#my head is a little spinny right now but anyway

[luvrodite]

i’m drunk and i love u guys

[askbensolo]

Wow man, a novel?! Despite the sucky job that's still super cool. Any chance we could get an excerpt, or a premise? (I'm stuck writing job applications, so we're *both* bored as hell, please, I'd welcome the distraction!) Also I'm good, thanks for asking :)

Heh. Well. I'm a little hesitant to share a whole lot about it right now—both because it's kinda personal to me, and also...because I'm super terrified I'll never actually finish it.

But, it's an autobiographical narrative, and I'm kinda just writing it as I go. It's about me...but I'm still not too sure what it's really about.

...And whether I'm the hero. Or the villain.

Maybe both.

...Sorry. I've been, uh...kind of...in my own head, lately. That's been another function of this project, for me. Processing...things...

...Anyway.

It's, well—also about my girlfriend. We're visiting each other's families this month—you know, like—announcing officially that we're dating (!!!), now—

But...that part hasn't happened, yet, in real life. So...I started out just kinda...writing about how she and I met. And it's really funny, because, what we initially bonded over was not wanting to kiss people.

So—sure, I'll share an excerpt, haha. But...you gotta remember I'm still workin' on it. And it's a little rough around the edges. And it ain't all polished up nice and pretty, just yet.

Maybe...a little bit like me.

---

Most of Luke’s students were teenagers, then. You get a bunch of teens together—stuff happens, you know? And sometimes that “stuff” is weird kissing games. And so, it was a game of spin-the-saber that brought Fannie and I together—not because we were both in attendance, but rather, exactly the opposite. 

I told you: I was homeschooled. I didn’t know what that was. And when I found out, I ran away as fast as I could, and I saw there was a light on in Fannie’s hut, so I knocked on her door, and she let me in.

“My, you look a mess,” she said, looking me over, probably seeing all the trauma on my face. “Are you alright?”

“I…yeah, I just…” I gestured vaguely behind me. “The others were…”

A look of concern crossed Fannie’s face. “Were they being mean to you?”

I shook my head. “No. Not exactly. Kind of the opposite, to be honest. One might say things were getting a little too friendly back there.”

Fannie sighed, and rolled her eyes a little, and stood up on tiptoe and let her heels fall back down abruptly. “What was it this time? ‘Never have I ever?’ ‘Seven minutes in Force heaven?’ ‘Spin-the-saber?’”

“That one. The last one. I mean, I didn’t know what spin-the-saber was! I haven’t been able to practice with a saber all this time—I thought we’d be sparring, and doing cool spinny-tricks, or somethin’—”

Fannie giggled, then, and I looked at her, shuffling my feet a little. I was afraid she was laughing at me.

“You’re not like other boys, are you?” she asked with gentle amusement, her brown eyes sparkling a little.

I interpreted this remark offensively, of course, because I’m great at that. I shot her a nasty little look. “Well, I don’t see you over there.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant; it’s not bad at all to be different,” Fannie assured me. “You’re right; I’m not over there. Why don’t you sit down? I can make us some tea.”

“Thanks. Um…I actually forgot your name.”

Fannie giggled. “I’m Fannie.”

“Oh. Right. Fannie. I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.”

And then I cringed because, well, we had already met, and she already knew my name, and oooooh owie I’m so awkward.

But she didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you,” she smiled.

The tea was made. The tea was drunk. A half-hour later I was sitting on her bed while she sat on the floor and knitted (Fannie loves knitting and crocheting and other forms of making stuff out of yarn and thread).

“I’ve never liked anyone before. Is that weird?”

“Perhaps you haven’t found the right person.”

“You sound like my mom,” I groaned. “No—it’s not that. It’s not that at all. I just don’t want to be with someone, like that.”

“Ah, I see,” Fannie said. “Well—there’s nothing wrong with that. The old Jedi used to take vows of celibacy. Did you know that?”

“Yeah…I knew that,” I said, tapping my fingers rapidly against the clay mug. “But…this isn’t something I chose. I’m just…like this. I’ve always been. I don’t know why.”

Fannie was quiet for a moment. And I began to worry again that she thought I was weird.

“…I sense that this has been difficult for you,” she said finally, her voice heavy with sympathy. “To feel like you’re different from other people.”

I looked up at her. She was gazing at me with such compassion. My heart kind of…filled up. With something warm, and sweet, and achy.

“…Yeah,” I said. “Yeah…exactly.”

“Hm.” Fannie took my empty mug and set it on the little table by the door. “Well…I can’t presume to know what you’ve experienced or what you’ve gone through, Ben. But, I’ve felt different from other people, too, so I know a little of how it feels. I’m sixteen and I’ve never dated anyone, or kissed, or been kissed.”

I didn’t really know what I was supposed to say. What normal people who weren’t me usually said. That’s okay? You’ll find someone? That’s too bad?

“…Well, I’m seventeen and I’ve never done any of those things, either,” I said finally. Then I grinned. “Maybe Uncle Luke should reinstitute the celibacy rule. Then, everyone would have to be just like you and me.”

Fannie giggled. “I wouldn’t like that. I do want to be married someday.”

“Oh. You do?”

She nodded, and then after a bit I nodded back.

“Yeah, I guess can see that. I s’pose you do kinda seem like you’d end up married someday.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged, embarrassed, wondering if I was about to say something offensive. “I dunno. You just seem—kind of—like a mom.” I paused. “I mean it in a good way, this time.”

Fannie beamed. “I have become rather known as the ‘mom friend’ around here.”

I looked at her, the knitting in her hands, the mugs on the table, the kindness in her smile.

“Yeah, I can see that, too.”

“Thank you.”

“Well…I’m glad you don’t like kissing, either,” I said. “I felt like I was the only one. I don’t know. It always seemed gross to me.”

Fannie was quiet.

“What? You don’t think so?” I asked.

“…I’d…I’d like to kiss someone someday,” Fannie admitted, turning a little pink. “But…not while playing spin-the-saber.”

“Really? Why?” I asked—because I was starting to feel comfortable with her, and I’d always wanted to ask, but never felt like I could. “I just—don’t get it. It’s like—your mouths—touching each other—and germs—and spit—”

“Well, when you phrase it that way, Ben Solo, of course it sounds revolting.”

“It is revolting,” I told her, “and I’m just saying it like it is! Well, okay. Okay, okay. Would you—would you do it with tongue and stuff? ‘Cause—that’s nasty.”

Fannie turned even redder.

“Oh, my Force. You’re about to say yes.”

“It…it might be nice,” she confessed. “If…if I liked him very much, and we were very close, and—if we were married.”

“Ewwww!” I threw a pillow at her, playfully—and then I realized we didn’t know each other that well, and I didn’t know if she and I were close enough for me to throw things at her—but she only laughed.

“Goodness, let’s talk about something else now,” she said, then. “My face is burning.”

“Oh my Force, yes. Team No Kissing?” I offered her a high-five.

“Team No Kissing,” she agreed, laughing.

We high-fived. And from that moment on, we were friends.

And—we still are. I don’t think it makes us not friends just because we’re also dating now.

In fact, she was such a good friend to me, that when the thing I call my “mental health crisis” began to spiral out of control, she was the first one I went to for help...

[obsidiancreates]

Out Of The Shadows and Into The Neon (Part 8)

"Uncle Casey?"

"Yes, Donnie?" Casey holds the bo staff by the little turtle, then shakes his head and rummages through the pile of similar yet varied in size staffs.

"Do you have a battle cry?"

"Battle cry?"

"Mikey says all good ninjas have battle cries, but I said not all of them, because you don't."

Casey tears up so quickly that Donnie shoots to his feet and wraps him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you upset!"

"You didn't," Casey assured, choked up as he hugs his sorta-nephew back. "I'm just honored that you hold me to such a standard."

"Duh!" Donnie pulls back, frowning at his uncle now. "You're just as awesome as our dads! And you're not even a mutant, you're way more easy to injure but you fight anyway, that's extra awesome and brave!"

Casey blinks, and more tears spill out. How does he even begin to explain to the ten year old how much this means to him? To be admired the same way he used to admire his own Senseies? To be thought of as a warrior just as incredible as the leaders of rebellions, saviors of the world, preservers of a future worth living in?

"... Stop it." Donnie puts his oversized hand on Casey's face. "Stop crying! That doesn't even make sense, you're happy! Why do people cry when they're happy?!"

"Sorry, Donnie," Casey says with a wet laugh. He moves the hand off of his face and wipes his own eyes. "I just... that means a lot to me."

"You didn't know how awesome you are? After everything you've done?"

"I knew. It's different hearing it. Everyone appreciates hearing it from others sometimes, even when they know it themselves."

"Oh." Donnie's frown deepens. "Even when they say it a lot? Like... all the time, constantly?"

"Even when they say it a lot. Sometimes people say it out loud just to try and make others agree, because they don't believe it but don't know how to ask." Like Sensei Leona- like Leon. Boy, was that a family therapy session to remember, when that came to light.

Donnie nods, expression extremely serious. "I'll tell everyone every time I think they're awesome, then. "

"That's a great goal." Casey rummages through the staffs some more, and holds another one next to Donnie. "There! This one seems about right for your size."

"Whoo!" Donnie grabs it and instantly go into spinning it around himself.

"Whoa, buddy! That's to power up for a strong attack, too much spinning in combat will render your attacks pretty ineffective!"

"But spinning it is the best part! I know how to use my own weapon, and my style is lots of spinning." Donnie spins it again, and then points the end at Casey. He frowns. "Hmm... I feel like it needs something extra..."

"Your dad said No Techbos until you can build your own, remember?"

"Yeah. ... I'll think of something."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Auntie Cass?" Raph dangles his feet as his aunt digs through a bin of different size and weight sais. "Why do we need to use Brownie Clan weapons?"

"Your fathers didn't plan on taking you out on a real patrol this soon. AHA! Hold these ones!"

She shoves them into Raph's hands. He holds them for a second, and then-

Tries to spin them.

"Bleh! Nope!" He hands them back.

"Sai aren't traditionally a 'spinny' weapon. ... I ADMIRE YOUR ADDITION TO THE ART OF COMBAT!" Cass pats him on the head with a wide grin. "We'll find the perfect pair for you to practice that trick with!"

Raph kicks his legs more as she goes back to digging. "So what's patrol like?"

"I've only gone on patrol with your fathers a few times over the years, and Foot Clan patrol was much different. BUT! Both require focus, intensity, and PLENTY OF SNACK BREAKS!"

"What was working for The Foot like?"

"Not very different from a regular assistant job! Except for the world domination, ancient evils, and fighting turtles."

"Did they ever use robots?"

"Robots?"

"I had a dream where they used robots, but really crappy robots. Donnie could beat them with his stick."

"His bo. And no, we never used robots... why didn't we use robots? We could've hired that strange small child before he went on the lam..."

"Strange small child? ... Donnie?"

Cass lets out a loud, sharp laugh. "An excellent burn! But no, I believe his name was Blaster... Stossbid. Something like that."

Raph laughs. "Bastard Stinkboy."

"Where did you learn language like that?"

"Pop-Pop. He swears in Japanese now because Dad scolded him." Raph smirks. "But we taught ourselves Japanese, so we know them all anyway."

"You- how?"

"Donnie." Raph grins. "He knows everything. And if he doesn't know it, he knows how to find it for us. But then he makes it lame by talking about all kinds of stuff none of us get."

"It's not lame to be knowledgeable. How about these?"

"... Nope. And that's not lame, but the way he talks about it is lame."

"Does your brother call it 'lame' when you talk about art to him?"

"No."

"Does Donnie understand or have an interest in art the way you do?"

"No."

"So you've betrayed him, and treated him as less than equal!" Cass puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Raph. "He's your clan and kin, and yet you DISMISS HIS SKILLS AND INSULT HIS ATTEMPTS TO SHARE THEM!"

Raph blinks, eyes wide. "But I didn't mean to betray him! I'd do anything for my brothers! I-I'd fight the world's biggest cockroach, and I hate cockroaches!"

"I believe you!" Cass hands him another pair of sai. "But do your brothers know this?"

"They should!" Raph stands up on the bench he'd been sitting on. "Why do I gotta tell them for them to know?! I show them!"

"How?"

"I-! I... um..." Raph plonks back down onto his tiny turtle tush. "Um... well, well I show them a lot in dreams!"

"Dreams?"

"Yeah! And so I'm gonna do the same tonight." Raph spins the sais, and this time his eyes light up. He jumps down from the bench and spins them again, striking a pose. "If any of them get into any trouble, I'm jumping in to protect them!"

"Admirable bravery! But also, very foolish." Cass kneels down. "A team that protects each other is just a team that knows how to function in combat. You're also a family! So tell your brothers you love them and when they do cool things! Casey Jr tells me how incredible I am often, and it makes me feel the MOST DELIGHTFUL SWELL OF WARMTH AND LOVE EVERY SINGLE TIME!"

Raph blinks at her, and wipes a little spit off of his face. "And Leo says I yell a lot."

"We yell because a normal volume can't contain the sheer intensity of our emotions! Come, young nephew, and together we shall SHOW OFF YOUR INCREDIBLE TRICK TO YOUR BROTHERS AND COMPLIMENT ANY THEY HAVE TO SHARE BACK WITH YOU!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And then-" Mikey says, running around as April tried to find some non-spiked nunchucks for him, "-and then Leatherhead goes RAHHHHHHHH!" He holds his hands up to his mouth and opens them. "And then snaps his teeth around the zombie dog and drags him way down, and the zombie dog lives down there forever and never bothers anyone again!"

"And you came up with that all by yourself? I'd totally read that comic, little man!"

"I saw it in a dream," Mikey says proudly, "And I knew Leatherhead would be the awesomest comic hero ever!" He raches into the back of his shell and pulls out a piece of paper. He starts to run towards April, and then freezes.

"What're you- WHOA!"

April scrambles out of the way as Mikey suddenly launches into a frontflip, and then right into a backflip! But instead of falling over or even stumbling, he lands perfectly on his pancake feet and holds the drawing up to her.

"Um, Mikey? When'd you learn that?" He's not usually that sure-footed in training-

Mieky blushes and looks away. "Dad said I shouldn't try it without mats, but mats are too lumpy. ... Don't tell Dad."

"You've been practicing flips alone?! Oh, no way I'm not telling your dad, if you snap your neck-"

"I won't!" Mikey puts his hands together and widens his eyes, somehow getting them to water instantly. "Please! Pleaseeee! I wanna surprise him tonight by showing off! It's really easy for me, like- like how DNA and stuff is easy for Donnie!"

"You're asking me to lie to my best friends, little man! I-I can't just let you guys-"

"Please!"

"No way!" April goes back to rummaging. "Why are you four always tryin' stuff in secret, anyway? You can just tell your dad the mats mess you up! He'll understand."

"But he's so worried!" Mikey sits down and then flops over to lay dramatically on the floor. "All he does it make sure we're not gonna get hurt!"

"Uh, Mikey, newsflash. He's your dad. That's what a good parent does!"

"But he does it too much!" Mikey does a backflip to get back up. "He caught Donnie doing a handstand on my shoulders while we were skateboarding the other day and totally flipped! But we do that like, every time, and we don't go on the ramps or anything!"

"You WHAT?!"

"Donnie like to walk around on his hands, and I like moving around while he's talking to me! So we mixed 'em!"

"Mikey, that's way more dangerous than just backflips!"

"But we're really good at it!" Mikey frowns and tenses, his head lowering into his shell from the sheer rage in his muscles. "Why does everyone treat me like a baby?! Do you know how tough nunchucks are to use as a good weapon? REALLY TOUGH!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey." April puts her hands up. "Where's that coming from?"

Mikey crosses his arms. "Raph and I were wrestling the other day, and our dads made us stop because he's 'bigger than me'. He's only bigger by a little bit! And I'm just as strong as him, maybe stronger! My dad's the strongest and he's the smallest too, why am I any different?!" He grabs a pair of nunchucks out of the bin himself. "Look!"

"Wait-!"

But he spins his weapons perfectly, does a flip, and lands without bonking himself even once. He kicks and follows it with what would be a truly devastating hit to the rib area in a real fight, and then finishes his little demonstration with a solid punch to what would, presumably, be the jaw.

April's own jaw is dropped. "You- that was-" She shakes her head. "And we thought you weren't paying attention in training, dang kid!"

"Training is way different." Mikey pouts as he hooks the little nunchucks to his little belt. "Everyone else takes it so seriously, but it's not real!"

"... Hun..." April crouches and puts a hand on Mikey's shoulder. "They take it seriously because it is serious. And you goofing off makes them take it even more seriously, because they think you aren't paying attention."

"So?"

"Uh, so, they think you're gonna get your butt whooped out there and that they'll have to protect you! Obviously they won't, but they don't know that! ... Tell you what, when you're out with your dads tonight, show them they can mix fun with serious. Your Uncle Leon makes puns during fights all the time, goad him into it! I've seen Leo have pun-offs with his dad, it'll work like a charm."

"... Really?"

"That's an April O'Neil promise."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Pop-Pop?"

"Hmm? Yes, Little Blue?"

"Can my swords have red on the handles instead of black?"

"I don't see why not." Splinter shudders as he opens the cabinet. "All of these little girls running around with deadly weapons... this is why we live in a sewer, away from Girl Scouts."

"I thought we live in the sewer because humans don't like mutants?"

"At first. But no-one really cares anymore." Splinter pulls out a pair of katanas, and then shakes his head and tosses them aside. "Ooooh, this one has something engraved in it... eugh!" Splinter's tail stick straight out as he reads it.

Leo walks closer and reads it aloud-

"NO!" Splinter puts his hand over Leo's mouth. "How do you know what that says?!"

"Donnie found Japanese lessons for us online."

"Never repeat those words around your fathers! Purple donates to the Algebra channel just to keep it running for when he's mad at me."

"Donnie can fix that for you."

"Little Purple? Since when?"

"He built a new TV out of trash his dad didn't want anymore." Leo grins. "We stayed up all night watching your old movies the other day. You're the coolest grandpa ever."

Splinter's eyes water, and he pulls Leo into a hug. "I know this is so I won't tell on you," he sniffles, "But I don't care!"

"What? No it's not. You're just awesome. I wanna be just like you and Dad. You're both great ninjas, great teachers, and great heros!"

Splinter's hug grip falters a bit. "I... do not know if I deserve such praise."

"Why?"

"... I was not a great teacher for much of your father's life. ... I was not even a decent father."

Leo leans out of the hug. "What? But our dads love you so much!"

"Yes, because my boys are very forgiving. ... But I am ashamed to say that I... I failed them. I did not prepare them in time for many things, and I often failed them in smaller ways. Which is why I try so hard with you boys." Splints pats Leo's head. "So I do not make the same mistakes twice."

Leo shakes his head. "No. You're so wise, and-and Dad always talks about how cool you are in a fight."

"This is a heavy subject, Little Blue." Splints looks up at the armoire of swords (knowing Leon would make a pun about it somehow).

"... How do I avoid those mistakes?"

"What?"

"If you made any mistakes, I'll avoid them." Leo kneels down, sitting on his knees and putting his hands in his lap. Splints doesn't even know where he learned to sit like that, if he knows how much it reminds Splints of his early childhood before he and his grandfather moved to America.

"Oh, you won't have to worry about my kind of mistakes for a long time." Splints pats his head again and wipes his own eyes with the other hand. "You're a good person, Little Blue. But you're rushing to grow up too fast! Let yourself have a little fun! Your father has fun all of the time!"

"At home."

"Not just at home." Splints pulls out another pair of swords, one having a longer handle than the other in this pair. "Have I ever told you about the time your father outsmarted Big Mama?"

"Dad told me he tricked her and you two had the most epic father-son battle ever."

"Hah! We did! But, he also was plenty silly for it. He had them make us matching costumes, and did not even tell me his plan the whole time! I thought he was going to get us killed!"

"Why wouldn't he tell you his plan?"

"Because he is a smarta- um, forget you heard that."

"Raph says the F word."

"Yeesh. He is like a teapot. All his anger in too small a space."

"Ha!"

"Do not tell him I said that."

"I won't. ... Mikey would laugh at it too. And Donnie."

"Which is why you will not tell them either! I've seen you boys, you trade insults like normal kids trade playing cards!"

"Hey, Donnie and Raph do it way more than Mikey and I do!"

"Still. You are all smart-mouths, just like your fathers."

"You just told me to be less serious."

"By that I mean to do fun things! Make terrible puns in battle! insult your enemies and not your brothers! Embarrass your enemies in front of their partners!"

"... How will I be a good leader if I'm busy doing that?"

"Who said anything about being a leader?" Splints hands Leo the swords. "Your father did not become the leader until years after your Uncle Red was. And even then, he needed time to grow into it! You are only ten, do not worry about that kind of thing yet."

Leo tests out the swords, running through a basic attack. "But what if we need a leader?"

"That will work itself out. You're not going into battle without your fathers anytime soon! Let yourselves find your rhythm before you try to force things." Forcing things results in sons kidnapped, teapots given as ransom payment, demons unleashed-

Leo nods. "Okay, Pop-Pop. I'll loosen up." He sheathes his swords behind his back in one shockingly fluid motion. "... You really think we'll see a fight tonight?"

"Oh, no, not tonight. I'm sure it will be villain-free!"

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 136: Long Drive

Sorry friends. The second half of my week last week was really difficult and I went away for the weekend to recharge. Without further ado, here's the next ficlet. Thanks for your patience <3

---------

Harry loved the States for a lot of reasons; it was way easier to disappear here than in England; even if people knew his name, they were way less likely to recognize his face; you could basically pick any climate that you wanted and find a place that suited you; and lots of other weird things.

But mostly he loved road trips.

He loved the entire concept behind getting in a car and just driving. The road unfurling endlessly in front of him, windows down, radio turned up and blaring whatever struck his fancy. With Max in the car beside him, wagging his tail and sticking his head out of the window, Harry felt practically weightless.

"Alright, buddy," he told the pittie when he pulled over to grab some breakfast at a little diner, "You hang out in the back, yeah?" he asked, scratching behind his ears and pressing a kiss to the broad bridge of his nose. "Go on," he said, nudging him toward the back that Harry had magically enlarged and turned into a comfortable living space.

Muggles had campers and rvs but with a little bit of magic, the beaten up Subaru served him just fine.

He got out and hit the lock button, listening to the satisfying little beep as he headed toward the diner, catching up his curls and tying them into a loose messy bun on top of his head.

The diner was cute, all red and white checkered decorations and a counter with spinny stools. Harry sat down at one and grabbed a menu, perusing and trying to decide what to order when he heard the crash of something being dropped to the ground and breaking.

His head snapped up and he blinked, wondering if it had been too long since he'd gone to sleep because he had to be hallucinating. "Malfoy?" he spluttered.

(Read more below the cut)

But before the other man could respond there was a shout from the kitchen in the back, "Damn it! You clumsy, stupid ass!" the man shouted and Harry felt himself recoiling from the anger in his voice. "You'll be paying for that!"

"Yes, sir!" Malfoy shouted back, bending over and hastily sweeping up the pieces.

"Well don't mess around with that now!" he shouted. "You've got a customer, you worthless piece of-" his voice trailed off as he slammed a door in the back but Harry could fill in the rest.

"Malfoy?" he repeated as the man in question stepped over to him. "How on earth did you find me?" he asked.

"You found me, Potter," he snapped. "Not the other way around. Now what can I get you?"

"You actually work here?" Harry asked in befuddlement.

Malfoy gritted his teeth, "Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn't be wearing this stupid apron and I wouldn't be getting screamed at by the arsehole that owns this place. What can I get you?" he repeated.

"Umm," he said, glancing down at the menu, "I will definitely have a cup of coffee. And then maybe the first special on your board with scrambled eggs, bacon, and rye toast," he said. "And also grape jelly, if you have it."

"Got it," Malfoy replied, scribbling on the ticket. "Coming right up."

He spun on his heel and strutted off before Harry could say anything more and Harry just stared after him, wondering if he was dreaming.

Malfoy was back a few minutes later with a mug and a coffee pot, filling Harry's cup and sliding it over to him.

"Thanks," Harry said, reaching for the sugar. "What are you-"

"Look," Malfoy hissed, leaning over and keeping his voice low, "Please do not blow this for me. I know that you have no reason to help me but I really need this job, Potter."

Harry blinked and by the time he'd unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Malfoy was gone again.

It wasn't long before the other man emerged once more, carrying Harry's plate of breakfast. "Here you go," he said as he set it down and slid a couple of grape jelly packets toward him. "Enjoy. Do you need a warm up on your coffee?"

"Uhh," Harry replied, glancing at his half full cup, "Sure."

Malfoy nodded and grabbed the pot to refill his cup.

"When do you get off work?" Harry found himself asking.

The other man's brow furrowed, "Why?"

He shrugged as he slathered jelly onto his toast, "Thought it might be nice to catch up."

"To catch up?" Malfoy repeated. "Is that code for-"

"Hear about your life," Harry supplied.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, "Fine. I get off at 10:00. If you pretend that you are just a customer passing through I'll give you fifteen minutes."

"Done," Harry replied easily. "So what touristy shite is there to do in this town until 10:00 am?"

-----------------

After he finished breakfast, Harry ended up just taking Max for a walk and then to the dog park to chase a ball around him. He'd worked hard to train him the first few months after he'd found him abandoned, tied up to a dumpster and all but starving. And Max had learned quickly, mastering basic commands in no time which was for the best, since people took one look at him and decided he was scary.

He wasn't, he was a sweet boy who loved people and who loved to play but it didn't seem to make any difference. Still, once he was trained, Harry had started taking him to the park and he wouldn't let other people bully them out.

Around 9:30, they headed back to the diner and Harry settled Max into the back, making sure his water bowl was full before he climbed back out of the car and leaned against the hood, waiting.

Malfoy emerged a few minuted after 10:00, looking a bit disheveled in his black t-shirt and skinny jeans, and immediately lit up a cigarette before looking around and spotting Harry. His eyebrows rose like he was surprised to see him before he squared his shoulders and made his way toward him.

"Hey," Harry said, straightening up as Malfoy approached him.

Malfoy blew a stream of smoke out of his mouth, "Hey?" he asked. "Is that really what you have to say to me?" He shook his head, "Just get it over with Potter," he said. "If you want to gloat just fucking gloat so I can move on and go get my groceries."

"I don't want to gloat," Harry protested.

"What do you want, then?" he asked scathingly.

And that was the question, wasn't it? What did Harry want? "Why are you working here?" he asked.

Malfoy rolled his eyes as he exhaled another puff of smoke, "It's amazing where you end up when you're a convicted death eater whose wand is monitored," he replied. "Then add to that the fact that it didn't seem to matter where I got myself set up in muggle London, someone found me and within hours I'd lose whatever job I'd been working. So here I am, just trying to get by and who should appear but the savior himself," he said with a little mock bow. "I should just put my two weeks in here now, at least-"

"I'm not going to tell anyone you're here," Harry said quickly.

"Right," he huffed sarcastically.

"I'm not," he argued, "Because if I told them where you are, they'd know where I've been."

"You're running away too?" Malfoy asked, cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers as he stared at Harry in surprise.

"Obviously," Harry replied. "Come on," he said after a moment. "Your feet must be killing you. I'm sure that arsehole doesn't give you breaks," he added as he opened the hatch.

"You want me to climb into the trunk of your car?"

He rolled his eyes, "I know you think I'm an idiot," he said, "But I'm less of one than you think. Just," he crawled in and stood up, "come on."

After a moment Malofy followed him through but before anything else could happen Max bounded over and all but climbed onto Malfoy's lap.

"Max-" he started to scold before Malfoy started talking over him.

"Oh, hello you sweet baby," he said, pulling Max further onto his lap so he could pet him better and scratch his neck. They looked ridiculous, Max was almost as big as Malfoy, but there he sat anyway, "hello. Aren't you a lovie?" he asked. "Yes you are. You're a giant lovie," he said.

And in that moment, Harry's mind was made up. "Have you ever gone on a road trip?" he asked.

Malfoy looked up at him and Max licked a stripe up his cheek. He laughed and stroked his side, "What?" he asked.

"Have you ever gone on a road trip?" Harry repeated.

"What is that?"

"Like a really long drive," he said. "Where you just get in your car and drive and stop for food when you want to and sleep when you want to." He scratched the back of his neck, "Max and I are headed to California to see the giant redwoods."

"That sounds nice for the two of you," Malfoy replied, steadily patting Max.

"Come with us," Harry said.

The other man blinked. "Sorry?"

"Just," he shrugged, "What else do you have here?"

"A job-"

"That you hate."

"A flat-"

"That is probably smaller than this," he said gesturing to the space they were sitting in.

"What happens when you get sick of me?"

He shook his head, "Come on. Just come with us. If I kick you out I'll give you $5000. That should be enough to help you settle wherever you want, right?"

"Why?"

He stared at him for a moment. There were a thousand reasons that flitted through Harry's mind, a thousand things that he could say, but none of them made any sense. Not yet at least. "Why not?" he settled on.

Malfoy took a slow inhale and then nodded once. "Fine, but you're going to need to make a second bed and we have to stop for my stuff."

"Done," Harry replied, grinning and feeling the familiar feeling of freedom that he felt when he was gliding down the open road unfurling in his chest.

Finally, he was going on an adventure worth having.

------------------

Day 135: Off-Guard | Day 137: Symmetry

[fisherrprince]

do you have more thoughts on keyblade fighting that you need to put somewhere, because i have two hands ready to catch Should The Need Arise

anon: hey I heard you mention you’d analysed the combat styles in KH and what you said in the tags was already alluding to really neat stuff, but I for one would love to hear more of what you came up with!! so if you ever wanted to share any of your analysis then the floor is yours

aHAH, MY EXCUSE!!

Okay, so first some words on “standardized wielding styles”. These are styles shared by Terra, Aqua, Vanitas, Riku, and Xehanort and every other scala and daybreak kid. I will make the argument that the red style is the fanciest standard style, while the purple is seen often to make it easier on the little chibi sprites. BUT, I cannot discredit Eraqus, who uses the purple variant in bbs, nor can I discredit half of the Foretellers (Gula and Ava, at least, use this. Invi and Aced use the first type). So, two standard styles. For simplicity, let’s say one for primary offense, one for primary defense. The standard offensive style really wasn’t popular before Scala-era society.

check this difference out, specifically between ava invi and gula:

then between eraqus, hermod, and xehanort, and eraqus and terra.

These two were likely popularized and standardized for education in Scala ad Caelum for their predominant lack of obvious weak spots.

After this, we have unique styles. Those include Sora Kairi and Xion’s (similar to standard defense, but more mobile at the expense of form — Kairi takes after Sora but less confident, she hasn’t been hit that heavily yet), Ven’s (backhand, heavy range and mobility), Roxas’ (modified for two keyblades, but takes after Sora), and Axel’s (taught himself, comfortable with chakrams).

So! Let’s go.

.

Standard (offensive)

All styles have sub-variations, of a sense. Different wielders can choose where their keyblade points, and how they hold it exactly, based on what makes them most comfortable. Terra and Aqua point theirs downward, while Vanitas and Riku hold theirs above their head. What is recognizeable to this style is a hand for the sword, and a hand for guarding/blocking/items/magic.

It’s incredibly efficient. With only one hand on the weapon, you not only free up a hand for other things, but increase your range of movement with said weapon. Test it out yourself! The keyblade hand is always your dominant hand, held behind you for increased power when attacking (since you lose a significant amount of it by choosing not to grip with both hands). This style also decreases the speed of the defense you have, but with that increased mobility and swing power, along with a hand free to brace against the keyblade (defense strength up!), it makes up for it. Many people who use this also have strong barrier spells — both a testament to their preference for coverage and an acknowledgement that any directional block will take a little longer and be weaker if they try it with one hand.

The pointy end, though. What difference does it actually make, the height it’s at?

I think it’s half a matter of attack style preference and half intention. Riku, Vanitas, and Xehanort stab quite a bit. Aqua and Terra slice more. Not that they don’t do both, but it’s the first instinct. Aqua and Terra are also likely taught to hold their keyblade neutrally, in a safe position, until someone starts attacking. It’s polite! Eraqus also holds his one-handed, neutrally, until he gets into position. Riku and Vanitas learned to fight assuming everyone was out to fight them. Invi and Aced may like this style because of range (i hc she’s blind and strikes very very quickly, and he’s already very powerful with just the one arm and wants better motion).

and on character specifics: Terra often switches to two-handed, to copy his dad and add extra power to his hits without always sacrificing the empty hand. Vanitas likely was forced to relearn how to fight, as instead of solely being trained to be better at withstanding, he was constantly being made to better his own attacks. The moves Xehanort uses would best be replicated in the same style. Vanitas is wild for holding the massive spiky x-blade like that.

Now, what‘s good on this style does not correlate to what’s bad in the other. The two standard styles simply have different ways of dealing with each con they create or taking advantage of each pro.

(Here’s an interesting side note — Gula uses standard defensive, but in this instance, swaps. One hand… likely to display confidence! Wrong move, but hey. He got cocky. He’s also doing it wrong, and swaps back to two-handed to take Aced’s attack.)

.

Standard (defensive)

The main detriment of this style is the lack of ease of long range movement. Hold a wrapping paper tube out in front of you with both hands, then run. It goes to the side, or tucks in to your stomach, right? Dodge. Your legs will get in the way unless you know where to move that sword. It requires, interestingly, a little more discipline. You’d think Aqua would like that, but no, she wants movement and practicality, and she loves magic, and remember that you must take a hand off this style to grab a potion. You’d think young Eraqus wouldn’t, but remember that he’s a fancy royal lad.

The main draw, though, is tankiness, readiness, and power. You don’t need to move as much if nothing dares hit you! Ava and Gula might be attracted to this style because they’re not as physically strong, but want protection in close-quarters fighting. Using this style when your muscles aren’t as big but you still want to Hit Things Good, or when you want to be a boy you can’t knock over with a pail of water (horse stance rules), is probably solid advice.

Traditionally, this is a lot less like fencing, and a lot more like a samurai sword or kendo. Your blade is held in front of you, giving you very easy access to blocks and frontal attack/defense. In losing some twirly spinniness, you gain power and minimize your opponent’s ability to parry and block.

you gotta dodge master Eraqus so mcuh

All styles will swap between one and two hands for different moves. Eraqus, notably, swaps to a stance very similar to Xehanort when channeling a metric ton of magic.

Both of these styles require a degree of upper body/core strength, as does all swordfighting. I would be interested to see someone whose keyblade style relies on leg strength.

.

Sora, Xion, and Kairi

please look at the difference between the foretellers’ or eraqus’ two-handed grip and Sora’s. Do this with your shoulders and a top-heavy object.

They’re both in a hard stance, but hon. What are you, a gremlin? Anyways, a traditionally taught master would have… better form, even if it’s harder to learn at first. It’s habitual. Sora nearly crouches, and holds his keyblade back-pointed with two hands, which makes it easier for him to dodge roll, push off his feet quickly, and pull off those spinning combos he loves. It‘s really gonna hurt his muscles, in the future, though, since he’s doing a squat for like…. hours. Pulling on those shoulderblades and neck. Xion, too. Replicas had better have correct muscle dynamics. Kairi is brand new, so… maybe Aqua can teach her how to hold a sword so it doesnt hurt you.

Okay, now look at the grip itself. Held in front versus held to the side-back. They’re really attempting to combine both standard styles subconsciously, giving themselves more attack power while really wanting to keep that hard defensive parry, wanting to prevent all attacks to the front while also wanting mobility. It’s working for them really well, they fight like an anime character, and manage to get the best of both, with a minor sacrifice of length range that they don’t care about. We’re flexible and full of magic, baby! Holding the blade like this makes it pretty easy to let go with one hand without sacrificing that crouched defense position.

Now, Sora, specifically, is very adaptive. He’s had two keyblades, claws, guns, yo-yos, and a giant shield, to name a couple. He retains a bit of that alert crouch no matter where he goes, but Sora knows how he wants to attack and how to balance that with the most effective way to use his current weapon. He’s a smart kid! Sora has the most ridiculous shotlocks, which are also probably due to not always wanting to go standard for it. He also prefers to keep his focus on the enemy, which is evident in his reprisals and lack of very many effective “escape” moves.

Xion is very similar to Sora, but she does have some moves that are all movement. She switches to one handed for strikes a lot — using two for defending, one for smacking. In her data battle I’d swear some of those heavy hits are claymore-like. But anyways, since we’re magic, Xion cares not for the laws of exhaustion, and will ping about as a ball of light everywhere. Short range? Up in your business. Mid-range? In your business with one hand. Long range? Throws a boomerang. Hit her? No you dont. Ball of light. She’s above you and wants to bash your head in. (Vanitas also does this! A lot. It’s an easy way to catch someone off-guard. I’ll argue that the soras are very tough and strong, but not tanky. they want to avoid being hit a lot)

Another interesting note about Kairi. I say “unconfident” not because she doesn’t hit hard, but because her stance is also often tilted back, ready to dodge. It’s two handed, but almost all her moves are one. She does love spinning and throwing the thing! It looks like she’s been taking notes from the wielders she knows. It would be easy to teach her a standard style, I think. See here, she lets go on the strike, and by trying to do both, actually ends up with an advantage (being confusing) and disadvantage (losing both the power of two handed and versatility of one handed).

A counter to Sora and Xion is difficult to pin down. Time? Probably. Lack of heating pads. Something that takes all their attention is about the only way to get a sneak attack in, and then you have to hit hard. A counter to Kairi would be anyone who can knock her off balance. She needs a sturdier stance. .

Roxas

Roxas is interesting. He takes after Sora for the one blade. Wielding two, however, nets him a totally different way of fighting. Roxas’ clavicle muscles n… deltoids and stuff must be Ironclad. Also, two handed means you are very fast and sharp all the time. He has the advantage of standard defense (horse stance), and the advantage of offense (range of one sword, but twice).

Roxas generally attacks in two ways — simultaneous hits, and follow-up hits. Either he hits with both at once, or hits hard with the first one, and adds the second one as a bonus smack. He can attack by hitting in opposite directions with the two, like a drum, but that will be a little awkward and leave him prone to being tangled. That established, the follow-up hit method means he spins a bunch. As do we all.

Roxas gets a little complicated because we are not in the real world. We have magic and turning into light and physics that let you become a circular saw. So, typically, disadvantages would include: being unable to let go of a weapon to grab something or use an item, having just a very big silhouette to attack on, having difficulty with close-range attacks because Oathkeeper and Oblivion are kinda long, and convenience. Roxas gets to dodge #1 (keyblades can be unsummoned) and #4 (keyblades can be unsummoned). Speaking of dodging, he also gets to skirt the difficulty of dodging and rolling with two swords because he turns into a beam of light. But he can’t dodge how difficult it is to use two swords effectively — he needs to concentrate on fighting, and nothing else, or he risks messing up. He has to be very, very coordinated, and undistracted. Luckily he’s pretty good at making his opponents shut up, most of the time. Blocking is another thing — theoretically his blocks could be strong, but Roxas has no real brace: crossing your blades and taking a hefty stab might smack one of them back into your face. He mostly uses reversals and dodges, because of this.

The takeaway to this is Roxas is built for speed and power, and he is very strong. He’s a mid- to far- range fighter who if you’re not careful can snap you in half if you’re too close (be SO careful of that cross blade scissor).

A perfect counter to Roxas would be a tank that can grapple, and also be very distracting. If you can take hits, be talkative, and get close enough to stop his blades, you have a chance.

.

Ventus

This is a bizarre choice, my guy, but I get it.

Backhanded weapons are very impractical for a lot of... attacking, mainly in mid-range combat, and Ven likes to either fight very close or throw the keyblade like a boomerang (and hey, backhand gives it a good whip for throwing). His attacks aren’t meant to one hit KO, but they do come with a bit of power to them, especially on the backslash. Like holding a knife for gouging. It’s for very close defense — pretty good when Wayward Wind and Missing Ache have hooks.

Backhand also, while retaining that empty hand for potions and guarding, gives you an extreme coverage boost. By which I mean Ven’s sword hand now has a nearly 270 degree sweep of “I see you, don’t touch me”, very quickly, based on just flicking his wrist. It sacrifices a ton of strength/sturdiness, but you don’t need that if you’re dodging. You also don’t really need to block, which is slower, but relatively sturdy when Ven does it, as he blocks with mostly the chunky hilt between crossed arms. He sacrifices (again) a bit of strength for coverage — an attack would hurt his arms, not his chest, if he were hit head-on.

His attacks often have him flip the blade around in his hand, too. Quick swaps between standard moves and backhand ones. Basically, Ventus is built for moving, protecting himself, and quick attacks that wear down the enemy, not outclass it. Likely because he’s good at fighting, but everyone he’s fought hits harder than he can! It doesn’t matter how he holds it, getting hit will hurt. So he just. Doesn’t. He’s not a buff little guy — but he is a persistent one. Ven very likely made this up on his own, in Daybreak, and it was too hard to fix his whole style, but it was enough to correct most of his form so he doesn’t hurt himself too much. He is going to have to really stretch that shoulder and wrist (maybe get a brace), though. At least his neck is ok. … not sure about his knees tho dang boy that crouch

A perfect counter to Ven would be someone big and fast, who hits hard mid-range. He’s already been sparring with Terra, though, so when in doubt, try scruffing him?

.

Axel

Theres not a ton to say about him — he‘s not a swordfighter. He uses his keyblade like it’s a frisbee. Because that’s what he’s used to! His neutral is behind his back on his shoulder, which is terrible for readiness, but okay for chucking the thing. It’s good it has a sort of… ripstik like… boomerang quality.

Axel’s fighting style is completely made up, like most of the self-taught wielders’. His strengths lie in some of the benefits of standard offensive style (one-handed), and some of the same coverage stuff as Ven, having a cocked wrist most of the time so no one can sneak up around him without risking getting whacked very quickly, and having an interesting range due to the pointy end being basically on a spinny swivel wherever his hand moves. He’s not going to be good at close-range and he knows it — his attacks are mostly distance. And the guy has ZERO defense, combined with zero coverage when idle, so it’s for the better.

Distance-wise, though, he rocks. Treating the blade like it’s a flaming throwing weapon means his idle is actually great for sudden flick-tossing and attention-guiding for sneakier attacks, and his stance itself (…nonexistent) serves a different purpose: bait. Basically a big "come hit me". Fun, when you have a lot of fire magic and two friends who are beasts and love to take advantage of a distracted enemy — distance on the blade, proximity on the burning.

A perfect counter to Axel would be someone pinging around very close <—> very far and circling him incessantly. Like, data Xion could wreck him, as he has to wait for the boomerang to come back -- he no longer has two spinny wheels. Also someone with water magic.

.

SO! In conclusion! Having a teacher who teaches you correct sword usage rather than instinct may detract from overspecific styles that benefit you most but leave weak spots, but your muscles and your oversights will thank you. Everyone is glad we have the power of the Mouse and anime on our side.

Keep in mind again that I have done cursory research, and have had minimal actual sword instruction, I am not an expert and this is all for fun anyways :]

[krewbies]

can't wait to see some of your writing! can i maybe ask for a bolin x reader who's maybe a tiny, innocent seeming airbender, but is actually insanely impressive at their bending? maybe the avatar gang underestimates their skills and ends up pleasantly surprised (especially bolin 😏) if not, just anything bolin would be amazing ✨❤️ thank you!!

so i decided to combine these two, i hope that’s okay! i also thought that hc format would be best, just because its stretching over a longer period of time. the next thing i’ll be working on is NOT a request but i will get to the requests as well :) anyways, i hope you enjoy!!

•••••••

so like, you first meet bolin at the park in republic city

it was actually really sweet; you’re sitting on a bench and he thinks you’re GORGEOUS and asks if the seat is taken next to you and of course you say no because bolin and pabu are both cute as hell

usually bolin is a pretty straightforward guy but right off the bat he noticed how sweet you were and he didn’t even feel the need to flirt with you like he just felt comfy sitting with you

you guys decide to hit up this little noodle place together after sitting for a while and he’s convinced it’s love at first sight

you were especially endearing to him because you didn’t watch movers and you literally didn’t know wtf the fire ferrets were, and while bolin loved to be loved, he also really liked just feeling like a normal person???

you didn’t have your tattoos (yet) so he first noticed you were an airbender when you did this little spinny thing to mix your tea

the look on this mans face... both hands on his cheeks and wide eyes 

“ooooh! do it again (y/n)!”

you happily obliged because you thought he was adorable

you guys kept in touch after that day, often ‘accidentally’ running into each other in random places

OBviously he told mako, korra, and asami about you. they didn’t tell bolin that he sounded like a lovesick puppy cause they just thought it was sweet

mako got the most of it, like they’d be heading to bed for the night and bolin would whisper ‘i wonder what (y/n) is doing right now’ and mako would just GROAN

anyways, it wasn’t too long before you met the rest of the krew. you had gone to get ingredients for dinner tonight and bolin pointed you out to them cause they were walking down the same street

‘they’re a lot shorter than i thought they would be’

‘shush korra, they’re perfect’ (aww he called u perfect)

anyways, your relationship with all members of the krew grew beautifully after your first meeting

mako actually warmed up to you quickly, appreciating your calmer and innocent personality; you and asami both had very gentle souls that meshed perfectly; korra picked up a sort of ‘annoying big sister’ dynamic with you that you both enjoyed

and oh my god did they get exasperated with the two of you quickly

it was obvious to anyone with eyes (or feet) that you and bolin were SO interested in each other

whenever you talked, bolin would look down at you with this softass smile on his face and if someone interrupted you EVER he got so defensive... like just let his baby speak!!!!

you always listened to whatever bolin had to say and laughed at all of his jokes, even when the other three were rolling their eyes

like even in a silent room you two were always whispering to each other, and he pulled you along with him on all the krew adventures

none of them would ever tell you guys this but they thought you and bo were perfect for eachother

mako actually thought you were a perfect balance for his little bro, and after meeting you he got a lot more lenient and understanding whenever bolin would gush about you

‘did you hear what (y/n) said today! they’re so funny’

‘mako mako mako they’re so precious how do i TELL them!!!’

‘i wish (y/n) were here.... THEY would’ve laughed at that’

one time asami, korra, and you decided to hang out without the boys and you were not prepared in the slightest

‘so how’s it going with bolin?’ korra asked nonchalantly

you almost choked on your drink you were like ???

‘wait are you guys not dating?’ asami followed that up with. she and korra gave each other the most appalled look

‘n-no? should we be? i mean he is, well, i wouldn’t be opposed-’

‘you DO like him. mako said he likes you too. like a lot.’

‘korra ur joking right?’

even after that the looks and red cheeks did not stop between the two of you, asami was this close to just pushing the two of you together

don’t think the three of them didn’t notice you glancing at his lips, his hands, his arms...

and vice versa, he was always making direct eye contact with you and looking at your lips when you talked and every time he saw you, when you weren’t looking, he’d just look u up and down and it was literally this emoji 👀

so a few weeks after that ordeal the five of you were sitting in front of a shop and all of your interests are immediately piqued when you see these 8 super shady guys walk up to the store nextdoor

obviously stuff goes down. you and bolin end up chasing 3 of the guys down a side street while the others are dealing with the other 5

bolin is shooting rocks at these guys left and right but they are LIGHT on their feet and tbh his precision is a little off because ur there

‘bolin i got this’

‘what?’

you release this HUGE gust of air and topple all three of them off their feet and raise them up in the air, basically controlling 3 mini tornadoes and bolin just looks at you

he KNEW you were an airbender but oh my god he’d only ever seen a group of airbenders pull off something like that

korra, asami, and mako run up behind the two of you and mako looks at bolin like ‘the fuck dude?’, korra is straight up IMPRESSED, asami’s just smiling because she knows from experience that the most intense and talented people are the ones you least expect

after that whole ordeal is over (i’d like to mention that lin is also pretty impressed by you), you and the others are sitting up against a brick wall together, j chillin

‘you should kiss me’ you finally mustered up the courage, thinking back to your conversation with asami and korra

‘yeah i sho- wait WHAT?’ bolin looks down at you because your head is on his shoulder and your sides are pressed together, and he’s blushing. this dude is a tomato.

you nodded at him letting him know that he heard you right

he did NOT hesitate after you gave him consent, he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you SO proudly he didn’t even care that you were surrounded by your friends

and, well, the rest is history. i’ll be at the wedding.

(IM SORRY this ended up being so long)

@nancbyers :)

[starlit-scarlet]

Healing

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Wherein Levi comforts reader after the lost of a loved one.

A/N: This fic is also posted on ao3 and is dedicated to @artistic-resonance and another reader from ao3, as well as anyone who has ever lost a loved one. I lost my grandma last fall, two other grandparents in 2018, and I felt like we could all use a little comfort from the sweet, gruff man that is Levi Ackerman—that's how I see him at least.

I'd like to preface this with the following: if you feel that reading this would make things worse, please do not read it. The last thing I would ever want is for something I write to make it hurt more. I did this as a way to help, but my feelings will not be hurt if you decide not to read.

In any case, I hope you enjoy this little bit of comfort from our favorite spinny boy.

It was dark, the curtains drawn in tight, not letting a single ounce of sunlight into the living room—matching your current mood. Curled up on the couch under your favorite throw blanket—one they’d knitted for you—and all you could do was stare blankly out into the room in front of you. The cozy, woven material reminded you of them, somehow still smelling of them, remembering how their scent used to bring you peace—though that may have just been your wishful thinking. Your phone lay on the floor where it had slipped out of your hand the moment you’d received the news.

The five stages of grief, and you were in denial, having trouble believing that they were no longer with you, that you would never see them again, that beloved family member of yours that you’d been so close to.

That’s where he found you when he stepped into your home, lying on the couch, and his concern for you was so sudden that his keys slipped from his hand to land on the floor, the tinkling sound resounding through the quiet room.

“Baby.”

It was the only word he whispered before he moved. By your side in an instant, he lay down next to you, pulling you close against him, tucking your head against his chest.

The presence of him had the first of many tears slipping out of your eyes as your hands curled into fists in his shirt. You whimpered as you tried to explain to him that someone in your family had passed away through the sobs and hitching breaths that hit your body. Simply murmuring sweet nothings to you, he pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head, stroking your hair and back, his touches tender, ginger, supporting you as you grieved.

“They’re gone, Levi, they’re just gone ,” you wailed, snuggling closer to him.

“I know, baby, I know.” He was the type of man who struggled with emotions, with poetic words, yet he always tried for you. It was a testament to how much he loved you.

Never once did he let you go, never once did he cease the comforting caresses within your hair as you sobbed in his arms, the well of grief threatening to never dry. He was your rock, the one person who could provide you peace, and you didn’t know what you would have done if he wasn’t in your life at that moment.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wonder.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the tears began to dry, and you nuzzled in closer against him, your lips somehow curling into a faint smile at the way he kissed the top of your head again. It had taken ages for him to become comfortable with these forms of affection, but he’d learned, and though he still floundered at times, he always did his best.

And that was all that mattered to you.

“Why, Levi?” Your breath hitched. “Why did this have to happen?”

He sighed, massaging at your scalp in a way that made you want to purr against him. “I wish I had a reason, but these things just happen in life.”

His words had you sniffling, more tears threatening to spill. “I wasn’t ready to lose them, Levi.”

“We never are.”

That was part of what was so reassuring with him, that he knew what it was like to lose family, having lost Furlan and Isabel so long ago. You’d been there to help him through it, to help him through his grief, the way he was doing with you now.

“What do I do, Levi?”

“You get through it, and I’ll be here with you, every step of the way.”

It warmed your heart to hear him say that, shivering when he brushed his lips across your forehead. Some people perhaps would wish he was more poetic, more heartfelt. But the simplicity of his responses rang louder than any profound, rhythmic verse could ever dream of being. Somehow, he always managed to give tell you exactly what you needed to hear.

Rising from the couch, he pulled the blanket off of you, scooping you up into his arms, your own coming to wrap around his neck as you cuddled close against him. He carried you into the bathroom, setting you down gently onto the counter while he turned to fill the bathtub with water and some bubble bath before directing his attention back to you once again.

Hands gentle as he removed your clothing, he placed you into the bathtub, your frame engulfed in the water and the soothing fragrance of the bubbles.

He crouched down next to the tub, ruffling your hair in a way that always made you want to hum and purr like a cat. “Do you want me to sit with you, or do you want to be alone?”

“Please, Levi, I...I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He nodded, stripping himself of his clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on the counter next to yours. Stepping into the fragrant bath, he settled in behind you, drawing your back up against his chest and wrapping his arms around your waist.

Head falling back against him, you let yourself enjoy the simple comfort that was Levi holding you. His strong, sturdy arms against your waist, holding you close, reminding you that he would always be there for you. The gentle kisses he pressed along your neck and shoulders, reminding you that he loved you, more than anything in the world. For only you were able to see this soft, sweet side of him, the one that had been locked away before you’d both met.

Tilting your head back, he used a cup— one he kept in the bathroom for this purpose— to pour streams of water down your hair, wetting it. This was his domain, where he was most comfortable. It was how he showed you he loved you, the way he took care of you. You knew it was because his mother had done the same for him when he’d been a young boy.

Her way of making him feel better when he was little, had been to set him in a bubble bath and help him scrub away the day. He’d always been close to her, but had lost her when he was a teen, taken in by his Uncle Kenny shortly after.

A calm sigh slipped through your lips when he scrubbed at your hair with some shampoo, his hands tender, and sweet as he washed away the day, just as his mother had with him. It was a ritual the two of you had shared time and time again, the meaning of it different than between mother and son, but the bonding, the affection, all of that was still there.

Blocking your forehead with his hand, he carefully rinsed out the suds, making sure none slipped down to sting your eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple that had your heart fluttering as you turned to gaze up at him. The warmth in his blue eyes lit up his entire face, the warmth that was only ever there for you.

His hands were ginger and sweet as they caressed down your body, scrubbing and cleaning, seeking to soothe and comfort, not entice and seduce. The gentleness of his hands had you relaxing further into him, reaching a different form of bliss, feeling completely safe and at ease with him.

The two of you stayed that way, relaxing, relishing in the comfort of each other until the bubbles fizzled away and the water cooled. Only then did he rise, lifting you back into his arms and setting you on the floor so he could gently dry you, giving your wet hair a little ruffle before running the coarse fabric through it. Of its own volition, your hand lifted to caress the side of his face, and he simply turned his head to kiss your fingertips.

And people thought him cruel and callous.

Hardly, you mentally scoffed.

Gruff. A bit of an ass. A neat freak. Yes, he was all of those things.

But cruel and callous? How could you ever think him to be that way when he treated you this way? So kind and gentle and sweet. As if you were the most precious thing in his life, and sometimes...sometimes it felt as if you were.

He wrapped the towel around you, moving to dry himself off, though he tutted in amusement when you tried to step out of the bathroom.

“Let me take care of you, alright?”

That had your heart fluttering again, the wings threatening to send it flying, soaring, to land straight into the palms of his hands. As if you could ever resist him.

So when he scooped you into his arms once again, you simply nuzzled into his neck, pressing loving kisses along the skin, already feeling immensely better. The grief in your heart ran deep, but his tender love and care was already helping you heal the wound. It felt as if you were floating, and you almost didn’t want him to set you back down—though the thought was hardly reasonable.

Despite knowing you were perfectly capable of dressing yourself, he helped you anyway, pulling your shirt over your head, followed by a pair of comfortable shorts, chuckling at the way you rolled your eyes at him. That was something else only you and a few select others were worthy enough to see and hear.

His smile.

His laugh.

For only those he felt truly comfortable with was he able to put down his guard enough to enjoy the simple things of life such as humor.

“What do you want for dinner?”

The simple question drew you out of your thoughts once again, and you managed to draw out another chuckle from him when you told him what you wanted. Food from your favorite delivery place, something that meant not having to go out, and meant that he wouldn’t have to take time away from holding you, which is what you needed most.

Once he’d placed the order, he didn’t hesitate to cart you into his arms again—spoiling you to no end—and carrying you out into the living room, where the two of you could settle in on the couch, cuddling close with your legs draped over his. He tossed the blanket over you—the one he knew meant everything to you—and switched on the TV, putting on your favorite show. It was one you knew he hated, but that he was willing to watch if it meant helping you.

That was why he was your sweet, gruff Levi.

As you sat together, you slowly could feel the wounds beginning to mend further.

With him—through helping him through his own losses—you’d come to learn that grief is the love you held for a lost loved one persevering.

You didn’t know how long it would take for you to heal, but you knew that as long as you had him by your side, that you had your friends…

You could get through anything.

One day at a time.

Back to Fluff/Comfort Menu

[1heartfanfics]

Drunk boyfriend

So we were hanging out and drinking with a group of friends from work. One of the guys brought his beer bong, so him and Carter both chugged a four locos, which is like actual trash alcohol for those of you who don't know. They're 14% alc and taste like battery acid.

The other guy immediately bent over and puked but Carter held his down. He sat down next to me with a hand on his stomach. "I feel like my insides are on fire," he said.

"I can't imagine why," I joked, nudging him with my shoulder a little. I was worried about him but I knew better than to ask him if he was okay in front of everyone.

"Dude that fucking killed me," the other guy, Devon, said once he finished throwing up.

Carter pressed his fist into his stomach, forcing up a loud burp. "Dude yeah I feel like I have a lead ball in my stomach," he agreed.

They both continued drinking immediately though. Devon started in on one of the beers he bought while Carter opened a twisted tea, which I'd already drank one of.

After a few sips though, he handed it to me. "Want some?" he asked.

I nodded, taking it from him and taking a sip. What he meant was that he needed a break but didn't want to say it out loud. I ended up finishing it for him, although not long after him and Devon bonged a beer each.

Now, Carter's a pretty big guy, although he's thin, so he can hold his alcohol pretty well. He can drink a lot and be okay. But he doesn't usually drink fast, and he doesn't usually drink beer. So that kinda did him in.

After that, he was drunk, I could tell. He's the kind of person who's usually still pretty functional even when he'd drunk. He can usually walk and talk mostly normally. But he was drunk. He was talking silly and stumbling around.

I was somewhere between drunk and tipsy after the next drink I had. I was also a little bit high after taking a few hits from my friend's vape.

That was when everyone decided that we should play kickball in the parking lot even though it was 1 am and raining. So we played kickball for about an hour. Or tried to anyway. When everyone's drunk and/or stoned it's a little difficult lol.

By the time we finished the game, everyone was exhausted and sweating our asses off, so we decided to call it a night and head home. Carter and I both lived close and had walked there, so after saying bye to everyone we started walking.

We didn't make it very far though before Carter grabbed my arm and tugged on it a little. When I turned to look at him he was slightly bent over, looking sweaty and pale in the light from the street lamp.

"Can we sit for a sec?" he asked, sounding out of breath.

"Yeah, of course," I said, leading him over to the grass next to the sidewalk. He immediately laid down, pulling me down with him. So we just laid in the grass for a minute.

"Spinny," he said, "I'm so drunk."

"Yeah I know, do you want to stay at my place tonight?" I asked. He has a habit of getting panicky when he's too drunk.

"Mmmhmm," he agreed, rolling over to press his face into my shoulder.

"Ready to get going?" I asked after a minute.

"Ughhhh yeah," he huffed, sitting up and flopping forward.

"Come on drunky," I said, standing up and holding my hands out to help him up.

We made it about halfway to my apartment that time before he stopped me again. This time when I turned to look at him I could tell he was very not okay. He was looking pretty sickly.

"I need to sit down," he said.

"Okay, come here," I grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a bench that was near the sidewalk.

As soon as we sat down he leaned over, dropping his head into his hands. I put my hand on his back, rubbing up and down.

"I feel sick,"

"Yeah I know, I'm sorry," I said sympathetically. I've definitely been there, a lot more times than he has.

"Oh god," he cut himself off with a gag, "I'm gonna throw up."

"Hey, you're okay, I'm right here," I said softly, scooting a little closer and wrapping my arm around him.

He dry heaved over the ground for a few minutes but didn't actually bring anything up. Once he was able to breath normally again he slumped against my side, burying his face in my shoulder.

"Alright, let's try walking again okay? We need to get you in bed," I said, trailing my fingers up and down his back and leaning my head against his.

"Hnnggg mmkay," he slurred, sounding more drunk by the minute. I wrapped my arm around his waist and stood up, pulling him with me. I picked up his phone and his keys from where he'd left them on the bench, stuffing them into my purse with my own stuff.

"Come on, I've got you," I said, keeping my arm around him, my hand resting on his hip.

"I dn't feel s'good Summer" he groaned, leaning against my side.

"I know, we'll take it slow I promise," I said, doing my best to support his weight as he leaned more and more of it against me.

"I can't dothis," he slurred, feet dragging on the concrete as he slowed.

"We're almost there Carter. You'll feel much better once you're laying down in bed," I pressed my hand against his back, urging him forward.

By the time we made it to my apartment he was practically in tears and had most of his body weight leaning on me. I unlocked my door and dragged him inside and onto my bed.

“Just relax okay? I’ll be right back,” I said, squeezing his hip before heading into the kitchen. I got us some water and grabbed a trash can then walked back to my room.

“Summer I feel sick,” he said as soon as I sat down on the bed.

“Sit up and take a drink for me, it might help,” I said.

He whined and thrashed around a bit but slowly maneuvered himself up into a sitting position. He took the glass from me, spilling some of it on both of us in the process, but he managed to take a few sips. I drank a bit myself, then took both cups and set them on my nightstand.

“Alright, now lay down with me,” I said, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and pulling him down with me. He curled up to my side, laying his head on my chest and draping an arm over me. After a moment he pressed himself even closer, tightening his arm around me and tucking his hand under my shoulder. I brought my hand up to rest on the back of his head, running my fingers through his hair.

"Shh, you're okay, this feeling will pass," I said quietly, leaning my head against his.

"M'nauseous," he moaned, squirming in discomfort.

"Just try to breathe through it," I said, "but there's a trash can on the floor beside the bed if you need to be sick," I added.

"Don't wanna-" he cut himself off with a burp, which he muffled into my shirt.

"I know, hopefully you won't have to," I said.

He almost never gets sick from drinking. Even when he drinks way too much he's usually able to hold it down. In fact I think the only time i've ever seen him throw up from drinking he ended up actually being sick.

Unfortunately however, that was not the case. A couple of minutes later he burped again, long and low, then groaned under his breath. He rolled off of me and pushed himself up, swaying as he tried to sit.

"Hey.." I sat up too, moving to sit slightly behind him, one hand resting on his back, waiting for what we both knew was going to happen.

He took a slow, forced breath, sounding shaky. I scooted closer, looping an arm around his chest to help steady him as he leaned over the side of the bed.

"You're okay, just keep breathing. I've got you," I said softly.

He pitched forward and coughed, which morphed into a dry heave. After a gasping breath in his body convulsed again, this time bringing up a wave of alcohol into the trash can on my floor. He moaned, slumping forward with another wave.

I moved to sit behind him, with one leg on either side, so I could wrap both of my arms around him and make sure he didn't fall off the bed. I could feel him shaking as I pressed myself up against his back.

"Easy, Carter, you're doing great, it'll be over soon," I told him.

After coughing up one more mouthful of puke and belching queasily he seemed to be done. I pulled him back away from the edge of the bed to rest against my chest. He leaned against me limply, head lolling to lay back on my shoulder. I turned and pressed a kiss to his forehead, wrapping him up in my arms and rocking him a little bit.

"Think you're done?" I asked after a minute.

"Hmm," he answered noncommittally.

"You want to try another sip of water? Get the taste out of your mouth?" I asked.

He groaned out an answer that I'm pretty sure meant no, but I reached to grab the glass anyway, pressing it into his hand.

"Just a little sip, please," I urged him.

He accepted the glass with shaky hands, bringing it hesitantly up to his lips to take a small drink. I took it back from him and set it down, wrapping my arms around him again.

"How are you feeling now?" I asked.

"Drunk."

"Spinning still?"

"Yeah kind of," he sighed. He wasn't slurring his words anymore at least so he was probably coming down now that he got some of it out of his system.

"How's your stomach?" I asked.

"Still sick," he shrugged, "Less nauseous though I think."

"Okay, well that's good at least. Do you think you could try to fall asleep? I'll put something on TV and we can stay up as long as you need to but it would be good to try and sleep this off," I suggested.

He rolled over onto his side, facing away from me, but scooted back until he was pressed up against my front. I snaked my arm over his waist and he grabbed my hand, moving it to rest over his stomach.

"Will you stay like this?" he asked sleepily.

"Of course, I've got you," I whispered, leaning over him slightly to kiss his cheek before laying back down.

He squirmed around for a little bit but was able to fall asleep pretty fast. The next morning however he did not feel good either...

[squat-lobster]

ARIADOL Shadow Puppet Pokémon

Ht: 4’ 8” - Wt: 80 lb

In ancient times, Ariadol were thought of as capricious forest spirits to be placated and appeased. If travellers did not provide a small offering to them, Ariadol would delight in stalking them through the woods and causing them great mischief on their journey.

Ariadol’s movements seem to be controlled by strange, intangible strings that manifest and disappear as needed, as if this Pokémon were being controlled by an extradimensional puppeteer. 

Sample Moves: Leech Life, Gunk Shot, Trick Room, Rock Blast, Glare, Knock Off, U-Turn, Phantom Force, First Impression, Trick, Copycat, Grassy Glide, Forest’s Curse

CLAYDOS Sand Trap Pokémon

Ht: 5’ 1” - Wt: 250 lb

Claydos’ constantly spinning abdomen holds the quicksand it uses to ensnare its prey. It can psychically control the sand even after it has left its body, hardening it in an instant to immobilize its prey so that it can feed on their thoughts and dreams.

People in ancient times would enlist the help of Claydos to create beautiful sandstone and earthenware sculptures, entering a trance state to mind-meld with Claydos so that the sculptor could make use of its abilities to manipulate the sand and clay. 

Sample Moves: Psycho Cut, Drill Run, Stone Edge, Hone Claws, Shadow Sneak, Psychic Fangs, Sucker Punch, Hypnosis, Dream Eater, Teleport, Scorching Sands

Claydol & Ariados evolve into Claydos and Ariadol when traded with one another.

(Design notes under the cut)

When I was a kid playing Ruby/Sapphire, I always thought Claydol was a spider. Like, I read it’s nipples as eyes and just thought its actual eyes were just red things or whatever. I eventually understood it properly, and I still love Claydol as it actually is, but part of me will always prefer that misread psychic spider. 

So that’s what inspired this line of thinking for these guys. Since the Ariados line’s gimmick is that they have a face on their butts, this seemed like a pretty appropriate way to go about getting my clay spider.

Ariados’s butt-face thing isn’t super obvious in its design, it kind of looks like a weird rabbit or something from the back.

The face thing is much clearer in its lost beta sprite, so I tried to take some elements of this precursor into Ariadol’s design.

Similarly to how Karrablast and Shelmet trade with one another to evolve into Escavalier and Accelgor, and swap some shit in the process, these guys trade and swap some traits too.

Chiefly, they swap which is end is their top and which their bottom. Claydos also gets spiderness from Ariados, and Ariadol gets “thingness” from Claydol. 

I feel like these guys also theme together well when you consider the Johto region ecologically and anthropologically. The idea would be like, the dudes who made the Ruins of Alph way back in the day, who were all associated with Unown worship, would have also been people who would have carved and created Baltoys and Claydols, who are also weird eye-themed psychic fellas, and are based off ancient japanese Dogū figurines. Add to this the fact that Spinarak and Ariados are so everpresent in the region, it makes a kind of sense that there could be some evolutionary interaction between these two.

Typing-wise I really debated for a while having them switch secondary typings, or getting entirely new ones, but I couldn’t do it in a way that felt like a “fair trade” between the two of them, if you know what I mean. Plus, I didn’t want to like entirely revamp their movesets, which are both already suited to their original typings so yeah.

Just made them switch abilities more or less, if claydol was able to have more abilities than just levitate I would have given claydos some more interesting stuff, but theres a bit of a niche as a trick room sniper sweeper with the moves it gets. 

Ariadol would be used as a trick room sweeper as well basically, I wanted to differentiate it from scolipede by having it gain bulk rather than getting fast, and merciless seemed like a cool way to do that, say after setting up a toxic spike at the start of the battle. Prankster toxic thread and glare and stuff with u-turn could turn it into a cool utility mon as well.

Ariadol: 

If you’re familliar with it, this dude’s look is pretty clearly based off of the Flatwoods Monster, which I thought was fun cuz i wanted it to be like a weird creepy forest cryptid. The string stuff comes from it being a spider and having webs, which through gaining some of Claydol’s psychic traits are now weird psychic puppet strings. I also felt like it lended it some creepy haunted puppet flavour. The design ended up looking a bit like mismagius, so I thought it might be some lore to have it like earn protection from predators from playing up that mimicry. 

Also theres some inspiration from real life spiders, like peacock jumping spiders and ornate harvestmen.

Finally I wanted the drooping legs and the design of the face to evoke some similarities with a leyak or penanggalan, which are spirits in indonesia and malaysia that take the form of like severed heads flying around with all the guts hanging out. 

Claydos:

Uhh so even though this whole idea was inspired by making a Claydol into a spider, this guy took a really long time to get to something I was happy with, and I still kinda like Ariadol better tbh. 

The main thrust of the design besides being a weird hovering spider is for the abdomen to look like a cement mixer, which I thought was a good way also to get that part of its body to spin, which I always thought Claydol’s should have done in the games. The end of it having a little cap was supposed to be a little shout out to trap door spiders. 

Tried to make the patterning make it obvious that the top isn’t the head anymore without changing the nipple eyes very much because I like them as they are. Theres a hint of spiderweb in there but making it too overt made it look too busy. 

I considered arranging the dots as a spider’s eyes are, but that was hard to make it obviously spinny as well and it was like well that part ISN’T the head anymore so. Then I was like ohh i could make the once-eyes into like little spiderlings that crowd around onto the abdomen like wolf spiders do, or even hover around like little Unown, but I really couldn’t get it to look right at all, even though i really liked that idea. 

Anyway that’s about it! sorry for rambling for so long in this section. Really happy with these guys.

[unknowncountrygirl]

Drunken Confession: Ben

Jae arrived in his typical outlandish behavior, wielding two large bottles of Fire Whiskey.

“Look alive boys, our Thursday night just got a lot more interesting!”

“Where did-” Charlie started but waved his hand, “you know what, never mind, I don't want to know.”

“I got cups in my trunk! Gather round boys, it's going to be a good night! Hope you don't have anywhere to go early in the morning.” He summoned his and Murphy's side tables and put them back to back to make a small table in the middle of the room. He then placed the two, rather large bottles on the tables, and went to dig in his trunk.

“This is?” Orion questioned, picking up one of the bottles.

“Irish brewed Firewhiskey, aged in barrels for years. It's the good stuff.” Jae mentioned, placing a array of cups on the table.

“You and I have different ideas of what good stuff is.” Murphy eyed the amber liquid that Orion was sloshing around.

Charlie got off his bed and walked over, looking at the small shot glasses.

“So... You brought it for us all to try?” He asked innocently.

“I have something actually more interesting in mind.” Jae said slyly. “Unless you are all a bunch of softies.”

“Hardly.” Ben replied deadpanned, picking up the second bottle to crack it open, and began to pour it into the glasses, filling them to the top. “What were you thinking Jae?”

“We've all known one another years now, lets get to know each other a little bit better.”

“This is your way of just trying to get information from us that you can blackmail us with later.” Murphy looked up at Jae, feeling very suspicious of him. Jae said nothing, just smiled slyly and took his shot before pouring himself another.

“Take a drink if you have ever used a unregulated potion, I'll go first.” He took a large gulp of the amber liquid. Ben lifted an eyebrow, but played along and poured himself a drink before taking a drink. Charlie, Orion, and Murphy simply nodded as they were handed their own drinks, not touching the liquid to their lips.

“Take a drink if you've ever... Seen a dragon?” Charlie tried. Jae, Ben, and Charlie took long sips.

“You are going to have to include something that we have done.” Murphy almost pouted with a smile on his lips. “Like if you've been voted most dashing Quidditch Commentator.” It was silly, but an excuse to take a drink himself.

About 20 questions, some laughter, light conversation, and the entire first bottle of Fire Whiskey, most of the boys were starting to feel the effects. Ben and Jae held their liquor the best, more then likely because this was not either one's first time drinking underage. Charlie and Murphy were about one drink away from being completely gassed, and Orion was one away from finding world peace.

“Oh, I've got a good one.” Jae slurred slightly. “Take a drink if you've ever had a crush-” All the boys lifted their drinks, but Jae finished his thought, “on Iris!” They all laughed lightly, but the laughter died out when all five of the boys continued to take a shot.

Murphy and Charlie almost immediately sobered up, and Ben froze like a statue.

“Soooo, we have all had dreams of Iris Rosewood?” Orion clarified.

“Is that a question we are suppose to drink to?” Murphy questioned, looking down into his glass.

“More clarification, perhaps I shall word it this way...” Orion drawled, “if you have a crush on Iris.”

Again, the room fell silent as all five boys took another shot.

A couple of the cleared their throats, Jae coughed into his hand. It had become incredibly awkward, incredibly fast.

“This is uncomfortable.” Charlie broke the silence.

“You all may have crushes on her... But I've loved her.” Ben admitted, swirling his Firewhiskey in his cup. “We have been through too much, and she's been there every step of the way for me.” The other boys stopped murmuring and looked at him. “She brought color and vibrancy into my world and I repaid her by hurting her. Hell, all I ever wanted to do is make sure no one ever hurt her and I think by doing that I've been the one to hurt her the most.” He stated more to himself then anyone else in the room. “I think I've done so much damage that no matter how much I love her, what hope I ever had that she could reciprocate is gone. It died when Rowan did.” The air in the room when from light and jovial to heavy and dark in just a few sentences. “I'm going for a walk.”

“If you get caught after curfew-”

“What? Get detention?” Ben stood, grabbed a jacket of his that had been on the end of his bed and left the dormitory.

His foggy mind supplied that going to the Forbidden Forest was a good idea, and he headed that way. Thunder boomed and lightning popped overhead and he thought briefly about heading back but he continued.

Half way down to the forbidden forest, the sky opened up and let down a torrential rain like Hogwarts had not seen in a very long time. Ben hated getting caught in the rain and made a beeline for Hagrid's hut, hoping the half giant wouldn't mind if he waited out the storm in his house. In about twenty steps he was pushing the door open and going inside.

It was dry and he pulled his wool sweater off and shook his hair to remove excess moisture.

“Hagrid?” He called, but there was no light on and Fang lifted his head up to give him a look. He figured Hagrid must not have been there and walked over to the fireplace and put some logs in a pile to start a fire. He ran his hand over the mantle feeling for matches or anything, but decided to cast a simple spell to ignite the wood. There was instant warmth in the hut as he held his hands out, warming his fingers.

The door to the hut opened, and he turned, his wand at the ready to see a figure in the doorway that was far to small to be Hagrid.

“Ben?” The voice called, before stepping into the light of the fire.

“Iris?” He asked, sliding his wand up his sleeve. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was looking for Moondew for growth potion, I need it for my Herbology project and Snape is being greedy.” Iris explained as she peeled her wet rain slicker off and hung it on the coat rack. “What are you doing out here? Isn't it past curfew?” Ben opened his mouth to tell her, she cut him off. “Never mind.”

“What?” “You'll just say something snarky and I've had a good day, so we'll just leave it alone.” Iris stated as she took out the little jar from her bag and inspected her Moondew leaves. He was about to remark that he wouldn't have done that, but that in itself would just prove her right.

She placed the small corked bottle on the table and stepped over to the fire.

“Where's Hagrid?��� He asked.

“He's presenting at the Ministry about Thestrals. He won't be back until tomorrow I think.” She informed him, holding her hands out to the fire, a content look on her face. “Fancy a snack? I know where Hagrid keeps his tea, and I have some chocolate and orange scone in my bag.”

“Why do you have scones with you?”

“I wasn't sure how long I'd have to look for the Moondew, so I brought something to eat with me. Plus sometimes I have to bribe Fang to come with me.” She explained as she went to collect the tea he had stashed on a shelf and get the kettle ready over the fire. Ben felt himself blink rather hard, the effects of the Fire Whiskey starting to turn on him. He was suddenly very hot, and the room was a bit spinny.

He had already shed his sweater, and unbuttoned his collared shirt before he made to sit down on the rug in front of the fire. In hindsight, he should have sat farther from the fire, but he honestly wondered if he would even be able to make it to the chair without spilling himself on the floor anyway. Iris was also Head Girl, if she found out he had been drinking she would either have to report him or deal with it herself and he didn't want to incur her wrath.

He twisted his neck, feeling a pop that seemed to relax him as Iris held out a plate with the scones on it. He took a bite,

“these are really good. Did the house elves make this?”

“Oh no, I've made friends with Pits, he let me make some yesterday down in the kitchens.” Iris explained as she tenderly added the tea into a pot and poured the hot water into the hilariously floral teapot that Hagrid had.

“You could make friends with a dung beetle.” He joked, only partially. She laughed lightly.

They sat in silence for a while before the tea was ready and he watched as Iris poured the tea into two mix matched floral cups and handed him one. He reached for the cream and noticed that Iris blew on hers and drank it straight. It was a new little tidbit of information for him to lock away.

“Do you remember back in 2nd year, you wouldn't go up into the astronomy tower so we turned the artifact rooms ceiling into the night sky?” Iris asked suddenly.

“What made you think about that?” Ben asked as he looked over at her. She shrugged.

“We had tea and scones then, remember?” She gestured at the scones with her teacup. “I just... I like that memory.” Iris admitted.

“Back when I was afraid to even-”

“Would you just shut up!” Iris snapped, clacking her teacup loudly against the saucer. “It's a memory that makes me smile, and that I enjoy, why do you constantly try and belittle things that make me happy? Are you that full of bitterness anymore that you won't let anyone enjoy something as simple as a memory?”

“You're defensive tonight, what has you so wound up?” He snapped back just as angrily.

“I'm defensive?” Iris shouted, standing up to tower over Ben, ready for a fight that had been brewing for weeks. “You're the one that can't even let me relive a memory from when we were twelve without you belittling it!”

“I don't like reliving those memories, it was when I was weak-”

“It was when you were kind.” Iris cut in dangerously. He placed his hands on the floor and hoped that he could stand without falling over. He stood on his feet and looked down at her, truly looked at her for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Iris used to have this childlike innocence about her, with her round baby face, porcelain skin, blue eyes that were wide open for the world. He wasn't exactly sure when the last time he took the time to study her, more then likely before Rowan died, and it looked like everything she had experienced had finally caught up with her.

It was only a matter of time, one can only keep loading the camels back before something as simple as a napkin will break their back. He wondered when it was that Iris had finally broke, and wondered if anyone had even noticed. Iris was the unbreakable, she was the epitome of what people wanted to be, of course people thought she was sturdy as stone. They had taken her for granted.

Hell, he had.

Her lips were almost always in a natural smile, now seemed to be downturned in nature. Her eyes, those were what had grabbed him when he first made eye contact with her because he had never seen eyes that were just that blue, had always been bright and happy. Now, they looked like the good china that people put away for safe keeping, dust piling on it where you can see the color, its just muted. Everything about her seemed muted. Her skin, her hair, she was a soul with the weight of a Kingdom on her shoulders. There was more expectations on her at seventeen then that of twenty people.

Ben felt regret in his belly, and he couldn't keep up this conversation. He knew she was far too close and one push would send her over that edge. He had done enough to push her there, he wasn't going to be the one that pushed her to the breaking point.

“I'm not going to have this conversation.” He shook his head, beginning to button up the few buttons he had loosened earlier. Rain be damned, if he had to get soaked to get away from her and let her cool down, he would. He was just about to walk to the door when Iris called,

“You want to know what I think?” Iris told him firmly, it was not really a question but a thinly veiled declaration masquerading as a question. “I think that you're still terrified.”

That stopped him in his tracks. His hand hovered over the door knob, and the rational part of his brain that would have told him to walk away was flooded by Firewhiskey. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” She was not going down this time, and she was not going to be ignored. “You are still the terrified Muggleborn you always were, only it's the fear that people will still see you as that person.”

“I am not-”

“I can see it in your eyes! You may be able to fool everyone else, but you can't fool me.” She pointed at herself. “I know you better then anyone, Benjamin Copper!” It was a fact that was mildly terrifying, and he hated to admit that. “It's a different type of terror, but it's still there and it still controls you down to your core-”

“No it doesn't! I'm a not that person anymore!” He shouted at her. It wasn't the first time he had raised his voice at her, but it felt much different then the times before. Because she had struck a nerve.

He wasn't the one in control anymore.

His delicate control that he had been clinging to since after the buried vault was quickly disinigrating in his hands and he was scrambling to keep it.

“You haven't become brave, you've become cruel!” Iris told him. He could almost see it like an actual image in his mind, she was taking a sledge hammer to his carefully constructed statue of power, bravery and control. Others had chipped away at it, but Iris had come in and went for the Achilles heel that only she seemed to know existed. “Your trauma is what navigates every single decision you have made! Every decision has been made in fear from the moment you stepped into Hogwarts!” Another critical hit, cracks that could never be fixed started to grow threatening to topple over all of himself.

“That's not true!” He yelled back at her, as though he was trying to convince himself.

“Really? Give me an example.” She dared him.

Her attack seemed to stop because she had chipped away and found the one part of his bravery that wasn't an act. That one tiny part of himself that had been bright and true since the beginning.

The part that she overlooked.

Because it was her.

“You.” He stated simply. Iris jumped a bit at the declaration, clearly not seeing his answer coming. “You terrified me. You were loud, outspoken, brave, already good at magic and dueling, you came from a pure blood family, and you were attractive. What wasn't intimidating about you? Especially to a muggleborn like me?” It was his turn to talk and he was going to seize the opportunity, as it seemed he had shocked her into silence in the middle of a fight. “But I approached you first, remember that? I thanked you for standing up to Merula. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, I felt like I was going to vomit, yet I rejected that fear to talk to you because there was something about you that felt like a damn gravitational pull!” He took a step closer to her and she held her ground, starring up at him. Her eyes were still alight with fire but there was something else there, a vulnerability that he had seen in her eyes too often since the buried vault. “From brooms and books, to time in the artifact room, I cared about you more then I cared about anyone else, so much so that I went with you to the buried vault! Despite the fact that I thought I would die, I went because I cared more about you then I did myself!”

Iris's lips were in a tight line, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head.

“Ben don't.” She warned, almost knowing where he was going.

“You're right, every decision I have made has been in fear... The biggest fear I have above all others-”

“Ben stop!”

There was no stopping now. He had regained the control.

“The fear that some how, in some horrible way that I can't control, that you will be hurt or die because you put everyone ahead of yourself in the most reckless and honorable ways!” He felt like he had become a new man, and that he had become braver in the years since the buried vault, but the fire whiskey in his veins was a form of liquid courage that he was sure no potion could replicate. His thought process was interrupted by stinging on his cheek.

Iris had slapped him.  

“Don't you dare say it.” She warned, her voice like ice. “Not after the way you have treated me-”

“I love you!” He wanted to shout it at her, hoping that if he yelled louder then her that she would realize he was being truthful, but all it would do is prove her point that he had just became cruel. She closed her eyes, and he watched a her fight within herself, her fingers curled into fists and he was worried for a moment that she was going to deck him. “Iris.” He reached out and placed a hand over her curled fist, “I love you.”

She shook her head but made no effort to pull away from him. They had went to war with one another and now both stood in front of their dismantled battlements.

Iris was the first to move, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his sternum.  

“I miss you, Ben.” Iris almost sobbed. His hands let go of her fists, and wrapped protectively around her back, holding her tightly. He lowered his head, his nose resting on the top of her head and breathed deeply.

He had finally admitted it, and said it out loud, given it a sense of being. He felt like a weight had been lifted, and he didn't know he had been carrying it around with him.

“I'll work on being less cruel, and more kind again.” He promised her.

“I'll accept that.” Her hands that had been balled up and resting against him opened and she laid her palms and fingers out flat against his chest, before moving them up to wrap around his neck and pull him into a hug. She had to stand on her tip toes in order to get her chin to rest on his shoulders. “Remember when I used to be taller then you?” There was a lightness in her voice that he had missed, and he smiled.

“Yeah, now you're short.” He joked.

“You're no giant yourself.”

“At least I'm taller then you.”

“Everyone is, except for Professor Flitwick.”

“Even that's pretty close.” He laughed and she tapped the back of his head with her hand. She pulled back and looked into his eyes, and smiled gently, placing the hand that had previously slapped him delicately on his face.

“I'm sorry I slapped you.”

“I'm just surprised it took you this long to slap me.” He told her honestly. “I'm sorry that I've hurt you, and I'm going to endever to do better.” Iris nodded and wrapped her arms around him again and listened to how fast his heart was beating, and smiled, knowing hers was beating just as fast.

He had not expected his drunken evening walk to end like this.

[ambertea]

fatherhood

Tentoo prepares himself for the birth of his child by trying to become the perfect dad.

It was strange, being a human.

It wasn't just that he had to watch his sugar intake now, or that his hair was receding at a worrying pace. It wasn't even the extraordinary amounts of drinking and eating he had to do, the peculiarity of human existence that forced him to constantly shovel things in his mouth.

(Read on AO3)

It was a culture shock, more than anything else. He had lived among humans for years, shared hundreds of years of his life living with their habits. But it was different, somehow. It was as though he was living abroad, rather than simply taking a holiday, and he often found himself struggling to untangle their bizarre social norms.

“Are you listening to me?”

He looked up, his eyes darting around the room. He had been engrossed in the newspaper, ticking off inaccuracies or improbabilities, and drawing tiny TARDISes in each white square of the crossword puzzle.

“Yes.”

Rose looked doubtful. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

“So, what do you think?”

He hurriedly scanned the room, looking for something to have an opinion on. The walls were the same colour. The curtains, too. Even the windows looked just the same as yesterday.

“Good.” He nodded forcefully. “Good. Very good.”

“Great.” She grinned, and he relaxed.

She threw herself on the sofa next to him and stroked his shoulder.

“So, when should we start trying?”

He kissed her forehead, trying to gain some precious thinking seconds.

“Uh. Tomorrow?”

She held her head in his lap, gazing up at him with some strange human emotion.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be parents.”

Oh.

He wanted to have a child. He really did. He loved kids, enjoyed their brutal honesty and vivid imaginations. He had had children before, of course he had, and although he didn't spend an awful lot of time thinking about it, he still thought of himself as a Dad.

The responsibility of being the father of Rose’s child, though, was something else.

Everything about her was perfect. She had a beautiful face and an equally magnificent soul. Hell, she had literally been a Goddess at one point. What if his silly genes were more dominant than hers, and rather than the wonderful baby that she deserved, she ended up with a child just like him?

The only solution, really, was to just become the perfect dad. So far, Netflix had told him it included a lot of DIY, and sometimes crossing his arms.  He could do that. His last body had been a wonderful mechanic, and he was sure he’d folded his arms at some point in 900 years.

The drill looked a bit scary. He would have felt better using his sonic screwdriver, but it wouldn’t have looked nearly as cool. Rose was watching him, looking concerned.

“Do you have to hold it in your mouth?”

He tried to talk, and spat the drill out, exasperated.

“Yes! I need to be holding your hand too. The baby needs to feel how good of a dad I am.”

She squeezed his arm and leant into his body.

“I’m sure they’ll know either way.”

He doubted it. Probably, they would be watching perfect Simon next door, with his massive toolbox and fancy shed, wishing that their dad could be equally handy.

“What are you drilling, then?” She asked, and he looked around the garden in panic.

He hadn't thought about that bit yet. He'd been flabbergasted by the sheer amount of attachments, and then annoyed over the stupid power chord that needed at least 3 extension leads to go anywhere useful. He'd had a vague image of himself drilling a bit of wood, and Rose clapping at his brilliance. But there wasn't any wood out here, the garden empty but for a few gnomes.

One looked up at him judgmentally, and he made a mental note to kick it when Rose wasn’t around.

“Uh – I thought I would practise, for now.”

“What, like just…turn it on?”

“Yep,” he said frantically. “A test run. See how, um, spinny it is.”

Rose dropped his hand, and he turned to her, offended. She was clutching her stomach, her eyes lit with – was that fear? Happiness?

“Rose? Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly, a small, gentle smile growing. Retaking his hand, she pressed it against her stomach, and he felt his single heart jump when he felt it.

“They’re kicking,” he whispered, dropping to his knees and pressing his ear against her stomach. The baby kicked him straight in the head, and he stared in wonder.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

Okay, so maybe the drilling thing had failed. It was no wonder, really, he was a highly intelligent part-time lord, who couldn’t be wasting his time standing around all day just pointing hand tools at walls. His baby was unlikely to be properly impressed with that, anyway, being of superior intellect themselves.

Perhaps he needed to talk to an expert. An actual parent, one that had managed to raise an impressive child.

He thought about Jackie for a second and instantly squashed the thought.

Pete wasn’t laughing at him, exactly, but he certainly had a strange little glint in his eye that the Doctor didn’t appreciate.

“You want me to teach you how to…parent?”

The Doctor groaned. This had been a stupid idea. He turned to go, but Pete quickly grabbed his shoulder.

“Sorry. I was a mess when Jacks was pregnant, so I guess this is no different.”

“It is different!” The Doctor said, offended. “It’s Rose.”

“So just be there for her. Help her with things. I’m sure the baby would…respect that.”

The Doctor stared, wide-eyed. Pete was right. The baby was going to love Rose, just like everyone else who met her, and if he could be seen helping her…

“Thanks, Pete, bye.” He yelled, legging it out of the room.

“What are you doing?”

He frowned, offended, and the wooden spoon rolled off his tongue and onto the floor. Rose eyed it, eyebrow raised.

“How are you doing today, my darling?”

“When did you start calling me that?”

“I can call you something else!” He offered desperately. “Sweetie? Sugar? Love? Babe?”

“Do not call me babe.”

“Honeybunny?”

She was looking at him as if she was slightly concerned for his health.

“I’m making dinner.” He said quickly, gesturing to the wok. She walked over, suddenly interested, and peered down with a look that he couldn't decipher.

“Malteasers?” She asked faintly. He nodded.

“And bananas. And tea, too, for the sauce. All your favourites!”

She kept her face down, shoulders shaking. Probably, he thought, stunned in the face of his great generosity.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She finally choked out between gasps, patting him fondly on the shoulder. He puffed out his chest and went to go sort out the crockery.

“I think we should start buying things.” Rose said one day. Her legs were draped over his lap, his hands massaging her feet.

He looked at her in shock. He hadn’t even thought about all the things the baby would need, being more focused on Rose and her ever-changing moods. They were going to need so much stuff, and it was all going to have to be perfect, as well, lest the baby grew unhappy with its drab surroundings.

He knocked her feet off his lap and set off into a run.

“Why,” Rose asked, her hands on her hips, her stomach peeking out under her bottom, “do we need five cribs?”

“The baby needs options!” He insisted, gesturing at the cradles circling the room. They were all in different shades of white, with tiny little mobiles hovering over them. He had made the mobiles himself, fashioning tiny little Earth, Gallifrey and TARDIS charms to hang over the crib.

He frowned, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Maybe he should have gotten some different colours—he knew humans' fixation on pinks and blues for their offspring. Perhaps he should have picked up a few more.

“You don't think the baby will like them?” He asked, feeling a bit crushed.

Rose smiled, and hugged him, her round bump pushing into his belly.

“They’ll love them.”

Rose was in labour, and he was having a heart attack.

He didn’t like only having one heart on a good day. As a Time Lord, he’d loved Rose, but he’d also loved space, and the TARDIS, and pretty much any fascinating person he met. Now having only one, it felt like his whole body was focused on just her – everything else seemed so less important, less crucial for his day-to-day survival.

What if one heart wasn't enough? What if he couldn’t love their baby properly? What if the child grew to be unloved and unloving, unable to feel the wonderfully wide spectrum of human emotion, all because he had one, stupid heart and it was already used up.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Doctor,” Rose moaned, and he hurried over to clutch at her hand.

Rose was holding her baby.

No—his baby. No, theirs.

She looked up at him, her face pink and drenched in sweat, a soft, beautiful smile stretched across her face.

“Do you want to hold her?” She whispered, rocking the pile of blankets gently, and he nodded, dumbstruck.

Carefully, the baby--his baby!-- was settled into his arms, and he gazed at her, tears trickling down his face.

“Hello,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes and blinked up at him. Her tiny, pudgy little arm stretched out to him, reaching out towards his face, and his singular heart stretched and grew.

"She's perfect." He told Rose, who nodded, looking at him with yet another expression he couldn't untangle.

He looked back down at his daughter and ran his finger over her cheek, marvelling over how soft, how precious she was.

"I'm going to look after you," he choked out. "I'm going to be the best dad on Earth. You'll see."

The baby looked up at him, eyes filled with trust, and he thought that maybe, if he tried really, really, hard, he might just be able to do it.

[the-girl-who-cried-wolf]

9, 11, 30, 33, for the ask thingy (bonus 13 cus im struggling with writers block rn and it sucks)

- random anon

hello random anon!! thanks for the ask 💜 as expected, i rambled. i would say sorry but i literally knew this was going to happen. so. i hope you wanted detailed answers...

9. Least favorite trope to write.

this is a hard one! i can't think of any that i actively dislike, but ig...enemies to lovers?? i LOVE reading it, but every time i've tried writing it, it turns out horrible and i never post. so. maybe i'm just too soft for that trope, idk, but its hard to write. thats literally all i can think of-

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

well. i doubt any of this will make any sense, but lets dive into the terrifying depths of my Writer Brain anyway...

most times, fics start with An Idea. its usually just a random thought i've had, which could be anything from an outfit i would love to see a character wear to the Deepest Darkest Feelings of a certain canon moment - it's varied and fucking wild - and then, i just think. for a few days or weeks maybe, depending on how long i intend the fic to be, i have this fic idea growing in the back of my mind as i start to build up the beginning of a plot, and i outline some goals and things i want to achieve when i write this fic. (i picture it as a little timeline running of into the distance with tags stuck on the Important Plot Points, with relevant words and images, but that's just me. its weird, i know, bare with me.)

once The Idea is settled and some semblance of a plot has been mentally sketched out, i open a doc and just start writing. for longer fics, i may keep a doc for planning - writing down scenes that are in my mind, or random visuals and lines that i think of, and sometimes even song lyrics that i find inspiring for the fic, etc - but for shorter fics, i just dive right in and get writing.

(sidenote: i've found that the process is different for longer fics vs shorter fics. obviously. theres a lotttt more planning for long fics, and i usually end up making a playlist and a pinterest board for them to keep the ideas coming as i write. short fics usually get smashed out in a few hours, probably at midnight, then i edit a little and post. im kinda lazy with editing and rewriting tho. rip.)

now, we come to the writing itself. i like to set aside a fair amount of time for writing, like, i dont just randomly write a line every now and then - i make time for me to sit down for a hour or however long i've got, and focus on writing. i follow the hazy map of plot points in my mind, and i fill in the blanks as i go. if im completely honest, i dont plan a lot of shit. i just blurt words and sometimes it comes out nicely.

i think that pretty much covers it. other than obsessively editing and rereading over the long fics, or scanning the shorter ones a little, i post it and move on <3

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

oh god. this is...hard. ill just throw some random lines in without context or explanation bc im crazy. here goes-

- He tries to muster some kind of smile in response as he tugs his headphones down around his neck, Led Zeppelin blasting out the speakers freely now, but he must fail terribly because Calum’s smile slips from his face, just like the batter that drips from the spoon he’s holding, landing in the mixing bowl underneath. It melts smoothly into the rest of the mixture and disappears, and Luke stares at where it landed, wishing he could bring it back. (x)

- Luke’s lingering hand tangles back in Calum’s hair. Soft strands of it threading through his fingers and Calum’s eyes fluttering shut like a butterfly’s wings, then gently pushing his head up into Luke's hand as he rolls over a little more, searching for just a little more of the warmth of Luke’s body against his. (x)

- And he’s gone. But she’s still there. The world has suddenly and violently stopped spinning, but she’s still there, smiling at painting in her mind, of a spinning girl. (x)

- He opened his eyes, and for a second, the silhouette of a boy still stood in front on him, a spark in his eyes and hope in every breath. Wishing for a bright future, planning for great and marvelous things that would never come to pass. (x)

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

as a general rule, yes. i like blocking out the rest of the world and listening to music that fits the fic im writing, because music is always my biggest inspiration. for many fics, especially longer ones, ill make a playlist that suits the vibes which i can then listen to whenever i write that fic. but sometimes i write without music just so i can focus better, and not be distracted by the music, which helps me make more conscious word choices and structural/grammatical choices too.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

ahh writers block (derogatory). sigh. honestly, i dont think there is a cure for writers block, but staying open to inspirations is one suggestion i can offer. listening to music, watching the world around you, consuming media you enjoy...all that helps your mind take in ideas, and even if you can't seem to write anything out, it's good to keep your mind open and filled with something. and with writers block, i would say to NOT make yourself write if you dont feel like it. that takes the enjoyment out of it and makes it seem like a task you have to complete, which it isn't!! writing is here for you to have fun!! you just have to wait it out until you want to write again, and in the meantime, take in all the inspiration that you can.

thank you sm for asking all this, i had a lot of fun writing these answers out! and i hope your writers block doesn't last long too. sending good vibes your way!!! 💜💜💜

writers ask game

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Don’t Treat My Love Like a Habit Part Thirteen

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Mature (this may change) Warnings: Cursing; canon-typical violence (not terribly descriptive); flirting; pining Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read. Reina is Spanish for Queen. Happy New Year! 🥳 Summary: Pope and Alex had pulled a couple of stakeouts together in that time, and when neither had come back with black eyes or missing teeth -- in fact, when both had come back and neither had mysteriously ‘disappeared’, you’d taken it as a sign that things were improving.   

“I’ve got eyes on ya,” You said, watching Alex through the monitor. “Well, now I feel self-conscious. I knew I should’ve worn tighter jeans today,” Alex’s voice was quiet as it crackled through your earpiece. “Not a problem from my point of view,” Was Pope’s retort; he was only a few feet from Alex’s position. You rolled your eyes. The two of them had continued to be somewhat combative over the last couple of weeks, but it had defrosted slightly and taken a turn for the teasing. At least, Pope had stopped openly griping to you about him. He and Alex had pulled a couple of stakeouts together in that time, and when neither had come back with black eyes or missing teeth -- in fact, when both had come back and neither had mysteriously ‘disappeared’, you’d taken it as a sign that things were improving.

“Glad it hear it, Garcia. You know, I picked these with you in mind?” Alex answered, and you huffed a laugh, unable to help it. “You know, you two were bad enough apart, you’re insufferable on the same channel,” You teased. “Oh, ouch--” “He and I are not as bad--” “How dare you, Reina--”  “If anything I make it better--” Santiago and Alex hurried to correct you over one another and you groaned, “Alright, alright, I take it back, fuckssake! Eyes up, you’ve got a car approaching.” It had been a tip from one of Santiago’s informants that had gotten you there. When he’d told you that he had a new informant, you hadn’t gone out of your way to ask the questions that you usually would’ve asked. When Isabella had first come up, before she’d disappeared with your best (and only) lead at the time, you’d made fun of him a little, asked if she was hot, if he bothered to get dressed up for her, if they went to his place or hers. This time you’d just taken the information in the same way you did when the guy handed you a tequila shot - with one solid nod and a wince once he’d turned his head. Whatever feelings you had toward the methods Pope sometimes employed, now was not the time to take issue with them. The man was letting you stay in his apartment - sleep in his bed for goddsake. Besides that, the two of you had never been closer. It was beyond being around him so constantly. You felt like you understood Pope on an entirely different level now. “What’ve we got?” You asked as you watched the car pull to a stop on the live feed. “I am seeing… Three people in the car…No one’s making a move to get out,” Alex relayed. “Just give it a minute,” Pope grumbled. Neither you nor Alex replied, just waited for a few tense seconds. And then the passenger side front door opened. “Alright, hang on, hang on,” Pope was cautioning, even as you were working to enhance your stream. You froze, fingers over the keyboard as the picture became clear. “Guys,” You mumbled, “Is that-- Are you seeing--” “Yes,” Alex breathed, even as Pope hissed, “Fuck.” That was Camilo Hernandez. You’d been looking for the man for months. He was distinct, even on a grainy camera feed. “Guys,” You warned quietly, “We stick to the original plan. I know that this changes things, but it doesn’t change how many people we have at our disposal. I’m calling for backup now,” You added, fingers moving swiftly over the keys again, “But if they can’t get there in time--” “Understood,” Alex grumbled. Pope didn’t even answer you. You couldn’t imagine what was going through his head - and fuck, you wanted to ask, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. He needed to be focused on what was right in front of him. You were resolved to only speak up again if it was absolutely necessary - reinforcements were on their way, or another car pulled up. You watched as the other two people got out of the car - one of them being Pope’s informant. She was cute. You whacked the thought back down as suddenly as it appeared. There was no time for that, and the fact, while true, was not a helpful one. The three of them started toward a house not too far from where they’d parked. “I’m moving into position,” Alex warned through the comm. “Right behind you. How are we doing on reinforcements?” Pope asked. You glanced at the messages that had come through. “Eight minutes out.” “You can’t speed them up?” Pope growled. “If I could, I would,” You gritted out, leaning against the desk and watching as the two crept into position around the car. You held your breath as Alex slid under the car to place a tracking device. “Get out of there, ‘Brano, they’re coming back out,” Pope hissed. “I’m not finished--” “Alex, move--” You ordered as quickly as you could. But it wasn’t quickly enough. When you were on that side of the screen, it was never quickly enough. The feed was hazy and sluggish, the actions of the people unclear and moments behind what you were hearing. You balled your hands into fists as you heard gunfire, yelling, the squealing of car tires. You took in a shuddering breath as quiet fell on the other end. “Zambrano?” You finally dared to speak, “Garcia? Someone talk to me.” “‘Brano’s been hit.” --

The way that Santiago had delivered the news was flat, but you knew him better; his voice was tight with the fact, with worry. When you’d finally been able to leave, to meet the two at the hospital, you found Alex in one piece with a woozy ‘just-given-painkillers’ smile and his arm in a sling. The bullet hadn’t hit anything vital - it had passed through his abdomen; the stitches could come out in a week or two. Pope looked like he could’ve eaten the world twice over - his brow was drown low, in frustration or upset, you couldn’t tell; his jaw was clenched as if he was the one that had been shot. “I’ll get him home,” You told your boss quietly (because right now, that was what the man was to you - your boss; this was still work). He gave a short nod and hardly met your eye as he left the hospital room. You sighed, turning back to Alex and shaking your head. “It’s always something with you, isn’t it, ‘Brano.” “Gotta keep it interesting, Q,” He retorted, “Now help me stand up, the room feels like one of those spinny horse up-and-down rides.” “Carousel, ‘Brano,” You smiled in spite of yourself, in spite of the situation as you gave him your arm to steady himself, “A carousel.”

-- You didn’t make it back to your Pope’s apartment until very early the next morning - it was nearly 5:30; the sun had yet to rise. You’d gotten Alex to his apartment and stayed to get him settled. You’d made sure he’d had something to eat, helped him get changed into more comfortable clothing. You’d tucked him in, too, after he’d sworn up and down to call you when he woke up. You only left to check in at the office. The tracker was working. The damn thing that Alex had crawled under the car to place and nearly died working on was working. On the other side of town, while you, Pope, and ‘Brano had been in that situation, Diego’s team had hit a stash house and been able to seize a fair amount of product, cash, and several workers.  The night had viable leads, tangible results, a functioning tracker to show for it.

-- You moved around Pope’s apartment gingerly. You showered first, trying to rid yourself of the night's grime, taking twice as long, as if you could scrub off the feeling of helplessness that had lingered with you. You hadn’t heard from Pope all evening. You hadn’t reached out; you’d figured he’d have his own ends to wrap up, his own questions to ask of his informant, and you didn’t want to interrupt that...Situation. You stepped into Santiago’s room, peering around. You’d laid your pajamas out for yourself the day before, and they were still there, undisturbed on your side of the bed. You crept closer, towel wrapped tightly around yourself as you eyed where Santiago lay, back to you. You reached out, tugging your sleep shorts on. You eyed the tank top you normally slept in next. You were still a little damp from the shower, and you knew that you’d be chilly. You stepped over to his dresser, opening one of his drawers rather than yours and pulling out one of his few long-sleeve shirts. He wouldn't mind, right? They didn't get much use, anyway. 

You dropped your towel and tugged it on, sighing at the immediate feeling of warmth and comfort that washed over you. You shut the dresser drawer gingerly before scooping the towel off of the floor and creeping back out of the room. Coffee. You’d make coffee, head back into the office to see how the tracker was doing and then get some food to bring over to Alex’s. That was the best course of action. You took yours and Pope’s mugs out of the dish drainer, pouring freshly brewed coffee into your mug. As you waited for it to cool a bit, you found yourself bracing yourself against the counter and closing your eyes. You were tired. It had been a long night. You hadn’t taken a moment to rest at Alex’s, more concerned with getting him situated so that you could follow up with the rest of the op. Of course, it was a relief that everything was running smoothly, but-- You glanced back as you heard a creak in the floorboard, your hand instinctively flying to your thigh, where you typically had your gun strapped. Of course you’d just showered - there was no gun to be found. “It’s just me,” Santiago’s voice was somehow soothing even when it was rough as sandpaper from sleep. You sighed quietly, nodding and straightening up to pour coffee into his mug as well. “That’s a relief. I was about to reach for the spatula.” You smiled as he chuckled and crowded up behind you. He curled his arms around you, his face pressing into your neck. “Your nose is cold,” You grumbled. “Give it a minute,” Was his muffled reply. You smiled.

“How are you feeling? Bout last night, I mean,” You clarified. Santiago took a moment to answer. And when he finally did, he mumbled, “We almost got him.” “I know. You’re gonna get him.” “We’re gonna get him. The dual raids were your idea.” “Yeah, yeah. But you guys did all of the heavy lifting.”  You glanced down, absently trailing a finger over one of Santiago’s arms where it was wrapped around you. “Your coffee’s getting cold.” “I can handle lukewarm coffee, Reina.” “...You’re cuddly first thing in the morning.” “Mm.” “Are you always this cuddly first thing?” “Mm.” You rolled your eyes as Santiago lifted his head, nudging his nose against the hinge of your jaw before he stepped away, leaning against the counter. That’s when you realized how… Well, how shirtless he was. You and Santiago always slept with your backs to one another, and you hadn’t exactly gone over to get a good look at him when you’d gone in to get dressed. Did he always sleep shirtless? You turned away as quickly as you had looked, not wanting to be caught out. You’d certainly gotten an eyeful. Whoever this informant was, she must’ve been less territorial than Isabella was. Santiago was hickey-free -- from what you could see, anyway. “How’s Zambrano?” Santiago asked after a few sips of coffee. “In one piece. He’s hopped up on pain meds and has eight stitches on his left side. He’ll be fine. He’s had worse,” You answered, warming your hands around your mug. You felt a tug on the hem of your shirt and glanced down to see Pope fiddling with it. Your eyes trailed up his arm to his face, giving him a bashful smile. “Uh… Ha, yeah, sorry. I took a shower and I was chilly so I kinda… Borrowed it.” You raised a brow as Pope tugged at the hem again. “You want it back?” You teased. “Would you hand it over right now if I asked?” Santiago’s eyes were as dark and as warm as the coffee he was sipping. You huffed out a shaky laugh, feeling yourself flush as you raised your own mug to your lips. He always did like to fuck with you; you took his flirting with a grain of salt. “I’m gonna head out soon, check on ‘Brano and see how things are at the office. Also, considering how picky you are, you’d probably just tell me I was taking it off wrong,” You added as you headed out of the kitchen. You were well into the hall when you choked on your coffee, hearing Santiago call after you, “I could show you how it’s done.” Tag list: @justanotherblonde23​  ; @revolution-starter​ ; @emurlemur​​ ; @badbitxhbuckybarnes ;  @supernaturalcat7​

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 6.4k

TW: Death, sickness, blood, violence, typical Criminal Minds stuff, specifically from the episode “Amplification”

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Spencer as your relationship grows. But, the calm is just before the storm and your job puts you in more danger than you signed up for. 

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @green-intervention​ @eevee0722​

Spencer made it easy to fall in love. You had little knowledge of romantic relationships besides a couple of elementary and middle school “relationships” that were barely romantic, just a couple of kids attempting to find their way in the world. Your experience with relationships, in general, had been difficult. Your father was estranged growing up and your mother was loving but constantly busy with work and her duties as a diplomat. She made time for you, though, and in the end, you wish you had made more time for her. 

Death is a fickle thing, it is the only thing that makes life worth living, and yet even as a forensic scientist, you wanted to figure out how to evade it. When your mother died, your relationship with death was complicated because you felt cheated. That she deserved so many more years of life and that you should have done more to help. You know that in your heart, you feel a deep passion for Spencer, that you want to get to know him and to cherish him as he should be cherished, but death still loomed overhead and it terrified you. So you hold Spencer at an arm’s length. While he had no problem hugging you and holding your hand occasionally, you made sure he remains cordial and platonic with you. Such a task was difficult, though.

Your feet ache as you walk over to the elevator, sniffling in an attempt to calm your runny nose. Spring had officially set in and so had your allergies; it seemed as if all the pollen in the world was coming for your sinuses. Pulling out a tissue to blow your nose, you barely register Spencer standing next to you. 

“I’m going to see Ponyo in theaters tonight, it’s a limited run and they’re playing it in Japanese. You could come with me, I could even simultaneously translate it to you,” he states and you jump slightly in surprise, not having expected him to be there.

“Sounds like fun, but I desperately need Claritin and I wouldn’t want you to miss the screening,” your voice is nasal as you speak, the pressure in your head making it pound with every step you take once you exit the elevator.

“It’s no problem, we can both head home and I’ll just pick you up with my car,” he suggests, and you look over suspiciously.

“You hate driving.”

“But I’d drive for you,” you sigh as the two of you make it out of the building and start toward the metro. “I’d just really like to see it with you, I think you’d enjoy it.”

You huff as the breeze picks up slightly, hitting you with another face full of pollen. Looking over at Spencer, his eyes were bright and full of mischief. He holds onto the strap of his bag as the two of you walk down the stairs and you try your best to read his face. Only pure content and joy, oh how this man has ruined you.

“Fine. Only if you pay for dinner,” you mumble, blowing your nose into another tissue as the train approaches. 

“Of course, it’s my turn anyway,” he states, a satisfied look on his face. The two of you often paid for each other when it came to food, remaining constantly indebted to each other. But this way, you always knew he would come back. Because he owed you.

Getting home was a relief, it truly serves as a place to escape and decompress. After being stuffy all day and having to work through several reports as you reviewed the evidence and possible threats, it had truly been a test of your patience. After taking Claritin and changing into something a little more suited to the weather, Spencer arrives right on time. The rest of the night goes off with a hitch and more often than not do you find yourself looking over at Spencer as his eyes take in every single little detail of the movie. True to his word, the two of you order cheap nachos and pizza from the movie theater and munch on it during the movie. He speaks translations to you in a low whisper, adding intonation and inflection to distinguish between the characters. Spencer never ceases to amaze you and while you love Ponyo, there’s just something so alluring about watching Spencer talk about things that interest him. At the end of the movie, he continues to process and talk about every little detail left to his whim. 

“While Ponyo is essentially a movie about a child’s innocence and familial love, there is an underlying theme that comments on the pollution of our oceans, as seen in the character of Fujimoto who is afraid of humans and constantly criticizes them,” Spencer says as the two of you walk into the foyer. 

“The ramen looked amazing, though. It makes me hungry for some real food,” you state as the smell of popcorn makes you crave even more food.

“Food in film, specifically films directed by Hayao Miyazaki, are a tool to show togetherness and family as well as human nature. The details of the food tell their own story in many of the other movies. We’ll have to check them out if they even come to the theater,” he continues and you smile, shaking your head.

“Or we can just watch them at my apartment. I’ll buy the whole box set and we’ll just have a whole binge,” you tell him as the two of you make it out onto the street, walking back to his car.

“That’s also good too,” he says as you bark out a laugh. “It’s a date.”

While such trivial words shouldn’t insight fear inside of you, it doesn’t stop you from spending the rest of the night thinking about it after Spencer drops you back home. It remains in your mind the next day when you go to work and find your way to the BAU during lunch, only to find that they were called away on a case. So, the rest of the week is spent thinking about the words “it’s a date.” Obviously, he meant a physical date, like the one on a calendar. But what if he wasn’t? He hadn’t been over to your apartment before and you had never gone to his. It was like a platonic line the two of you hadn’t crossed so that your relationship would stay strictly on the down-low. What did it mean that he wanted to come over to your apartment, then? On a so-called “date?” There wasn’t even an actual day you planned to have your movie marathon on, so technically it couldn’t even be considered a date. Just a plan. 

That Friday, you were getting ready to go home and crash on the couch after ordering take out when Penelope texts you.

From Penelope (5:46 PM):

I’m gonna need some reinforcements up here, the team is just getting back.

To Penelope (5:46 PM):

Hard case?

From Penelope (5:47 PM):

Like you can’t even imagine.

Sighing, you get up out of your chair and head to the elevator, going a couple of floors up to the BAU. When you get out, Penelope stands there with a face of anticipation as she sees you walk out. 

“Oh good, they’re almost here. Spencer’s not doing too hot,” she says and you frown, turning to face the elevator.

As if they were summoned, the second elevator opens up to reveal the team in several different states of fatigue and disappointment. Spencer stands in the back, hunched over slightly as he frowns and follows the rest of them out once the doors are fully open. You smile at your dad and pat him on the shoulder as he leans down.

“The gelato place downtown is still open,” he whispers and kisses your cheek before walking into the offices. You walk in front of Spencer and gently bump into him to break him from his stupor. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask and look up at him, seeing the furrow in his brow and the dark circles under his eyes that look even darker. 

“Nothing, I have to work on my reports,” he mumbles and walks past into the offices.

“Why don’t we go get food and you can come back, just to help clear your mind,” you insist, following him as he collapses into his office chair, rubbing his temples to relieve a bit of the stress built up over the past couple days.

“I have too much to work on,” he brushes you off and turns to stare at all the papers stacked up on his desk.

“You can work on them this weekend,” you state and push the spinny chair so that he faces you. “I know something is wrong, we’ve known each other for several months and I can tell when something is bothering you. Now, I’m not going to ask, but I do know that you can complete reports faster than everyone here and that you can take them home. So, I declare today backwards day. Let’s go grab some ice cream.”

You smile your biggest smile in hopes of breaking him out of his spiral and the reference to Ponyo definitely helps. He smiles slightly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes, and shoves a couple of folders into his satchel before standing.

“Lead the way,” you smile at him and loop your arm around his in hopes of helping to keep him grounded. The two of you walk out of the BAU in silence, but you can feel a change in Spencer already. Hunting the worst types of people every single day as a job constantly gets to you, especially when it comes to this team who constantly look at the mind of unidentified subjects to catch them. With your father, he deals with it through good old compartmentalization and expensive alcohol. For Spencer, you would guess it’s not as easy. His mind was endlessly thinking and analyzing so any mistake made would be remembered and replayed. The best you can do is let him know that there’s a world around him other than everything going on in his head. 

After getting on the metro, you engage in simple conversation, telling him about what you’ve had the luxury of working on and the most recent book you had been reading: The Awakening by Kate Chopin. When you see the stop for downtown, you pull him off the train and begin to walk toward your favorite family-owned gelato establishment. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, looking around at the nightlife of D.C.

“It’s a surprise,” you wink and pull him toward a small shop full of freezers filled with gelato. His eyes light up at the sight of the gaudy decorations that are over the top depictions of Florence and Rome. 

“Gelato?”

“It’s backwards day!” you remark and order a medium stracciatella. 

“I’ll get a medium mint chip,” he asks and you reach out hand over your card before Spencer can get to the cashier. 

When the both of you have your gelato in hand, you both slowly meander down the street as you devour into your delicious treat.

“Did you know that the word stracciatella comes from the Italian word ‘stracciare’ and is also the name of the famed soup that is popular in the Lazio region of central Italy? The same technique is applied to the ice cream but instead of chocolate and ice cream, it’s broth and an egg-based mixture. It’s a western variation of the Chinese egg drop soup,” he gets out before spooning some of the gelato into his mouth. You can only smile at him as you admire how beautiful he looks in the dim lighting, rambling on and effectively getting him away from the horrors of the world, even if for a moment. He continues to talk about soup and how often eastern traditions are westernized and taken over, but all you can do is stare at him and think about how head over heels you are for him. 

Perhaps it is love. But your heart is stored in a box away from harm. Its defenses were weakening, though. Every word spoken by Spencer was like a small chisel working away at the precious marble box, artistic and masterful. You love him, yet in your mind, keeping it from him meant keeping him safe. Or, keeping yourself safe.

Quiet weeks are always appreciated at the FBI. Quiet weeks for you meant simple research and few reports, just enough to keep yourself busy. Quiet weeks for the BAU were just simple consultations and writing up all their fieldwork into manageable reports. But, before a tsunami, the ocean always rears its ugly face. 

You knew something was wrong when your director called you before dawn. A shrill noise jerked you from your sleep and you pull your phone to your ear even before checking the caller.

“Agent Montgomery,” you reply groggily, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you check your digital clock.

“There’s a suspected attack, we’re sending an agent to pick you up. The FBI is under strict media blackout rules so do not inform anyone,” Director Chase states. “There’s Cipro for you on arrival.”

Your heart beats out of your chest at the mention of anthrax. You had just started college when the Amerithrax attacks happened, it had been one of the reasons you wanted to become a toxicologist. Never in your life did you ever expect to face an actual anthrax attack head-on. 

Getting ready is a blur, you pull on suitable clothes and meet the other agent when they arrive. During the drive, you are given a very quick debrief. Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms with black lesions and lung failure after they had all been at the same park after 2 p.m. The strain of anthrax used was weaponized and reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs, odorless and invisible. At the moment, there are eleven dead with the number quickly rising. All remaining patients were moved to a special wing in Walter Reed Hospital with Dr. Linda Kimura from the CDC and her team overseeing the treatment of all victims. You memorize this information and how you would apply your skills, finding any evidence and analyzing it. The thought of working with the BAU is both exciting and terrifying. Your father would be at risk, and so would Spencer. The only peace of mind is the fact that you would be working with them so any harm that comes to them would go through you first. 

Once at the Bureau, you swallow the Cipro dry and take the elevator up to the BAU where several military scientists have gathered and move around the busy offices. Your director approaches you as you enter and glance around at all the chaos.

“Dr. Kimura’s already in the conference room with Agent Jareau and Agent Hotchner. You’ll be accompanying them to any possible active sites to try and gather a sample as well as oversee the response,” he states and you nod, climbing up the stairs and trying not to throw up the pills you just swallowed. Seeing JJ and Hotch helps to ground you a little but your heart still beats quickly.

“Dr. Kimura, it’s nice to meet you,” you smile weakly and shake her hand.

“You too, I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances,” she replies and you nod, turning to look at the file full of evidence. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, less than twenty-four hours and already fourteen people were dead. 

The rest of the team shuffles in and you meet Spencer’s gaze, seeing the worry build up in his eyes like tiny storms. You were sure that your face shared the same fear. As they are debriefed, you find yourself looking through at the lesions and pictures shared, trying not to grimace at the sight. College had its fair share of gross photos, but those people were either dead or safe. Time was not your friend.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura and Dr. Montgomery to the hospital, interview the victims,” you tune in at your name and look up at Hotch as he delivers assignments. “There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura huffs out as she raises the tray for everyone to take.

“This is really happening?” Emily asks. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Can such a weapon be real?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch speaks the words as if they are a mantra as if the FBI knows everything. And while he’s right, the FBI does not know everything about this strain of anthrax. The unknown kills people, you just hope you can get to it before it kills more civilians. 

“Jin dan,” your father says. “May you live one hundred years.”

Your jaw clenches as you watch both your father and Spencer takes the pills. Your father is on the older side, you know that and he’s lived through a lot, but something like this would take him out in a matter of hours. And Spencer, he’s young and healthy, but this spore had killed fourteen people. What was another victim? 

As you follow Dr. Kimura and Spencer out of the conference room, your mind is full of statistics and chemical concoctions that could help you. It moves quickly and swiftly, distracting you from the escalation of the current situation.

“Why didn’t you take the Cipro?” Spencer asks as you stand in the office. 

“I took it when I arrived, I was here before you,” you respond monotonously, sighing as you turn and give him a reluctant smile. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. Never really been ‘in the field’ before.”

“You’ll be great,” he offers you a look of encouragement and squeezes your hand as you follow Dr. Kimura to the cars, waiting for Spencer as he grabs files from JJ. 

The car ride is spent talking about treatments and other specific details. You focus on trying to break down the creation of the spores as well as possible antidotes to combat it. Because there are no know samples just yet, you work through from the other angle. How does one weaponize a regular bacteria? Well, increasing its ability to quickly become activated and multiply would do the trick. To fight against it, our white blood cells would need to work just as quickly to get rid of the foreign bacteria that attacks our immune system, therefore an antidote would be able to target this bacteria and destroy it at the same rate. Just as a vaccine would. Arriving at the hospital is a bit jarring, you walk with Dr. Kimura and Spencer up to the wing where you break off and look at blood and toxin reports to fully understand what parts of the body are being attacks as well as what kind of chemicals makes up this specific toxin. 

“What’s causing her aphasia?” Spencer asks as they make their way back over to you. This piques your interest as you take notes on a separate piece of paper, jotting down everything you can think of to help understand.

“The poison is infecting the parietal lobe, impairing her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died,” she states solemnly, and you sigh as you speak out.

“The only thing that can help them is if we find the antidote because unless we do a molecular analysis of the specific strain, we’re unable to understand how this works,” you grumble, the want to lash out angrily growing. “This can’t be his first attack, especially if he was a scientist. You run small trials before getting to human subjects.”

You continue to work with Spencer, sifting through ideas as Dr. Kimura makes calls and inquires about possible previous victims. It made sense in your little science brain, that one would not test on a bigger group before ensuring it was deadly with a smaller group--like vaccine or drug trials. As Dr. Kimura brings over a list of other patients, Spencer goes into another area to call the team as you cross-reference your notes with her. 

“So far, all we know is that this is anthrax. Do you think I can use blood and tissue samples in your lab for analysis? Maybe I can refine the strain and get an antidote or perhaps see how quickly it multiplies,” you ask and she nods.

“Of course,” she calls over another nurse and asks for blood and tissue samples from an already deceased victim and asks for it to be delivered to your lab.

As Spencer steps out of the closet, you look over at him and try to memorize every part of him. The revolver that sticks out of his hip, the badge, the long unruly hair, his violet shirt, just everything that makes him Spencer. Your heart was racing with nerves and all you wanted to do was take him out of harm’s way. 

“How are you feeling?” he inquires as you shake your head. 

“I feel useless. I’m no medical doctor nor am I any closer to finding the antidote,” you mumble and look up at the ceiling to try and stave off the tears. 

“You’re doing great. It’s a waiting game until we get more answers about the profile, you’re doing the best you can,” he reaches out and wraps an arm around you as you hug him, sighing as you deeply inhale his cologne. 

“Yet my best can’t stop all these people from dying,” you look over at the young girl that Spencer was talking to, watching as every breath in her lungs feels like the last. 

“You’re one person. And I know that when it gets down to it, you’ll be brilliant,” the two of you pull away slightly and you look up at him, your noses almost touching. You could kiss him right now if your lives weren’t being threatened, but the voice of Dr. Kimura breaks the two of you apart. 

“How’s she doing?” Spencer asks as the three of you walk over to the window, Dr. Kimura pulling up her charts.

“She’s a fighter. She’s held on this long because she’s young and strong. But she’s started to bleed into her lungs,” Dr. Kimura states and you stare through the glass, wanting to will this young girl to live. 

“One of four left,” you mumble and look over at Spencer. 

“We’re running into another problem. When next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about cause of death?” you look back through the glass as you ponder another unanswerable question. 

Once the samples are ready, you and Spencer go down to the hospital lab where you try to isolate the spore in each of the samples and look at them underneath the microscope as well as streak them on Petri dishes. Spencer helps with tools and supplies so you aren’t running around, but the most that the microscope tells you is that it is anthrax and the dishes won’t be ready for analysis any time soon because they need to incubate. Once done, you clean and sterilize everything before sitting down on one of the chairs and looking up at the fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“This is useless,” you mutter and shake your head.

“No, it’s not. They’re delivering the profile right now and then we’ll be able to find a suspect,” Spencer tells you as you look over at him, a small smile on your face. 

“Are you always this optimistic, Dr. Statistics?” you ask as he chuckles.

“No, because I’m usually running and forming statistics, but you distract me enough from the looming threat of death,” your eyes widen as he speaks as you let out a short laugh before his phone begins to ring. The conversation is short, but you gather that you finally have a suspect worthy of bringing in.

“That was Morgan, we’re going to a suspect’s house. His name is Dr. Lawrence Nichols and he tried to lobby for money to fund his anthrax preparedness plan but failed because it wasn’t feasible,” he says as the two of you grab your things and make your way down to the bottom floor, Derek meeting you as the three of you take off toward his house. He fills you in on Dr. Nichols’ past, his adamancy about wanting all families to have protection against anthrax as well as his inevitable job termination. Your hands shake with nerves as you think about having to be around people, specifically people that could potentially pose a threat to your life. This wasn’t what you did, nor was it who you were. You were far out of your comfort zone, but at least you could be helpful instead of sitting around in a lab. 

The three of you wait outside the small suburban house, waiting as the hazmat team goes through and ensures that there are no traces of anthrax that could threaten your life. 

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Derek states and you look over at the house, it was painted a robin blue. You would never suspect a serial killer to live in such a normal house. 

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Spencer suggests as the three of you head toward the garage and behind the house. 

You stayed quiet and observed from a scientific view, looking over at the rose bushes and reaching over to touch the delicate flower. Though even the most beautiful flowers have thorns and you wince as a sharp point pricks your finger. Following Spencer, you stick the finger in your mouth to get rid of the blood. 

As you maneuver around the many plants, Derek’s phone rings and he puts Penelope on speaker as Spencer listens in. You, on the other hand, continue to look around for any evidence pointing toward him being the suspect. Perhaps a lab of some sorts. As you enter the smaller building behind the house, you instantly see the makings of a lab with the fumes hood and the surplus of beakers and Petri dishes. Stepping into the lab, your heart jumps in your chest when you see a shattered test tube on the floor with white powder. 

Behind you, Spencer calls out your name and you rush over the door to close it, the chill of the air conditioning blasting behind you.

“Spencer, get back! Get back right now,” you fumble with the lock, shutting yourself into the lab with the vial. 

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he asks and pushes against the door.

“No, please, Spencer. Get away from the door,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Open the door,” he persists as he stares at you through the glass. Was it enough? Was he infected? You couldn’t know for sure. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you mutter, a tear dripping down your cheek as you step back from the door. 

“Kid, what’s going on?” you hear Derek call out from behind Spencer as he backs up from the door.

“Call Hotch. Call an ambulance. Call everyone,” he tells Derek as the fear fills your veins. Your hands are so cold, why are they so cold? Spencer’s sweet voice isn’t enough to talk you down from the anxiety building up. This was the tsunami and you were caught in the tidal wave.

Spencer stands away from the door as you wrap your arms around yourself, staring silently out at him. Your phone rings as he calls you and you put it on speaker. 

“Tell me what’s going on, everyone’s on their way. You need to describe everything to me,” you can see Spencer’s mind going a million miles an hour and you could see the blame he put on himself. This wasn’t him, this was all you. At least you were right about anthrax getting through you before it did him.

“There’s a body here, I think it’s Nichols, and he’s dead. There’s also a tube that’s shattered. It’s full of white powder, I’m pretty sure it’s anthrax--Spencer,” you pause, staring straight at him. “I don’t want to die, please I’m so scared.”

You hear all the sirens as they approach and you shake your head, more tears falling down your cheeks.

“Sh, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he says and you can see that all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you. “This is where you can help, remember? It’s your turn to be the hero.”

You look up to him, the tears blurring his figure as you wipe them from your cheeks, nodding. 

“You’re right,” you mumble and take a deep breath before beginning to go through the lab. “You’re right.”

First, the body. 

Reaching down, you feel the skin of Dr. Nichols and see the blue-ish tint to his skin as well as the way his blood has pooled. He appears to be dead at least for a day or two, Livor mortis has already set in.

“Spence, he’s been dead for maybe one to two days. Blunt force trauma to his head,” you say just as Hotch and another man join Spencer and Derek. 

“Doctor, we need to get you to the hospital,” Hotch speaks and you shake your head.

“No, I can help. I’m the only one who can work the case here. I’m already exposed, there’s nothing they can do but give me morphine. I can do this,” you state and turn to the lab, looking around for any important information.

“Just get out of there, you need to go to the hospital,” Spencer insists as you continue to search his desk.

“She’s already infected. Now if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure,” the general says and you grab the papers off his desk, reading through his notes. 

“If I’m in here, I can find the cure, or I can make it. If I figure out how he made this strain then I can make the antidote with his notes,” you reply, hearing Spencer sigh with exasperation. “I can also try to see who killed Dr. Nichols, the answer is in here somewhere.”

“Say something to her, order her. She can’t stay in there,” Spencer’s voice cracks and you shake your head, now was not the time to get distracted.

“She’s right, her best chance is to be inside,” Hotch replies and you set your phone down as you read through his writing. “We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, I’m already infected,” you mumble and break apart all his lab reports. 

“Your dad is going to kill me,” Hotch tells you and you sigh, shaking your head. 

“He does his job, I do mine.”

Your mind reels at the information, but you force yourself to focus and read through the reports and how Dr. Nichols managed to make such a potent spore. In your mind, your best bet is a combination antibiotic and antibody treatment to combat the toxins and ensure that any remaining bacteria is killed off.

“I think there was a struggle, there’s glass spread out and clutter all over,” you tell them, looking around and finding another desk in the corner. “There’s also another desk in the corner that’s smaller and organized. It appears there are two sets of handwriting as well as instructions on how to sterilize and transfer spores.”

“Nichols would know all that,” the general states. 

“He has a partner, maybe even a protege,” Spencer suggests as Hotch and the general run off to go follow that lead. Your phone begins to vibrate and you see that your father is calling you. Picking up, you put the phone to your ear.

“Papa, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, feeling the tears well up once more. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sh, piccolo. This is not your fault. How are you doing?” he asks and you inhale deeply, beginning to feel sharp pains in your chest. 

“I’m fine. I’m working,” you let out a sad laugh and shake your head. “I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be okay,” he tells you and he says it with such conviction that you almost believe him.

“If I’m not--”

“Don’t talk like that,” he cuts you off and you shake your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“If I’m not okay, I just want to tell you that you were the best dad in the whole world and that I love you so much. I’ll tell mom ‘hi’ for you,” you hold in a sob as he begins to protest. “I love you.”

You hang up the phone and sob into your hand, breathing in as deeply as possible to try and stay afloat. Quickly, you call up Penelope as something crosses your mind.

“Hey, you,” Penelope mumbles solemnly.

“No funny quip?” you bite your lip nervously as she sighs.

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she says.

“Hey, Penny. Do you think you can record something for me?” you ask, glancing out the window to where Spencer is staring in.

“Anything,” you hear her type. “Alright, you’re good.”

“Hey, Spence,” you bite back another sob as it shakes through your chest. “This isn’t how I intended for you to hear this, but here it goes. I love you. So much. And I’m such a coward for not saying it to your face, but, if I’m gone then I want you to know that your brain and your smarts are so incredible, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I love you so much.”

A woman in an orange suit steps into the room and you quickly hang up your phone, smiling at Dr. Kimura.

“Dr. Montgomery,” she says as does her best to walk in the suit.

“You look nice,” you say and let out a shaky laugh. “How is everyone else doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she states and you nod as Spencer calls you back. You answer and put him on speaker. 

“Hey, it’s me and Garcia,” he tells you as a tickle in your throat bubbles up and makes you cough. “I think the cure is in there somewhere. Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist so he’s secretive and paranoid. Prentiss and Rossi don’t think the partner was a coworker.”

“Can you look for the cure while I help them?” you ask Dr. Kimura and she nods as you look around the room. “I’ve been through everything, Spence.”

“I know you’re not thinking straight,” his voice cracks. “But, we need you.”

 You clear your throat and nod.

“You’re right,” you rush over to his desk and look through his items. “There’s a picture of him teaching and a syllabus.” 

You think back to the instructions and think for a moment.

“Hold on,” you run over to the other desk and look at the content. “It’s a student, it has to be if he went through the trouble of writing lab procedures.”

Picking up the thick stack of paper, you instantly recognize it as some sort of thesis. Years of curating your own, you would never forget it. 

“A thesis, his partner was a doctoral student,” sweat drips down your hairline as you sift through the papers.

“He wouldn’t have let just anyone in there so perhaps he opened his lab to a student,” Spencer formulates as you read through the paper. “Check the sciences.”

“Uh, cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore.” Penelope types away at her keyboard as you read through the paper, it mentions things like preparedness and less about the spores itself as well as scientific findings. “Nothing, my doves.”

“This doesn’t sound like a science student, this is all about city preparedness, and response,” you cough and try not to stress about the taste of blood in your mouth. 

“Check the social studies,” Spencer states. “Public policy, urban planning.”

“Hot to trot. There’s a Chad Brown, School of Public Policy at U. of M. matches a Chad Brown, former employee at the book front. I’ll tell Hotch,” Penelope hangs up as you stifle another cough, the pain in your chest worsening.

“You did it, now get out of there,” Spencer says and you turn to Dr. Kimura as you let out another cough. Blood splatters on your hand and you wipe it on your pants.

“You said the cure would be hidden somewhere we wouldn’t suspect. What about Nichols’ inhaler?” she walks up with the inhaler as you put Spencer on speaker. 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you out here,” he says and you hang up as the two of you walk out of the lab and into the tent where people are ready to spray you down. You let the tears flow freely now that you’re out and the water rolls over you in an attempt to get rid of all the powder that might have stuck. Spencer is outside the tent speaking to Hotch and your father as you get naked and hosed down. Once they’re finished, you’re toweled down and put into a gown as you get on the gurney and are wheeled off to the ambulance. 

“Hey, you,” you mutter weakly to Spencer as he walks alongside you. Another cough bursts out of your chest.

“I’m seeing you off to the hospital, the team doesn’t need me,” he states and you nod, taking his hand as they get you into the ambulance. There is a sharp pain in your lungs every time that you move and you cough up blood more and more. The lights in the ambulance are too bright and you feel so hot as Dr. Kimura places her stethoscope on your chest.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Montgomery?” she asks as you fail to hold back another cough.

“I’m obey,” your eyes widen as the words in your head fail to come out of your mouth. “Obey. I fleel fin.”

Your eyes water as you look over at her and then at Spencer who watches you in terror. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” she mutters to you before calling out to the driver. “Driver, faster.”

The sound of your heart beating echoes in your head is nausea and dizziness loom over you, making you close your eyes. All the sounds, including Spencer who seems to be calling out to you, dissipate as you drift off into the darkness. At least he would know. 

[chokemeanakin]

Bad Dream- Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader (angst + fluff)

Summary: Reader has a bad dream during a thunderstorm and goes to Anakin for help

WC: 2.2k

Masterlist

Reader it in ao3

You had fallen asleep to the distant grumbling of the sky. Weather reports had all pointed to a storm during the night, and although you were not afraid of thunder, you were inclined to sleep through it so you could catch up on some much needed rest. Unfortunately, your subconscious had other plans.

You’re not sure when the tossing and turning started, but it must have been around the same time your head was filled with disturbing images, dark scenarios, dreams that made your pulse race and your body break out into a cold sweat. It was one of those dreams where you felt like you were drowning in a box with no way out, running from something when your legs refused to move, trying to save someone but they were just out of reach. 

A deafening clap of thunder had you shooting upright in bed.

It took you a moment to realize where you were. The room was dark, the surroundings of your room illuminated in flickers as lightning flashed across the sky outside. Thick pellets of rain hammered against the windows, like millions of tiny pebbles attempting to break through the glass. 

While normally it would have calmed you, now it heightened your unease. The whole world seemed to groan in rage outside, and you were still desperately trying to pull yourself out of the frightening dream you just had. 

You were no stranger to nightmares-- you knew how to ground yourself after the particularly bad ones. But your fingers were too numb from gripping the bed sheets to feel anything else, your eyes unable to pick anything up but the eerie shadows in the corner of the room as irregular veins of lightning struck the ground, ears deafened by the rain and rumbling of the storm. Your head felt like it had been doused in lava, heart pounding in your chest. You were trapped, being swallowed up by darkness, falling back into that dream, back into that nightmare--

Another clap of thunder had the wall decorations shaking and you shooting to your feet, heading toward the door. You weren’t sure where you were planning on going, just that you had to get out of there before you suffocated for real. Peals of thunder followed you into the living area, unrelenting and loud enough to make your ears ring. The glass decorations on the windowsill rattled with tension, bright white flashes causing spots to form in your vision. You could barely hear yourself think, and a very real fear that the sky was actually opening up and falling down had you bolting for your door, heading across the hall of the Jedi temple to Anakin’s room.

You wandered through his living space on unsteady legs, falling into furniture and tripping over chairs in the dark. With each explosion of thunder, you sunk deeper into yourself, hugging your arms around your middle and bracing for impact. His door was cracked open an inch, and you nudged it open wider so that you could slip into the room.

You weren’t even sure he would be in here. He often worked late into the night, running around the temple halls, working on his starfighter, or deployed on a mission. If worse came to worse, you were just planning on sleeping in his sheets like you did when you missed him… except when you approached the bed, he was in it, and he was fast asleep.

You studied his face between flashes of light. He looked peaceful, face relaxed and breathing even. How he could sleep through a monstrosity of a storm like this, you would never know… especially since he usually wasn’t a very deep sleeper. He must have been beyond exhausted after his Jedi duties today if he wasn’t waking up, especially sensing your troubled presence nearby, and it only made you feel worse for disturbing his rest. But before you could work up the courage to leave, his eyebrows twitched, lips twisting into a frown before his eyes fluttered open. 

Upon seeing you, he pushed himself up onto his forearms, blanket slipping down to reveal his bare chest. He squinted at you, still very much half asleep but reaching to take your hand in his anway. 

“Wh’s wrong?” 

You suddenly felt very childish. How were you supposed to complain of a nightmare to Anakin Skywalker, the literal king of terrifying prophetic dreams? What would he think of you if he knew you had come running to him because a simple thunderstorm had spooked you? What was he even supposed to do about it anyway?

Your hesitance worried him, so he reached out with the force to gage your emotions. Scared, uneasy, disturbed-- but not so much of the furious storm overhead, but of something else, something deeper. You had been shaken to the core, tormented by something that left your mind restless and body quivering in his touch. He had had enough experience to know exactly what was going on.

“Bad dream?”

You ducked your head to study your bare feet, ashamed. “The thunder doesn’t help.”

“C’mere,” he scoot across the bed, peeling back the covers for you to get in. You crawled into his bed clumsily, collapsing onto the pillows as he tucked them back up over you. The rain was still pounding mercilessly into the windows, the sky waging armageddon, but the pillows smelled like Anakin and he was right next to you, a formidable, calming presence despite the warzone outside. 

He immediately gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest and resting his cheek on top of your head. You breathed in his scent, basking in his warmth. All of the fear and worries from the storm outside seemed to melt away. All that was left was the incessant reminders of your disturbing dream, replaying in your mind as if on a tape-reel. Every time you tried to close your eyes, to relax fully into Anakin and let him just hold you in his strong arms, the images would come back. It had you pent up with frustration, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep like Anakin seemed to be doing again, but you just couldn’t. You were too afraid that you might slip back into that dark place, and have to relive what had plagued your mind before.

You felt Anakin’s head lift off yours. He studied you for a moment, eyebrows drawn down in concern.

“Alright, come with me. We’re going on an adventure.”

You watched Anakin unwrap himself around you and then get out of bed, waiting for you to do the same. Slowly, you pushed yourself back onto your feet, taking the hand he held out for you and letting him lead you into the kitchen. He motioned for you to sit at one of the chairs of the island, and then left you there to reach into the cupboard and retrieve a couple of mugs. 

“Tea? Tea is your idea of an adventure?” You teased, spinning slightly on the spinny chair.

“When it’s 3am the roof is about to cave in because of a storm, yes. It’s an adventure.” 

He flicked the oven on and a flame burst out of the stovetop. He placed the tea kettle on top, then lazily waved his hand in the air to call the teabags over to him. Then he leant his forearms against the counter, bowing his head and yawning as he waited for the water to heat up.

You felt terrible for keeping him awake.

“I can make the tea,” you offered, and he lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at you. “So you can go back to bed, I mean.”

A sudden boom of thunder clapped overhead, shaking the walls and causing you to flinch involuntarily. He looked at the ceiling as this happened, listening to the aching sky grumble an apology for the attack. 

“And sleep through a storm like this? Now that’d be a shame.” 

You knew he was only saying this for your sake, and you loved him for it. Still, it didn’t ease the guilt you felt as you watched him take the whistling kettle off the flame, pouring it into the mugs with one hand while rubbing his eye with the other. 

“Don’t feel guilty, my love. I’m more than willing to stay up with you if you can’t sleep.”

“You must be exhausted though,” you accepted the mug he held out for you. 

“I’m alright.”

You pouted. The temple shuddered with another round of explosive claps of thunder, lightning flickering through the blinds. Suddenly the low hum of the space heaters went silent, and a foreboding click sounded as everything shut down. 

“Did the power just go out?” You eyed the blank screen of the microwave, where it used to show the time.

“Good timing,” he handed you honey for your tea. “Don’t worry, it should be back on by morning. The temple maintenance workers are more than prepared for stuff like this.”

“I’m not worried… just surprised. It’s a very violent storm, isn’t it?” 

He nodded, thumbing the rim of his mug. His deep breaths, the slow blinks, the slurred words. He was about to fall asleep standing up, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do something about it.

“Let’s go to the couch,” you suggested, and pushed yourself off the spinny chair. He followed you into the living area, sitting next to you as you curled up into his side again, hugging the mug between your hands and letting the steam melt across your face. Instinctively, he put his arm around you and let you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked after a moment, staring out the rain-spattered window at the blurry city lights below. “Your dream I mean?”

“I… can’t really remember it anymore,” you answered truthfully. The longer you stayed awake, the more the dream slipped from your memory. A blessing, only tainted by the feelings it left in its wake. The fear and dread remained, though the dream in itself was gone. 

“It bothers you still.” 

“Only a little,” you took a sip of your tea. “But this is nice.”

Lightning shot across the sky, reaching its hands out like it was searching for something across the horizon. More tendrils branched out in every direction, crawling across the skyline and illuminating the room in a pale blue light. You counted the seconds until the thunder hit: 1...2...3… 

“Storm’s right overhead,” Anakin noted, thumb stroking the skin of your arm.

“It better not kill us.”

“I won’t let it kill you,” he chuckled deeply. 

“You won’t let it?” You pulled back to look at him. “I hate to break it to you, but I think Mother Nature does what she wants.” 

“You forget, I control an important part of nature.” 

Your mug lifted from your fingers suddenly, floating into his hand instead. He took a sip of your tea, winking lazily. 

“Hey,” you laughed, reaching for your mug as he held it over his head with a teasing smile. You were too tired to fight him for it though, so you rolled your eyes with mock exasperation, holding his chin steady so you could kiss him instead. 

His lips were pliant beneath yours, and tasted sweet like the honey. You licked the taste off of them, and his arm lowered without him realizing it so he could focus on the feel of you. You took the opportunity to grab your mug back, pulling away before he could realize what you’d done.

“Dirty tactic,” he mused. “I’d even go as far as to say… cheater.”

“Yeah, yeah, like you don’t use your fancy Jedi tricks to peek at my deck every time we play cards.” 

“You have no proof.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” you finish your tea, setting it down on the coffee table before you and nuzzling your head back into Anakin’s neck. “So it’s only fair that you cut me some slack.” 

“Just this once,” he appeased, tilting his head so that it was resting on yours again.

You felt much better now than you had before. As the storm came to a head, Anakin held you through it. It was impossible to be frightened of the loud noises and sinister peals of lightning when he was holding you. The sluggish funk that the nightmare had left you with also faded away, and all that was left was the scent of Anakin, the feel of his warm skin beneath your cheek, and the taste of him on your lips. Before long, you had nodded off on his shoulder. 

He stayed awake until he was certain you were sleep, watching the raindrops race each other down the window pane. Shortly after the space heaters powered back to life, he turned his head to see your eyes closed, lips slightly parted, fast asleep against him. Carefully, he shifted you into his arms so that he could carry you back to bed without you waking.

Although he was beyond the point of exhaustion, he slept better than ever that night knowing you were beside him, safe in his embrace and contentedly resting now that your fears had been washed away. A few hours of missed sleep was worth it if it meant making sure you would be okay, and he knew that you would do the same for him without a doubt.

[bluebellwriting]

Mom-Friend Looking For A Dad-Friend - Part 1

Summary: Saru x chubby!reader in which you are Sylvia Tilly’s older sister, (Y/N) Tilly. You are a therapist on the USS Discovery and the ship’s resident mom-friend. Your little sister thinks it’s about time her Starfleet parents finally hooked up. (Title is based off of my Hinge profile)

(Y/N)’s POV

You were settling into your office on the USS Discovery, situated just down the hall from the med bay. It was small but cozy and would only get cozier once you unpacked your plants and little trinkets from home. Once the doors were closed behind you, you set your box of mementos down and took a moment to take in the room. Making sure that the doors are closed, you take a moment to squeal and pump your fists in the air. It’s quite unprofessional for a lieutenant commander, but you’ve never had a whole office to yourself before. 

Apparently the ship’s former captain, Gabriel Lorca, never felt the need for counselors or therapists, which you thought was horrible and inconsiderate. But when your own captain, Captain Pike, announced that he was transferring temporarily to head the Discovery, he had requested you accompany him to be the ship’s temporary counselor. He didn’t go into much detail for “security reasons,” but he felt that the crew would benefit from your services and your motherly nature.

It also helped that your baby sister was an ensign on the ship.

Your little celebratory moment was ruined by the sound of your doors opening. You froze, imagining the captain or some high-ranking commander walking in on your moment of unprofessionalism. Honestly, this was not a reflection of your normally responsible self and as you turned slowly around, you were running through in your mind exactly how you would defend yourself. Until you saw the familiar red and wild hair of your sister. 

You run forward and envelop her in a hug, relishing the feel of a familiar body pressed against yours. You have been so worried for her while you were away on the Enterprise and she was off fighting a war. Not a day went by that you didn’t dread the idea of getting the message from your mother that she was gone. But now she’s here, safe and sound in your arms where you can protect her, like you always have. You were so wrapped up in fussing over your sister that you didn’t even notice the incredibly tall man watching you both fondly from the doorway until he cleared his throat.

“Oh! Oh right.” Sylvia steps to the side with her arm stretched, literally presenting the tallest and... cutest man you had ever seen. Immediately you were entranced by the ridges of his face and his eyes. Oh dear Lord those eyes. 

“Commander, this is my sister, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Commander Saru. He was my sponsor to the command program and was--”

“Previously acting Captain, yes. Captain Pike filled me in.” You step forward and extend your hand to him. You try really, really hard not to shiver when his fingers engulf your palm and hold it securely. You feel so small in front of him -- which is rare for you, your past boyfriends made it a point to constantly bring up your largeness -- but your hand fits perfectly in his like two puzzle pieces finding each other. It’s as thrilling as it is frightening.

“I’m Doctor (Y/N) Tilly. It’s very nice to meet you, Commander.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, as well, Doctor.” Oh he was such a gentleman. 

Saru’s POV

Saru was expecting another Sylvia Tilly, when said ensign insisted that he come meet her sister. And because he was so fond of the tenacious girl, he allowed her to all but pull him through the halls towards an office just off of the med bay.

“I just have a feeling that you two will really like each other,” she was telling him as they approached the doors. “She’s so kind and sweet. She was basically the mom I always wanted which was nice considering the mom we did have was--” As she rambled, Saru just nodded his head and mentally prepared himself to engage in some pleasantries and then a quick return to the bridge for a meeting with Captain Pike. He was honestly in a somewhat sour mood after having the captaincy stolen from him, even if he knew it was going to be temporary anyway. Hey, a Kelpien can dream.

What he was not expecting was the sight of quite literally the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But there she was, hugging her sister tightly and soundly in a very cramped office filled with boxes of plants and flowers. And when you took his hand and grinned up at him, he felt his heart soar and a tingling in his limbic system. He could stand in the glow of your smile for hours and so desperately wanted to know what a hug from you felt like. Probably like being home. He had to restrain his arm from reaching out for you after you had pulled away from the handshake. He was completely and utterly hooked on you.

Sylvia seemed to notice, because she shot him a devious grin at the sight of what he was now realizing was his own love sick smile. Really, you have to be more professional, he scolded. But you’re chatting happily away with your sister while unloading your plants, cradling each adorable pot like a mother carries her child. Alright, professionalism be damned, he knew he needed to be next to you every moment for the rest of your lives.

On Kaminar, Kelpien life expectancies were uncertain but undeniably short, which meant that when decisions about family, friends, children had to be instinctual. And while Saru knew that he was safe from that life, that he was far more secure than anyone from back home could have ever hoped for, he still felt those same instincts. He felt them for Michael and Captain Georgiou and Sylvia and now here you were, the sight of you creating a piercing, knowing feeling deep in his gut.

You struggled to hang one of your plants on the highest shelf behind your desk. Just as you were about to pull out your spinny chair and use it as a stool, Saru quickly made his way over so he could hover over you.

“May I?” He was genuinely nervous that you would say no and he’s not quite sure why. But this was important, this offering of help and for care. You gave him a toothy grin and carefully transferred the plant from your hands into his large, awaiting ones. 

“Thank you, Commander. This is my String of Hearts and she likes to be up high.” Saru didn’t bat an eye at the fondness you held for the plant, rather he was quite familiar with the love you felt for them.

“It’s really no trouble. I too have quite the collection back in my quarters.”

“Really?”

“Yes, they are mostly plants from my home world, although I have collected quite a few species from visits to other planets.”

“Maybe you could show my sister some time, Commander!” Sylvia’s voice, really it’s more like a yelp, interrupts you both. You were eyeing her strangely while Saru tried his best to signal her with his widened eyes, stop, please with a hint of what are you planning. Sylvia just grinned widely and devilishly at them both.

“If, um, you don’t mind Commander, I would be happy to have lunch with you sometime to discuss our plant babies,” you offered slowly, your voice soft and hopeful. Oh, oh, he definitely wanted to have lunch with you. Was today too soon? Probably. Okay, calm down Saru, she’s not going to disappear.

Third Person POV

Four Months Later

Sylvia was just absolutely ecstatic that her plan was working. When she had started getting closer to Saru during the way, started seeing his paternal nature and his unmeasured empathy towards others, her mind had immediately thought of her darling sister. How you were just as nurturing as him and cared about everyone, how you were so caught up with loving others that you very rarely had time to meet anyone who loved you just as deeply. How the only two boyfriends you had ever had were complete assholes who took your tenderness for granted and only gave you criticism for return. How you were so hesitant to fall in love again and how she was absolutely sure that Saru was made for you and vice versa. So as soon as you stepped onto the ship, Sylvia begged and bothered Saru to come welcome you until he finally agreed. And oh is he glad he agreed.

From that day on you and Saru became practically inseparable. Saru made it his mission to be near you every second possible and you found yourself quite taken with the impossibly sweet man. Which was unusual, you had built this thick wall around your heart after your last relationship ended. But Saru just wormed his way past your guard with his gentle smiles and thoughtfulness. You would spend every meal together, talking about your plants, your favorite books and music. He had even started teaching you some basics in some of the many languages he knew. You don’t know why, but knowing about his profound knowledge of languages made you fall even harder for him.

Everyone on the ship seemed to realize that you were made for each other, too. There were bets made about when you would get together, whispers about ships through the halls. The drama over when Discovery’s mom-friend and dad-friend would make it official was a welcomed respite from the stresses of their mission to find the Red Angel. 

But the turning point for you was one night when you were completely swamped with patient notes and analysis. You had just messaged Saru letting him know that you had to skip your dinner plans to finish your work. You were quite disappointed, you hadn’t missed a dinner with him in the four months of your friendship and you lived for your conversations with him. It was just so comfortable and he made you feel so heard. But tonight you were looking at a sad, late night meal in your quarters after you were exhausted from staring at PADDs all day. At least, you thought so, until your door opened mere minutes after you had messaged Saru. In walked this precious man, carrying your favorite soup and a cup of coffee on a tray, along with some tea and salad for himself. 

“Just because we can’t have dinner in the cafeteria, doesn’t mean we can’t have dinner together.” He gave you a shy look as he set the tray down in front of you and took a seat on the other side of your desk. Honestly your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest. He was a dream, a lovely and beautiful dream.

“Saru I... Thank you.” You set your PADD down and decided that maybe a short break couldn’t hurt.

“You are most welcome, (Y/N). I couldn’t bear the thought of you not eating a proper meal.”

“Is this potato leak soup?” Saru nodded, pleased with himself.

The two of you ate silently for a while as you continued your work. Saru was quite content in watching you. It was quiet moments like this where he would take in everything he loved about you besides your mind and wit. The soft curl of your hair, the way your eyebrows creased as you read, or the bright (e/c) of your eyes. His eyes very slowly trail down, when you aren’t flashing the occasional smile at him, to take in his other favorite part about you. Saru -- and he gets incredibly embarrassed when he thinks of you like this because he is a gentleman through and through -- just really loves your body. In a totally not creepy way, he is obsessed with how small and soft you are compared to him. He still has dreams about the first time you hugged him and the feeling of his arms around your plush waist holding you close.

“All done,” you announce with a sigh. Saru snaps his eyes from where they were lingering on your collar bone back up to you. He throws on his most innocent smile, trying to pretend he wasn’t just fantasizing about wrapping his body around your own. 

“Thank you again. I’m sure this is not how you wanted to spend your evening, sitting in silence while I just work away.”

“Nonesense.” He pauses, debating his next words. “Any time spent with you is time well spent.” 

You bite your tongue for a moment, wondering if you should let slip the words you so desperately wanted to bestow upon him. Would he think you’re being too forward? Would he think you were flirting with him? I mean, you did want to flirt with him, and hug him and kiss him and rub your hands down his-- woah, calm down, (Y/N), he’s right there. 

“Still,” you start, deciding to take a big risk. “It was incredibly sweet of you. I’ve never had anyone bring me dinner before.” Saru beams and fills his heart swell at the praise, but his joy stalls at that one offhand comment.

“Never?” Honestly, he was curious. You had never mentioned past relationships before and he was secretly dying to know if he was even someone you would consider for a romantic relationship.

You take a deep breath, “I mean, I’ve only ever had two boyfriends in the past and neither were that... thoughtful. Well, at first they were. But over time they both ended up being a bit too self-centered, a bit too critical.” 

Saru feels like his cup is about to break in his grip. How could anyone be so cruel to you, so unappreciative, so blind? 

You bow your head, worried you might have divulged too much but Saru leans forward and takes one of your hands into his. His thumb rubs your knuckles and immediately your past relationships and the sad memories they dredge up vanish. As if there was no one before him, as if there was always just Saru.

“If you don’t mind me being so forward, it is their loss. (Y/N), you are a wonder, anyone who cannot see that or appreciate that is a fool and does not deserve you.” He’s staring at you incredibly intensely, his lovely eyes trying to convey all the adoration he feels for you, his desire to see you cared for as you deserve.

Your eyes shine and you don’t even think. You just stand and round your desk, engulfing Saru in a hug before he can rise to meet you or he can see the tears in your eyes. Your body folds perfectly into his as his arms wrap securely around your waist. In this position your heads are level, and he uses this opportunity to slightly nestle his head against your neck and shoulder. He hopes he’s being inconspicuous. He also hopes you’re getting the message, that he is absolutely smitten with you.