape of his neck as he laid his heart out for you and only you.

But you weren’t. And how was he meant to explain to a person he had no interest in revealing any part of himself to that his angel was the very strength powering the flow of the waters of the earth; the very life twinkling, lighting the night sky?– That reducing her to a “pretty special beauty”, while undeniably true for every commoner to see, was the closest thing Bucky could think to being an insult?

With a quiet sniffle and a shake of his head, Bucky’s tearful smile told the kind stranger all he couldn’t seem to articulate with words.

No. You don’t understand– she’s not… she isn’t a pretty special beauty. That’s lazy. Words can’t describe what it’s like lookin’ at her, bein’ near her. Bein’ looked at and loved by someone so divine. She’s not… there’s no preparin’ yourself for her. She is beauty.

His ma would be out of her mind with emotions– Bucky knows now, looking into the knowing eyes of this stranger. It’s all she ever wanted for him.

The florist only smiles, handing Bucky the perfectly paper-wrapped bundle with a quick “It’s on me, hope she enjoys them.”

His walk home has an extra incentive of speed in his step. The colors of garments people wear blend together in a frantic flurry with the elements of nature around him, everything a blur but the ingrained compass guiding him home– the promise of his girl waiting there for him.

Milling over every possible way he can present these flowers to you, the most pathetic attempt at showing you a fraction of the way you plague his every breath– there’s no right way to hand these to you.

No. Bucky wishes he could piece together his thoughts eloquently enough to offer his love in the way he so desperately wants to. If he could place his words as well as he’s learned to with his emotions…. Maybe, between the distant scribbles of things he quickly jots down as fleeting memories of a distant time, Bucky could find himself writing the words this beauty of his has gifted him.

Feeling.

Bucky’s no poet, not much of a talker, either. But you make him feel things with the clarity of crystal glass.

Delicate, fragile, sparkling things. Maybe, feeling is just enough.

Maybe, his girl and all the violent thoughts he has surrounding her– how she’s the embodiment of radiance, the very definition of the most torrential depths of beauty– is just enough for Bucky. And he plans to worship the feeling of knowing your beauty for the rest of his days.

The gods above only know the tenderness your soul has granted him. The understanding that there’s more to life than pain; finding that self-healing he’s been able to strive towards with your patient encouragement.

Bucky has no more time to think about how he’ll offer these to you. You open the door the second you hear his hurried and frantic stomps bypassing the elevator, rushing the many flights of stairs 4 steps at a time.

“Bucky what’s–”

“I love you,” never have words been so easy, so heavy and at home in his chest. He exhales them so certainly, hoarse and breathless forming so perfectly between the pink plump of his lips. “I’m so in love with you. And I saw these and needed you to have ‘em.”

He never gets the chance to bashfully feel the weight of actions, doesn’t get to admire the love swimming in your eyes, the tears threatening to spill with that gaze you know there’s no controlling when it comes to him– you rush forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that nearly launches his anxious heart straight into the sanctuary of your palms. Breath escapes him for more reasons than one, melting under your honest passion and the need to have him– to love him as he is. His metal arm latches around your waist, pulling you as close as you can get while standing in his small doorway trying to protect a bouquet of flowers from being crushed.

His hand drifts up your side, caressing the figure he reveres as nothing less than shattering to capture your face. Bucky’s certain he’ll faint from the thrill of feeling you, from the need to keep tasting you– drifting, spinning, floating. It warms you both from the inside out, numbing the sound of the outside world and replacing it with the pulse of need rushing through your veins. It’s so good– forever needing more, more, more him.

How is it never enough?

Cradling his world between his fist, Bucky tilts your head, his restless lips hungrily breathing in you despite the fact you’re both dizzy, on the verge of collapsing and only still standing because of the other. His gloved-metal thumb swipes away the few tears that have fallen, brushing tender strokes into the high point of your cheek.

Soft moans rumble low in his chest, rising and rising to plead for more– the need to always feel your soft lips move so desperately against his, warm tongues claiming the unbridled desire to never stop– he’ll tell you he loves you with every breath he breathes, or the ones only you could steal from him so sweetly.

When you reluctantly break away his lips move to chase yours, and the red flush staining his flustered love-dazed face is enough to make you cling tighter to the back of his neck, pulling him back down to press kiss after kiss over his shy, boyishly babbling face.

“Bucky… they’re absolutely beautiful, baby.” Oh, he knows. He knows all too well– and the breathless way your voice calls for him, those eyes rendering him the most helpless-in-love man of all time– well. He’s an earnest devotee of this fate.

“You’re the beauty in life, angel.”

💐

[certifiedskywalker]

Neurogenesis - Charles Xavier

It was never meant to happen. He thought it was impossible and you were both far too busy leading overly complicated lives. Where was the time?! Between the school and saving the world, where did a little family fit in? Your little family.

WARNINGS: mild cursing, scientific/clinical language, and pregnancy

Something was changed in you. Though, arguably, it would be easier to determine what remained the same after the beach in Cuba. What once were steadfast facets of Charles’ life were twisted beyond recognition like a piece of metal warped by Erik’s hand or the sudden divergence of a bullet’s path. At the thought, Charles felt his back ache. The pain pulled his attention from your figure and towards his still legs.

“And it’s finished!”

Hank, a blur of blue fur, rose up from behind one of the lab tables. Charles raised a brow at the scientist before he flicked his gaze over to you. You eyed whatever Hank had been working on while hidden behind the table before you met Charles’ gaze. His own mouth quirked upwards instinctually as you looked at him. Charles could never not smile when you looked at him like that: eyes full of love and the softest hints of a grin on your lips.

“Here you are,” Hank said as he rolled a shining, new wheelchair out from behind the table. “I should have thought about a joystick control before. Just been a bit...out of it.”

“It’s alright,” Charles replied, waving Hank’s worry away with a hand. “We’ve all been adjusting to this new normal.”

Nothing feels normal anymore. Your voice rang through Charles’ head like a sweet song despite the bitter truth of your words. 

He tilted his head towards you and met your eyes with a knowing look. It will soon, darling, I promise.

Always the optimist, you telepathically replied before you returned to the files spread out on the table before you. Charles watched you carefully, still trying to pinpoint what exactly was different. Your thoughts and voice were clear but something was...newer. Sharper.

Hank sighed, pulling Charles’ attention back to him. His thick, blue arms were held out towards him, waiting to move Charles from chair to chair. “Are you ready?”

Charles swallowed hard but nodded up at his beastial friend. “I don’t think I’ll quite ever get used to being carried around.”

“Just need to adjust to the new normal, Professor,” Hank echoed with a wry, lopsided smile. Against his newly blue skin, his teeth, especially the longer canines, looked more yellowed. But the awkward joy that Hank exuded with his signature half-smile remained a constant despite his altered appearance. 

“Yes,” Charles agreed as Hank scooped him up from his old wheelchair. 

As he was lifted, Charles caught your eyes again. You held the same love in your eyes he saw moments before but something danced along the edges. It wasn’t pity at the sight of him or his more-less limp body in Hank’s arms. No, Charles had told you in hospital that he did not want you to weep for the loss of his legs. The strain his new condition added to your relationship would be enough to bear. 

Was it worry perhaps? With your ability to block him from reading your mind, you always left him with so many questions. He joked about how, while you could speak to each other telepathically, communicating each other’s thoughts remained just as difficult as it was for average couples. Couples without powerful mutations, that was.

That did not stop Charles from trying to read you though. In fact, he enjoyed the mystery. Even as Hank placed him in his new chair and you watched with that strange, mixed expression, Charles felt a twinge of wonder. He could study you, love you, forever if the world allowed him to. He so wish that it would.

“How does it feel?” Hank asked once he stepped back to admire his work. Charles looked from you to Hank to the new chair’s joystick. Tentatively, he wrapped his fingers around the knob and pushed it forward. With a small heave, the chair moved in the direction Charles pointed it in: right towards where you stood.

You laughed as Charles rode quickly over to you. He stopped immediately in front of you and looked up with an expectant glint in his blue eyes. Your smile widened at the sight and you reached a hand to his face. When your palm pressed against his cheek, Charles turned his head to lean into your touch. His eyes closed to savor the feeling of your skin on his.

“Looks like it works great, Hank,” you mused before leaning closer to Charles. “And you look very handsome, dapper even.”

“Dapper? I was expecting a very different descriptor,” Charles jested as he opened his eyes. He grinned when he saw your eyes widen slightly and your hand moved to trail through his hair. For a moment, Charles was so immersed in you that he did not feel the mystifying newness that seemed to glow about you.

It was only you, and then, as Charles drank in your form, it suddenly wasn’t.

“You can’t say that in your heads?”

“Where’s the fun in that, Hank? We don’t get to see your face of disgust,” you teased, looking up at the scientist. 

Charles would have gladly joined in but he could not ignore the small, bright sparks that stemmed from new neurons. Each one burned in his brain but not with thoughts he could read. There were only hints of tactile feelings and very base sounds that seemed to echo in some pitch black void. Despite the darkness, Charles was not afraid. It was not a fearful dark, but warm, almost comforting in some strange way.

“Funny. Well, I have to run this upstairs to Alex,” Hank sighed, holding up a energy blast channeling disc. “Don’t break anything in my lab.”

“It’s the school’s lab,” you countered. 

“Y/N.” Charles reached his hands up to your hips, trying to grab your attention.

“It’s basically Charles’ lab,” you continued as Hank walked away. 

Charles shook his head and rested his hands on your sides. Beneath his fingers and your clothes, he could feel the warmth of your flesh that mirrored the sparks of newness he felt in his mind. Before you turned your head to look at him, your hands moved to rest on top of Charles’. When you finally focused on him, Charles felt his stomach lurch.

“Y/N…”

“What is it?”

Then Charles saw it in your furrowed brows, feeble frown, and, mostly, in your eyes: nothing. There was no recognition or masked emotion. After a few seconds of silence, your expression grew grim, more worried. Your hands held his tighter and squeezed.

“Charles?”

“You don’t know,” Charles breathed. His eyes fell from yours to your joined hands, your sides, then to your abdomen. In his mind, little flickers of light like firecrackers sparkled in the warm void that surrounded him. “I can’t believe this.”

“Charles,” you whined, “you’re scaring me. What is it? Are you alright?”

“Am I...I’m fine, Y/N, are you,” he met your gaze, “you’re pregnant.”

Your worry melted away as a laughed rumbled up from your stomach and out of your mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I can see inside the embryo’s forming neurons. I can feel the neurogenesis occurring in utero, the very forming of the brain.”

“Wh...it wasn’t, it isn’t possible. Our mutations, they aren’t compatible,” you stepped back and dropped Charles’ hands. “This is impossible, right?”

You met Charles’ eyes and, at his silence, all he could see now was the panic. He did not need to read your mind to know how fast your overwhelming thoughts were racing through your head. Carefully, he reached out to again, desperate to calm you. You did not move to meet him in the middle. Instead, you braced yourself against the lab table behind you.

“Hey, hey, breathe, darling,” he cooed. “It will be alright.”

“Alright?! Charles, you can’t be serious! We can adjust to a new normal, to a life without Raven and Erik and your legs, but a baby?!” You lifted your hands to hold your face and, for the first time in his life, Charles felt utterly powerless. 

His lips fell into a frown and stinging tears began to gather behind his eyes as he took in the sight of you. Gently, he pressed the joystick of his chair forward to get closer to you. When he was close enough, Charles reached a hand up and wrapped his fingers around your forearm. With all the tenderness he had, he pulled your arm away which peeled your hand from your face. Tears rolled down your cheeks and Charles wanted nothing more to reach inside your mind to steal them away; or fully share in them. 

He wasn’t sure which would help more. All he wanted to do was help, but he did not know what to do or what to say. So, he did the first thing he thought of and pulled you towards him. Wordlessly, Charles guided you into his lap so you could sit and so he could hold you.

You melted into him so naturally. Your head fell to his shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist instinctively. Charles pressed his face into the crown of your head, savored the feeling of your hair tickling the skin of his face. It was a comforting contrast to the wetness of your tears that soaked through his shirt to the skin of his chest. He closed his eyes and just held you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

You lifted your head from Charles’ shoulder and let your red-rimmed eyes meet his gaze. I love you too, I love you. I’m just-

“You don’t have to explain,” Charles interjected aloud, “and I’ll support whatever you decide to do. I’ll be here for you, always. Alright?”

His hand lifted to your face and brushed against the peak of your cheek before his fingertips traced down to your neck. You nodded quietly and Charles leaned in, grazing your lips with his. After a moment’s hesitation, you reciprocated, your arms linking behind his neck to draw him in further. It was a long kiss of comfort that tasted of sweet love and salted tears.

When you parted, Charles pressed his forehead to yours and let your noses knock gently together. He did not want to pull away so completely, he did not want to leave any unnecessary distance between you. So much had changed and left your lives so quickly that Charles could not bear the thought of separating from you. Not now, not even a little bit.

So, you both sat in silence and pressed as close as possible to each other. Eventually, your breathing evened out and Charles was able to check in on the new neurons that sparkled with growth. There was no denying it was there. A small piece of you and Charles made physical. It felt surreal, beyond even his total comprehension. 

“Does that mean, in Cuba,” you began, pulling your face from Charles’. You did not have to continue for Charles to understand.

“Yes, most likely,” he replied, “but it seems fine. Healthy, alive.”

“I don’t know how to feel about that, about this.” Charles nodded and tilted his head up to press a kiss to your forehead. “First it’s the school, the X-Men, the world, and now...this.”

Against his will, Charles smiled against your forehead before he moved away to look into your eyes. “And now this.”

You gave Charles a small, hopeful smile. It was enough to make his heart swell and his chest ache with pure adoration. He leaned forward again, pressed another kiss to your lips and lingered. The soft scent of your soap and the warmth of your body against his overwhelmed his senses. Through it all, he could still sense the flickering shocks of budding cells.

He entertained the thought of normalcy, of raising a child with you. Charles would be lying if he did not admit he wanted it, wanted it as badly as he wanted to prepare the school. But he wanted you more. Forever if the world would let him. 

[reidandweep]

Stitching

Spencer Reid x Reader (female)

A/N- Much like Adam Driver, I have been a huge fan of Matthew Gray Gubler and criminal minds for years. With quarantine, I decided to re-watch the show from the beginning and I had some inspiration. My writing tends to take a while but if you have any requests or idea for Spencer Reid, please send them my way.

Word Count- 6286 words

Warning- Angst, mentions of violence and torture, fluff, tears, and the usual criminal minds details.

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? -William Shakespeare.

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

“Good morning my lover and friends. As of 8:45 am, yesterday morning, four bodies have been found across the Washington State area. Locations confirmed to be Pomeroy, Baker City, Salem, and Mill Creek. All victims were very similar in physical appearance; Caucasian, red hair, brown eyes, approximately 5ft 4’.”

Garcia swiped her tablet to display family photographs of the victims on the screen. The team watched, in the debriefing room, as they scanned through their own tablets; reading through the details. Spencer’s eyes flittered over the images as his fingers scanned across the words in his paper file; still adamant on not working with technology like the rest of his team.

“What about the cause of death? How were they found?”

Garcia shivered at Rossi’s question.

“It’s not a pretty image. Each victim was dismembered at the elbows, knees, neck, and stomach. Further cuts were made vertically down the stomach and across the face, arms, and legs. Not deep enough to cut through bone, but deep enough to bleed out. Where the unsub cut our victims, he then sewed them back together.”

Emily looked up at Garcia.

“Are you saying the lacerations were made before the victim’s died?”

“Precisely. Each autopsy report came back the same with the cause of death pointing to the direction of blood loss; specifically, from the throat.”

The team looked at the new images before them. Multiple pictures appeared on the screen, showing the bodies of the victims. The pictures showing the women laid out in the same pose, thick thread holding together the pieces of their corpses. All had their eyes closed, except one.

“Garcia, the last victim, zoom into her face.”

Garcia did as Spencer asked.

“Her eyes are closed.”

Spencer nodded, glancing towards JJ as she spoke.

“Meaning that he felt remorse for this murder.”

Derek scrolled through the pictures on his tablet.

“The other three victim’s eyes are open, indicating that he wanted them to look. To watch what he was doing, whatever it may have been.”

Spencer looked across the table at the questioning faces.

“So, what changed between the third and the fourth victim?”

Hotch stood from his seat, indicating the others to grab their belonging.

“We can discuss further on jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

WASHINGTON STATE

Being greeted by the local police department in Clagstone, Spencer and the team began their investigation into the murders. Spencer did not know what it was, but the stitching on the bodies felt familiar. Like he had seen them before.

Looking up from his files, Spencer watched as Derek walked into the room, ending a call with who he could only presume to be Garcia.

“Garcia has just completed background checks on our latest victim. Lily Trent visited local film screenings at the Southview Centre religiously, to watch horror movies in particular. Seems like the girl loved anything horror and Halloween; according to her roommate and her computer history. It seems that are other victims did also.”

Spencer stood from his seat and walked towards the whiteboard at the back of the room. Writing down the details Derek stated, his brain began to filter through the relevant information needed.

“Halloween is ranked the ninth most celebrated holiday in the world. With different interpretations of the holiday occurring according to country and culture. Wearing costumes at Halloween did not even become an occurrence until 1585, with the first instance recorded in Scotland.”

Derek chuckled at Reid’s excitement. He knew the boy loved Halloween.

“Well it all looks like they were pretty huge fans of the holiday and horror films. Maybe our unsub was too.”

Spencer looked down at the photos in his hand, scanning his memory for any correlation.

“Maybe, it’s not just horror, but a particular film. If all the victims were presented in a certain way, maybe the unsub is trying to replicate what happened to a character in a particular film.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ll call Garcia to search through all the victims search history to see if any particular horror films come up in each one. Do you know of any films that the unsub could have replicated?”

Spencer shook his head.

“I can collate his actions to hundreds of films but, the method of torture and look of the victims, I can’t think of one horror feature that pinpoints all that the unsub has done.”

A thought unexpectedly popped into Spencer’s mind. Derek cocked his head at the sudden halt from the resident genius.

“But I know someone who might.”

UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON

“The importance of genre in film alters many of the other aspects. The characters and their narrative arcs, the music score, cinematography, the edit, and so much more. Sometimes genre even dictates the director who signs onto the project. Dennis Dugan would not have a directing career if Adam Sandler stopped making comedy movies. Because that is what he directs. He doesn’t direct comedies; he directs Adam Sandler comedies. Which, in my opinion, are a whole genre on their own.”

The class chuckled.

“Genre plays a part in everyday life. Sometimes, your day will be led by romance, or grief, or action. There may be drama, or comedy, or even silence.”

The class looked on in concentration as Y/N walked across the floor. If someone who did not attend the college walked past the classroom, they could’ve presumed that she was a student. She looked young enough.

“It controls the way the characters talk, act, and move. How the plot thickens and pushes forward and…”

The doors at the back of the auditorium opened. Y/N looked up at the sound of the intrusion to see figures that she could not recognise, and one that she did.

Clearing her throat, she continued.

“And how it even ends. We shall leave it at that today. What I want you to do in the meantime is research a genre in particular and come up with examples that counteract the stereotypes that have been enforced upon the genre itself. Hand it in to your professor first thing Monday morning. Thank you.”

Y/N watched as the students collected their things and filtered out of the room. The figures waiting till she was only left before they walked down the steps.

Coming to a stop in front of her desk, Y/N crossed her arms and waited. Spencer stepped forward with a crooked smile on his face.

“Hi Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle.

“Long time no see stranger.”

Spencer’s cheeks burned at Y/N’s words. The team shared looks between them at the unfamiliar display. They had seen Spencer blush at people before, but not for a long time.

Spencer cleared his throat, preparing himself to act professional.

“This is Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N. Y/N travels across the country to guest speak at different universities on her topic at hand. She specialises in film studies, more importantly the focus of characters and genres. If I can’t connect the unsub’s actions to a film, Y/N most definitely can.”

Y/N smiled at Spencer’s praise.

“Nice to meet you all. So, what are you here to talk to me about Doc? Obviously, you’re here on a case and if you are asking for my help, I’m guessing it’s going to be pretty gruesome.”

Spencer blushed at the nickname; caught off guard by the word slipping of her tongue.

Sending a raised look towards Reid, Hotch began to explain why they were there.

“Were looking into a case of connected murders. All victims were found to have been mutilated and tortured in the same way. As well as showing resemblances in their physical appearances. With research, we’ve found that each victim was particularly fond of horror films and Halloween. We would just like for you to take a look and see if you could recognise if the ways in which they were harmed stemmed from a film in particular.”

Y/N nodded her head.

“Of course, anything to help.”

She reached for the files from Spencer’s hands, ignoring the tablet pushed in her direction by JJ.

“Sorry, I prefer to use paper. I only really use technology for my lectures or to watch films if they cannot be purchased in physical form.”

Derek smirked, shooting looks to his team, as his eyes landed on Spencer. He never thought he would meet a technophobe like Reid.

Y/N scanned through the pictures and documents, looking in detail at the lacerations at hand. She identified the similarities between the victims, as her mind swirled through the images and characters from the films, she knew held similarities.

“What were the names of all the victims?”

Emily looked towards the woman.

“That information is classified.”

Y/N did not blink at her abrasiveness.

“Were any of them called Sally?”

The team looked perplexed at her question.

“No. Why that name in particular?”

Y/N continued to scan the pages as Rossi questioned her.

“Because the unsub isn’t replicating anything from a horror movie. The unsub is replicating the physical appearance and staging of a character from an animated movie. A Disney one to be more specific.”

A light bulb flickered in Spencer’s mind as he stared at Y/N in realisation. The hair colours. The stitches. It made sense now.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

LOCAL POLICE DEPARTMENT

“The Nightmare Before Christmas is a 1993 American stop-motion animated musical Halloween-Christmas fantasy film directed by Henry Selick and produced and conceived by Tim Burton. It became a cult classic during the early 2000s with orchestral concerts occurring every year to celebrate the spectacle of the film.”

Spencer indicated for JJ to change the monitor as he and Y/N stood in front of the team to explain the information.

“Originally, the story began as a poem written by Tim Burton. Both narratives follow the protagonist, Jack Skellington, into his journey to Christmastown, and how he tries to make Christmas his own. The character in question that your unsub is replicating is the love interest of our protagonist. Created by Dr Finkelstein, Sally is a ragdoll-esque character whose body is covered with stitches to keep her together. The form in which all the women were found is identical to this scene in the movie.”

The screen changes to show the scene in question; paused at the precise moment to prover her point.

“All red haired, all Caucasian, all eerily the same. The stitches are exactly the same and the pose in which they are in the pictures are also.”

“We now know which film our unsub is mimicking, but how can we produce a distinguished profile of our unsub? All we can say is that between his third and fourth victim, he suddenly began to feel remorseful of his crimes.”

Y/N looked towards Spencer, waiting for him to speak as he knew more details about the case.

“Garcia checked into the victim’s computer histories and found that all four victims attended a horror convention in the Washington state area over the course of the past month. The convention in particular runs every other weekend, focusing on different horror films to highlight. However, they always make an exception for one film; The Nightmare Before Christmas. Whilst reviewing receipts for the tickets, they were all brought through the convention’s website, which is run by its board of organisation every year. Up until recently, the board has held the same members.”

Derek tapped on his tablet to the convention’s website.

“Last month, the website released details stating that a distinguish member was no longer part of the board due to unforeseen circumstances.”

It suddenly dawned on Y/N who Derek was talking about.

“Dean Faulkner.”

Spencer whipped around towards Y/N.

All eyes laid on her as her breath increased.

“You know him?”

Y/N nodded at Hotch.

“I guest spoke at a panel with him a few years back at a separate university. We were both there, amongst others, to talk about the works of a genre that are expertise were in. I was there to basically provide loose ends for what they could not answer. Dean’s specialised area was horror. The whole time he spoke about what he described as the true villains of horror and of the world.”

Y/N gulped, her mouth going dry.

“Women.”

The wheels began to turn in the team’s heads.

Spencer stepped closer towards Y/N in assurance, seeing that her thoughts were becoming overwhelmed. He quickly stepped back after he realised what he had done.

“He went on a raging tangent about the damsel in distress and the final girl. Going on and on and on about how women are weak and would never be the last one standing if faced against the monsters in real life. How they manipulated the men and made the monsters seem worse than they truly were. The only time he spoke positively about women was when we finally calmed him down and, during a Q&A session, a student asked him who the perfect horror movie character was. He said Sally because she was forgiving and would do anything for Jack; even if that meant falling apart and being sewn back together. I tried to justify that the film does not necessarily fall into the genre of horror. But he rebutted saying that it most definitely did, because of the fact that Jack’s dream did not come true.”

The room was silent for a second, taking in the information.

Suddenly, Y/N grasped the pen from Spencer’s hands. Her finger scribbling across the whiteboard.

“I need to know the names of the victims. Get Penelope on the phone and tell me the names.”

The team shocked at her erratic movements, sat in silence.

“Do you want to capture this guy?”

Spencer licked his lips and repeated the victim’s names.

“Susanna Cole, Alice Dawes, Liberty May, and Lily Trent.”

Y/N swiftly wrote the names on the boards. Each name below the other. Underneath the last name she wrote the letter Y.

“Can you ask Penelope to track any females with the first name beginning with Y who have purchased a ticket to the next convention?”

Derek quickly began to type to her. The rest of the team looking on in disbelief.

“There were twenty-three purchases, but with cross referencing with the similarities in the other victims, one matched. Her name is Yasmine Driver.”

Y/N wrote the name on the board. Circling all the first letters of each name, it became clear there was another connection with the victims.

“Their initials spell Sally.”

Y/N nodded at JJ’s disbelief.

“Reid, when is the next convention being held?”

Spencer diverted his attention to Emily.

“Their schedule every two weeks, so that would make it… tomorrow.”

The team swiftly moved into action.

“JJ bring together the police force for a debrief. Derek and Rossi, go to the convention centre and question the board about Dean. Ask them how often he visited and if they have any knowledge of the victims visits to the convention. Spencer and Emily, contact Penelope for Faulkner’s address. Once you have visited the home, if he is there, bring him in. We’re going to try and catch him before he gets close to his goal. I will locate Yasmine and bring her to the station for safety. We don’t know how far he is going to go and what the end goal of his fantasy is. But we are going to stop him.”

The team swiftly did as they were told, leaving the room with only Spencer and Y/N behind. Just before the door shot, Hotch leaned back in.

“Thank you, Dr Y/L/N, for all your help. If possible, could you stay here with JJ and look through the documents? You know this guy more than we do, so any more information that comes to mind, please let us know.”

Y/N and Spencer watched as Hotch left the room, the door shutting behind him.

As the silence engulfed them, Y/N and Spencer were hyper aware that they were now alone and had been for the first time in weeks.

Spencer swiftly walked towards Y/N and embraced her in a tight hold. Wrapping her arms around the slender man, Y/N breathed in his scent.

“I’ve missed you.”

Y/N chuckled at Spencer’s muffled words, as his head rested on top of her own. Pulling back, Y/N slowly released Spencer, letting her hands drop to her sides.

“I’ve missed you too Doc. We can catch up later, I will be waiting right here. Now, go and save the girl.”

Spencer chuckled at her words but did as Y/N said. Throwing her a smile, Spencer quickly walked out the room, leaving Y/N behind.

Y/N sat in the room, looking over the files as the time passed, waiting to see Spencer return with the rest of the team. A knock on the door startled her from her search.

Looking up at the door, Y/N saw JJ walk into the room with two cups of coffee in her hands. JJ outstretched the one hand, placing the cup in front of Y/N, as she took a seat and began to sip at her own.

“I didn’t know how many sugars you took so I estimated.”

Y/N smiled at the woman’s kindness.

“Thank you. Have you heard anything from the others?”

JJ sat up in her seat as she watched Y/N look over the documents. Her fingers moving across the pages ever so quickly. Her hand that wasn’t tapped continuously on the table in a rhythm.

“Spencer and Emily located Faulkner’s home, but it was vacant. They’re looking around the premises for clues for where he may be; as we speak. Hotch and Derek just called saying they are on their way down with Yasmine now.”

Y/N nodded at her words. Glad to hear that the girl was safe, but the main priority now would be to locate Faulkner. She wanted to truly help them, before anyone else could get hurt.

JJ grabbed her tablet and began to search through the files for any missed out information. Silence befell across the pair, until JJ could not help but ask what they had all been dying to know.

“How did you and Spencer meet?”

Y/N had been waiting for the question. She had seen the looks the team had shared throughout the day. The questioning gazes towards the pair.

“Spencer and I were both guests speaking at the University of California a few months ago. He must have finished his lecture early as he was wondering the halls when he came across the class I was teaching. I was stood on the desk, encouraging the students to do the same. Spencer thought I was a student causing trouble whilst the professor had left the room. He ran in sprouting facts about the percentage of people who fall and severely hurt themselves whilst standing on tables. Telling me that I should get down before he reports me to my professor.”

JJ chuckled at Y/N’s story.

“Sounds like Spence alright.”

Y/N giggled in agreement. As she spoke, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first encounter. JJ noticed the smile on the woman’s face. She knew what that smile meant.

“So, I told him that he better stay there to catch me, just in case I fell, as I was trying to teach my students about the importance of character actions, and how doing something as simple as standing on a desk can amplify the tone of the scene. Like in the film Dead Poet’s Society. Spencer finally realised that I was also a guest speaker and he actually stood there for the next 40 minutes of my lecture. I didn’t need to stand on the desk that long, but I wanted to see if he would stay. Once the lecture had finished, he apologised for jumping to conclusions. I apologised for making him wait for 40 minutes in case I fell. He told me I didn’t make him wait; he chose to. We’ve been in contact ever since.”

Just as Y/N finished her story, the door to the conference room opened once more. Looking towards the door, Y/N watched as Hotch entered, followed by Yasmine. The young woman looked scared, but unharmed.

Y/N stood from her seat, unsure of what to do as Hotch insisted for Yasmine to take a seat.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Hotch nodded his head.

“We shouldn’t be long. The rest of the team are outside in the bullpen. You can go ahead and join them. JJ and I will take it from here.”

Y/N nodded her head, leaving the room. She watched as Hotch and JJ questioned spoke to Yasmine through the glass, before she turned and walked down the corridor to find Spencer and his friends.

Turning the corner, Y/N failed to stop herself before bumping into a tall figure. Looking up to apologise, her eyes suddenly widened at the familiar face. Before a sound could leave her lips, a blunt force knocked her out cold.

Spencer and the team discussed where Faulkner could be when Hotch strode into the bull pen.

“How did it go?”

Hotch walked towards his team, ready to answer Derek’s question.

“It seems that Faulkner had been stalking the victims for some time. Yasmine detailed seeing him turn up at the conventions, even though he was no longer allowed. She had previously complained about his behaviour to the board before his dismissal. Stating that Faulkner had sexually harassed her. Rossi, did anyone at the convention mention anything about Faulkner that we don’t know?”

“It seems that Yasmine wasn’t the only one. The other board members went into detail about why he was fired. It turned out that all of our victims, including Yasmine, had filed lawsuits against Faulkner for sexual harassment. The charges were ultimately dropped and never recorded to keep the convention’s reputation clear. But they fired Faulkner and banned him from being able to attend any further conventions. Taking away the Nightmare Before Christmas dedicated stand was just a coincidence. They felt that the convention needed something new as they had been celebrating the film for over eight years.”

Just as Hotch was about to declare what the next step would be in finding Faulkner, JJ burst through the ball pen.

“Guys, you have to come quick.”

The team, in shock, watched as JJ ran back towards the conference room. All quickly on her heels. Entering the room, she took control of the laptop, streaming the image to the projector.

Spencer could no longer breathe as he looked at the image on the screen.

“Y/N.”

The screen showed Y/N tied to a chair and bent forward; clearly in pain. Her surroundings empty and dark.

Suddenly a voice was heard.

“I sense there's something in the wind. That seems like tragedy's at hand isn’t there Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The team watched in horror as Dean Faulkner yanked Y/N’s head back, her body letting out a strangled cry at the pain caused by his actions.

Spencer felt sick, he felt like he was watching himself when Tobias Hankel had held him captive.

“Emily, call Garcia to track his location. We don’t have much time.”

Emily did as Hotch told her to. Talking as quickly as she could on the phone.

“She can’t track it; he’s re-routing the IP address every thirty seconds.”

“She needs to track it. She needs to find her now!”

They all jumped at Spencer’s outburst, watching as tears filled his vision and his hands began to shake.

“Spencer, you need to calm down, we are going to find her. He can’t have taken her far.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words. Taking a breath, he looked back at the screen as he tried to distinguish any recognisable features of where she may be.

Faulkner moved his face to rest against Y/N’s hair, smelling the tresses. She tried to pull away only for him to yank her back again.

“Why did you kill them Dean?”

Faulkner let go of Y/N’s hair. Walking to her side, he grabbed her face in a vicious grip. Yanking her to look at him.

“Why? They ruined my life, everything I ever worked hard for. You all did.”

Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“I did nothing to you.”

Y/N’s breath increased at the vicious look he sent her way. Her eyes flickered to the camera, knowing that Faulkner was streaming what was happening to Spencer and his team. She had to find a way to tell them where she was.

“You made them question my authority. My position. My integrity as a member of the board. You ruined my reputation by belittling me in California.”.

“That’s because you know nothing about horror Dean. You think you know everything about it, but you don’t.”

Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why was Y/N taunting him?

“Garcia’s looking to see if there’s any abandoned properties around the area that he could have taken her to.”

Spencer didn’t even acknowledge Emily’s words.

Faulkner reeled back at Y/N’s taunt.

“I know everything there is to know about horror. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it. I’ve created it. Ask me anything about it, I know the right answers.”

“But you don’t. You have an idea of horror, your own idea, that is wrong. You believe that women are the reason you lost your job and became the monster that you are. But they’re not. The reason you’re a monster is because of your sick and twisted fantasies. You made those girls feel small and weak, didn’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The team watched in apprehension.

“Garcia, the location, we need it now.”

Rossi looked between the screen and the phone in Derek’s hand.

“I can get the area he’s holding her, but not the specific building. The whole town is basically abandoned. She could be anywhere from a shop to a house.”

“Keep looking.”

Spencer chewed on his lips. He had to think rationally. If the unsub was upset about the changes and losing his job, what could have been the last straw?

“Derek what was the film they replaced Nightmare Before Christmas with at the convention.”

Derek and Spencer shared a look.

“Cabin in the Woods.”

Spencer ran across the rooms to the files at hand.

“In the location that Garcia has tracked her too, there are three cabins, all within a walking distance of the other.”

The team began to rush out the room, transferring the livestream to a tablet so they could monitor Faulkner and Y/N.

“You’re weak Dean. You’re just like all the horror movie villains. Ghostface, pinhead, jigsaw, all of them. You feed of fear and feeling in control. But the only thing you have in common with them is that you’re not going to win.”

Faulkner scream in rage. Pulling Y/N’s head back, he punched her in the jaw. Striding to the camera, he pushed his face to the lens.

“The party’s over!”

Spencer watched in horror as the feed went off.

“Hotch we have to hurry!”

Hotch sped up the car. Quickly arriving to the location, the team split up into pairs, taking a cabin each to inspect. Hotch and Derek, Rossi and JJ, and Spencer and Emily veered off to their targeted locations. Spencer followed Emily, trying to stay calm, as he slowly walked into the cabin to find it empty, when suddenly a gun shot was heard. Looking in the direction, the pair ran to the cabin that Derek and Hotch had been assigned. The rest of the team already there, looking into the cabin in shock.

“No, no, no, no. Y/N.”

Spencer pushed in front of them, tears pooling in his eyes as he a waited to see the horror before him. He looked in disbelief as Y/N stood from her position on the floor, the gun dropping from her hand as they shook. Faulkner laid a few feet away, in a pool of blood, no longer breathing.

Y/N looked towards the team. Raising her shaking hands towards Spencer.

“I didn’t want to kill him but he was going to shoot whoever walked through the door.”

Spencer rushed forward, grabbing her in a bone crushing hug. His hands stroking her hair as he soother her cries. Leading her out of the cabin, he allowed his team to sort out the rest as he continued to calm Y/N down.

The movement of the team were a blur as ambulances and police cars came. Taking them to the hospital as they sat in the waiting room as Y/N was checked over.

Spencer sat in the waiting room, his leg bouncing up and down with nerves.

Derek excused himself from the groups conversation as he went and sat next to Spencer. Clapping him on the back, Derek squeezed Spencer’s shoulder in re-assurance.

“She’s going to be fine pretty boy.”

“Physically, she has a concussion, bruising along her jawline, and needs stitches on her forehead. Mentally, I don’t know how she is going to handle this. When I suggested asking for her help in the case, I didn’t presume the risk of her being hurt. I should have.”

“Spencer, listen to me. We would have done everything to make sure she lived okay. She not only saved herself but she also helped save Yasmine and this team. Any one of us could have been shot if she had not thought fast and got the gun out of his hands. You know, better than anyone, how to help her deal with this.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words, nodding his head in appreciation, as he leaned against his friend in a comforting hug.

“Probably wasn’t the ideal way to introduce your girlfriend to the team though.”

Spencer stuttered at Derek’s teasing.

“We’re profilers Spencer. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been happier these past few months and seeing how persistent you were for us to consult Y/N, it gave us all an idea why. Seeing you together only confirmed our suspicions. So, how long has pretty boy had his pretty girl?”

Spencer chuckled at Derek’s words. Ringing his hands together as he spoke to Derek.

“Tomorrow is actually our six-month anniversary. She was going to be flying back today so we could celebrate; unless I got called on a case.”

“We can still celebrate.”

Spencer looked up as Y/N walked through the waiting room, fresh stitches on her forehead and an ice pack resting in her hands.

“The nurse said that there was no internal damage. That my body will just be sore for a few weeks. My concussion is light, so I am alright to travel home.”

The team gathered around to check on her. But her eyes could not leave Spencer’s as he rose from his seat. Spencer walked forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Carefully he cupped her face in his hands, and to the surprise of Y/N and his team, Spencer bowed his head and placed a careful kiss on Y/N’s lips. Slow, protective, and full of love.

Pulling back, Spencer wrapped his arms around her as he looked at the beaming smiles of his teammates. Y/N couldn’t help the blush across her cheeks or the giggle that followed. Soon, everyone was chuckling at the pair.

“I would like to thank you Y/N. From the entire team. Your actions saved a young woman’s life, and what could have been one of our own.”

Y/N smiled in appreciation at Rossi’s words.

“You’re Spencer’s family. I would do it all again if I had to.”

“Statistically speaking, around 2,000 people a day are reported missing in the US. Approximately, 600 of those would be reported or considered kidnappings. It is highly unlikely for you to be put in a situation like that again.”

Y/N looked up at her boyfriend.

“I never thought I would say this, but your talk about me being kidnapped again is really attractive.”

The team laughed at the girl’s statement, seeing Spencer become physically embarrassed.

“Just to inform everyone, the jet will be ready to depart in forty-five minutes. As I was informed that today you would have been heading home, Y/N we have sent for your belongings to be collected; you can fly back with us.”

Spencer smiled at Hotch in gratitude, the older man knowing he would have only worried if she had flown home alone.

“Thank you, Mr Hotchner.”

Hotch let out a brief smile.

“Call me Hotch. Your part of Spencer’s life, that means your part of this family.”

BAU JET

It had been an exhausting few days for the team, and it showed, as they all were sporadically asleep throughout the jet. Silence encompassed the steel capsule, with only the sound of sleep filled breaths being heard.

Y/N laid fast asleep, with her head on Spencer’s shoulder, as the boy genius sat up wide awake. Looking down at the woman next to him, all Spencer could imagine was what could have happened if they weren’t quick enough. How many days he would have lost with her. All the things he wanted to tell her.

As though she could sense his deep thoughts, Y/N slowly awoke, rubbing her eyes as a yawn escaped her mouth. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she waited till she was fully conscious before she spoke.

“What time is it Doc?”

Spencer jostled out of his thoughts to check the watch on his wrist.

“It’s 2:36 am. You’ve been asleep for approximately 3 hours and 22 minutes.”

Y/N quickly sat up in her seat, wide awake.

Spencer turned towards her in worry, wondering what had made her so alert.

“What wrong? Are you feeling nauseous? Do you need some painkillers, as your due to have…”

Y/N grabbed Spencer’s face and placed her lips flush against his own. Their mouths moved in unison, as Spencer’s own hands moved to circle around her waist, bringing their bodies as close as they could be in the small space they had. They hadn’t kissed since the hospital, and before then it had been weeks. Spencer never realised until then, how much he truly missed her touch, her taste, her as a whole.

Coming to a point where they both lacked breathe, the pair pulled apart. Their eyes fluttering open as Y/N’s hands caressed Spencer’s face. Her one hand travelled to his hair, feeling the tresses that had grown since she had last seen him. She looked at him in a way no one had before. Spencer shared the same expression.

“Happy six-month anniversary Spencer. I love you.”

Spencer looked at Y/N in disbelief.

“Before you start spouting of facts about transference and how I am probably only saying this because you saved my life, you’re wrong. Because then I would be telling Hotch and Morgan the same thing.”

Spencer couldn’t help the watery smile that graced his face. For the second time in the past day, his eyes filled with tears. But this time, they were good.

“I’ve known I have loved you for a long time. For five months actually. I knew I loved you when we made pizza in your apartment and we ended up burning it, so we ordered one instead.”

Spencer laughed at the memory. It was the first time Spencer had initiated their make out. He had watched her cooking, in his apartment, and he had never found her more attractive than he did seeing her in his home.

“I knew that whilst you were spouting of facts about the invention of the pizza that I loved you and that I could listen to you forever. I love you Spencer.”

Spencer pulled Y/N closer to him as he rested his forehead against her own. The pair basked in each other’s presence.

“Past surveys show that men wait just 88 days to say those three little words to their partner for the first time, and 39 percent say them within the first month. Women, on the other hand, take an average 134 days. You knew after 31 days that you loved me. I knew after our first date that the way I felt when I was with you is a feeling that I could not even describe with my vast vocabulary. I knew after 8 days that the way I felt was stronger than liking you and that was a frightening thought. But its scarier to think what could have happened to you yesterday. That I could have lost you without you ever knowing. I made that mistake before. I will never make it again. I love you too.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile and giggle that overtook her. Spencer, feeling high of the serotonin that was coursing through his body, couldn’t help his laugh either. Soon the pair were a giggling mess, unaware of the team who had all begun to awaken whilst the pair were talking.

The team congregated to the back of the jet, allowing the couple to stay in their own bubble.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him truly happy.”

The group nodded at Emily’s words.

JJ smiled as she watched her best friend rattle of the possible movies that he and his girlfriend could spend their anniversary watching as she recovered. Her smile growing even wider at Y/N’s enthusiasm to watch the film’s in their original language. None of them could miss the look of adoration beaming between the pair.

“Yeah, it really has.”

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. -Lao Tzu

A/N- It isn’t the best but I really enjoyed writing this one.

[navegandoaciegas]

Baby Boy

Kinktober 3/31: pegging

Pairing: beefy!sub!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, pegging, edging

Summary: You punish your pretty boy for doing something that’s not allowed.

A/N: day 3 of Kinktober and @itgetsdarksometimes35 spooky challenge. Working a 9 hour shift today, so sorry if this is a bit short.

“What did I tell you about touching yourself without my permission, baby boy?” you tantalize Bucky, enjoying the way he whimpers and cries underneath you. “It’s not allowed, but you had to be a little brat and touch yourself anyways, didn’t you?”

He’s a blabbering mess, with tears streaming down his flushed face and beads of sweat across his forehead. Power feels good, especially the kind that stems from having a brick wall of a man tied and desperate beneath you, knowing that no matter how much supersoldier serum flows in his veins, how much strength resides in his metal arm, you’ll always be the one who prevails.

“I’m sorry princess, I just- I, I- missed so m-much.” he whines, tugging on the reinforced restraints around his wrists, “It was a mistake.”

You’ve been going at it for hours, bringing him close to the edge, close to a sweet release, only to take it away at the last minute, when the hot surge of white energy is about to crash through him, crushing his hopes to relieve the throbbing ache in his lower belly.

“Disobeying is not a mistake puppy, it’s a decision. I’m gonna need you to apologize again, properly this time.”

Not really, you don’t, but watching him beg gives you more thrill, more pleasure than the double edged sex toy strapped to your front.

You’re high on power, intoxicated by control.

You trace the bulging muscle of his pecs and the hard planes of his abs with your nails, tickling his skin and leaving goosebumps in your wake. He can only twitch, sob and desperately pull on the restraints that bind him to the bedpost.

“I am sorry princess, I did a bad thing, but I promise you I will never touch myself without your permission again. I’ll be so good to you.” he rushes out, nodding his head to convince you of his honesty.

You smirk, finally satisfied after hours and hours of apologies, hours of begging and edging.

“Good boy.” you praise, and he preens at you, boring his baby blue eyes in yours, a plea written all over his face. “And good boys always get their reward, don’t they?”

You thrust your hips forward, breaching his tight rim again, eliciting a beautiful moan from his plush lips. His thick cock is pressed against your lower belly, while the other edge of the strap-on presses further inside you, reaching your sweet spot with its curved tip.

“Such a good, obedient boy. Look how well you’ve taken your punishment.” you grunt, rolling your hips again, pounding in and out of him, witnessing as pleasure takes over his features and twist his face into the most erotic sight you’ve ever witnessed.

You’re the one responsible for it, and the thought makes your pussy clench around the wand inside you. The pressure in your core has been slowly building up for hours, and it’s about to snap.

“You’re doing so good, puppy.” you encourage him, feeling the waves of your orgasm approach, “Promise you’ll be good to me.”

You snap your hips faster, closing your hand around his thick, leaking cock and stroking its tip. You twist your wrist while grinding against him, reveling in the way he’s so responsive to your touch.

Promises stream out of his lips, your names so sweet on his tongue while your stimulate his cock and his prostate at the same time. “Can I- please, I can’t take it anymore, I need-”

“Cum puppy, let me see how pretty you look when you fall apart, make a mess of yourself baby.”

When the dam finally breaks, you reach your peaks together. Your limbs are shaken by jolts of pleasure as you gush all over your strap on, your own release spilling out of you and onto the sheets. Bucky moans wantonly and paints your hand and his belly with his hot spurts, eyes rolling to the back of his brain as a seemingly never ending wave of pleasure wrecks through him.

You did that, and the thought almost makes you cum again.

He peers at your through half lidded eyes, the edges of your strap on still buried deep inside you both as his cock goes soft in your hold. You bring your hand to his mouth, and moan as his lips close down on your fingers. You swirl them around, enthralled by the sight, feeling your pussy throb again as he gives each of your digits great attention, sucking them all clean of his cum.

“You did so well baby boy, I am proud of you.” your praise him, and you feel him twitch under your stomach again.

He blushes, and lowers his gaze.

“Can I have more?” he asks shyly, his hardened cock poking you. You take a moment to appreciate his stamina, and peck his lips, thrusting inside you both again.

“However much you want, baby boy.”

[dameronology]

asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’) 

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work 

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it 

enjoy 

- jazz 

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth. 

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse. 

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you. 

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain. 

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life. 

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you. 

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore 

‘You look like shit.’  

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before. 

 The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once. 

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured. 

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally. 

 ‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way. 

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead. 

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you. 

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured. 

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

-- 

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing. 

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony. 

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be. 

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably. 

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’ 

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it. 

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it. 

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day. 

 There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities. 

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about. 

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye. 

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.  

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’ 

‘Mmm?’ 

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’ 

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’ 

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’ 

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

--

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter. 

That was the problem. 

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be. 

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever? 

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find. 

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you? 

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing. 

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked. 

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him. 

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’ 

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. 

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked. 

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later. 

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now. 

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.  

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either. 

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed. 

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around. 

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.  

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human. 

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost. 

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

[hangekitty]

I love that Er*n is in your no no rules- lmao.

Also may i request some soft Miche headcanons where he's comforting a female reader please? I've been very stressed from life recently and would really appreciate a bit of love and comfort from my fav character, smut is optional although i am above 18. Thank you so much in advance💛

Oh my gosh my first request thank you! And what a lovely way to start things out, I hope this brings comfort to you as I know how hard things are in life right now! And yes, we don’t accept Er*n in this house no thank you ~ 🌸

Did I listen to Bubble Gum by Clairo on loop because of the vibes? Maybe. Did I get upset writing this because I am touch starved? Also maybe 😌

Miche comforting his S/O after a bad day

Genre: fluff, NSFW 18+

Warnings: mentions of having a bad day, mental health, smut, swearing

Universe: canonverse

NSFW below the ‘read more’

SFW

Although Miche is a man of few words, he definitely knows how to show you how much he cares.

This man is a master of being able to sense whenever you’ve had a bad day, you wouldn’t even need to tell him; I suppose its because of his immaculate sense of smell, or that he takes good care to be finely in tune with your emotions.

Most of your worries and stresses stem from expeditions, having to fight off titans and watching your comrades fall certainly took a toll on your mental health; this at least was a stress you could share with Miche.

Miche’s love language is touch, so although he isn’t much of a talker, he would still want you to know that he is there for you all the same. This may look like hugs from behind, forehead kisses and holding you close to him whenever he can.

If you’re both standing, he will most definitely be the kind of guy to cuddle you and gently rock you - not quite a dance, but something that helps calm you down.

There is 110% chance that if he starts rocking you, he will rest his head on yours and hum a tune to you

Will ask Levi for your favourite kind of tea, another love language of his is acts of service. So bringing you tea, tidying your room or even cleaning your clothes without asking is a way of him showing how much he cares about you; the last thing you want to do is chores so he would run you a bath (if baths are available) and he would do the smaller things that would usually be too much effort.

Just because he is very quiet, doesn’t mean he won’t talk to you. He is more of a listener, but if you need words of affirmation or advice Miche is on it and usually says the right things. All this time of him being quiet, he has every opportunity of thinking up something to say.

Are you prone to nightmares? Miche has your back. Quite literally, he will roll over and hold you close to him. He is definitely the big spoon and will make sure to make you feel as safe and comfortable as possible.

In public, if Miche notices you tensing or begin to fluster out of stress or anger, he will hold your hand. He isn’t much for PDA, however he will push himself in situations where you need him. He would often take you out of a situation or to another room and hold your hands close to his chest, rubbing your hands with his thumbs and looking in your eyes.

Bedtime is the best time for cuddles, here he will give you the maximum affection of kisses, hugs and tickling sessions.

He will stroke your hair until you fall asleep, even if he is in an uncomfortable position, once he knows you are asleep he won’t budge.

Miche has a habit of holding you close to him when you are stressed and smelling your hair or rubbing his stubble on your exposed neck. You can’t help but giggle, even when sometimes you wanna be angry, this man never fails to make you smile.

If you suffer with panic attacks, Miche knows exactly what to do to help you. Whether grounding helps, giving you space or words of affirmations this man has it together and will do whatever he can to help. At first he might of been a nervous wreck, anxious to make sure he gets it right, but as you trust him, you tell him how he can help in that situation and Miche learns it and etches it into his brain.

“There’s my girl”

Bunny kisses! Lots of bunny kisses!

Random modern day AU head canon: this dude would turn on his LED lights and put on soft LoFi tunes on to calm you down!

NSFW

Sometimes when you are stressed, you require other means of ‘letting go’

Miche knows exactly what to do, but will wait for your social queues to make the first move

It’ll start off as giving you massages, touching you in all of your sensitive, aching areas.

You will most likely make some remarks that are passive aggressive (and suggestive) which makes Miche kinda /ZING/

He is the kind of guy who would come up behind you and lift your breasts up and claim “these are heavy, let me help you carry them” or some shit, even though you are clearly frustrated, this usually earns an annoyed giggle or two.

He will let you take control, if you have a particularly stressful day and all you want to do is have angry sex, he will let you take the reins or call all the shots. Honestly, any other time he would let you take control anyway, seeing you be so passionate is a real turn on; but given such a stressful day its sort of expected - unless you just want him to fuck you silly, he will happily oblige.

I don’t care what anyone else says but this man is canon a master of oral. With a nose like that, you could not convince me he wouldn’t use it to his full advantage okay??

He is more a giver than a receiver, so Miche would be in his personal heaven whilst giving you head. He particularly likes it when you’ve had a bad day to surprise you and lower you onto his face, you will probably squirm out of embarrassment but as soon as you’d gain your confidence he would go in hard; enjoying every bit of view he has.

If you are feeling particularly low due to a bad day, he will set up the bed with lots of pillows/blankets and have you lay down, legs open and him laying between them, licking at your pussy.

Miche is a thigh guy, a man of taste. Will leave kisses up and around your thighs before going anywhere near your pussy. He probably enjoys the smell whilst he’s down there, admiring your soft flesh and kissing every inch of you.

If you want to be in control, lets say you have a frustrating day, you would ride him. Heck, he wouldn’t even mind if you wanted to peg him. This man is up for anything and would do anything to please you.

If you want him to be in control, you’ve definitely unleashed an animal. As I’ve mentioned before, he is a giver and if he knows you’ve had a bad day, oh boy this man will do all he can to help you forget your troubles. Rough but steady is his strategy.

I promise you after a night with him in control, you won’t even remember what stress feels like.

Expect some marks, this man is a sucker and a nibbler, especially on your neck and breasts.

King of aftercare, lots of hugs and kisses; will also clean you up after any messes made.

If Miche is not a man of many words, he has them all for you in that moment. Telling you he loves you, how much you mean to him and how sorry he is that you had a bad day. “Today might have been hard, but tomorrow is another day my love”

“I’ll be right here”

I hope you enjoyed! Thanks so much for the request 🌸

[escapewithbts]

Flirty Friends - Jungkook

———————————————————-

"Jeon Jungkook, put me down right now!" you exclaimed, hitting Jungkook’s muscular bare back gently with your fists.

"Not until you admit I'm your favorite," Jungkook replied.

His grip around your waist tightened as the bone of his arm dug into your back.

You had been picked up and thrown over his shoulder just moments ago in a discussion about him and his fellow members when you wouldn't give away which of them you liked best. And this is how he had decided to get you to talk...

"But I can't admit you're my favorite because I don't tell lies!" you joked, continuing to punch him as much as you could considering the position you were in.

"Well then I guess you're coming on stage with us tonight because I'm not letting you go until I hear the words 'Jungkookie, you are my favorite member of Bangtan' come out of your mouth," he retaliated.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. You began to feel blood rushing to your brain; this was getting so uncomfortable...

You heard laughs coming from in front of Jungkook and immediately recognized one to be Park Jimin’s and the other Kim Taehyung's.

"What the hell are you doing with (y/n), Jungkook-ah?" you heard Taehyung say close by.

You squealed as Jungkook walked a bit forward and hoisted you up more to get you in a more comfortable position on his broad shoulder.

"She won't admit I'm her favorite in the band so I had to take matters into my own hands."

You could hear the proud grin on Jungkook’s face as he said that.

"Chimmy-ah! Tae! Please help me!" you managed to get out between laughs.

Jimin came into your view and smiled.

"Hey, (y/n)-ah, how's it hanging?" he asked, doing a little wave.

"I feel like my brain is about to explode," you told him, "Please get me down."

Then Taehyung appeared and leaned his face really close to yours just fast enough to whisper the words, "Tickle him!"

A wide grin spread across your face as your fingers went straight for Jungkook’s sides, moving in a swift tickling motion.

He let out a yelp and you felt him jolt forward, wriggling his body under your quick fingers.

"AIIISSHH! Okay, okay, okay, stop, stop, I'll put you down! Just stop!"

Then you were upright again and placed gently on your feet in front of Jungkook.

"You cheated!" Jungkook exclaimed, pointing at you and smiling, a blush quickly forming on his pale cheeks.

Taehyung came up from behind you and put his arm around your shoulders.

"Come on Jungkook-ah, we all know I'm (y/n)'s favorite anyway," he said.

You smiled and nodded vigorously, looking back at Jungkook.

Suddenly Jungkook leapt forward and tried to grab you again.

"OOh, (y/n), I'm going to get you for that!"

You screamed, running away and giggling as he chased after you.

"HEY, LOVEBIRDS!" Jimin yelled after the two of you, "Don't forget Jungkook-ah has to be on stage in twenty minutes! And aiishhh Kook, get a shirt on!"

*

"YAhhh what a great show!" you heard Jin's voice say as the boys of BTS walked back into the dressing room.

You were laying on one of the leather couches but sat up when you noticed them come in. They all looked like a mess. Their hair was damp, their clothes covered in sweat... it really must have been a great show.

"(y/n) that was definitely one of our best yet!" Jimin exclaimed, plopping down next to you.

He threw his head back and lifted his arms toward the ceiling.

"I love ARMY!" he said, making you chuckle.

V, RM, J-hope, Suga and Jin all followed Jimin’s lead and sat down in empty spaces on the couches, wiping their faces with wet cloths and laying back to relax.

It was then that you realized Jungkook hadn't come in with them.

"Where's Jungkook?" you questioned.

All six of them rolled their eyes and laughed.

"Of course you would ask that," Taehyung joked.

Your felt your face turn red.

Jungkook suddenly entered the room with a deep red blush on his face and both his hands behind his back.

"Ah ha, here's your lover boy," Namjoon announced.

Jungkook looked shyly at the ground and walked forward until he was standing right in front of you. His hair was wet with sweat and his black bangs fell over his eyes, the short sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his shoulders revealing the numerous tattoos inked on his muscular arm.

"(y/n)," he took his hands out from behind his back to reveal him holding a red rose with a long green stem, "For you. A fan threw this on stage and I thought you might like it."

His signature bunny grin appeared on his face and he hid it in his hands out of embarrassment.

You smiled wide and took it from him.

"Thank you Kookie," you replied softly, putting it to your nose and smelling it.

"A flower for the lovely (y/n)... looks like Jungkook-ah’s got a bit of a crush, yeah?" The oldest member commented.

Jungkook turned to him and started hitting him while Jin put his hands up in defense and laughed his signature windshield wiper laugh.

"Hey boys," a man who worked for the bts’ tour crew popped his head in, "there's food in the other room if you're hungry."

Jin was the first to stand up, retreating from Jungkook’s slapping hands.

"Yes! I'm starving!” he declared.

"Me too, man, let's get some food!" RM agreed, following Jin, Jhope, Suga, Taehyung and Jimin to the door.

The six of them walked out of the room leaving you and Jungkook alone.

"You're not hungry?" Jungkook wondered, sitting down on the couch next to you.

You shook your head.

"No... smelling the seven of you after a show is enough to make me lose my appetite."

Jungkook laughed his adorable baby-like laugh, his eyes crinkling at the sides

"Especially Jimin-ah, right? Hyung is relatively small but that smell! Where does it come from?" he joked with you making you join in his laughter.

When your laughter died down Jungkook looked down while scratching the back of his neck and said,

"Sorry about, you know, throwing you over my shoulder today."

You shrugged and chuckled at the memory.

"No worries, Kook" you responded.

There was a content silence before you decided to break it.

"Can I tell you something though?"

Jungkook nodded and shifted his body more so he was facing you. His big brown doe eyes looked straight into yours waiting for you to continue.

You looked down at your hands and smiled.

"You are my favorite," you admitted.

Jungkook's mouth formed into a big smile, his eyes narrowing and his rows of perfect white teeth showing.

"I KNEW IT!" he exclaimed, standing up suddenly and pumping his fists in the air.

You laughed and rolled your eyes.

He turned back to you and grabbed your hand, taking you by surprise and pulling you up off the couch.

"Now can I tell you something?" he asked, placing his hands on both your shoulders and grinning at you, another blush forming on his face.

"Sure.." you replied hesitantly.

"I, uh, I like you, (y/n). I like you a lot," he blurted out. He immediately dropped his hands and looked at the ground.

His words caught you by surprise but you were happy to hear them.

"I like you, too, Kookie" you uttered with a smile. Jungkook looked back up at you with a surprised look. His lips suddenly looked so soft and kissable that you couldn’t help yourself. You placed your lips on his and when his initial shock at your action wore off after a couple seconds he lifted you up by the waist in a passionate kiss.

"Well it's about time!" the voice of J-hope interrupted the kiss, as the six boys reentered the room holding plates of food in their hands.

"I knew it, I knew it!" Jimin preached joyfully.

"Took you two long enough," Suga stated.

"Aiisshh gross, get a room!" Jin laughed.

You and Jungkook glanced at each other with smitten grins. Then you shrugged simultaneously and began kissing once more.

*

Masterlist

[anothertimdrakestan]

Mommy Issues (Damian Wayne x Reader)

words: 2.2k

req? yes! from a lovely anon!

“Can I request a Damian x Reader soulmate AU fic where you write on your skin and it appears on your soulmate? I had this idea where reader doodles on her arm in class and Dami doodles back, and they start sending little notes in class and one day they ask for each other's names and just look cross the class and lift their arm? and then the school is under villain attack or something and Dami rescues her! I think it could be really cute<3 sorry for the long request”

this is too cute!!! 10/10 great idea i hope my writing brought it to life for you : ) hope you enjoy thank you for the req!

no notes today? you looked at the ink on your arm one last time before rolling down your sleeve. The notes and doodles had just recently started but you’d grown attached quickly- they were from your soulmate after all. However, today was silent, your notes exchanged last night had been washed off before you had woken up and there was nothing waiting for you. This seemed normal at first, whomever your soulmate is, they were always the first to remove the notes, most of the time before the sun fell for the days notes and similarly before dawn for the occasional late night writing. This was strange behavior as most everyone let their soulmates notes and doodles linger until they were just faint ink splotches, but your soulmate was diligent to never leave a trace.

You couldn’t help yourself, pulling up your sleeve to look for an answer but there was none. It was strange as whenever you were in english was when your soulmate was most active. English, what started as the most boring, dull class slowly shifted into the class you remember most fondly. Relishing in the slight tickle that comes from your soulmate drawing little pictures or little notes across your forearm you learned to appreciate the boring lectures your teacher gave as they made the perfect cover for getting to know your soulmate. 

So far, you’d learned your soulmate was a he, with some wild artistic talent, even though he was always complaining about his pen bleeding through the small crinkles in skin as he tried to draw various pictures on your arm. It had only been around a couple days or so since lettering began to show, typically soulmates can start drawing pictures and whatnot that will show through a month or two before lettering fades through the bond as well, then finally your name will bleed through onto the base of your soulmates wrist, giving away the secret to your penpal. As is fate makes you patiently wait your turn, falling in love with the little doodles and notes until you finally know exactly who your soulmate is. 

Your day dreaming was cut short by the familiar tickle on your forearm. Trying to keep calm you slid your sleeve back and watched as the beautiful penmanship appeared. As he wrote you admired the sloppy but exquisite writing, a mix of cursive for speed and lettering for flair that exuded a kind of careless confidence- at least that’s what you’d determined from hours of pouring over the little notes on your skin.

Apologies for the delay, hectic day. You smiled at the formal-ness of the message as it seemed he slipped into that type of writing when he was distracted- god, you needed to stop obsessing over every last detail of the writing. You grabbed your pen, considering what to write back before the tingling started again. 

Do you go to GCHS as well? Your heart stopped at the message. Quickly you scribbled back, Yes! I do! You waited for a reply, scanning your class realizing that anyone there could be your soulmate. 

There was no wordy reply, but you felt large swooping curves begin to bleed onto your skin meaning your soulmate was drawing something. “Y/n care to give us an answer?” your head snapped from your arm to your professor, your pen which you had been toying with sliding down your neck as you flinched, almost assuredly leaving a black line down your neck. Slapping a hand on your neck you looked at your professor who was asking about last night's reading, a section you definitely did not do. “I gotcha y/n it was in Chapter 39!” your classmate Jack called from the other side of the classroom, giving you a wink as he turned his attention back to the teacher. “That so? Can you confirm 39 was the chapter?” the teacher turned back to you with a glint in his eyes daring you to accept that answer. 

“It was 41, can we move on now?” A voice echoed with boredom from the back of the class. “Ah mister Damian, welcome back, you know I’ll have to mark you tardy for class,” you let out a sigh of relief glancing back at Damian with a thankful smile, but his eyes were cast down looking at something on his desk. 

Class got out shortly after and as you packed up your books you saw the curling black stem of a drawing peeking from the exposed skin on your wrist. Pulling it back you saw the most beautiful drawing of a large rose with vines creeping beautifully from it’s edges. You were too busy admiring the rose to realize that there at the base of your wrist in the handwriting you’d been obsessing over for days was forming a new message. 

damian wayne

Your soul just about left your body. 

Then all the windows in your school shattered.

You flung yourself to the floor covering your head as you heard shouting and the sound of bones breaking. Peeking up you saw cloaked figures tearing their way through the hordes of terrified students grabbing the wrists then throwing them backwards. You crept away until your back was pressed against the back of the classroom. Watching as they checked student after student you saw a blur flit past every cloaked figure, knocking many of them out with ease. You craned your neck to follow the blur but your vision was interrupted by a dark figure entering the classroom, following the same protocol as he grabbed the wrist of students then threw them backwards. 

When he came up to you his ice cold fingers wrapped around your arm, you yelped, trying to rip your arm away but he held tight. He just stared at your wrist, then an eery smile crept over his lips, the cheshire smile was the only thing you could see from under the deep green, almost black hood. Unlike the other students his grip held strong, dragging you out of the classroom while you kicked and screamed. 

“Look what I found” he cooed as he pulled you towards the main hallway of your school. The view from the second story of your school was shocking. There was a blue and black blur fighting alongside a green and yellow one as they both attacked a group of the cloaked assassins, all watched over by a tall woman dressed in black. Her head snapped up to you and the same terrifying smile slid over her face. “See! Was that so hard dearest?” her voice drawled as Robin looked up at you, his expression hardening. “Over my dead body mother” he said between clenched teeth as he sprang backwards, breaking into a run in your direction while (you assumed to be) Nightwing began sweeping through the figures. 

You screamed as you were tugged backwards, you had way too bright a future for this shit. With all the courage you had you wound back, and swung, your fist connecting with the mans face. You winced as you felt your ring finger click out of place against his nose but it was a good and unexpected punch, sending him stumbling back as you ripped your other arm out of his grasp. 

“Y/n!” you whipped your head to Robin who flipped past you, giving far too hard a blow to the assassin, returning to your side almost immediately. “Did he hurt you,” his gruff voice dipped into concern while you held your breath in his presence. When you gave a small nod he released a breath he seemed to have been holding for far too long, turning his gaze off of you and back down to the fight below you saw a black streak jutting down his neck. Your hand flew to your own, your mouth moving before your brain.

“Damian” his masked eyes snapped back to you. “Y/n” he answered, his tone softer and more natural. He continued, “we’ll sort this out in a minute,” as he jumped off the banister, rolling to break his fall and diving back into the fight with Nightwing against the woman. She seemed to be laughing into the fight, whispering teasing remarks that seemed to anger Damian, but Nightwing was already overpowering her and with Damian’s assistance she knew she was out played. She gracefully dodged Nightwings punch, gliding up to Damian. Giving his hair a little ruffle she winked at him “be terrible my son I’ll be back yet” and before he could reacted she ran out of the building, followed by her men. 

You sat for a second in shock, trying to let everything set in. The school was silent, most students had either fled or were huddled in classrooms still unaware the fight was over. 

“Hey! Your hand okay?” Nightwing gained your attention as he was waving his arm with a dazzling smile. “Oh uh, I hurt my finger but it’s nothing,” you replied, hearing your shaky voice echo through the halls of your school. “C’mon down I’d love to help you out!” Nightwing beckoned you, getting jabbed in the ribs from an uncomfortable looking Robin. 

A few minutes later you were perched on the roof of your school sitting with Damian while Nightwing briefed the public. Damian broke the silence, “Which finger” his gaze cast down to your hands, you held out a shaky hand where your finger was visibly bent. “You gave him a hard hit” Damian mused, taking off his gloves to more delicately hold your hand while he began to bandage it. 

“y-yeah” you swallowed, bidding your voice to stop shaking. Damian’s eyes refused to meet yours. “Do you wanna talk about the whole, wrist thing?” you whispered, casting your eyes down to notice his exposed wrist had y/n l/n written on it as well. He stayed silent, you brought your eyes up only to notice he’d been staring at you, quickly he looked back down, finishing the bandaging he released your hand with a sigh. 

“Nice to meet you soulmate” you said with a small smile. Damian glanced up at you, giving you a surprised look. “Soulmates?” he gulped as he continued, “I completely understand if you like to move on and forget about all this, I know better than anyone how dangerous my life is and if today with my mother was any sign I should’ve known soulmates just aren’t in the books for me,” you watched as his hardened expression faltered, even behind the mask Damian seemed easy to read to you. “Oh uh, that was your mom?” he gave you a pained nod when you realized you’d hit a touchy subject. “Not the point! Soulmates are soulmates for a reason and as you saw today [you held up your bandaged hand] I’m a freaking badass and can totally defend myself. I’m not giving up or forgetting anything.” you finished with a deep breath, telling yourself that this was the beginning of something epic. 

“Then, I suppose it is nice to meet you soulmate” Damian said, his lips faintly curling into a smile as he stuck out his hand. “Shaking hands with your soulmate? Absolutely not.” you teased, wrapping your good arm around him and giving a squeeze. He seemed frozen at first, but slowly but surely you felt his arms begin to caress your back in a lopsided slightly dysfunctional hug, but a hug nonetheless. You could feel him smiling against your shoulder, making you melt into his embrace as he let out a sigh, his hot breath tickling your neck. 

“Aw Dames this is too cute!” Damian scrambled out of your embrace as a tall raven haired boy joined you on the roof. “Dick Grayson, Nightwing” the man grinned at you, ruffling Damian’s hair against his protest. “You got your soulmate baby bird congrats!” you laughed as Damian huffed, a light blush peeking out from under his mask. “I’m all ready to go unless you wanna stay with what’s your name again?” before you could answer Dick grabbed Damian’s wrist with a laugh, “y/n! Pretty name isn’t it Dames” he swerved Damian’s fist half heartedly launching towards his face. “I’ll be at the cave waiting!” Dick cooed triumphantly as he careened down the stairs. 

“I should be going,” Damian agreed, getting up and offering you a hand. As you stood up he quietly said, “I’ll text you okay?” and you nodded, “oh okay! Do you need my number or anything?” you began to pull out your phone. “No, it’ll be easy for me to find,” he said honestly. You shook your head, “right, Robin, Batman- oh my god you’re Bruce Wayne’s son is he-?” “Yup” Damian flashed a confident smile at your dropped jaw. 

“See you around y/n” Damian nodded at you, pulling his hood over his head and grappling off the top of the building, leaving you standing atop Gotham still trying to process the days events. Pulling your phone out you dialed your best friend. 

“Dude are you okay? I heard shit went down at your school!” their voice echoed from your phone. 

“You’re never gonna guess but I found my soulmate” you said, revelling in just saying the sentence. “Who?” they screeched.

“R- Damian Wayne!” you cut yourself short, realizing that now you had a secret to keep for Damian. There was certainly more than meets the eye about the quiet boy in the back of English.

“HOLY SHIT BITCH YOU’RE GONNA BE RICH!” 

[marvelsdc22]

Hello! I hope you've had a good day so far! I looked at the angsty prompt list and thought 3, 4, and 10 would be interesting for Kara x reader. Maybe something like Kara always giving someone at the DEO some heart eyes or what ever else tickles your brain stem with these 3 prompts. I know it will be good with whatever you come up with!

I am! Currently waiting on a flight lmao and you bet!! Enjoy!!

3. “They warned me about you, I should have listened.”

4. “All I want is for you to look at me the way you look at them.”

10. “Can I convince you to stay?”

She was doing it again... Staring at the person she had been eyeing every time she came to visit you at the D.E.O. and it was starting to get old, finally deciding to do something about it as you slammed the tools you had in your hands down on the table, causing her to jump and look at you "Oh, that's what it feels like" you said, staring at her as she raised an eyebrow.

"What?" She asked, seeming clueless at the fact she had been caught staring at someone else "To actually have your eyes on me instead of Debby" you said, crossing your arms as her eyes widened and her face started to turn a bright red "I wasn't-" "They warned me about you, I should have listened... I wouldn't be feeling my heart tearing in two if I did" you said, tears building in your eyes but you fought them back.

Kara stared at you for a moment before she leaned over and touched your hand "What do you want me to do?" She asked, feeling guilty but at the same time, not entirely "All I want is for you to look at me the way you look at them... Is that too much to ask?" You said, looking at her and watching as she bit her lip so you rolled your eyes and pulled your hand away.

Standing up as you took your tools with you "I'm done, Kara" you decided, not even looking back at her so you didn't catch her freezing at your words "Wha-I-Can I convince you to stay? I love you, Y/N" Kara said, approaching you and reaching out to touch you to which you pulled away and headed for the door "You have a shit way to show it... I want you out of this room by the time I get back" you said, heading out and slamming the door behind you before going to break down in the bathroom, it would be okay, you weren't happy with her... But, why did it still hurt so much?

Drabble Requests Closed

[coeurdastronaute]

Fear 12

Previously on Fear

The apartment was very small. 

It was painfully tiny and nearly impossible to stretch across, but it did the job, it was a place to hide and a place to rest. A few plants took their places, vibrant and green against the mess of the room, with its dirty laundry on the floor and the lack of counter space. A bed was pushed against the window, the frame barely fit, the apartment just wide enough to accommodate it. On the kitchen counter, a few old mugs of stale coffee took up most of the space, while on the tiny desk, a stack of books and papers acted like a tablecloth. 

Elyza pushed open the door and felt the warmth as she walked inside from the rain. There was a taste to the air, there was a heat to the evening that felt like home, in a way she couldn’t fully comprehend, though she didn’t ask any questions. The window was cracked, and the hanging vine of one of the plants wafted in the breeze. 

There was traffic noises coming from outside somewhere, though she couldn’t quite place it, or really anything in particular. But that didn’t stop Elyza from walking inside. 

At the stove, Alicia moved around the pan and hummed, she moved her hips around slowly, though suddenly all the noises were gone. There wasn’t much else to do except stand there and look, and Elyza found herself searching for words, but not having much else to say, and so she watched and felt her heart grow very warm and full. 

The birds were too loud to allow her any longer with her dream. 

Real life came slowly to snatch away a perfect moment, and Elyza scrunched up her face and tried to turn away from the light that slipped in through the window. She ran her hands over her face and grunted in complaint that the first good dream she had in weeks was taken away because of some birds who got too overzealous with a little bit of sunlight. 

Even with her complaining, the body beside her didn’t move too much, unperturbed by the noises outside, still very invested in her own dream world. Elyza sighed and pressed her hand against her stomach before closing her eyes and hoping to fall asleep again. She did her best to conjure the images again, but they just played there in her brain, fragments and completely unattainable yet again. 

But she didn’t move again. Instead, she just stared at the ceiling. That was what she did for hours while attempting to not bother the other sleeping girl. If she stared long enough, she was certain she could fade away or freeze time. There were glimpses of it, she tricked herself into believing. 

For some reason, it never really mattered though. Alicia just kind of always knew when Elyza needed her. With a movement, the sleeping girl almost woke, and she slipped an arm over her middle, wiggling closer until her chin was on Elyza’s shoulders. No eyes opened as she clung to a few more minutes. 

“Sleep more,” Alicia murmured. She didn’t see it, but Elyza closed her eyes and smiled slightly, faintly, just the tiniest bit. 

“Okay.” 

“Bad dreams?” 

“No,” she shook her head and let out a big breath. “Good dreams.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

Alicia rubbed her stomach over her shirt and hummed, content at the news of her girlfriend’s good dreams. She kissed her shoulder and inhaled, squeezing her arms to hold the moment as tightly as Elyza had her dreams. 

“I want you to stay, please.” 

“I am,” Elyza promised, shifting only to kiss Alicia’s messy hair that tickled her nose. But still she kept there and waited-- for what, she wasn’t sure. 

“Tell me about the dream?” 

“It was before. You were dancing barefoot around my old apartment and cooking dinner.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I like socks. Tell your brain that for next time. Better to slide around in.” 

Elyza snorted and kissed her again, this time leaning her chin against her head and hoping that she might fall asleep once more. She knew it wouldn’t happen, but she didn’t care. She just didn’t want to be awake. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun snarls directly overhead in the mean kind of noon that comes despite the remaining haze from the half-dead city. Elyza drags her forearm across her forehead, the mix of blood and sweat forming a nasty mess on her arm that she wipes on her pant leg. The grunge of her hard work seems to be less that it was before-- something she’s noticed of the dead and how skeletal most were now. It either meant no one else was dying, or there were no more people to die. 

The remnants of the small group of walkers pile up to her shoulders as she pulls the bandana down from nose before pulling off the thick gloves. The killing them part was always more fun than the clean up, but here she was, still doing it. A janitor of sorts. She chuckled at the imagery. 

From her back pocket, she pulls out a cigarette, carefully putting it to her lips and lighting it with her old lighter. The smoke puffs into a cloud before drifting away as she snaps it shut and puts it back in her pocket. She doesn’t inhale it, and quickly pulls it from her lips after a moment of hanging there. She very much wants to smoke, but can’t convince herself to do it. It’s the habit, just as much as these fires are habit. Ritual, perhaps, would be a better explanation. 

Twenty-eight more notches to go on with the count, she observes, leaning on the shovel. The parking lot is quiet, though some gulls can be heard in the distance on their way back toward the bay.

With a small, proud nod, she tosses the cigarette onto the puddle of gas and takes a step back as the pyre goes up in an instant.

She doesn’t like watching them burn. It feels oddly intimate, as if she is forgetting some key step, as if she should say something. Often she doesn’t. Occasionally, she’ll mutter some prayer from the recesses of her mind, tugged out of the archives from her years in the orphanage’s school. Lately, she likes to forget that they’re people. She has to remember everyone back at the compound. She reminds herself that it is for them and not for herself, even though a tiny bit of rage seeps into this. Her retribution for those taken from her. She seeks her pounds and pounds and pounds of flesh as payment. 

With a clunk, the shovel gets tossed in the back of the old pick up and Elyza grabs her coat hanging on the tailgate. She has plans for the day, and she has a tight schedule to keep if she is going to save the world. A foolhardy task, she knows, but at this point, foolhardy is all the world has left.

The truck complains, gurgling as she shifts gears and heads in the opposite direction of the compound. As much as she does everything for them, she can’t quite stand being near the people that forced themselves into her being. She never wanted to be responsible. She just wanted to save the world. 

But she knew how to survive on the road. She preferred it. 

The apartment they picked was in an already vacated section of city that didn't’ attract many walkers. Elyza parked a few blocks over and walked, carefully lugging the backpack full of supplies and checking for anyone else. But all was clear despite the nagging feeling Elyza could never seem to shake. 

Sometimes she liked to pretend she was coming back from class to see her girlfriend in their shared apartment. Sometimes she liked to imagine they were married and would debate what to get for dinner-- their favorite place or try something new. Those nagging moments of before crept in, stemming from the time they were apart, when Elyza allowed herself a reprieve from searching to hide in made up places. 

But they were here, and it was now, and she carefully knocked before entering their little slice of the world. 

“You left early,” Alicia complained, looking up from her book. 

“Wanted to go look for a few things. 

“How many?” 

“Just a few,” she shrugged and tossed her bag on the table before crawling onto the couch between her girlfriend’s legs, flopping onto her chest, burrowing there soft and clumsy. 

“Mmm,” Alicia hummed, knowing it wasn’t the truth but accepting a few white lies. She learned that Elyza needed them to survive; accepting them as acceptable as long as she could spot them. 

She rubbed along her girlfriend’s back, the shirt still damp from sweat and her trip. She slipped beneath the fabric of the shirt and traced the spine and muscles there, snug beneath her skin. 

“Are you ready to go back yet?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Me either,” Alicia promised. “The trucks almost full though.” 

“We can get more stuff.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I got you something.” 

“What else could I want? I have the third floor walk up with an ocean-view in a trendy neighborhood I always wanted.” 

Elyza moved only slightly, pushing herself up and reaching behind her back. With a face she tugged and brought a fist back between the two of them. She had a smile that Alicia liked, ignoring the hand and whatever was inside. 

“I found it… a long time ago. Before you were…. When we lived on the rig.”

She twisted her palm and let the necklace dangle from the chain hooked on her finger. It swung between the two of them. 

“You got me this all that time ago?” 

“You went up and got yourself kidnapped so I couldn’t give it to you.” 

Alicia rolled her eyes but smiled as she played with the charm on the end. She looked it over and toyed with it. 

“It’s pretty.” 

“Thought you might like it.” 

“Can I put it on?” 

With a nod, Elyza sat up and waited for her girlfriend to do the same. When she did, Alicia pushed her hair to the side and let her clasp it there. She pressed it against her chest, as if telling it to stay put and never move. The weight of it was minute against her neck, but it was there, and it was new. 

“I love it,” she promised, leaning forward to kiss Elyza. “You should go shower.”

For a moment, Elyza didn’t move. She just stared at the necklace on Alicia’s chest. Almost bashfully, she lifted her eyes only and thought about something, though Alicia couldn’t quite decipher the look. And when she couldn’t, she cocked her head to the side and she rubbed her thumb along the jaw there. 

“I’m going to go shower.” 

“Okay.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

They stayed away for six months or so, because it was easier. Elyza went about the task of cleaning as best she could,t aking to it like a job, like one she refused to take any time off from at all. They lived a relatively normal life, considering it was the end of the world. Trucks were left at the drop point close to the cabin and they slept in a bed together every night. 

Elyza worked through things in her head, turning it over again and again. So she enjoyed the killing of the already dead. It made it easier to focus and think about anything else. It was a monumental task, to find herself amidst the deeds she’d done, and so she turned to words and books, inhaling them at every step, staying up late while Alicia slept beside her, the candle burning low into the night. And she’’d read them every day, as if she could find a manual for being alive. 

Beside her, Alicia watched the voracious way at which she studiously attacked life, and though she couldn’t fix it, she watched the burden fluctuate on her back. Though she couldn’t do anything, she fought as hard as she could to help. 

But they couldn’t stay away forever. 

The morning the clouds rolled in, Elyza sat down to breakfast by kissing her girlfriend’s forehead and simply muting those words aloud. 

“We can go back.” 

Alicia looked up from her oatmeal and furrowed, confused by the sudden thought. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I don’t want to stop what I’m doing,” Elyza decided. “But we should go back. God only knows what they’re doing anyway.” 

“We can stay if you’re not sure.” 

“No. You want to go back, and it’s not fair to keep you away.” 

“But you needed time.” 

“I don’t know what I need,” Elyza finally admitted. She was sheepish about it, about admitting and talking. “But I think we need people. They might need us.”

“They might,” Alicia nodded. 

They sat, drinking instant coffee. Alicia looked the surly girl beside her over, wondering what it all meant. There truly was no telling what happened in her head, or how she got from point A to point B, just that suddenly the blue in her eyes was earnest beyond reproach. 

“I’ll go out to gather some supplies,” she muttered, leaning forward to kiss her girlfriend’ once again. 

Alicia leaned back and watched her disappear. The thunder rumbled in the distance and she knew from experience that it was a bad time to be out and to travel. She would have to delay them a day or so until the storm passed. 

Never one for premonition, Alicia couldn’t help but think that something was wrong in the air. She wanted to blame the humidity and the storm and the uneasiness it caused, but it ran deeper than that. 

She decided they would visit the Colony first.

[erosofthepen]

10 Writing Snippits

These are all from my OC fic, “A Story of Half-Breeds, Dwarrow, Orcs, and Elves”. No, i have not published any of it yet. Consider this a teaser, a compilation of scenes from my incredibly long google doc.

This story revolves around Clara, because she’s my self-insert, but what i have written is actually really good. 

Hope you enjoy this, might post the first chapter soon.

My Ocs:

-Rantin of Fornost

-Clara Mirabelle Took

-Athenir of Rhûn

-Brenior of Fornost

-Adana, Daughter of Gerirun

-Nika, of Ered Luin

#1

Characters: Clara and Dwalin

“Uncle Balin?” She called. No answer. He was probably at the market stall, which reminded Clara where she was supposed to be. She looked at the mantle clock and cursed. 5:13 pm. She wasn’t terribly late, but she should have been there at five. In a rush, she ran up to her room, grabbed her tool kit and her working apron, and not two minutes later, she was running out the door.

“Sorry Adad, time passed faster than I could.” She said, wheezy and red-faced as she started to get to work.

“Yeh should’ve been paying better attention, lass.” Dwalin replied, twisting a piece of silver between his pliers.

#2

Characters: Rantin, Athenir, and Clara

“Athenir, you need your sword pointed at Clara’s neck,” Rantin commented.

“She’s too short!”

“If you say so. Clara, attack him.”

Clara quickly came at Athenir with a cut downwards, which he blocked. He tried in vain to roll his sword over her blade, but alas, Clara countered the move and stepped forward, guiding her sword to his chest.

“Do you see why you need to keep your sword tip low?” Rantin asked. Athenir grumbled and nodded. “I know it’s uncomfortable,” the Ranger continued, “but you must learn to adjust to any sized opponent. Clara is lucky, since every foe she’ll face is bound to be taller than her, but you are not. While your height is good for reach, Clara is very skilled at taking on larger opponents, and you’ll end up dead if you don’t learn to defeat smaller ones.” Rantin paused for a moment, looking Athenir up and down. “Clara, attack him again. Athenir, bring your sword down lower, and adjust your stance.”

#3

Characters: Clara, Fili, and Kili

He was not expecting the wounded animal to curse at the top of their lungs. Realizing their mistake, he and Fili ran towards the poor being they shot.

It was a lass. A short lass that they would’ve called a hobbit if not for the boots she wore. And she wasn’t a dwarrow either, she had no beard to speak of. Kili’s arrow was sticking out of her left shoulder and she rose as they got closer, and drew a short broadsword out from a scabbard at her side.

“I’m so sorry Miss, I truly thought you were a rabbit!” Kili said, holding his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat. Fili did the same.

#4

Characters: Legolas, Clara

Prince Legolas looked around as if afraid of getting caught. Then he bent down and began to speak in the strange elvish accent.

“You speak elvish, no?”

“Yes. Why is this a question? I’ve already spoken it to you.”

“What else do you know? When your things were searched, there were languages and items we had never seen the like of!”

“Ah, I travel far. From the Gray Havens to the eastern lands of Rhûn. I learn much.”

The Prince tilted his head as a cat might do.

“What are those lands like?”

#5

Characters: Nika, Clara

Nika moved sideways, slipping past Clara’s guard and angling her sword at the half-breeds throat. They were both breathing heavily, and Clara’s face was bright red with the effort of the match. A few strands of Nika’s hair had come undone from her hasty bun, and Clara’s baby hairs were messy and curly.  Even though the fight was won, they didn’t part.

#6

Characters: Tauriel, Clara, Athenir

Tauriel pursed her lips and nodded. They both turned at the sound of footsteps coming their way.

“Hail Clara of Erebor, It has been long since we met.”

Standing under the arch was a Ranger of forty years, give or take. Athenir of Fornost. Clara ran to hug him and he squatted down to make it easier.

“It’s been far too long since we met!” She cried.

“Indeed it has been,” He replied, squeezing her tight before drawing away. “But Clara, I come with no good news. Fell times draw near, and I am here to request your return to the Rangers.”

#7

Characters: Athenir, Brenior, Adana, and Clara

Her eyes grew wide. 

“No.”

Athenir glared at her. “Get in the sack.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Clara, please, if you value our lives, get in the sack” Brenior said, glancing behind his shoulder.

“I can keep up!”

“Clara, you’re legs are much too short to keep up with us, and we are in dangerous territory. Get in the sack.”

“I-”

Clara’s protest was cut short as Adana grabbed her from behind and shoved her in the bag. Her muffled shouts were soon quieted as Brenior kicked the bag lightly. Athenir slung bag-Clara over his shoulder and the trio took off.

#8

Characters: Fili, Athenir

Fili furrowed his brows and racked his brain.

“The elves?”

“Elrond said it could not be helped.”

“A wizard.”

At this, Athenir laughed. A shallow, depressed laugh.

“What wizard could help? Gandalf has not been heard from in years, Radagast doesn’t understand a thing about any being that is not an animal, Sauraman has closed himself off in Isengard, and the blue wizards live a world away, and focus their magic on spells and not healing. No, seeking a wizards help would be folly. There is nothing to be done.” Athenir said simply.

#9

Characters: Clara, Kili

“What can I say, I just am irresistible.”

“Irresponsible, more like.”

Kili just smiled broader and held her tighter, resting his forehead against hers. As they stood there, slightly swaying, Clara felt something stir in her chest that confused her. It started something like a small bud, and then it began to open and blossom into the most boastful rose, spreading and filling inside her, the leaves and stem tickling her stomach and stirring up hidden butterflies that had been long asleep. It felt warm too, practically radiating, and filling her insides with a glowy pink light, creeping up her bosom and neck until it showed through her cheeks.

#10

Characters: Clara, Kili

“Tell me a story?” She asked.

“About what?”

“Whatever you want to tell.”

“How about the story of the incredibly handsome dwarf prince who single-handedly reclaimed Erebor and defeated a dragon?”

That earned a laugh from Clara.

“Why not, it would be amusing to see how many exaggerations are made.”

“My Lady, everything in this tale is true as the sky is blue!”

“Well, the sky is pink right now, so I suppose everything in it must be a lie. But go on, start the story,”

[toadallytickles]

Hi Jess. I’m curious on how you and Clay build trust with each other when it comes to meeting new people, not just for tickling sessions but just building friendships. For me, there are moments when I see others connecting REALLY well and I get insecure/jealous. Like it doesn’t happen all the time, but there are cases when the energy between two people are just matching really well and I’m just like “damn”. So how do you and Clay deal with it, especially when it comes to tickling sessions where it’s both communicating and physical touching?

Hello! I hope I’m interpreting this right! I think this is asking how Clay and I trust one another and calm the jealousy when the other goes out and makes friends or sessions with another! I have some experience with that exactly as Clay connects and plays more with others, while it is something I’m still working on!

I wrote a piece on dealing with jealousy, and one specifically for open relationships if you’d like to check those out! :)

It’s valid and normal to feel jealous and envious in any relationship! That’s very common! Everyone has experienced jealousy! As a lot of us grew up surrounded by monogamous mindsets and teachings, we are taught and wired to feel threatened (jealous) when something or someone interferes with our most comfortable relationships. What isn’t healthy is letting that jealousy spiral into harming yourself and/or others.

From the amazing poly website More Than Two, “Jealousy is most common when somebody feels insecure, mistreated, threatened, or vulnerable in a relationship. If you feel secure in a relationship, you don’t get jealous. Jealousy is not the problem; jealousy is the SYMPTOM of the problem. Address the insecurity or the things underlying the feelings of vulnerability, and you address the jealousy.” - Jealousy Theory

When we see our favourite people connect with a new person or interest, our brains make us feel insecure and not good enough for that person. We’re taught that we’re meant to have one romantic partner, and sometimes even one best friend, that we do everything with. Most of these jealous feelings stem from having a low self-esteem and image of ourselves, and a lack of confidence. We get an image in our head that we’re going to lose someone we love because we feel we lack whatever caught the interest of our favourite people.

How I dealt with my jealousy and insecurity, I had to find the root of it and take a good, deep look at myself. It is not easy, though you do have to be a friend to yourself and confront those jealous feelings and figure out why you feel jealous. I grew up with a monogamous mindset myself, and had a very low self-esteem. Comparing myself now to when Clay and I’s relationship was new (2019), the difference is drastic. I myself sometimes can’t believe the amount of growth I’ve made. Before committing to a romantic relationship, knowing it was my first one AND it was going to be open, I did research on open relationships, and dealing with jealousy, and boosted my self-esteem and confidence. I also attended therapy (just in general, not for this specifically) with an amazing therapist and that also boosted my self esteem, and taught me skills to deal with anxiety and insecurity.

Communication is key! As always! It’s not weak or clingy of you to ask your friend/partner for reassurance and the love you need! A good friend/partner (and a green flag) would effectively listen to you and respect your concerns and feelings! Do your best to be open and honest about your true feelings, and that helps with self-esteem and trust! Your friend/partner is learning they can trust you to come forward when there’s a concern, or when you need something!

There is the occasional small pinch of jealousy here and there, though I combat it by reminding myself that I’m good enough, I’m Clay’s primary partner, and him connecting with others does not take away his love for me. I also love to reach out and ask for reassurance when I need it! Humans are social and like to connect! I’m sure when you make a new friend or find a new interest, you’re really excited and want to know more! Though you still have the same (or more) feelings for your friend/partner! What also helps is finding something else to do as a distraction, so you’re not letting those negative feelings eat at you! You can try to make new friends, or plan your own session, or hangout with family or friends, or do activities you really enjoy!

I found it very helpful too connecting with communities, people, and finding resources on openness, polyamory, and casual play and sex! When you connect with others who know this exact experience and have learned from it, or are still learning, or are helping others, you begin to normalize it in your life. You reaching out to me is exactly that! You’re reteaching yourself that this is normal, healthy, and allowed to be explored!

I hope something out of this is helpful to you! If you have any more questions or want me to touch on anything specific, you can send an ask anytime! :)

Part 2

More Than Two (excellent Polyamory and Ethical Non-Monogamy resource!)

More Than Two: Jealousy and Insecurity

Understanding and Dealing with Jealousy

Dealing with Jealousy (in an Open Relationship)

@polyphiliablog on Instagram

Dan Savage / Savage Love Podcast (I love this podcast! This really validates me and my feelings listening to many sex and kink positive people share their stories and questions!)

[stanananathon]

So Richie confessed his feelings for Bill. Per their pact, it's now Stan's turn to confess his for Mike. Which is a lot easier said than done.

When Richie and Bill showed up to join the rest of the losers at the barrens that afternoon, Stan felt his heart drop into his stomach. Richie had the worst shit-eating grin on his face and Stan immediately knew that Richie told Bill how he felt.

Don't get Stan wrong, he was immensely happy for his friend, but now that he and Bill had gotten together, that meant he had to hold up his end of the deal. Which he was most definitely not ready to do. As Richie jumped into the water with a whoop, Stan's eyes drifted their way over to where Mike was sitting with Beverly.

She was showing him how to make a flower crown. His strong hands were delicate with the dandelions, carefully folding the stems according to Bev's instructions and him smiling as she praised his work. Stan let out a soft sigh and didn't even notice Bill sit down next to him.

"So," Bill spoke and startled Stan out of his reverie, "a certain Trashmouth spilled some beans about you." Stan groaned and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Did he now?" He propped his chin in his hand and looked up at Bill's grinning face. He could smack that grin off if he really wanted to.

"Yep." Bill nodded. "So, how long?" Stan sighed in reply and picked at the grass at his feet.

"I don't know. A while, I guess. He's just got this warmth, you know? I feel safe when I'm around him. Like I don't have to worry so much." Bill nodded along thoughtfully.

"He's handsome too." Bill quipped. Stan groaned again and plopped down onto his back.

"He's so handsome I might die." He lamented. Bill laughed in response and patted Stan's thigh.

"Well you've only got a few days until the end of the week, and you know that if you don't do anything Richie will never let you live it down, so," he stood up a shucked off his shirt, "good luck!" and with that he jumped in after Richie.

The next day Mike asked Stan if he wanted to come over after school and meet some new baby chicks. The combination of Stan’s love for birds and how cute and soft the chicks would be was the basis of the appeal. And of course, Stan couldn’t say no.

As he made his way to the Hanson farm, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the best time to do it. They would be alone, right? Stan would have ample time to find the right moment and tell Mike how he felt. Time, however, was not the problem--courage was.

Stan remembers the first time he felt brave. It was at his bar mitzvah. He had just finished his speech--if you will--and had run outside with Richie, hand-in-hand.

"Oh my god, Stan the Man, that was insane!" Richie laughed. Stan's heart was racing and he felt electricity buzzing through his body. He couldn't believe he'd just done that. Oh god, his parents were going to kill him. He almost worried himself into a tizzy until he saw the way Richie's eyes shone with pride when he grinned at him.

So instead of worrying, Stan let himself feel that same pride. He let Richie tell him all about how awesome what he had just done was, and allowed the feelings of courage and resilience fill his chest like a balloon.

As he came upon the chicken coop and saw Mike inside, Stan tried to conjure up those same feelings again. He could do this.

"Hey, Stan!" Mike greeted as he ducked his way into the coop. Mike was crouched on the ground and in his wide hands was a little fluff of yellow. Stan's eyes widened and his mind went completely blank. It was so cute!

Mike chuckled as he looked up at Stan and saw his look of awe.

"Wanna hold him?" He asked. Stan nodded quickly. He kneeled down next to Mike and held out his hands delicately. His fingers were stiff and straight and Mike set down the chick carefully before bringing his hands up to adjust Stan's.

"Here. You actually want to cup your hands more so that it's not so easy for the chick to fall out." His hands were underneath Stan's helping mould them into the correct form. Stan gulped audibly and prayed that Mike didn't notice.

Stan had always admired how strong Mike's hands were, but he hadn't thought about how soft they could be. They had their callouses from farm work, but his palms were soft. Stan tried not to tremble too much at the contact. He thought about saying something and went to open his mouth, but then Mike was lifting the chick into his hands and his mind went blank again.

He felt the tiny little talons in his palms and the fluff under his fingertips. He carefully lifted the chick up to his eye level to admire his baby feathers up close. He smiled brightly at Mike.

"Look at how cute!" Mike nodded along, letting out a light chuckle.

"I know right! Too bad they don't stay like this." He smiled at the sight in front of him: Stan smiling at the little chick in his hands, the sun peeking in through the window of the coop to set Stan's curls alight. He was beautiful, Mike thought.

"Huh?" Stan's head shot up at Mike, his eyes even bigger than before. Did Stan just hear what he thought he did? Mike matched Stan's deer-in-the-headlights look. He gathered himself and rubbed his hands together.

“Guess I can’t hide it anymore. I like you, Stan. As more than a friend. I love how much care you put into everything and how brave you are. And, like I just blurted out, I think you’re beautiful.”

Stan’s brain short-circuited. Not only did Mike think he was beautiful, but he liked him! Stan had been freaking out this whole time about telling Mike how he felt but never did he think that Mike would say something first!

Stan delicately set down and chick and stood up. Mike followed suit, his hands nervous rubbing the front of his jeans. Stan tentatively reached out to take one hand in his. He knew he should say something but he’d never held Mike’s hand before.

He traced the lines of Mike’s palm delicately and he heard Mike suck in a breath of air through his teeth. Stan’s eyes left Mike’s hand to look up at his flushed face.

“Tickles.” Mike croaked out. Stan grinned and found his voice.

“I like you too, Mike. I was actually going to tell you myself, but you beat me to it. You distracted me with chicks.” He laughed and Mike laughed and the tension settled.

“Would you want to maybe go on a date with me?” Mike asked, turning his hand to lace his fingers through Stan’s. Stan nodded furtively, his grin only growing.

“I’d like that a lot.”

[lluvguts]

Cool Blue ; Chapter Seven

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frightened by my feelings

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☽ a/n: i'm so sorry for the long wait! i've been in a mood.

☽ warnings: internalized homophobia

☽ fic masterlist

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Alberto broke away from Giulia's hand clasped in his own and listened to their steps (his silent, always barefoot but Giulia's sandals slapped the boards unpleasantly) up the rickety staircase to the hallway. Mismatched pairs of socks and a few pencil shavings led them off in a distinct line to Alberto's room, ending at his door, a sign to anyone else in the house that Alberto had been rummaging through the downstairs cupboards at night; whereas Giulia's room opposite his, clean when she wanted it to be, teeming with school books and Machi's homemade cat toys and plant life, had no such trail.

"You know, come to think of it, this makes much more sense now," Giulia mused, her eyes fixed on her toes as Alberto abruptly stopped them at the doorway to his room.

Alberto felt a headache start to blossom beneath his eyelids, above his browbone. A throb with no rhythm but all the more pain to make up for it. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the steadying weight of the doorframe pressing on his shoulder as he leaned on it. Giulia knew, but she...also didn't. A tiny fleck marked the frame and only became apparent in his blurry vision, just a chip on the wood. Stripped of paint and sticking out against the cream walls in an ugly slash.

He trailed his thumb along the divot, feeling the splinters biting underneath his calloused hand. Giulia was still talking, ignoring his silence. The tension only grew the longer Alberto hovered at the door, refusing to open it and let all of those things come seeping out, with Giulia's smug remarks making the pain reach a high point.

"...I'm not nearly as obvious about, uh, my thing as you are. I don't go painting pictures of him--which I'm almost positive you do, by the way. Oh! And Papa's camera? You took photos, too? Santa mozzarella, Alberto, this is just like a soap opera--"

Alberto's thumbnail dug into the wood. "Yeah, okay Giulia, we get it. You're such a genius or whatever for knowing my secrets, alright? Will you ever shut up?"

Giulia blinked, losing some of that teasing glint in her eyes, but only for a moment. She stood up straighter and examined Alberto's pained expression and his half-stance, shouldered up on the wallpaper so he didn't faint from fear. She yanked his forearm away from the divot in the doorframe and pulled it forward, propelling them into Alberto's room without any other notice.

"Wait! Giulia! It's-It's very messy in here! I wouldn't want you having a heart attack or something..." Alberto rambled, flinging free of her grip once again to run ahead of her.

Always in the lead, scrambling to kick his discarded bath towel under the bed, and the rush of feelings that surged with it. The photos. The pictures were still on the dresser, and Giulia was standing by the bed, so that saved him at least a few agonizing minutes. While she grimaced at his crumpled sheets, pinching her nose and complaining of the fish smell, Alberto shied away from her gaze, laughing nervously and edged closer to the dresser.

"Honestly, Alberto," Giulia picked up his comforter, then wrinkled her nose in disgust and it flew from her fingers. "Haven't you heard of airing out your bedroom? The window is literally right here."

He glanced over Giulia's shoulder at the harbor beyond, thinking she should be at work. They should both be at work, or working, or doing at least something. "Don't like it."

"Don't like the window?" A piece of dirty laundry, another item under close sibling scrutiny, was dropped from her hands. Giulia turned from the wall and smirked unconvincingly at Alberto's palms outstretched along the top of the dresser, practically leaning on it for dear life.

He tried to clear his throat, but it was dry. Everything in his room was dry. The towel from the night before was cast under his bed, stiff as old citrus. The empty glass behind him, the tiny ring of water that clung to the bottom now dried up. Definitely what had happened hours before had nothing to do with what was already drying inches below his belt. God, he needed a shower to scrub off the memories. No, sear them off his skin.

Stop. Don't think of that.

"No! I, uh--" Alberto closed his eyes, opened them, closed them again, that headache never seeming to go away. "I don't...like...the boats."

That was mostly true. He just didn't like some boats in particular, the ones that hunted down sea monsters and pried the scales from their bodies as if they were gold flecks. He didn't mind giving up the salty nighttime breeze for peace of mind. What he didn't want to sacrifice, however, was the lingering (stifling) smell of Luca's scales clinging to his bedsheets and in the bathroom, with the door constantly open, a heady ocean candle that was never snuffed out.

"Pfft! You liar, you basically live on a boat you work so much. What about it could you possibly not like?" She tried a new tactic, no longer rooting through article after offensive article of boyish mess, and instead picked apart the uneasy smile in Alberto's upturned lips, evident in the sweat along his temple.

Her dark eyes roamed over Alberto, looking up at the wall then back down to his sprawled arms and aching shoulders, realization dawning. "You're...stalling! Hah! Think changing the subject will do you any good when you're around me, eh?"

Giulia marched over to Alberto, who even hunched back to conceal the contents of the dresser was taller by a few inches.

"You're hiding something, aren't you?" Giulia whispered, her voice once dripping with an easygoing slyness that only came with being siblings. But now, she steeled her eyes over Alberto's shoulder, freckled and tanned and nicked with fishing scars, searching but said nothing else.

Alberto slid his tongue along the rough roof of his mouth, tasting salt. He winced at Giulia's tender fingertips brushing over the top of his shoulders to reach for something outside of his vision, but by the feather-light intake of breath that Giulia did a poor job at hiding, he knew exactly what she had found. One photo turned to two, then three, and soon Giulia was thumbing through all of them like the old card deck they always managed to misplace on late nights.

"Luca," Giulia murmured softly, the polaroids pinched between her shaking fingers. She said his name, and the grapefruit that Massimo had held in his bare hand came to mind, suddenly. His name sounded sweet as she said it, peeling back the shocking rinds to a much more bitter discovery, the picture wrapped in a thin little fruit membrane that Giulia had torn apart and dove in hands first to pick out the seeds. She said his name, and Alberto bit his tongue, waiting, waiting. The salty tang was met with the quick release of blood as he chewed on his lip, not caring for the sting but more so for the way the air in the room stood still.

Giulia was sitting on the bed now, and Alberto was still sprawled out along the dresser, feeling time rush back in to greet him. The window was still closed. The bath towel peeked out from hard bedframe, sage fabric frozen in place, silently screaming if Alberto could guess. All of the warmth in the room flooded to Alberto's face, his flushed cheeks burning so hot he covered them with clammy palms. This wasn't happening...

The dizziness in his brain had subsided, at least for now. Pushed to the side. "I...uh...I think I can--You aren't afraid, are you?"

Giulia opened her mouth, speaking silent demands. The pictures were still in her hands. Though she was shaking and casting their glossy film over Alberto's pleading eyes. He took a step to her, and she held up a hand--the one that wasn't clutching the polaroids. Holding Luca. Così bello, Luca.

"Take me to him."

"Huh?" Alberto skittered back, eyeing the photos but afraid to take them from her hands, gently thumbing through them again like she was seeing the glossy scales and bright eyes for the first time. "I don't know...uh, I don't know what you're asking, Giulia," Alberto breathed, itching to take the stack of photos. Giulia sensed her brother's restlessness and stood up to place them into his trembling hands. They fit perfectly into his palms, and he carded through the five with a fond smile he quickly abandoned when realization hit him and Giulia was, there.

"Saying they were just a myth, Alberto?" Giulia brought all of the photos together carefully, choosing not to see Alberto's eyebrows shooting up into his head of curls but at the rows and neat edges she'd made. "But oh, wow, Luca. So...much different that what Papa says about sea monsters. He's so..."

Alberto's heart sped up. "Beautiful?" Was he even allowed to say that? What would she think?

Giulia nodded, flashing an appreciate grin but still indecisive.

"That's okay, Alberto," She wrapped her hands over Alberto's, a pillar to his crumbling resolve, and put her chin against his collarbone to still him. She sighed, a rumbling breath into his ribcage, and he felt his chest lighten. "It's okay to think he's beautiful."

Alberto didn't think he could get a word out, with his sister's hair inches from his nose, filling his head with soothing, sleepy smells. She had stuck a stem of lavender from the vase in the kitchen behind her ear.

No it's not.

"Shhh, fratello. Just don't think for a moment, si?" Giulia took the photos again and put them in her pants pocket, then wrapped her assuring arms around Alberto's neck as he let out a soundless cry. "You're okay."

Alberto buried the bridge of his sunburnt nose into Giulia's hair, the tiny periwinkle flower buds tickling his cheekbone.

"The lavanda in the vase, you bought that? It...was for him, wasn't it?" Giulia murmured to distract, petting the side of his neck to calm him down.

"...He couldn't keep it. The petals would float to the surface." His words came out sniffled and ugly-sounding, making him cringe but also hold in a laugh imagining Luca bringing a bouquet of flowers underwater just to see them all rush past his wide eyes to the surf above.

Giulia snorted and laughed against his chest, and soon Alberto was chuckling softly along with her. "Let's go see il tuo cuore, okay?"

"You're serious?" Alberto readjusted the lavender stem in her hair. "Giulia, this is like the total opposite of how I thought this would go."

She took his hand tenderly and went to the door, but not without a whiplash turn of her head, cocking one eyebrow in defiance. "What, did you expect me to reach for the nearest harpoon? Like everyone else in this town? I don't think so." She tapped her forehead, smirking. "Open mind, dummy."

Alberto squeezed her pinky finger. "Okay, you were so sweet a second ago. What happened?"

"Lots of things, big guy," Giulia clicked her tongue and pulled Alberto's hand closer. "But that vase on the dining room table, those flowers. That's how I knew. If it were a girl, you would have listened to Papa's advice for roses. But you got lavender."

Alberto sighed, fighting the impulse to tug his hand away and retreat fearfully back to his room. "If you think it's such a stupid idea, we can make tea with them. Papa got a new kettle at the market."

Giulia gave him a side glance again. "And what about Luca?"

"Fine, no tea then." Alberto stumbled on his words, choking on them almost. Would Luca...even be there? After what had happened...

He blushed and stopped, inches above Giulia's head when he stood one step higher than her, looking directly into the kitchen on his right where the vase was. Evening light spilled in the window by the sink the Marcovaldos refused to close, bathing the ornate, bottle green glass in moody flashes of color on the patched up tablecloth. A sliver of a grapefruit rind sat, hard and darkened next to the reflection of lavender stems, from Massimo's talk. Alberto swallowed the immediate flush of nausea, hating the way he could almost taste the embarrassment and worry on his tongue, inside his pores.

It was going to get dark soon.