spasmsofthought

[spasmsofthought]

just have to say ur dick gracie abrams inspired drabble was so good whuoooooooo!!!! captured the feeling of the song so well

ahhhhhh anon! thank you so so much! this made my day 🥰

[spasmsofthought]

i think about your dumb face (all the time) [dick grayson x reader]

hey, fam. sorry it's been a while! i moved halfway across the country for school in september and it's been a whirlwind since then. sorry for the radio silence.

please enjoy this, because That's So True by Gracie Abrams and i have been besties right now.

please excuse any grammatical/spelling mistakes because i just had to get this all out at once.

not very long on the word count.

Happy New Year! xoxo

+++

"Oh, baby," He says, lips pressed against your cheek, the barest of brushes, before he moves them to whisper in your ear. "There will nobody else for me. Only you."

You are trying to catch your breath, gasping for air. Your lungs are greedy for oxygen. But when Dick's mouth moves to cover yours again, your resign to your fate. If you die from asphyxiation because of Dick's kisses, at least it will be a pleasurable demise.

Your hands move to frame his face, palms to his cheeks, trying to move his as close as you can get him. Trying to erase the space that exists between the two of you. He knows exactly what he's doing, because your breath hitches.

You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin.

It's like you've been set on fire and are drowning at the same time.

Is this what being in love is like? It must be.

Dick is an all-consuming force, pulling you in like a ship to its harbor. Maybe the only way to be found is to get lost.

Your lungs beg: I can't breathe. Your heart pounds: I'm going to die. Your mind echoes: I love you, I love you, I love you. Even though you don't say it, you think he might know it. You think he has known it for a while now. He must, because he says everything else but those four words.

He pulls away, allowing a marginal second for you to suck in some sort of breath. Dick breathes out some words that don't quite register in the moment, but then he's back in with a second-wind of his own, and you are lost to an oblivion of your own making.

"You're the best thing that could have ever happened to me."

His words haunt you.

They are like an anchor when all you want to do is set sail.

They cause an angry flush to rise on your skin whenever you watch the local news channel for too long and are forced to remember them when you see his name pop up.

It's hard to escape the reality of your heartbreak when your ex-boyfriend is basically American Royalty. The only way you could escape his face appearing in your line of sight at least once a day is if your resigned your post with The Gotham Times, packed all your belongings, ghosted your closest friends, and moved to the Bush with absolutely no internet access whatsoever.

Best thing that could have ever happened to him your ass.

Not when you're seeing collages and reels and edits of him and his new supermodel girlfriend on TikTok. Not when pictures of them attending the most recent Wayne Foundation Charity Gala are plastered all across the Herald and TMZ. Not when her ad-sponsored pictures made it into your discovery page on Instagram. They even have a whole electronic billboard devoted to their newest photo shoot.

It is a visceral reaction every time you see his face across page of the newspaper, or on a screen as you sit on your regular bus route back to your apartment and look at the window. It would almost be a gift to be temporarily blind, you think, because you can't help but seeing him everywhere. When you walk down the street and look in Belly Burger's front window, you flashback to when you shared fries and a milkshake during your lunch for 15 minutes before he had to jet off. When you are sent to City Hall to cover a story about the Mayor, you remember him sneaking you into the coat closet during a fundraiser. You remember him talking you on your first walking tour of Cathedral Square, and your first kiss that followed, when you see it from the Gotham Gazette offices when you're on inter-paper stories.

He's everywhere, in everything.

You almost want to warn her. She balances the line between demure and edgy, somehow remaining in the middle. From the clips people have posted, she seems so sweet and kind. She seems to genuinely care about other people; she's not pretentious or self-absorbed. She is very aware of the social and financial privilege she has because of her work.

You almost like her and there's a part of you that wants to find her, grab her by the shoulders, and warn her that he will blindside her just like he did you.

There will come a point when he will cut his losses and walk away without looking back.

It's what he did that night, no tears in his eyes and without an ounce of regret.

He buried you and isn't sorry about it.

You almost want to warn her, but then you see red.

"Oh baby, there will nobody else for me. Only you." A cruel whisper echoes against your ear.

You see the knife in Dick's hand with your blood on it. You see his shadow moving away as he leaves you lying on the cold ground in a dark alleyway.

You wish he had never said that. You wish he would have cut the cord sooner. It might've made it hurt less if he had.

And now every time you see his face, the small bit of love still remaining is washed over by hatred. Fading pink colored over with bright red.

You want to know what he's thinking. Is she just a rebound? Is he having a hard time moving on to? When he was walking away from you, was he choking down his own tears? Is she just a fill in for the gap that was left when he separated himself from you?

But then you want to dial his phone number and scream. Yell. Get it all off your chest. Find his million dollar car and key your anguish and fury into the side of it. Tell him that his reckoning is coming.

One day he will see you and wish he stayed.

The bottle of rage in your chest might just shatter one day from the pressure your grief puts on it and rip your heart into a billion shreds. But for now, it's still beating (even though half of it is still beating for him).

[spasmsofthought]

i think about your DUMB FACE ALL THE TIME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[spasmsofthought]

this is so good!!

Are You Going My Way? | Collection | John "Bucky" Egan

Lost and found in four parts. John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Warnings: 18+ smut, mentions of blood, wounds, operations, hospitals, war -> Taglist open! ***

Hitchin' a Ride Part 1

Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes. Words: 7k | Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals

***

Follow Me Where I Go Part 2

Or how you stopped worrying and learned to love trouble.

Words: 8.5k | Warnings: smut, 18+

***

As I Walk Through The Valley of The Shadow of Death Part 3

Or how hell could not keep you away from each other.

Words: 10.5k | Warnings: war, blood, graphic descriptions of war and wounds, angst, 18+

***

Lights Will Guide You Home Part 4

[spasmsofthought]

Another reblog cause I’m so proud and I dearly love this piece!

starlight (legolas x reader)

A bit (or a lot) philosophical. Indirect allusions to depression/melancholy. Please take care reading and take care of yourself.

IDK word count LOL but not super long, I think.

This idea has been in my drafts for a while, but inspiration came this evening. I hope it's executed well for you. I haven't felt so creative in such a long time and this piece was such a treat to write.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

“My friend, what ails you?” Legolas has not been sure of you, try as he might.

Even though it is just the beginning of the Fellowship’s journey, you walk already battle-weary. You are heavy, it seems, in comparison to your fellow human companions. Aragorn nor Boromir carry themselves this way. Even Frodo, despite the responsibility he carries, retains some of the Hobbit carefree way. It had caused Legolas to wonder, apprehensively in the beginning, if it was the Ring. The more he watched and waited, the more clear it became that it wasn’t. Relief then became mixed with confusion, for if it wasn’t the Ring, what could cause such weight for you to carry? The brief conversations he has shared with you so far have not provided him further insight.

You turn towards him from where you sit. Your face is not unhealthy in anyway, but your eyes are not bright. There is something deep in them for which Legolas does not have the words to explain. You are close enough to be seen from camp, but far enough away that no one has had the heart to disturb you. It is a quiet evening, but even as he approaches, there is something that mixes in with the stillness that is foreign to him.

“Hello, Legolas,” He stands for a moment, unsure. “Please, you are welcome to join.”

You pat the stone next to you as if it is an inviting cushion. It is not.

“Thank you for your inquiry. I am only sad, Legolas.” Your hands settle in your lap. Legolas grows even more confused. Often human weep to express their grief, in his understanding. He has not seen, or heard, you cry once.

You clarify after a moment, sighing and then glancing at him. “There is no cause for it, unfortunately. Otherwise I would ask aid of our Fellowship. It is simply a—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It takes your brain a short time to unscramble to find something suitable, “condition I endure.”

“The understanding of the complexity of human nature escapes me at this time.”

You laugh is small, “It confounds me often.”

There is a moment, halfway between awkward and friendly, in which you sit together. Trying to explain your feelings to an Elf has not been something anyone ever thought to prepare you for.

Legolas has been an intimidating individual to try and engage for yourself. It has been your own inexperience and reluctance that has caused some of your avoidance of him. Elves had been figures of myths and folklore in the small village where you had been raised. To confront your youth’s inadequate tales against a far different reality has already been mentally exhausting. You always thought Elves would be the kind of stern and serious beings that immortality seemed to produce. Instead, Legolas was often cheery, reveling in merriment.

“There is a type of sadness for humans,” You try to explain. Legolas pays attention, “that can come for us regardless of circumstance or atmosphere. It is different than missing one’s family or saying goodbye, and it is hard to explain and justify even amongst my own kin. What I am feeling now is not something that carries a name for my people; there are a lot who do not try to understand. Some types of human sadness come and go. This type of sadness can be long-lasting. I carry mine with me, it seems, no matter what I go. It stays, though I do not ask it to.”

There is a little bit of shame to your countenance it seems to Legolas, as you glance down at your hands. You are meek in the fading light of the evening.

Legolas is not sure he has seen someone who looks as human as you do, against the backdrop of the trees and earth.

“Your mind seems fragile,” He says.

His words come as a frank observation, although gentled in tone. It is a paradox for something so piercing to be soft. Legolas takes great care to not offend you, even now. You would be offended if another of your race said the same, but there’s something about the way the words come from his mouth that do not make them a personal affront. These words do not seem to change whatever opinion he has of you. (An opinion that seems more positive than one you would give of yourself to him.)

“I suppose you could say that,” Your eyes drift up again to look at the dark sky, small glinting stars beginning to appear through the cracks of the trees. “Most human minds are fragile in some way, I think. We are not made to endure the long passing of time the same as you and your race. We are more effected… more vulnerable, I think. Or rather, vulnerable in different ways.”

Your words are met with Legolas’s silence. The light-hearted elf has turned contemplative. “The burden of human life is not what I have thought it was.”

“I don’t think I quite fully understand it either, thought I bear it,” You respond, lips quirking to the side for a moment. As they meet yours for a short time, Legolas’s eyes shine in the dark. “Although I fear comparison will still leave us lacking. I know little of what it is to be an elf, but I know you and your kind carry grief of your own. It is hard for me to conceive of what it must like to see so much, for so long, and still remain so physically unchanged.”

Legolas hums but then chooses to say nothing about the subject.

“I love the stars,” You say after a brief pause. Legolas does not object, so you continue to talk. “Even in the darkness, when I have had no one else with me, they have comforted me. Sometimes, like tonight, when my heart pulls me inward, they seem to whisper to me and cause my gaze upward.”

There is a companionable silence that follows. You sit next to Legolas, he next to you, as you stare up at the stars glittering across the black expanse of the night.

There is scant touch that comes across your cheek, like a breeze against your skin. A brief warmth follows, fading as quickly as it comes. As you turn your face, Legolas’s hand comes to rest against his side. Your eyes meet and he nods towards the forest path that leads to the camp where the others rest. His gaze is soft on your face.

You don’t think anyone has looked at you as he is now.

“Sleep, ithildin nîn.” You do not know what the words mean but they feel as a balm does, only for your heart and not for your body. “I will keep watch.”

For a little while, you hold his eyes. Legolas does not shy away even though he does not know what the immediate future holds; though he does not know what will become of you, or of him. You nod at his words, gathering your things and standing. You feel his gaze, even through the path you take to camp, on you until you fall asleep.

~~~~

Translation: Ithildin nîn — my starlight.

[spasmsofthought]

shameless reblog!

starlight (legolas x reader)

A bit (or a lot) philosophical. Indirect allusions to depression/melancholy. Please take care reading and take care of yourself.

IDK word count LOL but not super long, I think.

This idea has been in my drafts for a while, but inspiration came this evening. I hope it's executed well for you. I haven't felt so creative in such a long time and this piece was such a treat to write.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

“My friend, what ails you?” Legolas has not been sure of you, try as he might.

Even though it is just the beginning of the Fellowship’s journey, you walk already battle-weary. You are heavy, it seems, in comparison to your fellow human companions. Aragorn nor Boromir carry themselves this way. Even Frodo, despite the responsibility he carries, retains some of the Hobbit carefree way. It had caused Legolas to wonder, apprehensively in the beginning, if it was the Ring. The more he watched and waited, the more clear it became that it wasn’t. Relief then became mixed with confusion, for if it wasn’t the Ring, what could cause such weight for you to carry? The brief conversations he has shared with you so far have not provided him further insight.

You turn towards him from where you sit. Your face is not unhealthy in anyway, but your eyes are not bright. There is something deep in them for which Legolas does not have the words to explain. You are close enough to be seen from camp, but far enough away that no one has had the heart to disturb you. It is a quiet evening, but even as he approaches, there is something that mixes in with the stillness that is foreign to him.

“Hello, Legolas,” He stands for a moment, unsure. “Please, you are welcome to join.”

You pat the stone next to you as if it is an inviting cushion. It is not.

“Thank you for your inquiry. I am only sad, Legolas.” Your hands settle in your lap. Legolas grows even more confused. Often human weep to express their grief, in his understanding. He has not seen, or heard, you cry once.

You clarify after a moment, sighing and then glancing at him. “There is no cause for it, unfortunately. Otherwise I would ask aid of our Fellowship. It is simply a—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It takes your brain a short time to unscramble to find something suitable, “condition I endure.”

“The understanding of the complexity of human nature escapes me at this time.”

You laugh is small, “It confounds me often.”

There is a moment, halfway between awkward and friendly, in which you sit together. Trying to explain your feelings to an Elf has not been something anyone ever thought to prepare you for.

Legolas has been an intimidating individual to try and engage for yourself. It has been your own inexperience and reluctance that has caused some of your avoidance of him. Elves had been figures of myths and folklore in the small village where you had been raised. To confront your youth’s inadequate tales against a far different reality has already been mentally exhausting. You always thought Elves would be the kind of stern and serious beings that immortality seemed to produce. Instead, Legolas was often cheery, reveling in merriment.

“There is a type of sadness for humans,” You try to explain. Legolas pays attention, “that can come for us regardless of circumstance or atmosphere. It is different than missing one’s family or saying goodbye, and it is hard to explain and justify even amongst my own kin. What I am feeling now is not something that carries a name for my people; there are a lot who do not try to understand. Some types of human sadness come and go. This type of sadness can be long-lasting. I carry mine with me, it seems, no matter what I go. It stays, though I do not ask it to.”

There is a little bit of shame to your countenance it seems to Legolas, as you glance down at your hands. You are meek in the fading light of the evening.

Legolas is not sure he has seen someone who looks as human as you do, against the backdrop of the trees and earth.

“Your mind seems fragile,” He says.

His words come as a frank observation, although gentled in tone. It is a paradox for something so piercing to be soft. Legolas takes great care to not offend you, even now. You would be offended if another of your race said the same, but there’s something about the way the words come from his mouth that do not make them a personal affront. These words do not seem to change whatever opinion he has of you. (An opinion that seems more positive than one you would give of yourself to him.)

“I suppose you could say that,” Your eyes drift up again to look at the dark sky, small glinting stars beginning to appear through the cracks of the trees. “Most human minds are fragile in some way, I think. We are not made to endure the long passing of time the same as you and your race. We are more effected… more vulnerable, I think. Or rather, vulnerable in different ways.”

Your words are met with Legolas’s silence. The light-hearted elf has turned contemplative. “The burden of human life is not what I have thought it was.”

“I don’t think I quite fully understand it either, thought I bear it,” You respond, lips quirking to the side for a moment. As they meet yours for a short time, Legolas’s eyes shine in the dark. “Although I fear comparison will still leave us lacking. I know little of what it is to be an elf, but I know you and your kind carry grief of your own. It is hard for me to conceive of what it must like to see so much, for so long, and still remain so physically unchanged.”

Legolas hums but then chooses to say nothing about the subject.

“I love the stars,” You say after a brief pause. Legolas does not object, so you continue to talk. “Even in the darkness, when I have had no one else with me, they have comforted me. Sometimes, like tonight, when my heart pulls me inward, they seem to whisper to me and cause my gaze upward.”

There is a companionable silence that follows. You sit next to Legolas, he next to you, as you stare up at the stars glittering across the black expanse of the night.

There is scant touch that comes across your cheek, like a breeze against your skin. A brief warmth follows, fading as quickly as it comes. As you turn your face, Legolas’s hand comes to rest against his side. Your eyes meet and he nods towards the forest path that leads to the camp where the others rest. His gaze is soft on your face.

You don’t think anyone has looked at you as he is now.

“Sleep, ithildin nîn.” You do not know what the words mean but they feel as a balm does, only for your heart and not for your body. “I will keep watch.”

For a little while, you hold his eyes. Legolas does not shy away even though he does not know what the immediate future holds; though he does not know what will become of you, or of him. You nod at his words, gathering your things and standing. You feel his gaze, even through the path you take to camp, on you until you fall asleep.

~~~~

Translation: Ithildin nîn — my starlight.

[spasmsofthought]

starlight (legolas x reader)

A bit (or a lot) philosophical. Indirect allusions to depression/melancholy. Please take care reading and take care of yourself.

IDK word count LOL but not super long, I think.

This idea has been in my drafts for a while, but inspiration came this evening. I hope it's executed well for you. I haven't felt so creative in such a long time and this piece was such a treat to write.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

“My friend, what ails you?” Legolas has not been sure of you, try as he might.

Even though it is just the beginning of the Fellowship’s journey, you walk already battle-weary. You are heavy, it seems, in comparison to your fellow human companions. Aragorn nor Boromir carry themselves this way. Even Frodo, despite the responsibility he carries, retains some of the Hobbit carefree way. It had caused Legolas to wonder, apprehensively in the beginning, if it was the Ring. The more he watched and waited, the more clear it became that it wasn’t. Relief then became mixed with confusion, for if it wasn’t the Ring, what could cause such weight for you to carry? The brief conversations he has shared with you so far have not provided him further insight.

You turn towards him from where you sit. Your face is not unhealthy in anyway, but your eyes are not bright. There is something deep in them for which Legolas does not have the words to explain. You are close enough to be seen from camp, but far enough away that no one has had the heart to disturb you. It is a quiet evening, but even as he approaches, there is something that mixes in with the stillness that is foreign to him.

“Hello, Legolas,” He stands for a moment, unsure. “Please, you are welcome to join.”

You pat the stone next to you as if it is an inviting cushion. It is not.

“Thank you for your inquiry. I am only sad, Legolas.” Your hands settle in your lap. Legolas grows even more confused. Often human weep to express their grief, in his understanding. He has not seen, or heard, you cry once.

You clarify after a moment, sighing and then glancing at him. “There is no cause for it, unfortunately. Otherwise I would ask aid of our Fellowship. It is simply a—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It takes your brain a short time to unscramble to find something suitable, “condition I endure.”

“The understanding of the complexity of human nature escapes me at this time.”

You laugh is small, “It confounds me often.”

There is a moment, halfway between awkward and friendly, in which you sit together. Trying to explain your feelings to an Elf has not been something anyone ever thought to prepare you for.

Legolas has been an intimidating individual to try and engage for yourself. It has been your own inexperience and reluctance that has caused some of your avoidance of him. Elves had been figures of myths and folklore in the small village where you had been raised. To confront your youth’s inadequate tales against a far different reality has already been mentally exhausting. You always thought Elves would be the kind of stern and serious beings that immortality seemed to produce. Instead, Legolas was often cheery, reveling in merriment.

“There is a type of sadness for humans,” You try to explain. Legolas pays attention, “that can come for us regardless of circumstance or atmosphere. It is different than missing one’s family or saying goodbye, and it is hard to explain and justify even amongst my own kin. What I am feeling now is not something that carries a name for my people; there are a lot who do not try to understand. Some types of human sadness come and go. This type of sadness can be long-lasting. I carry mine with me, it seems, no matter what I go. It stays, though I do not ask it to.”

There is a little bit of shame to your countenance it seems to Legolas, as you glance down at your hands. You are meek in the fading light of the evening.

Legolas is not sure he has seen someone who looks as human as you do, against the backdrop of the trees and earth.

“Your mind seems fragile,” He says.

His words come as a frank observation, although gentled in tone. It is a paradox for something so piercing to be soft. Legolas takes great care to not offend you, even now. You would be offended if another of your race said the same, but there’s something about the way the words come from his mouth that do not make them a personal affront. These words do not seem to change whatever opinion he has of you. (An opinion that seems more positive than one you would give of yourself to him.)

“I suppose you could say that,” Your eyes drift up again to look at the dark sky, small glinting stars beginning to appear through the cracks of the trees. “Most human minds are fragile in some way, I think. We are not made to endure the long passing of time the same as you and your race. We are more effected… more vulnerable, I think. Or rather, vulnerable in different ways.”

Your words are met with Legolas’s silence. The light-hearted elf has turned contemplative. “The burden of human life is not what I have thought it was.”

“I don’t think I quite fully understand it either, thought I bear it,” You respond, lips quirking to the side for a moment. As they meet yours for a short time, Legolas’s eyes shine in the dark. “Although I fear comparison will still leave us lacking. I know little of what it is to be an elf, but I know you and your kind carry grief of your own. It is hard for me to conceive of what it must like to see so much, for so long, and still remain so physically unchanged.”

Legolas hums but then chooses to say nothing about the subject.

“I love the stars,” You say after a brief pause. Legolas does not object, so you continue to talk. “Even in the darkness, when I have had no one else with me, they have comforted me. Sometimes, like tonight, when my heart pulls me inward, they seem to whisper to me and cause my gaze upward.”

There is a companionable silence that follows. You sit next to Legolas, he next to you, as you stare up at the stars glittering across the black expanse of the night.

There is scant touch that comes across your cheek, like a breeze against your skin. A brief warmth follows, fading as quickly as it comes. As you turn your face, Legolas’s hand comes to rest against his side. Your eyes meet and he nods towards the forest path that leads to the camp where the others rest. His gaze is soft on your face.

You don’t think anyone has looked at you as he is now.

“Sleep, ithildin nîn.” You do not know what the words mean but they feel as a balm does, only for your heart and not for your body. “I will keep watch.”

For a little while, you hold his eyes. Legolas does not shy away even though he does not know what the immediate future holds; though he does not know what will become of you, or of him. You nod at his words, gathering your things and standing. You feel his gaze, even through the path you take to camp, on you until you fall asleep.

~~~~

Translation: Ithildin nîn — my starlight.

[spasmsofthought]

the risk (is drowning) [jake seresin x f!reader]

This little 1k piece is 100% inspired by the song Risk by Gracie Abrams. What a masterpiece this song is.

Also a special dedication to all my anxious wallflower girlies (especially those in their mid-to-late twenties). You are seen and loved. You will be wanted. xoxo

Warnings: Some indirect allusions to anxiety/social anxiety.

Please like, comment, reblog. Let me know what you think! xo

on A03 here

+++

"It feels like the universe is pranking me."

The bar is loud and bright and crowded, even in the shadows of the back corner where you and your roommate Alexis are sitting on stools. A remixed pop song is playing from the speakers in the room - it sounds like something you heard in CVS three days ago while picking up your prescription strength Benadryl. Damn hives. You knew better than to let Jessica be the one to choose the takeaway order for lunch. She never remembered anybody's food allergies.

"I wonder," You continue speaking as you swirl the straw in your club soda, "if I'm on some alien reality version of punk'd. I feel like there's a camera trying to catch me over my shoulder. I keep waiting to hear a laugh track in the background."

Alexis just sighs from across you. Then she gives you the look that she's been giving you all evening - full of love but also half-reproach and half-amusement.

"I think you might've coordinated my outfit for nothing," You look down at the number you're wearing. It's something that's much different than you're usual look - not as casual and more flashy. It screams look at me with several exclamation points. You don't remember the last time you wore something to make someone else notice you - not intentionally. You don't really know for sure if it's helping you feel more confident or more like a poser.

"I wore mascara for no reason." You slump against the wall at your back. "He hasn't shown up. I don't even think he's going to be here tonight."

There's a minute of semi-silence where you take in the ambiance of the place. You notice that the music over the speakers has changed genres to a popular country song that has some people by the pool table swaying or singing along at the counter with beer bottles in their hands pretending that they're microphones.

"Speak of the devil," Alexis smirks at you and then points her chin towards the direction of the front door. She's not wrong.

There he is in all of his golden glory. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant, Naval aviator, Top Gun graduate.

He's never actually introduced himself to you; you've never met him. It's not that hard to get a beat on who he is though - he's all anyone ever talks about in this place. You notice you're staring and swivel your attention back to Alexis.

The amount of times you've daydreamed about his eyes or, God, his hands feels almost wrong due to the fact that you've never even spoken a word to the man.

He really is just your type: a blue-eyed all-American boy with a killer smile and all the confidence in the world. You can practically feel the rush of heat to your face and you bring your soda to your lips for a quick swallow.

It had been really challenging at first, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone and intentionally choosing to spend time with crowds of people, even if it's really only Alexis you ever talk to. It's taken months to feel much more comfortable even hanging in the back corner of a bar like this.

Jake had been a regular before this became your weekend hangout spot with Alexis and ever since the first day you saw him you'd known that he wasn't the type of person to escape anybody's notice. Whether it's his natural charisma or a learned charm, you looked at him once and haven't stopped looking.

Your life has always felt more monotone - shades of black and white with spots of blue or green or yellow or pink here and there. Even from far away, you can tell that Jake Seresin's life is in full, vibrant technicolor. You keep wondering what that must be like.

"If there's any time to shoot your shot it'd be now, before the groupies surround him." Alexis advises you.

He's just making his way to the bar counter after calling out greetings or doing that weird bro handshake guys do with each other when they're acquaintances but don't know each other that well.

You don't know why you came tonight, why you confessed this to her in the first place. You don't know why your mind has been stuck on a Jake Seresin loop. Why this has been the one thing it hasn't let go of.

You're almost ready to bolt out of there, indecision weighing heavy on your shoulders. The indecision isn't even the worst part because you're friends with indecision. It's been there for you all your life.

It's the fact that you want to go up there and introduce yourself to him that's actually terrifying. You can't remember the last time you wanted something like this. Have you?

"If you don't get up and go over there yourself, I will make you."

Your mom used to tell you that the only way you started learning how to swim as a young girl was when she tossed you into the deep end of the pool with a swimming instructor and you had to learn first-hand, in the moment, how to paddle in water to keep from drowning.

"But he's so hot," You whisper, leaning across the table as your hands start to shake, "I'm no supermodel on a runway. I've never even had a boyfriend."

"How have I never known that you're in your late twenties and never had a boyfriend?" Alexis gapes, one of her hands coming to cover your shaking ones.

"Never even been on a real date, actually." You grimace and lean away, pulling your hands out from under hers.

"I'm not going to force you," Alexis softens, "If you're really not ready, we can go and come back some other time."

You take a deep breath in, then a slow breath out. "What if he shoots me down?" What if I drown in rejection?

"Remember what you said when we took that philosophy course on morality in grad school and we were arguing about what it means for a person to have 'character'?" You frown at Alexis' words. Grad school, where you met her and became life-long friends, feels like a lifetime ago. "You said, 'It's your motivations and actions that make you who you are.' If you go over there and he's the one that rejects you, that is communicating something to you about who he is. His rejection is not about you."

You take a second breath and shrug, "That makes sense, I guess."

"There's a reason I'm your best friend y'know." Alexis flips her hair over her shoulder.

"I'm worth this," You nod your head adamantly, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. But your eyes don't meet nothing. It's only a quick glance, but there's a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Something that tells you that you won't be making a complete fool of yourself.

"Damn right you are," Alexis says.

You slowly stand up from your seat against the wall, shaking your hands out. You're going to let what you want override your indecision and anxiety, even if it's just for sixty seconds.

"Okay, okay, okay," You whisper to yourself. Taking a step and then turning back towards Alexis.

"You've got this," She reassures you. "Go, be brave."

Your turn around and walk forward, Jake Seresin in your sights. Maybe you in his, based on the second glance your garner. You turn your head one last time to give Alexis and anxious, unsure smile and then you walk the rest of the way to the bar counter by yourself. You don't look back.

[spasmsofthought]

beginning episode three, and I'm in LOVE... so much better than any American TV i've watched in recent years

[spasmsofthought]

i am chomping at the bit, foaming at the mouth....

give me vorrester!!!!!

aggghhhhhh. all these little looks HAVE TO mean something. they cannot just be there. CANNOT

[spasmsofthought]

all my nights taste like gold (dick grayson x reader)

This just came out all of a sudden. Short and sweet.

Title is inspired by Waking up Slow - Piano Version by Gabrielle Aplin.

Please like, comment, and reblog. Let me know what you think!

Enjoy xo

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He's just standing there.

You don't really know how to explain it.

He's in your kitchen. Maybe it's the glow of the florescent lighting. Maybe it's the pinks and oranges and yellows slowly creeping through the window of your apartment. He is making dinner, silent but at ease. You don't remember when it was the last time he seemed to be this at peace. His shoulders are relaxed and there is no furrow of his brow. You watch him take measured breaths. His jaw is not clenched. There is something fluid and loose about him. He is calm... he is being.

He is here.

And oh my God, it just slithers through you, the fact that you can't just let this moment pass by.

You get up from your seat on the stool and make your way to him, rounding the small piece of wall that helps form an open entryway into the narrow kitchen. Your apartment is average and commonplace to Dick's adopted father's place and you can't believe he has made a home here. That he is still making his home here with you.

He doesn't even pause when you come and stand next to him. You stay there, saying nothing until he stops his movements and turns his body to face yours. His eyes meet yours and something inside you melts.

"I love you," You almost feeling like crying, overwhelmed with affection and desire and a deep kind of longing for him to know that you mean what you say. "God, I love you."

You refuse to let this moment go. There has been too much you've let fade into the dark before this. You're going to hold on as long as you can.

Your hands come to hold his face and you pull him towards you. His lips brush yours. The ember in your heart, steady and beating, suddenly catches and you are consumed.

You can feel the texture of the flour on Dick's fingers as they skim against your face. The grainy powder leaves imprints on your skin but you don't care. You don't care. The colors of the sunset fade against his skin as you close your eyes. The fire you're breathing seems to have been caught and Dick presses more insistently against you. Everything seems to brighten and shine, even against your closed eyes.

You are lit up from the inside out.

[spasmsofthought]

still waters (scott forrester x f!reader)

Hi!! FBI International is one of my favorite shows and Scott Forrester has intrigued me from the start. I know this is a small fandom, but it's a show that brings me great joy. Something about episode 3x6 just really hit me and I ending up writing this. Please like, comment, & reblog! Enjoy!! xoxo

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"If this doesn't get better fast," You mutter just over your breath. "I'm going to end up punching someone."

There's not enough volume to your statement for Detective Novak to overhear, but it slips out just loud enough that Scott perks up and turns his gaze towards you as he walks by you on his way down the hallway. You barely succeed in covering the dark look you were about to throw the Czech officer.

He raises his eyebrows, "Do I need to send you out on a walk too?" His hand points in the direction Vo just went out of the local precinct, following his orders to cool off.

You can't help it. It's not as if you can shut your feelings off and just be analytical about this. Cameron may be running point on this case because of her own experience in helping assault survivors and her newly, and rightly earned, seniority on the Fly Team, but you have just as much stake in this developing case as her. There's a reason Scott made sure you were here with him and Vo and not with Raines or Garretson.

Detective Novak chooses to make her exit silently as she passes around you and Scott.

You breathe out a heavy exhale and hold his gaze for a moment, "No."

You lean back for support as cross your arms and bend one of your legs to put your foot against the wall and stare at the green paint across from you. Disassociating is better than letting tears cloud your vision. Anything is better than getting sucked into that black hole again.

Scott steps into your space instead of retreating, forcing you to place your foot on the ground and straighten your posture. He takes another step forward until there is very little space between the two of you.

"I know that you lead with your heart," His voice is just barely over a whisper and brushing against your cheeks. His focus on you is intense and all-consuming. "But right now, I need your head in this too."

"There's a reason I never completed my J.D.," You begin. His gaze doesn't waver. Scott is dialed in on you. You remember what your mother used to say to you as a girl, Still waters run deep, darling. You haven't even begun to reach the bottom of him yet. "I went with law enforcement because I know how easy it is for a girl like Ali to get lost in the red tape. I'm less frustrated with the fact that rape and assault laws are criminally behind here and more frustrated with the fact that I come from a country that doesn't hold the moral high ground. Change a few details and circumstances, and we're in the States on the same 'ole merry-go-round with the same kind of ending."

You take a breath. There's a moment of silence as Scott looks at you, somehow knowing that you aren't finished.

"And as much as you empathize, as much as you apply your knowledge from working cases like these for years, you will never 100% understand what it will mean for Ali when you go in there and tell her that her only two options are to either be arraigned for assault and kicked out of a country before she receives the justice she is owed or take down a social media post that is her only viable option for recourse right now."

You squeeze your eyes shut and bring your palms against your face for a moment. You feel Scott lean in. You push the tears back, but they linger just slightly.

When you open your eyes, his face is just centimeters away, "I get that this is our only move right now, but we're supposed to be pushing for better options now. We're supposed to be breaking ground, not just calling out the breaks in the pavement and watching someone else trip over them."

One of Scott's hands lightly brushes over your hair, trailing around your ear and then landing on your shoulder for a second. "I know."

He reaches down to squeeze your hand, "I know."

You breathe the same air for a solitary moment before you both know you need to move onto your responsibilities.

"I'll call Andre and Megan and update them." You nod at him, moving to step away, but he holds you against him for one heartbeat, two. Your breath catches.

"We'll talk next steps after I discuss with Ali."

"Okay."

"Okay," Scott says. His thumb brushes against the fabric of your trousers resting on your waist before he steps back and makes his way down the hallway to Ali's cell.

You give yourself a moment to breathe.

[spasmsofthought]

so sweet!! loved this one!

Turning Points

Pairing: Éomer x reader (who doesn’t want to imagine themselves hanging out with Éomer??). Plus an Elfhelm cameo because I love that dude.

Summary: Éomer’s lifelong best friend reckons with how much and how quickly his life has changed as a result of the war and wonders what that means for the life she had hoped to have with him.

************

The clear, deep sound of horns rang out in the distance and alerted all of Edoras to the imminent arrival of the army, home for the first time since that urgent, panicked ride to Helm’s Deep more than two months ago. Although word of their subsequent deeds and victories in Gondor had already reached the city, many details were yet unknown, and the mood of those who gathered in the streets was celebratory but tinged with anxiety as hopeful eyes prepared to scan the returning éoreds for a first glimpse of deeply missed loved ones.

The terrace in front of Meduseld quickly filled with people, and you slipped easily into the crowd as the first few companies of horsemen began to climb the hill. The riders smiled broadly at the cheers and flowers that rained down on them, though some still bore clear evidence of painful wounds and fractures. Others led behind them riderless horses, the mounts of those soldiers who would never return. You whispered a quiet prayer of gratitude, knowing from the messengers who had gone back and forth from Minas Tirith that both of those most precious to you were safely in the host.

No sooner had you finished your prayer than a cry went up from the crowd–“Hail, Elfhelm, Marshal of Edoras!”—and your father came into view. As gregarious as he was popular, he played shamelessly to the crowd, doffing his stallion-crested helmet and waving a shield that had clearly been confiscated from some defeated Haradrim commander. When his eyes finally landed on you, he gave a joyful whoop and sprang from the saddle. Throwing the helmet and shield aside, he ran to you with the speed of a much younger man, and the strength of his embrace forced the breath from your lungs. He spun you around several times as you kissed his sunburned cheeks, and when he placed you on your feet again he grasped your shoulders and gazed for a long moment at your face.

“Many nights have I dreamed of just this view,” he said. “There is no finer one in all of Middle Earth.”

You gave his hands a squeeze. “I have not known a moment’s peace since you left. Now that you are back, I may never let you leave again.”

“I am at your command, my lady,” he said with a smile and an exaggerated bow. “But I do not flatter myself so much as to think that I am the only one you have been missing. The royal household will be arriving soon, and I am certain you are as eager to see the new king as he must be to see you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at the mention of Éomer, but this was not the time or the place to open the gate that held back those feelings. “For my part, I shall certainly be glad to see him home and safe. But a man such as Éomer has many friends, and no doubt he desires to see them all.”

He burst into laughter. “Do you speak such nonsense on purpose, or have I really raised you to be so naive? I know that you do not admit it to others, and perhaps not even between yourselves, but I have watched the two of you for many years now and I know love when I see it. Let us not pretend you are just one friend among many, a single star in a crowded sky. You are his sun, just as he is yours. I may be old, but I am certainly not blind.”

Your face flushed in pain and embarrassment. If your father had perceived all of this, likely others had, too. It was true that you loved Éomer, and you had always believed he loved you back. You felt his devotion in the way he trusted you and watched out for you, in the look on his face when you walked into a room. But neither of you had ever stated it outright. Perhaps you had been wrong all along, reading a great deal too much into a cherished friendship. Or perhaps what he felt was no longer relevant given his new responsibilities and duties. Either way, when Éomer married another in a few months' time, your crushed hopes would be on display for the whole city to see and discuss.

“Things have changed, father. You know that. The Éomer that I have known all my life was Éomund’s son. He was not heir to the throne of Rohan and certainly not its king. His life is very different now from the one we might have expected just months ago when Théodred was still alive.”

He sighed. “Much has happened, I concede. He has gone from nephew to heir to king. He nearly lost his sister. He comes home with much to reflect on. But his heart itself has not changed.”

“Has it not?” Despite your best efforts, your voice broke and tears began to slide down your cheeks. “Then what of the news that has already made its way back here in advance of your return? Amongst word of your victories and the death of poor Théoden, it also said that Éomer is to marry the princess of Dol Amroth. They say she is considered a proper match for a king of the Mark, and that none less than the new king of Gondor himself proposed it. If I have heard this, surely you have, too.”

Your father reached up to gently brush a tear aside. “Anyone who would claim that you–the finest woman in all of Rohan–are not a proper match for our own king does not have sense enough to offer an opinion on the subject. I have heard this talk of Dol Amroth, it is true, but I have not heard any of it from Éomer’s own lips. And I will not believe it unless I do. His choice was made long ago. You will see.” He put a finger under your chin and tipped your face up to him. “Now, I would stay here and debate this with you all day if your mother were not surely waiting for me at home. And if she thinks I have not hurried there with sufficient speed, she will soon accomplish what all the swordsmen of Harad could not!”

You smiled in spite of yourself and kissed him one last time before he remounted his horse. He gave you a wink as he rode on, and you dried your eyes before turning back to the procession of riders making their way forward.

Before long, the king’s banner appeared at the bottom of the hill. Even at that distance, it was easy to identify Éomer among the many men of his household–you would always recognize his frame and the way he carried himself even if he were not wearing his distinctive horse-tailed helmet and sitting astride Firefoot, who had now been arrayed with a saddle and bridle that sparkled with the gold of a monarch.

As he came into closer view, you could begin to discern the new trappings of royalty–the beautiful green cloak trimmed with shining gold embroidery, the neatly braided hair, the fur-lined boots. But underneath these superficial changes, he still looked like your Éomer. The same man who shared with you a lifetime of confidences and mischief and private jokes. The one who cried in your arms when he missed his parents. Who doted on you whenever you were sick and angrily confronted anyone he thought had hurt your feelings. Who stole your breath every time he turned his hazel eyes and dimpled smile in your direction.

His company dismounted near the bottom of the terrace, and he moved toward the stairs, trailed by attendants, guards and throngs of well-wishers eager to greet their new king. The clamor presented a perfect opportunity to slip away now that you had confirmed with your own eyes that he was safe and unharmed. It was the coward’s way out, but even one more day before you had to directly confront your new reality would be a gift. Just as you began to turn away, however, the sound of his voice carried over the tumult, calling your name.

You froze in place as he approached, feeling immediately uncertain of everything–how to stand, where to look, what to do. A lifetime of affectionate greetings and easy companionship had not prepared you to meet under these circumstances, not as intimate friends but as ruler and subject. Beloved and left behind. Hearing nothing but the sound of your own blood pulsing in your veins, you bowed and looked down.

“Hail, Éomer King.” When you finally raised your eyes, you could see uncertainty written on his face as well. He took another step toward you but stopped, and tentatively reached out a hand before dropping it back to his side. He looked in both directions, where dozens of attentive faces observed his every move.

“I am glad to see you,” he said quietly. His eyes sought yours, and when you allowed them to meet he gave you a soft smile. “I have missed you.”

“I…I am much relieved to see you home. These have been long and anxious months.”

Before either of you could speak again, an armored man at Éomer’s side cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of Meduseld. “You are expected in the hall, my lord. There is much business awaiting your attention, including messages due both to Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth.”

The mention of Dol Amroth sent an icy stab of pain into your chest, and you shrank back several steps, seeking a swift retreat. “Go ahead, my lord,” you managed to say. “A king’s duties must come first.”

His thick brows drew together and he frowned slightly, but eventually he nodded his assent. Your feet carried you away and down a maze of small streets and back alleys, picking up speed as you got further from the crowd, until at last you reached the edge of the city and disappeared into the surrounding fields and paddocks. You cast yourself down in the tall, sweet-smelling grass, shedding tears until you had none left and then staring up dolefully at the flat, blank sky. No matter how you considered and reconsidered your position, only two excruciating choices seemed to lay before you–either to find a new way to love Éomer, shorn of all romantic possibility and content to exist on the terms available to you, or to lose him entirely from your life. The first option felt beyond your strength, but the second was utterly unthinkable.

Uncounted hours passed until it began to darken and torches and candles sparked to life in the distance. Miserable and cold but not yet ready to join the revelry of your family, you wandered back to the city and found yourself headed to the old tack room at the marshal’s stables. Ever since childhood, the abandoned little storage space had served as a private spot to meet your friends, talk or simply to think, and during the war you had spent many hours there alone ruthlessly poring over your fears and concerns.

Throwing open the door and expecting to find it empty as always, you instead walked straight into Éomer, practically bouncing off his chest as he stood just past the threshold. Gone were the outward adornments of royalty, and he looked as you were accustomed to seeing him—simple clothing, well-used boots, hair in loose waves on his shoulders. “Éomer! I mean….I’m sorry. Excuse me, my lord.”

He grimaced a little. “Please, that is not necessary here. Not when it is us. I would like one piece of my old life that is familiar, someone who will still treat me not as king but as myself. I thought you might be here and hoped we could talk as we always have.”

He sat on an old saddle trunk and looked up at you expectantly. Here now was the first opportunity to test your strength—to be there for him simply as a friend and see if you could endure it—and so you nodded and sat next to him.

He was quiet at first, looking around the room and seeming lost in thought. The issue of his pending marriage felt to you like a heavy, palpable presence in the room, but you did not have the heart to raise the subject yet. Instead, you clasped your arms around yourself and waited for him to speak, to give some indication of what he was thinking.

“Do you remember my fifteenth birthday?” he asked suddenly.

“Your…fifteenth birthday? Yes, I think so.” Fragments of distant memories quickly reassembled in your mind. “That was the night you dragged a stolen cask of ale in here, wasn’t it? And then you drank more than half of it all on your own.”

“Which meant you had to spend the rest of the night holding back my hair while I experienced the consequences.”

You smiled. “Yes. Though I experienced some of your consequences, too, if I recall. Those shoes were never the same again.”

He snorted a laugh, and for just a moment things felt almost normal again. Easy and light, as they had been when you were just those two coltish teenagers, having fun and testing the limits of your adolescent independence. But as the laughter faded, the awkwardness returned and his face turned serious.

“I am sorry about this morning.” He shook his head slowly. “That was not how I imagined our reunion, but everything has become so difficult and formal now. I have few moments to myself or chances to do as I once would.”

You could hear in his voice the strain of this adjustment to always being the focus of attention, to being one who is honored and deferred to instead of one who is engaged with. No wonder he was thinking of earlier, simpler days. You longed to comfort him, to take his hand or sit with your head against his shoulder. “Do not apologize,” you said instead. “I understand that you have new demands on you. I regret only that I was not able to tell you how sorry I am about your uncle. I will miss his kind heart.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I take comfort in knowing that he would be proud of what his death achieved.”

Another small silence ensued before he looked up and smiled at you. “But now I must apologize again,” he said, “for I have not yet asked after you. Please, tell me how you have been since we last saw each other.”

You gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “There is not much to tell, at least nothing to stand alongside the great tales we have already heard of your heroic deeds.”

“I do not ask for great tales,” he insisted. “I want only to hear about you and what I have missed, great or small.”

“Well, what you missed were endless hours of inventories and supplies and checklists and stockpiles. Many of the men who typically see to those basic concerns were injured or killed at Helm’s Deep, or they were called away to your muster. So I filled my days with work that they would have done…tracking stores of food and medicine and equipment, ensuring they were sent where they were most needed, planning for replenishments when stocks ran low. It was nothing I have ever done before, obviously, but I am careful with numbers and can keep good records, which is most of what was required.”

He chuckled. “Old Elfhelm has always been so proud that his daughter is one of the few in Rohan to read and write. I heard him bragging as much to one of Lord Elrond’s sons back in Gondor.”

You smiled and shrugged. “That certainly sounds like him. He has never lacked paternal enthusiasm. Or the confidence to share his enthusiasm with literally anyone.”

“That is true, but he is right to be proud. You should be proud as well. Hunger and disease often follow in war’s footsteps, even for the victors, and that has not been allowed to happen here despite the destruction of so many villages and farms and the absence of so many of the normal laborers. That is a service any king would value.”

Your cheeks bloomed a bright red, and he smiled at your discomfort with praise. In truth, though, you were quite proud of what you had accomplished, and it was only hearing the praise from his lips that sent waves of warm color to your face. “Thank you,” you mumbled at last.

He seemed on the verge of speaking again, but instead he leaned back against the wall and contemplated the floor for several long moments. His knee jogged quickly up and down, a nervous tic he’d had ever since boyhood. Before you could ask what was troubling him, however, he looked up with an unsettling intensity.

“May I ask you something? And you will respond to me honestly, no matter what?”

His earnest tone sparked a flare of anxiety in your chest. Was this the moment when he intended to tell you of his engagement? When you would have to somehow react to this news with the graciousness and dignity you knew were required? “I will certainly try.”

He took a deep breath and winced slightly in anticipation of speaking. “I have spent many hours now reflecting on things that Éowyn related to me before I left Gondor. How she did not feel that she was able to live the life she wanted when she was here. That she could not be who she was meant to be simply because she was born a woman. I am ashamed that I was blind to the causes of her unhappiness and that she did not feel that she could confide her true feelings to me earlier. But having failed her then, I worry now that I may have failed others in my life as well. Others who are equally important to me.”

He suddenly turned and grasped your forearms, repositioning you both so that you now sat face to face rather than side by side.

“If you have ever felt that same unhappiness or believed that I was not willing or able to understand your feelings, will you now forgive me? I would not want anyone else to suffer as Éowyn did, and least of all you.”

Your heart broke a little at his words. It broke for Éomer, who would sooner give his life than intentionally hurt someone he cared for, and it broke for Éowyn, whose full feelings had never before been revealed to you. But, hearing now how she had felt, something in her words resonated with a deep part of you, reverberating off a chord you had not always been consciously aware of. You thought carefully for several moments before responding.

“If you ask me whether I ever resented you or the life that I led, the answer is no. I have always trusted in you above all others, and my life never felt anything but normal to me. But I, too, have reflected on these last months, and perhaps I can now better understand Éowyn’s mind.”

He nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“Amid the tragedy of these days, I found some purpose and meaning in the work I did. It was gratifying to feel truly useful for the first time. I did not know it before, as you do not know to miss something you never had, but once that instinct is awakened it is difficult to ignore. It seems it was awakened in Éowyn long ago. But, for myself, I cannot deny that I will now be deeply saddened to lose my sense of purpose once the men are all returned to their old duties and the help of a woman is no longer accepted.”

“Maybe that is not what has to happen,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I would not come to a new understanding of the world, to learn a necessary lesson at a steep cost, only to ignore that lesson and rule my kingdom as though I do not know any better. This will not be a land that I want to rule if half the people must always limit their talents and hopes to fit within the meager bounds afforded to them by the other half.”

His words hung in the air as you struggled to make sense of what you had heard. A chance to share in the great works and deeds of the kingdom, just as the elven women had always done in their own lands? To learn and achieve and stretch yourself in ways that had never before been possible, and not just when dictated by the necessity of war but as a part of everyday life? You had scarcely the courage to even dream of such a thing, but now it was being offered to you. And you knew you wanted it. “I will be the first to stand behind you in any such effort,” you say at last. “But what you suggest is a radical departure from the way that things have been for all the years of our history, indeed from the way that they have always been in all the lands of men. There may be strong opposition to change.”

“I do not fear a difficult task if I know it to be necessary. I will see it done.” He paused and gently picked up your hand to hold it between both of his. “Though I would be aided by the help of a capable queen. One who will rule with me, not as a token or a symbol, but as a true partner.”

His touch sent a jolt of lightning through your arm, and you looked down at your hand to watch his thumb run lightly back and forth over your wrist. It left a trail of fire on your skin. “I…Well, I do not think I understand. Surely you mean Prince Imrahil’s daughter?”

“Imrahil’s daughter?” He looked startled. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because news of a royal engagement travels quickly, perhaps faster than you realize. Half of Edoras has already heard about you and the princess of Dol Amroth.”

“Then half of Edoras has heard wrong.”

A small gasp escaped your lips before you could act to hold it back. You looked up into his eyes and drew a shallow breath. “Then…then you have changed your mind?”

“I have not, but only because it never needed changing. I am certain that any daughter of Imrahil is a good and worthy woman, but I declined that match when it was suggested. Any report to the contrary is the result of confusion or rumor. It is true that I am ready for marriage, but I do not wish to bind myself forever to someone I barely know. To someone whose heart and mind I do not yet fully understand. Not when my own heart has long been reserved for one who I already know to be the best of women.” He drew your hand up and pressed it tightly to his chest, where you could feel the steady, strong beat of that heart against your fingertips. “If she will have me.”

All the world seemed suddenly still, as though you were balanced precariously on the crest of a hill, waiting for the last tip forward that would send you rushing headlong down into a new and joyous life. You opened your mouth to respond but found that no words would come. Instead, you raised a hand to his face, lightly tracing your fingers along his jaw before sinking them into his dark golden hair and pulling him toward you for a kiss that had been decades in the making.

It was worth the wait.

[spasmsofthought]

revelation (paul x chani)

Short and (not) sweet. Let me know what you think! xo

Also on Ao3 here

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Chani has always known, she thinks. 

Arrakis is so beautiful when the sun is low, with the spices rolling over the sand and just barely glimmering in the fading light. But now, looking over the dunes that have always been her home, she can't see the beauty. She sees how her land has been ravaged. She sees that her home will never be hers. She sees the pain of all the people who will have died for nothing. 

All of her life she has been fighting. All of it has been in vain. 

Her heart is both burning and frozen.

From one oppressor to another, one Great House to the next. It will never end, she thinks, and her people will not see the freedom that was supposed to be theirs.

Looking back, she starts to pinpoint why there was always dread when she woke him from a dream. Why the inevitability of things started to become greater than the possibility of them.

He gave himself to her, and she realizes it wasn't enough. It won't ever be enough. Things will never be the way they are supposed to be -- full and deep and equal -- when he cannot return to her what she offered to him from the start. Nothing about Chani has changed, but Paul will never again be who he was, if he ever was that person at all.

Chani loves her people. She would give her life for them. Paul would rather lead her people than die for them.

The signs were always there, she thinks, which makes her choice to love him in the middle of all this even more ironic. 

Deep down, long ago, she knew.

She should have known sooner.

[spasmsofthought]

thank you so much for your kind words and for the warm welcome!!! xo

let there be light (let me be right) [legolas x reader]

New to writing for this space and I have no idea what I'm doing or what this is, really. this was all written at once, so please excuse any mistakes. I really didn't research much - this all comes from memories or things I found on tumblr. I couldn't find the right Elvish to copy, and it would have stolen my mojo if I searched for too long, so I gave up. Sorry!

IDK word count, but it's not very long.

A bittersweet parting. Inspired by Sun by Sleeping At Last.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

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It was his last night here, for the darkness had now even reached Imladris and in the morning he would depart with the Fellowship and begin a long, arduous journey to finally destroy the One Ring.

Even the shadows the barest sliver of moon brought as it rose above the background of the inky sky could not dim the brightness of his gaze as it rested on you.

There were no words to be spoken. There would never be enough to bridge the void between where he must go and where you had to stay.

In all your years alive you could depend on the constancy of life in the valley. The seasons came and went, the sun and moon did their eternal dance across the sky; the stars continued to shine, glimmering even in the darkest of nights. But home was more than the rushing waters and fog rolling over the Misty Mountains early in the morning.

His very smile seemed to eclipse the sun, especially when he was smiling at you. Glorious and noble and magnificent, Legolas was the safest, sturdiest home your heart had ever known. And, you were sure, the only one it would ever know; the only one that really mattered.

Separation could be painful, but you had endured that before. It was the reason for this particular leaving that produced a new kind of ache. You had given him up before, for period of time which passed by with little consequence, but you had never been confronted with the possibility that you might have to give him up forever.

"My love," A gentle touch to your chin turns your eyes away from the scenery. "Put the worry in your heart away. I will return to you."

Your hand lightly sweeps over his before it rests on his forearm.

"Yes, I know," You say. You take in his eyes and his hair. "I know you will."

You, again, look over the shape of his face, "But even you cannot predict the future or guarantee an outcome."

The shine in his eyes softens and he breathes out a long sigh. You breathe in as his forehead tenderly rests against yours. The burden is heavy but there is a little relief that the weight is shared.

"I love you," You whisper gingerly to him. The gap lessens as you move to him, bridging the distance you can before you are unable to at all. The sound of your voice fades, but your lips continue to move.

You know time is running out. The sun will rise very soon and then -- then this will be all you have of him.

I love you your lips say against his skin. With your whole heart, as full and melancholic as it is, you mean it. Legolas must know it for his mouth steals your words and your love before the dawn can take them.

[spasmsofthought]

ahhhh thank you so much!

i love your writing and have been keeping tabs, and it has definitely inspired this work. you are such a legend! thank you thank you! xo

let there be light (let me be right) [legolas x reader]

New to writing for this space and I have no idea what I'm doing or what this is, really. this was all written at once, so please excuse any mistakes. I really didn't research much - this all comes from memories or things I found on tumblr. I couldn't find the right Elvish to copy, and it would have stolen my mojo if I searched for too long, so I gave up. Sorry!

IDK word count, but it's not very long.

A bittersweet parting. Inspired by Sun by Sleeping At Last.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

It was his last night here, for the darkness had now even reached Imladris and in the morning he would depart with the Fellowship and begin a long, arduous journey to finally destroy the One Ring.

Even the shadows the barest sliver of moon brought as it rose above the background of the inky sky could not dim the brightness of his gaze as it rested on you.

There were no words to be spoken. There would never be enough to bridge the void between where he must go and where you had to stay.

In all your years alive you could depend on the constancy of life in the valley. The seasons came and went, the sun and moon did their eternal dance across the sky; the stars continued to shine, glimmering even in the darkest of nights. But home was more than the rushing waters and fog rolling over the Misty Mountains early in the morning.

His very smile seemed to eclipse the sun, especially when he was smiling at you. Glorious and noble and magnificent, Legolas was the safest, sturdiest home your heart had ever known. And, you were sure, the only one it would ever know; the only one that really mattered.

Separation could be painful, but you had endured that before. It was the reason for this particular leaving that produced a new kind of ache. You had given him up before, for period of time which passed by with little consequence, but you had never been confronted with the possibility that you might have to give him up forever.

"My love," A gentle touch to your chin turns your eyes away from the scenery. "Put the worry in your heart away. I will return to you."

Your hand lightly sweeps over his before it rests on his forearm.

"Yes, I know," You say. You take in his eyes and his hair. "I know you will."

You, again, look over the shape of his face, "But even you cannot predict the future or guarantee an outcome."

The shine in his eyes softens and he breathes out a long sigh. You breathe in as his forehead tenderly rests against yours. The burden is heavy but there is a little relief that the weight is shared.

"I love you," You whisper gingerly to him. The gap lessens as you move to him, bridging the distance you can before you are unable to at all. The sound of your voice fades, but your lips continue to move.

You know time is running out. The sun will rise very soon and then -- then this will be all you have of him.

I love you your lips say against his skin. With your whole heart, as full and melancholic as it is, you mean it. Legolas must know it for his mouth steals your words and your love before the dawn can take them.

[spasmsofthought]

a reblog cause i'm really proud of this piece! xoxo

let there be light (let me be right) [legolas x reader]

New to writing for this space and I have no idea what I'm doing or what this is, really. this was all written at once, so please excuse any mistakes. I really didn't research much - this all comes from memories or things I found on tumblr. I couldn't find the right Elvish to copy, and it would have stolen my mojo if I searched for too long, so I gave up. Sorry!

IDK word count, but it's not very long.

A bittersweet parting. Inspired by Sun by Sleeping At Last.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

It was his last night here, for the darkness had now even reached Imladris and in the morning he would depart with the Fellowship and begin a long, arduous journey to finally destroy the One Ring.

Even the shadows the barest sliver of moon brought as it rose above the background of the inky sky could not dim the brightness of his gaze as it rested on you.

There were no words to be spoken. There would never be enough to bridge the void between where he must go and where you had to stay.

In all your years alive you could depend on the constancy of life in the valley. The seasons came and went, the sun and moon did their eternal dance across the sky; the stars continued to shine, glimmering even in the darkest of nights. But home was more than the rushing waters and fog rolling over the Misty Mountains early in the morning.

His very smile seemed to eclipse the sun, especially when he was smiling at you. Glorious and noble and magnificent, Legolas was the safest, sturdiest home your heart had ever known. And, you were sure, the only one it would ever know; the only one that really mattered.

Separation could be painful, but you had endured that before. It was the reason for this particular leaving that produced a new kind of ache. You had given him up before, for period of time which passed by with little consequence, but you had never been confronted with the possibility that you might have to give him up forever.

"My love," A gentle touch to your chin turns your eyes away from the scenery. "Put the worry in your heart away. I will return to you."

Your hand lightly sweeps over his before it rests on his forearm.

"Yes, I know," You say. You take in his eyes and his hair. "I know you will."

You, again, look over the shape of his face, "But even you cannot predict the future or guarantee an outcome."

The shine in his eyes softens and he breathes out a long sigh. You breathe in as his forehead tenderly rests against yours. The burden is heavy but there is a little relief that the weight is shared.

"I love you," You whisper gingerly to him. The gap lessens as you move to him, bridging the distance you can before you are unable to at all. The sound of your voice fades, but your lips continue to move.

You know time is running out. The sun will rise very soon and then -- then this will be all you have of him.

I love you your lips say against his skin. With your whole heart, as full and melancholic as it is, you mean it. Legolas must know it for his mouth steals your words and your love before the dawn can take them.