#research provided upon request

[risestarkiss]

love ur blog!!! do u have any headcanons for the turtles’ star signs or myers briggs personality types?

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my silly rambles! 💜

No, I don't know anything about those things, buuuuut I can discuss the types of DSM-5 personality disorders I think these boys may have!

Let's see 🤔:

Raphie might have a Cluster C (Anxious/Fearful) type personality disorder. I'm leaning towards "Dependent" if left up to his own devices, as seen in "Man vs. Sewer."

However, when he's with his brothers I believe he masks and overcompensates for their sake.

Hence why his stuffed animals are so important to him as a form of self-comfort/self-soothing.

Leonardo, in my opinion, has more of a Cluster B (Dramatic/Erratic) type personality disorder. For him, I would put my eggs in the "Histrionic" basket.

He's superficial, theatrical, and a touch attention-seeking.

Yeah...just a touch.

Now for Donnie, he's clearly Cluster A (Odd/Eccentric). That's a given! Buuut, in my opinion, if you were to ask Donnie about his personality, he would believe he's "Schizoid:" prefers to be a loner, detached, and unemotional.

...but none of that is true. Actually, he's the most emotional one in the group.

Instead, I believe Donnie is actually "Schizotypal:" unusual thoughts, perceptions, & behaviors.

It is what it is. 😌💜

As for the Mikester, I actually don't believe he has a cluster type personality disorder per se. I dived deep into that subject in my "Orange, Baby!" ramble.

But that doesn't mean he's not weird...

Thanks for the ask! 💜

[reidsmanuscript]

Cracks in the System

Summary: What happens when a string of murders tied to the District Attorney's office lands on the BAU's desk, a high Spencer Reid struggles through withdrawal, and reader, the genius A.D.A., stumbles upon Reid's darkest secret? Tensions rise as professional and personal boundaries blur, leading to revelations that could shatter them both. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HEAVY ANGST, a little bit of comfort, open-bittersweet-ending Tw: spencer's addiction arc, no y/n but reader has a lastname and a nickname bc it would be impossible otherwise, mental health issues, mention of food and skipping meals?, imppliead reader's past with drugs and abuse (not graphic tho), canon typical cm violence, reader dislikes gideon as father figure wc: 9.2k! A/N: i always HATED how reid´s addiction got portrayed so here´s my take on it, english is not my first language part I - part II - part III - ... - masterlist

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In the chill of autumn morning, while the BAU reunited for the debriefing of a case where their help had been specially requested per the District Attorney, old college friend of Hotch, a string of murder had been recently connected due to the victim’s correlation to the office.

Morgan, Prentiss, Gideon, and Hotch sat in their usual spots, reviewing the files as JJ prepared to brief them. Spencer Reid entered late for the second time that week, a distant look in his eyes, his demeanor unusually absent. No one acknowledged his lateness.

JJ took it as her cue to begin. “A string of murders have been committed around the capitol's perimeter, 3 women all killed and found at the surroundings of their home, Sarah Jennings, 23, defense attorney. Found in a downtown alley.." She clicked to the next slide, revealing another victim. "Second, Nicole Hart, 25, paralegal. And finally, Emily Russell, 30, judge. Found just outside her apartment. All victims were killed within a three-month span. Each one of them were found with a different note”

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Mitigating circumstances should not overshadow the gravity of the crime."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

“M.O.?” asks Prentiss. “Strangulation and multiple stabs to the chest were revealed by the reports” answers JJ.

Morgan adds “So overkill and legal connection, did they knew each other?”

“Families have denied any possibility of any of them being friends with each other” JJ answers.

Reid, who has been anxiously tapping his fingers in the arms of his chair, huffs in frustration, ignoring how annoying his subtle tremor is “So outside a simple note no connection.”

Gideos shoots him a glare but before he can say anything Garcia appears through the tv screen “My dear fuzzy friends, i have found something," She adjusts her glasses and clicks away at her keyboard. "All four victims have recent ties to cases handled by the District Attorney's office, big ones, too. Corruption charges, high-profile lawsuits, political scandals. It's a feast of legal drama."

Morgan leans forward, his interest piqued. "Anything specific about their involvement?"

"Funny you should ask," Garcia says with a wry grin. “Jennings provided testimonies in ongoing cases. Hart did legal research for one of those cases, and Russell? Well, she worked directly with the DA's office on prepping trial strategies. But here's the kicker—none of them worked together. Different cases, different departments. And all of them seemed to be very successful on their own"

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "So 3 successful women with overkill, that sounds like envy to me"

Reid, his voice laced with a nervous edge, blurts out “Envy could be a factor, but it's also the level of violence. Overkill is usually a sign of a deep personal rage. It's like the unsub is targeting not just their professional lives, but something deeper, maybe the idea of success they represent.”

Gideon glances at the screen. "Any connections between the cases themselves?"

Garcia shakes her head. "Nothing that stands out yet, but I’m digging deeper. Let me keep working on it. I'll be needing access to the information the D.A. office has”

Gideon folds his arms over the table. “If they're found around their personal home it could mean the unsub is following them or getting the information from somewhere else. Someone inside the DA’s office could be leaking it."

Morgan shakes his head. "How do we narrow it down? A place like that probably has dozens of people handling sensitive information."

Hotch rises from his chair. "We need a list of who has access to it and interrogate them, but first, we should brief the DA. If someone in their office is compromised, they need to be aware of the risks."

JJ nods. "The District Attorney requested our help specifically. She mentioned an ADA, Woodvale, her right hand, who might be able to help us get a clearer picture of the internal dynamics in their office.” A photo of you in professional attire, looking sharp with an almost predatory confidence appears on the tv screen while JJ explains how you have been working with all the victims for different cases.

Morgan smirks. "Sounds like she’s got her hands full with this mess."

Reid rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Another overachiever."

The team exchanges uneasy glances but says nothing. Hotch sends Morgan and Reid to the D.A. office while Prenttis, Gideon and him go to the victims' workplace. As the team disperses, Reid lingers behind, rubbing his temples in frustration. Gideon notices but says nothing.

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At your office, returning from Judge Gibson’s chambers after pushing for a warrant, your assistant, Molly, looks up from her desk.

"Austin’s waiting in your office," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You thank her and add, “Call the detectives and let them know the warrant is secured.”

As you step into your office, Austin is lounging in the chair across from your desk, a familiar paper bag dangling from his hand.

“Your mom sent you this,” he announces, lifting the bag as if it’s a prized trophy.

You let out a sigh, already knowing what’s inside and taking off the clip that holds your hair in a half pony off, relaxing a bit. “Can you stop going to my parents’ house without me? It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not weird. She always gives me sweets and pastries. You should see the look on her face when I take them.”

“Well, I’m glad someone enjoys them” you mutter, dropping your leather bag in your chair, taking the bag and peeking inside, finding a full banana loaf and a neatly packed sandwich that your mom always sends every couple weeks to ensure you eat enough and take time to rest.

You grab the loaf and glance back at the door. “Molly, I’m taking fifteen for lunch” you call. As you step toward her desk, handing over to her the dessert, you notice two men standing in front of it.

Neither of them looks familiar, no badges in sight, so they're not cops or detectives. One of them’s dressed too casually to be a lawyer, and the tall one has a leather messenger bag just like yours. He seemed distracted, his sharp features catching the light as he frowned slightly, visibly uncomfortable with the brightness in the room.

Molly glances at you, then back at the men. “They asked to see you, Ms. Woodvale.”

You study them for a moment, your fingers still wrapped around the paper bag from Austin. The tall one stood out, his tousled hair, a quiet intensity in his eyes. You quickly push the thought aside. “And you are?”

The broad one steps forward, offering a warm but professional smile. “Agent Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, not out of distrust but because an unannounced visit from the FBI rarely means good news. “FBI? What’s going on?”

Morgan’s gaze shifts between you and Austin who is now standing behind you with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Can we speak in private?” he asks, his tone calm but firm.

You frown but nod slightly, feeling the sensitivity of the conversation, opening the door widely for them to enter, looking at Austin apologetically, and you see him frowned as well but gets the hint.

Austin pushes off the doorframe, clearly reluctant to leave. “I’ll be outside if you need me, Woody.” you would’ve preferred he did not use the dumb nickname he gave you in front of the feds, but at least it softened the tension in the air. It was a subtle reminder that you had allies.

Once inside, you clip your hair back and slip into professional mode as they take in your office, your diplomas, the little wooden chess board your father gifted you when you were 15, your little trinkets arranged through the shelfs. You set the paper bag down on your desk, smooth your blue suit, crossing your arms as Morgan steps forward, his tone polite but serious. “We’re here about the leak in your office. The D.A. suggested you might have information that could help us.”

Your expression hardens, a mix of frustration and worry bubbling beneath the surface. You’d been working to deal with the fallout, but if the FBI was here now, it meant the situation had escalated far beyond your control. “I’m already working with the detectives assigned to the case,” you say, keeping your tone even. “Why is the FBI suddenly involved?”

“Because people are dying,” answers Reid sharply and a bit too harshly, with a too obvious expression.

Morgan glares at him briefly, before stepping in to clarify. “We believe the leak in your office is connected to a string of murders. The unsub is targeting individuals tied to the office, we believe is a male driven by envy towards powerful and successful women and possibly has someone from here leaking personal information. Does that ring any bells?”

Your brow furrows as you digest the information. “Envy over women?” You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That doesn’t help or narrow anything down in a place like this. And ff there’s someone leaking information in this office, I would’ve—”

“Maybe you’re too close to it to see the cracks,” Reid interrupts, frustration clear in his voice. His gaze is sharp, challenging, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re being dissected under a microscope.

“Excuse me?” The words come out clipped, your irritation flaring at his insinuation.

Morgan steps in, shooting Reid a pointed look that speaks volumes. “What Dr. Reid is trying to say,” he begins, his tone patient, “Is that we’re not ruling anything out yet. We’re here to figure out how the information is getting out, not to place blame.”

Your eyes linger on Reid for a moment. His posture is rigid, his hands curling around the straps of his bag, fingers flexing into fists before relaxing again. There’s something raw about him, an edge that feels out of place but oddly familiar. You can’t decide if it’s irritation, exhaustion, or something else entirely.

“And what exactly makes you think the information is still coming from here?”

Morgan reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thin file. He places it on your desk and flips it open, revealing photos of victims and case files. “These are the people we’ve identified so far. All of them were connected to cases your office has handled in the past 3 months. The timeline suggests the leak is ongoing.”

You skim the photos, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. “And you’re sure this isn’t coincidental?”

Reid answers again, his voice tight. “Murders tied to your office’s cases? That’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

“Reid,” Morgan says firmly, his voice a quiet warning.

Reid exhales sharply, scratching his neck he mutters, “Sorry. I mean... it’s statistically significant.”

You straighten up, your gaze flicking between the two agents. “What do you need from me?”

Morgan’s grin softens the tension in the room. “Your insight, the D.A. said she trusted you to be our inside guide. We think you can help us fill in some blanks.”

You go through the file and nod “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I want access to everything you have so far. I don’t work blind.”

“Fair enough, we will also need a list of the people who have access to sensible information for our tech analyst, and if you can come to our office it would be useful” Morgan says.

“I'll have my assistant send it, let me just get some stuff” they nod and step out of your office, you grab your coat, satchel leather bag swinging it over one shoulder and eyed the untouched lunch.

“She’s going to be pissed if you give that to anyone else,” Austin says from the doorframe. You roll your eyes and bite the sandwich, your mother is an incredible woman and baker, but in your opinion she always excels herself when it comes to savory. “What was that about?” He asks.

“Apparently we have a mole in the office that's connected to murder by someone who’s envious of women” you answer halfway through that sandwich.

Austin’s expression sharpens as he steps closer. “Need me to look into it?” he offers, he’s an experienced private investigator who’s helped you through more cases than you can count. His connections, street smarts, and knack for digging up information have been invaluable to you, especially when things get too tangled for the usual channels. You could call him your best friend; though sometimes you threaten to kill him for knowing way too much about you.

You nod, finishing the sandwich, crumpling the paper bag and walking to the door “I'll text you if I need your help” you leave the office, going through the hallways to find the agents who lead you to their SUV on the way to Quantico.

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At headquarters, you stand in a room in front of the plastic board, all the victims, your ex-colleagues, none of them were truly friends, just girls you have worked with and you have lamented their deaths when you find out. You never thought their deaths could be related, less so to your office. You never thought their deaths would affect you so… personally.

You had already been introduced to the team, they all seemed professional and grounded, though you already knew Agent Hotchner from when he was a prosecutor, you shaked hands with Prentiss, Gideon, and JJ, letting your coat and bag in one of the chair’s arm in the conference room after being hand out the files.

The team gathers around the plastic board, Reid standing slightly to the side, tapping a pen against his palm with restless energy. He was looking at you and the way your eyes moved through the board, like you were physically trying to connect the dots, the way you were flicking your nails unconsciously, it was driving him crazy.

They had given the full profile of the unsub. Male from 30 to 35, probably has a job in the criminal justice world but his work goes unnoticed which lead to him being envious of women and blaming them when it comes to injustice, therefore the accusing notes.

You could think in a couple names from that description, but none of them were capable of murder, let alone how violent the crime scene pictures showed. From the list of people with recent access you had gave out, you secretly wished they were wrong about a mole. Although something sat wrong for you when you looked at the notes, why would someone-

A bright sound cuts through the room and your thoughts, Garcia’s voice, announcing through the screen, “Okay, folks, I’ve cross-checked the office access records with everything we have so far, and guess what? We have a match.” She sounded confident “Someone on the inside had access to all of the victims’ files. And it’s not just anyone. We have a name, and a face.” she announced showing a picture of a Paralegal friend of you, no. “Ana Lopez” Garcia continues, the name sounding almost foreign as it leaves her lips. “She’s been in and out of the office with access to every victim’s file, and I’ve cross-referenced her movements—she’s had a direct connection to every single one of them. And what's more... she had an unusual interest in the victim's case files long before things escalated.”

“it´s not Ana” the words leave your tongue before you can stop them.

Prentiss looks at you with a concerned expression “is she your friend? look i know it can be hard to digest that she-”

“She's very advocate to the victims,” you interrupt, with a voice tight, as you shakes your head. “Ana's been one of the most outspoken advocates for justice in the office. She’s passionate about these cases, about the women who get overlooked. She doesn’t fit the profile. This isn’t her."

“People can do out-of-character things when they’re pushed to their limit” Gideon interjects calmly, cutting through your spiraling thoughts and rambling. His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable weight to it. “We’ve all seen it. The pressure can change people. It’s not always what it seems.”

Hotch nods, already stepping into action. “We’ll have to bring Ana in for questioning. Morgan, JJ, go to her house, Garcia will send you the address.”

Morgan gives a nod, and JJ’s gaze flickers to you, but she doesn’t say anything, respecting the heavy tension that hangs in the air.

You stand still, a knot of frustration tightening in the chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness in all of this. Partially because Ana was a steady paralegal who wouldn´t hand out sensitive information, and partially because you felt there was something else buried deeper, and you needed answers.

“Look… let me dig further into this,” you reach for your phone, desperately avoiding the feeling of becoming someone who clings to conspiracy theories. “How are you planning on doing that?” Hotch’s voice is firm, questioning, but not dismissive.

“You have your sources, and I have mine,” your tone sharp as you speed dials a number. The phone rings once, twice, before it clicks. “Austin,” you step into the bullpen to take the call. “They think the mole is Ana”

“Lopez? That can be it. One time, I saw her take down a guy who was trying to cut corners on a case. She was too righteous about it, if you ask me.”

You exhale sharply, a mix of frustration and confusion clawing, making the room too warm for your liking, leading you to take your navy blazer off and settle it over a desk chair. “I don’t know, Austin. My gut tells me there's something more. I need answers.”

“You think someone’s using her name? Hacking her or setting her up?” Austin asks, picking up on her suspicions.

“Exactly,” you answer quickly. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I need you to dig into everything—anything that could explain this. There has to be something we’re missing. Get me answers, Austin.”

“Understood, Captain,” he replies, his voice laced with a touch of humor despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll get to work on this and call you with anything I find.” he hangs up.

You save your phone, square your shoulders and take a deep breath, noticing Prentiss walking towards you, concern in her eyes. She stops just a few feet away and speaks gently, “Hey… I know this is a lot, and I know it’s close to home for you. Do you want some coffee? It might help clear your head for a moment.”

You glance at her, tired but appreciative of the offer. A small sigh escapes your lips as you nod. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

She leads you to the break room, a quiet part of the office where the noise of the investigation feels a little further away. The sound of the coffee machine brews in the background as she pours two cups, and you deny when she asks for how much sugar. She hands one before sitting down across from you at the table.

You take the mug in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through, the bitter and burn taste grounding your thoughts. “I get that you’re all just doing your jobs, Prentiss. I understand that. It’s just... as an attorney, you learn to read people. And sometimes, you have to trust your gut. Right now, my gut is telling me I missed something, not about Ana but about all of this.”

Prentiss nods like she understands what you are saying, letting the silence settle between you for a moment “You know you seem young to be A.D.A.” she jokes lightly.

Raising up your cup “That’s what the defense always says before losing” you say back, thanking internally for the attempt to ease up “I'm 22… I graduated from law school at 18 and immediately got an internship… so since then i’ve been working up my position”

Prentiss chuckles softly, leaning back in her chair. “Don't tell me you are a genius too… I can see why though. You’ve got a sharp edge to you—good for the courtroom, probably not so great for poker.”

You chuckle, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Well, let’s just say I prefer chess.” Sensing where the conversation might go, you subtly steer it away, curious about what she meant by too but before you can say more, Austin’s ringtone erupts, cutting through the quiet hum of the break room. You quickly pull your phone out and answer. “Got you answers” he says.

That was enough for you to put him on speaker mode and head back to the room with the rest of the team.

“Turns out Ana had an intern who’s been frequenting closed files, Daniel Reeves” he states, and when you don´t recognize the name it weirds you out. “I don’t recall that name”.

“That’s because he was at the office while you and I were on vacation in L.A. in February,” Austin explains. You��re too focused on connecting the dots to notice Gideon’s raised eyebrows or Spencer’s subtle eye roll.

“Anyway,” Austin continues, “This kid’s good with computers and had access to her credentials. Nobody paid too much attention to him, but an officer told me he’s been prowling around the file room for the last couple of months. I can’t guarantee he’s your guy, but it’s definitely worth looking into.”

“Daniel Reeves…” Garcia says through the desk phone speaker. “Graduated top of his class in computer science, specialized in cybersecurity, and interned with several law firms before Ana��s office. If anyone could hack a system and cover their tracks, it’s him.”

“Looks like he had access to the same systems Ana uses,” Garcia adds “And—oh, this is interesting—there’s a flagged incident from his previous internship. Something about unauthorized access to confidential records, but no charges were filed.”

Hotch steps forward, his posture commanding as always. “Garcia, send the new address to Morgan and JJ. I’ll let them know we found the mole”

“On it, Hotch. They’ll be there in no time.” She answers.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead and letting settle the satisfaction that you are being useful to stop this madness. You glance at the phone, and press the speakerphone off. “Thanks for your help, Austin.”

The voice on the other end crackles with a slight delay, but Austin’s tone is unmistakable “Glad I could help Woody, take care”. You smile faintly at the nickname. “You too,” you say before hanging up and saving your phone in your bag, returning your attention to the team.

Reid, still fidgeting with the files in front of him, looks up briefly, his gaze lingering just a little too long. The flicker of his interest escapes you, your thoughts focused on the notes but you don't acknowledge it, choosing instead to focus on the case.

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There was something oddly familiar about the notes; and, of course, you were the only one noticing it. Since Austin’s discovery, they had brought in Daniel Reeves, who confessed to being blackmailed, claiming he had no idea who was behind any of this, so it was almost a dead end. You flicked your nails unconsciously, if you had a pen you would swirl it and if you weren’t so anxious you would be seated with your leg bouncing.

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice." That one had stuck up with you. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. The way it rolled through your tongue gave you the clue of something else. You knew you had used those words before, if you could only place where; thousands of citations, warrants? Your eyes would move from point to point like you were physically searching, your nails would flick faster and faster. Where?

“God, could you stop doing that!?” Reid snaps, his gaze sharp with annoyance, and you look at him with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights.

You have learned over the years to not take stuff thrown at you personally, whether it is an out loud objection, a dirty trick in court with a judge, an inmate yelling at you for getting a sentence, an annoyed face in the search of a judge to sign a warrant, you do-not-take-it-personally.

But the look on Reid’s face made you feel like a 15-year-old misfit again, the girl who would cry, jump, and be on the verge of a panic attack if anyone accidentally touched her or if something too sweet triggered memories of hands creeping up, a teenager surrounded by college students who believed she was a narcissist egomaniac violent freak, a look you were afraid to find in your parents eyes when the therapist had told them about your anger issues and impulsiveness after you had destroyed the lamp in your bedroom, a look of plain annoyance not for what you had done but for who you are and what you represent, a mere obstacle, you were awkward and overwhelmed by everything. For a moment, the confident prosecutor, the woman in charge, vanished.

And you knew everybody in the room had noticed it, even after you had recovered from that second, you noticed it in the look on Derek's face, the way he looked at you apologetically, “Reid.” Gideon said, like a father scold his kid.

“It's okay I'll.. i need a coffee” you excuse yourself out of the room as fast and collected as you can, looking for some air.

In the room Reid senses his outburst has landed harder than he would’ve imagined. “Reid, go back to the scene. Start digging through the evidence again. There might be something we missed.” Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, and he opens his mouth to protest “Now.” Hotch remarks, which stops him from going further.

It was just so fucking annoying, the way she flicked her nails nonstop. Why did nobody see it?. So on his way out he grabs the leather bag that’s in one of the chairs of the room and finds it so irritating when Gideon follows him to notice there’s another satchel, in his desk chair covered with a blue blazer, his satchel.

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You had poured yourself another cup of extra bitter coffee, why did it affect you so much? god it was pathetic, you had faced worse than some guy calling you annoying. Maybe because you haven't seen it coming, maybe because it was so… reckless.

Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard.

Now where the fuck did you know that from? While being focused you sensed someone coming and discovered it was Morgan’s footsteps echoing through the bullpen, drawing your attention back to the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as he stepped into your line of sight. “How you holding up?”

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. “I’m fine, just… thinking. I guess.” you tried to brush off, your mind was already elsewhere.

“Look, Reid is going th—”

“I’ve had it worse, really. I mean, law school is not for the weak,” you interrupted, joking, before he could start feeling pity for you.

He huffs with humor and decides to drop the apology on Reid’s behalf. Instead, he leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes watching you carefully “Occupational hazard I suppose... you know sometimes I wonder what happens after we catch the Unsubs”

“Well the fight doesn't end there, it does bring peace to the victims but believe me.. the legal battle sometimes is worse than the haunt.” you stare at the wall as you recall some of the people you have helped over the years.

“What do you mean?” Morgan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer, genuinely intrigued.

“Well…” you began, taking a deep breath, “The system is messy. It’s not like TV where the bad guy just goes to jail, and everyone walks away happy. Families have to relive their trauma during trials. There are plea deals, technicalities, appeals... It drags on. And sometimes,” you pause, gripping your cup a little tighter, “Justice doesn’t feel like justice at all.”

Morgan tilted his head, his voice softer now. “You’ve seen that happen, haven’t you?”

You exhale sharply, giving him a sidelong glance. “More times than I’d like to admit. You work so hard to get the right outcome, and then… loopholes, errors, or even just bad luck. It’s like pouring water into a cracked glass. It never fills up.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And the people who go through that… they don’t always come out the other side, do they?”

“No, they don’t.” You look down into your coffee, your mind turning over the notes again. “Sometimes they snap under the weight of it all, the pain, the guilt, the blame, the...”

Blame

Your head snaps at him as you realize. “Blame.” That was it.

He furrowed his eyebrows not catching your thoughts “What?”

The cup clatters onto the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway, but you’re already moving, your steps brisk as you head toward the conference room. Morgan calls after you, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey, hold up! What’s going on?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind racing as you burst into the room. The others look up, startled by your sudden entrance. Without a word, you grab the bag containing the notes from the board, your hands moving with purpose as you spread them out in front of you.

“Blame,” you say, your voice firm, almost breathless. “These notes and murders—they’re not coming from someone who’s envious, but from someone who’s blaming the system. Not because it didn’t recognize them, but because it failed them!” The words tumble out faster than you can organize them, your thoughts racing ahead of your mouth. You’re not even fully conscious of what you’re saying, already dissecting the next connection in your mind.

JJ steps closer, his brows furrowed in curiosity. “Failed them how?”

“They’re not jealous of the people they’re targeting,” you continue, pointing to the scattered notes as your mind sharpens. “They’re angry. Angry at the system for not delivering justice, for letting them down when they needed it the most.” You reach for one of the notes, holding it up as you ramble. “Look at the phrasing they’re accusatory they’re challenging the idea of accountability, of consequences it’s not about wanting what these people have it’s about punishing them for what the unsub sees as complicity in their pain.”

In your state of mind you barely recall the sound of Hotch’s phone and him stepping out of the room, too focused on looking at Morgan, Prentiss and JJ.

“The profile is wrong” Prentiss says, nodding slowly as she starts piecing it together herself. Her eyes flick to the board covered with crime scene photos and victims’ profiles. “That’s why he’s targeting people from both sides, defense and prosecution. It’s not about personal grudges against individuals; it’s about what they represent.”

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice firm. “He sees them as symbols of a broken system. Defense attorneys, paralegals, judges—they’re all complicit in his eyes. They’re the ones who allowed the system to fail him.”

Prentiss gestures to the timeline on the board. “But what was the trigger? What pushed him from feeling betrayed to committing these murders?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the notes again. “It’s got to be personal—a case he was directly connected to. Something happened that made him feel like the system didn’t just fail, but actively betrayed him. He have go to the records”

Morgan pushes off the table, already reaching for the phone. “Hey, Babygirl, we need you to go through court files and find something that stands out, any cases around three months ago when the murders started.”

“Okay, do you have anything more specific to know what I’m looking for?” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, the familiar clacking of her keyboard filling the room as she prepares to search.

“We need to focus on high-profile cases that could have shaken the system. Look for any parole hearings, controversial verdicts, or any case that resulted in a big upset—something that would’ve made the Unsub feel like the system betrayed him,” He explains, already pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Got it," Garcia responds, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. "I'll start pulling up all cases with defense or prosecution lawyers involved. High stakes stuff."

But before all of you could start digging and theorizing, Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, leaving you all frozen. “They’ve found another body with another note.”

The tension in the room thickens. Your breath takes off and without missing a beat, you all gather your things, it takes you a minute to find your blazer but in the heat of the moment you didn’t question why and how had your bag gotten under it, instincts kicking into gear as you rush to the scene.

“JJ you are with me, Gideon and Reid are already going to the scene” they all nod at the commanding voice of Hotch and you rush to get in the back seat of the black SUV with Morgan and Prentiss.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

In the car you take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts to be able to think of anyone who can feel betrayed enough to commit murder. The problem is that anyone can feel betrayed enough to have an outburst. Hell, you were no one to talk about outburst if more than a couple times you had imagined yourself throwing something to inmates or smashing their heads against the table when all the evidence pointed at them being guilty and insisted on dragging the trials off.

“Can I ask why L.A. in the winter?” Prentiss' voice from the passenger seat brings you back to the car.

“What?”

“I mean it wouldn’t be my first choice for a romantic getaway” she thinks out loud.

“Ohh.. wait, romantic? Austin is not my boyfriend.. I just don’t like travelling alone” you are quick to correct her. You weren't lying, the statistics show how dangerous it is for women to travel alone and it gave your parents some peace to think someone will be there to keep you company that they trusted, plus he’s a good travel buddy because he knows when to bother and when to not do it.

Prentiss nods, as if taking mental notes, probably profiling you. “I just thought L.A. in the winter was more of a vacation spot, you know? Beaches, sunshine... not really the first place you’d think of for a quiet getaway.”

“They hold the biggest Doctor Who convention there during that time of the year ” you mumble, noticing how both Morgan and Prentiss look at each other as if sharing a thought and before you can ask, the blue and red lights hit you, announcing the arrival to the apartment complex, the crime scene.

You all step out of the car, the place is full of officers and you rush to where Gideon and Hotch are standing, note in hand. You notice how Reid has some urgency to tell you something but when JJ hands you the bag that secures evidence with the note.

"No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

Glancing at the note, your mind races, piecing together fragments of information, second chances. “Parole,” you murmur “The unsub is a victim, and their victimizer got out on parole!” Your eyes dart from point to point, connecting the dots. “That’s what he means by second chances.”

Hotch nods sharply “Garcia is already going through parole records.”

Just as the words settle, a new idea strikes you like lightning, and you barely take a breath before blurting, “I think I know something about the notes!” The sudden burst of realization sends you sprinting to the car, leaving the team, and a startled Spencer Reid, in your wake.

“Wait-” Spencer starts, his voice tight and laced with something unspoken, but you’re already too far gone to hear the rest, leaving him with panic in his eyes and an open mouth as he was about to say something.

Fumbling through your bag, your hands shake with the adrenaline coursing through you. “Your silence speaks for itself. Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves. Reckless disregard for justice. Second chances...” You mutter fragments aloud, recognizing the phrases. They weren’t random. You’ve read these words before, somewhere specific. A draft of a closing statement? A court transcript? Your fingers move frantically, searching for your phone, your notes, something. Why did you brought your copy of Crime and Punishment? and why did it look a little bit newer than yours? Where's your phone? Where are your files?. Not every criminal can get out on parole—they need good behavior, a stable support system… Maybe you put it in the front pocket.

Your hand grazes something cold and smooth. Glass. Then something sharp, metal. You freeze, pulling the objects into view. Two small bottles of Dilaudid and a needle. Your throat tightens, and you feel the air around you thin and the familiar warm that comes with anger starts to settle down your back.

You glance up, almost instinctively, and your furious eyes land on him. Spencer’s standing a few feet away, his expression is a contorted pale mask of fear, guilt, and helplessness, his eyes wide and pleading as they lock onto yours, making you look away at the full disclosure of a crime scene.

The chaos of the crime scene rushes back to you. The flash of blue and red lights dancing across every surface, the sharp crackle of radio chatter blending with raised voices, the metallic tang of blood still fresh in the air. Officers move purposefully, their dark uniforms a blur of activity as evidence is collected and barriers are secured.

There are 3 things going on in your brain right now.

This is not your bag, it's Spencer’s.

Spencer is an addict.

You are in the middle of a crime scene, surrounded by cops with a full stash of illegal drugs.

You have to think, think fast and now. The unsub, the drugs, the notes, his sharpness, the victims.

You see Morgan stepping out of the building, his sharp gaze scanning the scene. Panic rushes through you like ice water. You shove the Dilaudid and needle back into the bag, your hands trembling as you close it. Your mind races, desperate to piece together what to do next. “Morgan I need you to drive me to my office”

“What? Why?” he looks at you like you are out of your mind.

“I need a file I thought I had it with me but I don't and it would be faster I don't think the words of the notes are random I think I have seen them before in some legal file that could lead us to the Unsub” the words rush, you are rambling desperate to get out that place, clutching the strap of the bag to your chest.

Morgan’s sharp gaze lingers on you as he signals the car. “Get in,” he says before telling Prentiss and Hotch about it and getting in the car.

You slide into the passenger seat, gripping the bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Morgan settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the rumble of the car barely masking the tension between you. As you approach your office building, you mentally rehearse your next steps. Get upstairs, dispose of the drugs, and look for the file. Your mind spins with the weight of the discovery, but you shove it aside as Morgan pulls up to the curb.

You get out of the car and enter the building. It’s past 10 pm so no one is around, except you two, as you get closer to your office you hear a noise somewhere that makes Morgan instincts spark up. “It's probably the janitor” you brush off.

“I’ll take a look” you nod and ask for his phone to call Garcia if needed, he gives it to you as he takes off his gun and you thank whatever mess that cleaning man was making, giving you the opportunity to execute your plan alone.

You open the door and rush to the bathroom taking the bottles out. How could Reid do something like this? Did his team know? The anger, a familiar flame, burns through you as you flush the contents of the bottle and went back to the office to look for the paper bag that had contained your lunch this morning.

It was irrational for you to be this angry at him without even knowing him but it was there, simmering under the surface. How could someone do this to himself? To his team? To the people who rely on him?

The crumpled paper bag from earlier sat on your desk, you broke the needle off, and shoved it inside with the empty bottles to dump it deep into one of the trash cans in the hallway. Out of sight, out of mind. At least for now.

You go through your cabinets, looking for the draft files. “Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, flipping through yet another folder. The contents were a jumble of case summaries, old briefs, and legal drafts, but none of them held the connection you were chasing. You were good with names, especially if it was tied to a legal document, which could be sad but right now is useful when you finally stumble upon a file that felt too familiar. You pulled it out, the edges worn from use, and opened it. A closing statement you’d written 5 years ago during a case.

Lawrence Finch. Larry.

Father of two kids with a wife, family that was taken away from him because in a car accident where the other driver was a rich guy who was too high to understand anything and got out harmless, Evan Grayson was his name. You remember how hollow he looked and how much he had thanked you after you got the guy sentenced. In your closing statement you spoke about the depth of his loss, about the void that could never be filled. You'd used his words, his pain, to hammer home the injustice, the lives lost because of one reckless decision. You remembered how his face had softened in that brief moment of relief after the sentence was handed down. He’d shaken your hand and said, “You gave me my justice.”

Glancing at the words you realize how the words you’d written, once so full of conviction, now echoed in your head, twisted and distorted. The Unsub had taken your closing statement—Lawrence Finch’s words—and turned them into something chilling.

"Your silence speaks for the victims. They can no longer speak for themselves." had become "Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity is the foundation of justice. It means holding those responsible accountable, no matter who they are." was now "Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"His behavior demonstrates a complete disregard for human life, a pattern of recklessness that cannot go unpunished." had morphed into "Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

And the final sting, the one that had sealed the fate of the driver who’d taken a family’s life, was now twisted into something far more personal "No one is above the law, not even those who believe their privilege protects them from it." turned into "No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

He wasn’t just echoing your words—he was using them, warping them into a weapon.

You grab Morgan’s phone and look through the contacts before pressing call “Garcia, I need you to look up something for me,” the urgency was clear in your voice.

“You are not my chocolate thunder but speak and you'll be heard” Garcia responded, always upbeat even when the stakes were high.

“Evan Grayson. I need everything you can find on him—parole status, criminal record, anything recent,” you said, pacing the room as your mind spun with connections you were still piecing together.

"Got it! Give me a second, I’ll dig into the system,” Garcia said, her voice clicking into business mode. A few moments of silence passed, you hear some rustling outside but ignore it, before she spoke again, her tone more focused. “Okay, here we go. Evan Grayson, 27, convicted of vehicular manslaughter five years ago. Served three years, got released early on good behavior.”

“Garcia, they guy murdered almost an entire family five years ago, the only one left was the father Larry Finch, he’s our unsub, he’s been using the words of trial for the notes!” you said, your voice tight. “We need to localize him and inform the rest of the team that-.”

Before you could finish, a scuffle echoed from down the hallway, followed by a muffled shout that cut through the silence of the building. Morgan’s voice calling your name with an edge of panic. Garcia’s voice asking what was going on felt far.

You bolted toward the sound, heart pounding in your chest. The door to your office was ajar, and you caught sight of Morgan wrestling with someone, a blur of motion. The other figure was struggling, trying to break free, but Morgan’s grip was like steel.

"Get down!" Morgan barked, his voice gruff with exertion.

Your eyes widened as you recognized the man, Larry Finch, the very person whose family had been torn apart in the accident. He was here. Right here. In your office. Probably looking for you.

Your mind raced, trying to process the situation, but Morgan didn’t give you time to think. He quickly subdued Larry, pinning him to the ground with the precision only years of training could provide. The fight drained from Larry’s body as Morgan cuffed him, his breath coming in ragged gasps with his gaze towards the officers that were running towards him.

His words pierced the air, heavy with accusation. “You promised me he would never get out! You failed me! All of you failed me!” Larry’s voice was raw, full of grief and rage. This wasn’t the grieving father you’d met 5 years ago, this was a man hollowed out by loss, filled with nothing but rage and betrayal. His words struck deep because he wasn’t wrong, you understood profusely the feelings and you had failed him somehow and maybe if you had known about Evan Grayson getting out you could’ve done something. Those eyes full of hurt and betrayal were locked on you as they pulled him away, Morgan´s concerned gaze on your figure frozen behind the door of your office, with your hands still clenching the statement.

He went to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you “Wanna step outside for some air?” he offers. You shake your head, moving on to the next task, locking your feelings away “i’ll meet you outside, I just… I need to do something real quick.”. He hesitates but nods and leaves you alone giving your shoulder a brief squeeze as you walk back to your desk, focused on the pace of your breaths and working on keeping them even. You see Morgan’s phone screen with a message from Garcia “i heard noises and called for backup”

So everyone was downstairs. Everyone including Reid. Reid. Dilaudid. Your fault. Anger.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in control and not destroy or throw anything that was at your reach, you grab the black desk phone, speed dialing 9 without even looking. When a calming “Hello?” sounds in the other line you breathe deep again, the grip on the phone getting tighter, you close your eyes, steadying yourself as you grab a pen and paper with shaking hands.

“Dr. Fitzgerald i… i need your help”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You step outside just as JJ and Reid emerge from a black SUV. JJ barely spares a glance before rushing toward Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, but Reid stops. His gaze lands on you, then drifts lower to the satchel slung across your body. His satchel.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t give him the chance. Before he can take a step in your direction, you move first. Quick, deliberate. You make your way to another SUV, open the backseat, and set the bag inside without so much as a glance in his direction. Then, with Larry’s file gripped tight in your hand, you head straight for the team.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

But it doesn’t stop you from feeling the weight of his stare. From sensing the way he lingers, trying to find a moment, an opening, to talk to you alone. You know exactly how that conversation will go, how the fury and frustration bubbling under your skin will erupt the second he speaks. If he tries, you will yell. And you don’t trust yourself to stop.

So, instead, you focus. You lay out what you’ve found to the rest of the team members, flipping through the notes, explaining the connections, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, trusting that he’ll have the decency to not approach you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Reid. He’s walking toward another SUV, the leather bag, your leather bag, slipping from his shoulder as he places it inside without hesitation.

He caught on.

You force yourself to keep talking, to keep your focus on the case, but inside, you're torn. Part of you wants to be grateful that he understood, that he’s playing along. Another part of you hates that he did.

Because it means he knows. And that’s almost worse.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You watched the chessboard, considering the game’s progress. The case was wrapped up, but you still had some files and reports to gather. More than that, you liked talking to the team, there was something about the spirit of family among them that you hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling, one that tugged at you.

“Would you like to play?” you heard someone ask you, making you turn around to see Agent Gideon, speaking of “family”, you had noticed how he acted like a mentor or father to Reid, maybe he was. You knew fathers weren't perfect, you guess that extended to figurative ones too, but how could someone so proud of playing that role ignore something as obvious as Reid’s addiction? No help, no support. Did he even know what it was like to battle something like that? did he even know what it was like having an addiction? did he know Reid has one?

“Yes” you answer to him, chess has always played an important part in your life, a way out, literally and metaphorically, a board of 46 squares and more possible moves than the amount of atoms in the universe, a regulated and controlled space, where you had all the control.

You both sat at opposite sides of the board, rearranging the pieces. “Black or white?” he asked. “I'm fine with either”. You didn't believe in luck or coincidences, so when he grabbed both queens and made you pick, drawing black, you didn't think much of it. Mathematically you were at a disadvantage, when two machines play chess, black always loses. But you’d gone through enough to know better than to give up on a weak starting position.

So move after move, you weren't playing to win really, and judging his moves he wasn't either, you can tell a lot from someone's way to play chess. “It's nice to play against someone new you know?”. Gideon glanced for a second at Reid with a brief smile. That made you doubt your next move, because your rage has always made you freeze for a second and erratic the next. How could he?. Yes, you have been avoiding Reid at all costs. No, you didn't know if he and Dr. Fitzgerald had talked. You had helped him in the best way you could've possibly found fighting to not panic too much.

So you hummed in response, letting the wheels in your head turn as you shifted your strategy, so when you started playing to win, the game was too advance for him to do a proper counter attack.

“Checkmate” a smile appeared on your face, the same one when you knew the inmate was going to get convicted, when your closing statement had convinced the jury. When someone underestimated you.

Gideon tilted his head, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He glanced between you and the board. “Didn’t see that one coming,”

With your fingers still resting lightly on the queen, you paused for a second. “Yeah there's a lot of things you either don't see or choose to ignore, Agent Gideon” your piercing stare and a cool voice, heavy with the weight of frustration.

Gideon’s smile faltered, and for the first time, his eyes showed something more than just the calm resolve he always projected. Your words had hit the mark. He knew it wasn’t just about chess.

You had outplayed him, just as you had outplayed the situation. And just as you had done with Reid, by realizing and taking action, something that clearly no one else had.

After talking to Hotch, reports in hand, as you walked out of the Headquarters and stumble upon Morgan, who gives you a warm and friendly smile as he says hi.

"Hey umm.. I wasn't really able to thanked you the other night after you saved my life, I truly thought it was just a cleaning lady" It felt so shameful how unaware you had been at the danger that night because of your meltdown.

He moves his hand as it was nothing. "Hey I'm just glad I decided to go with you instead of waiting in the car"

Reaching for one of your presentation cards, neatly saved in your new black leather bag, holding it between your index and middle finger to him "Well... I still own a big one. So if you ever need legal help or anything else, don't hesitate to reach for me"

He takes it nodding and reads it out loud your full name with a funny pace "I'll hold on to that one Miss A.D.A. Woodvale".

You laugh at his way to pronounce it, feeling too formal for the moment "Please just.. call me Woody"

He chuckles "Wait like the Toy Story character?"

You chuckled too "Yeah it's uhh.. dumb name but.." you shrug as a friendly smile paints your face as you realize you had made a new friend which was weird for you but felt oddly satisfying as you said your goodbyes and walked in opposite's directions.

Your thoughts wandered to Spencer, against your better judgment, they always did recently. It was infuritating the fact that your mind always went back around him, you couldn’t quite say why exactly, because if you would've have never found out what you did, he would've have stayed as the rude and annoying agent you met once.

But then you remembered the other side of him—the trembling hands, the lost stares, the outburst, the bottles you found in his bag. You couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t separate him from the shadow of his addiction. And it broke something inside you, because you knew what that darkness looked like, how it devoured people whole.

You wanted to reach for him, to offer more than the cold anger and frustration you’d shown, but you were too afraid. Afraid of what it might mean for both of you if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fight his way out. Afraid that you would fall too, trying to save someone.

You hoped he would get help. You prayed to gods you didn't even believe in for it. You knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped in that cycle, in your body. You couldn’t bear the thought of him staying there, lost.

And so you walked away, keeping your distance, even though a part of you that you didn’t understood ached to stay.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

part II Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[hivemuthur]

If it’s okay to request, may I request hcs or something with Viktor where he’s dating an autisc reader?

Okay, first of - I have no idea what I have done to be granted such trust, thank you so much Anon! I have been provided amazing advice from @rennethen while writing this and done some research and I hope, I hope, I hope it meets expectations.

ViktorXAutistic!Reader HeadCannons

viktorxgn!reader mature, fluff and again: Viktor setting impossible standards for real-life men

author’s note: I have decided to not include tics, as they come in so many variations and I didn't want to impose anything upon Readers, but I can imagine Viktor being a total sweetheart about them.

word count: 1,4K

—

Since your first meeting, Viktor has been smitten with your bluntness and your ability to take his acrimonious jokes apart without a hint of incredulity in your voice. The way you keep asking subsidiary questions until you dig through the layers of his sass to the actual thing he meant to say  leaves his soul naked as day, every single time. Finally, an inquisitive mind, he thinks to himself, as you go for the killing blow:

“So, what you’ve meant to say is that you find me attractive?”

“Eh, I suppose that is what I meant,” he admits dumbly, scratching the back of his neck. “Though usually I tend to be a little bit less straight forward.”

“I prefer straight forward,” you tell him with wide eyes.

“I… I shall remember that.”

Viktor soon realises that being asked a lot of questions makes him blush in a funny way and his chest gets all fuzzy. So, he begins to share every little aspect of his work with you. The more questions you ask, the warmer his heart gets and somehow the way you get excited about his ideas is worth more than any other academical pat on the back he ever received.

Before asking you out for the first time, Viktor conducts a thorough research, not very different to the ones he conducts for the sake of a thesis. He finds out what are your favourite places and favourite spots to sit. He books two reservations, just in case.

He does the same thing when you try out a new place. Just in case. It has proven useful only once.

As a man who values routine, he finds it absolutely endearing that good things remain in your orbit for a long time and discovers that being greeted with his own name by the barista is actually a nice little feeling.

When he asked you if he could kiss you for the first time, he held his breath while you were reconsidering. He found it hard not to laugh stupidly and nod his head a couple times too many when you responded with the same question.

He cupped your face and brushed his thumb on your lip tentatively. At first, he just rubbed his nose against yours. Then, his cheek, as he pulled you closer. You decided his hair smelled nice and that he could proceed. You didn’t know what to do with your hands at first, because he was wearing an incredibly itchy jumper, so you settled on his neck, and he took it as an invitation to kiss you deeper.

When you told him about it he gave the jumper to Caitlyn, and even though the sleeves are not long enough for her, she wears it often. Gradually, Viktor is in the process of exchanging his wardrobe to touch-friendly materials, currently he is half-way through. He wears the offensive clothes to meetings with Jayce, because Jayce will hug even a hedgehog.

You teach Viktor the value of comfort, not just in the clothing department. Suddenly he finds that his blankets are softer and that his flat increased the base number of cushions.

He religiously cuts the tags out of your clothes and his work is so precise it’s as if the tag was never there in the first place.

Viktor will still periodically ask for a permission to touch you, only to hear “Yes, please.” And it still makes him blush.

He keeps two notebooks—one on your current food fixations. He writes down a start date of each and marks every little alteration. He examines the lifecycle of each dish, as you eat it every day for a month and suddenly stop, to move on to the next one. On the back of the notebook he has a list of old reliables.

The second notebook, he treats more seriously—it’s a journal of stimming. He makes a note of each gesture in order to recognize your emotions better. After a while he is able to tell if you are feeling overwhelmed, just excited or trying to concentrate.

He is completely bemused by the fact that you always know what entered the bowl first—the cereal or the milk.

When you unconsciously repeat words back at him in his accent he makes it intentionally heavier, because he finds in unbearably cute.

After some time, he’s learned to recognise when you are masking. When it happened for the first time, he allowed himself a pinch of panic. Only when you unravelled at home, he sighed, partially relieved, and made a note of it in his journal.

Viktor carries a pair of noise cancelling headphones when you go out together. He puts them on you if you get overstimulated and presents you with something else to shift your focus into—a tight hug, a smell or he presses gently on your shoulders to steady you.

If you happen to have a meltdown at either of your homes, he wordlessly prepares you your favourite food and stays close enough for you to reach. Sometimes, he does a full body scan with you, to see which part requires the most attention.

There are certain sounds that Viktor makes which you particularly like—the click of his tongue, the intercepting ‘ehs’ and ‘ahs’—and once he connects the dots between him making those and a smile that always blooms on your face, he produces as many as he can, while still sounding natural.

He enjoys just existing with you. Sitting in the same room, while he works, and you read is his definition of a happy place. Just glancing over to you, your tongue filling your cheek as you read something particularly interesting, the small sounds you make at turning points in the story make his heart flutter.

He finds himself involuntarily memorizing the lyrics of the songs you play on repeat. He has no idea who the artist are, but he knows their songs by heart now. It makes him feel old, in a funny way.

It completely disarms him, when you return his gifts. After three futile attempts to give you something of popular romantic demand, he scolded himself for not changing the method soon enough. Instead of jewellery, he encourages your special interests, through getting you books on the topics or taking you places that embody your passions.

On the other side of the coin, your gifts are deeply appreciated. Every little pebbling trinket has it’s special place in the box on his desk. He takes them out periodically and counts how many times a tiny detail in the chaos of the outside world has made you think of him.

For dates, Viktor chooses times and days in which the world is less crowded. Instead of a busy Saturday night, you go out in the middle of the week. After a particularly failed attempt of gifting you perfume, Viktor takes you to a balm perfume workshop, where you can make scents for each other that are buildable and unoffensive to sensitive skin.

He’s built an intimacy with you that is based on trust and constant checking. He takes care of the mood and gives you enough stops to reconsider on the way.

You both talk a lot during sex. A change of mind is natural and there is enough space made for it. He has learned a lot about himself, and his self-esteem strengthened, when he realised that, ‘I don’t like it,’ doesn’t mean ‘I don’t like you.’

If, for whatever reason, the communication turns nonverbal, you both have come up with a system of pats that signals where each of you should direct your attention.

Your inquisitive mind helped him find three additional positions, in which he feels comfortable and painless, and it eludes him entirely how he could have missed them.

Viktor’s favourite part of aftercare is cuddling you naked. He adores the way your warm body melts into his. If you add head scratches to it, he will fall asleep in your arms. He breaths in the smell of your hair and his heart beat evens out with yours.

[posts-from-pluto]

Humans are strange - willing hosts? (pets)

(This is just me exploring the idea of how it would go if someone requested permission to get a dog) (ft no names again bc I can't be bothered rn)

Edit: upon rereading this in the morning I've realized that the idea was floating around my head bc the post I reblogged before this so credit for inspo to them

----

Alien: Human.

Human: Yes?

Alien: Why have you requested permission to obtain a parasite?

Human: ....I haven't????

Alien: Ooh have I perhaps been mistaken? You were not the one who requested a small lifeform of the Canis lupus familiaris classification from your home planet be brought aboard?

Human: ....What's the common name for that classification?

Alien: Domestic dog

Human: Wait yeah that was me then... but they're not parasites?

Alien: There is no need to lie to me human for I have done the research.

Alien: You poor creatures have been subjected to harrasment from these lifeforms occupying your homes for far too long and I have been lead to understand that your species does not benefit from them.

Human: .... no wait we do benefit

Alien: Some of you do, having the creatures assist you with minute tasks, but the majority those who are being subjected to their exist are in parasitic relationships simply providing them with food and housing.

Human:.... Actually they do provide a essential service to all the people housing them.

Alien: And what is that???

Human: They make us happy

Alien:.... Is this the stockhold symdrome I have heard of?

Human: What no

Human: where did you even hear about that haha

Alien: That is unimportant. What is important is that you are safe here human, there is no need to return to a parasitic relationship.

Human: No I was being serious about them making us happy

Human: well, to explain it better they generally help us be more emotionally stable which is positive for our mental health

Alien: Oh I see, I will have to ensure that no occupants aboard the ship would be harmed by sharing the space with a 'dog' first, but I may approve your request then.

[yourtypicalhuman09]

Hay 👋 I have a request if you don't mind.

So I love crows. They are very smart and loyal, hold grudges and debts. They can learn to talk and are smart like a 5 or 4 year old human. It also seems that they are getting Smarter. Also dangerous. They gard nests of Robin's from predators and when the eggs hatch they kill and eat the babies. They teach each other and their babies even about who is good and who is bad. They are also known for adopting. I found a video of a crow who adopted a kitten, the crow protects and brings insects and meat to the kitten.

I'd like to ask for a yandere Batfam with a meta reader who turn to a crow.

Imagine it's being a bat!mom or more so a crow!mom. Or maybe a sibling. Imagine them being one of the older siblings.

It's up to you actually.

Ahhhh this is such a cute idea! thank you for requesting this! I'll try my best to write this idea! I've been researching some facts about crows for some deeper ideas and I found that crows are highly social and mostly stay in groups, consisting of family members and other crows who are mutually benefited, where even juvenile crows help their parents raise their young and parents mate for life. Crows are also very goal oriented and understand cause and effect, so they do certain things to get a certain outcome. crows are actually so cool lol! Anyways I did so much research for this on both crows and the batfam time line so I hope you all enjoy!

P.S. I wrote this in 2nd compared to the 1st person i wrote my main fic in because i wanted to play a bit with povs so i hope you don't mind.

Birds of a Feather

(Yandere Batfam x Meta Crowmom Reader)

!!TW!! Choking!! Cursing!! Mentions of Cheating!! Death!! This is an AU!!

You and Bruce met long ago, you were just a young fledgling with no one to call family. You're parents long abandoned you, raising a meta was not what they signed up for, leaving you to fend for yourself in the cruel alleyways of Gotham. You were savaging for food in a nearby garbage bin when you heard a loud

BANG!

The startling noise was followed by the broken sobs of a young boy. You carefully flew over and gazed solemnly upon the tragic scene, having seen the cruelty of Gotham's streets before you understood the gravity of death. you softly placed a wing upon the boy's shaking shoulders offering some comfort in such a heartbreaking moment. The boy had something you never did, a loving family, and it was taken so cruelly in an instant. you sat with the boy for what seemed like hours, cooing a soft melody of bittersweet comfort, until the worried yells of another human interrupted the scene spurring you to fly away. Despite the young boy's cries for you to come back you never did, but he never forgot about the young crow girl who provided a sweet song of hope when he needed it most.

Years go by before he sees you again, you were savaging through the hidden dark alleys of Gotham as usual when you heard the soft voice of a familiar boy. You turn around to see him, he had grown into a striking young man with sharp manly features and clean expensive clothing hinting to immense wealth.

"Do you remember me?"

He spoke softly as if he were in a dream, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

"Of course how could I forget... You were the young boy who lost his family in front of his eyes..."

The man closed his eyes, exhaling in relief and ecstasy before opening his eyes once again to gaze at your beautiful figure.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this... come home with me."

Your eyes widened and your breath hitched... home?... did you deserve such a thing?... You looked down at your monstrous claws and your dark ragged feathers, you ran your tongue across your sharp dangerous teeth, and you closed your eyes to hide your inhuman black eyes.

"I-I can't... I'm a monster..."

Your eyes shot open when a calloused gentle hand caressed your face while the other held one of your claws.

"You're beautiful... These narrow arched claws, beautiful... these smooth sleek feathers, beautiful... those straight white teeth, beautiful... and most of all, your glossy onyx eyes.... beautiful..."

You couldn't help but cry, no one has called you beautiful before... With nothing more said you went home with him in comfortable silence.

You came to learn that his name was Bruce, a strong name fitting such a strong soul, you couldn't help but always call his name with softspoken adoration. When Bruce learned your name was (Y/N) he wasn't any better, always looking for any excuse to call your name with endearment. It broke his heart to have to keep up his playboy persona while his sweet bird waits at home for him but he did not have a choice. Oh how he longed to proudly announce to the world that his love was a gorgeous crow woman and have a grand luxurious wedding to show your everlasting love. It crushed him to keep the relationship a secret and grit his teeth as other women touched and flirted with him at galas, he wanted nothing more than to be home with you. It was even worse seeing your face at your small private wedding with him, you were so content with something so small even though you deserved the world. The nights made up for it all, breezing through the streets of Gotham and fighting crime with you was the highlight of his day. It was Batman and Crowwoman for life, he made sure you were safe from public harm and hate for being a meta by keeping you a secret during the day and showing you off to the world and fighting alongside you at night. You loved to collect little trinkets for your little nest with Bruce during the day and you milked every moment with him at night, soaring through the skies and fighting crime. Life was great you had a warm home, delicious food, a kind butler, nice clothes tailored to fit you, and a loving sweet husband, but you couldn't stop the creeping loneliness from hurting your isolated soul. You understood why no one but Bruce and Alfred could know about you but crows were naturally social creatures. The crows you spoke with tell you stories of the lively parks of Gotham filled with loud children, laughing friends, warm parents, and the bustling sounds of life. The manor was quiet and dreary during the day despite all of your efforts to make the manor feel homely, it was no job for a singular person. Something was missing... and that missing piece was finally found with the arrival of a certain young boy.

When Bruce brought Richard home and explained the young boy's past you rushed to embrace the boy in your soft feathers ushering Bruce to quickly adopt him. You showered the boy in your love, sending the boy off to school with the best homecooked meals you could make, filling his room up with toys and trinkets, and always spending time with him when you could. When little Dick first became Robin you were hesitant at first, not wanting your precious little bird to get hurt, but once he proved himself as capable you were overjoyed. Now you'd all have family bonding time fighting crime together, with Bruce zooming though the streets in the Batmobile and Dick flying with you on your back. There was even a sweet girl, Barbara, who became Batgirl. The family was growing, but then there was an accident and Dick was shot in the shoulder by Joker, afraid that in the future he might get worse you and Bruce decided to end his career as Robin. But there's something that no one has told you before, parenting is hard, and so after Dick continued his vigilante life with the Teen Titans as Nightwing he and his father had a fallout and he left. You were distraught after Dick left, although you both stay in contact, it's just not the same.

"Baby bird please come home you know your father didn't mean what he said."

"I'm sorry mama but I'm not a kid anymore... I'll come visit you sometime but that's not my home anymore..."

You were inconsolable, your cries only dying down when you slept in the small nest you made in Dick's old room with Bruce cradling you in his arms humming your special song.

You found new meaning when Bruce once again adopted a new orphan, Jason. The little boy was such an adorable ball of sunshine you couldn't help but spoil him rotten with all of life's joys you could provide. You still missed Dick and the Deja vu would hit you hard when Jason flew with you on your back as the new robin, just as Dick used to do... but after a long call with Dick where you cried and confessed that you felt like you were replacing him, Dick assured you that he's not sad or mad but actually happy that you're happy once again with another child to keep you company. Jason made the manor feel so warm and lively with his sweet childlike antics, you couldn't help but adore the child but also worry for him. One day your worst fear came true, during a mission another accident happened, but unlike Dick, Jason didn't survive and Barbara became paralyzed. Your whole world came crashing down the day your sweet little innocent Jason died, this time even Bruce's gentle embraces and comforting words couldn't console you. The manor's crows mourned with you as you sat in front of his grave through rain and snow, your wails and songs of mourning could be heard miles away. The atmosphere in the manor shifted after that, Bruce drowned himself in work and you stopped going with him on missions opting to stay in front of Jason's grave instead. Bruce could only watch you wail and scream in front of Jason's grave through his office window, his heart shattering for their lost child and his heartbroken wife.

"MY BABY COME BACK MY BABY DON'T LEAVE MAMA ALONE PLEASE BABY COME BACK!"

Salvation came with the arrival of Tim, a smart boy who longed for the loving embrace of a family who wanted him. The young boy passed the barrier around you and Bruce's heart becoming another member of the tragic Wayne family. Traumatized by what happened to your last two children you were extra protective of Tim, and thankfully Tim found your protectiveness endearing but when it came too much he was sure to tell you. You and Tim bonded through making new gadgets to use during missions, and although you don't go out on missions anymore, you stay at the manor with Barbara, now Oracle, and watch over Bruce and Tim making sure they're safe. Soon yet another sweet girl joins and becomes the new Batgirl. Cassandra, such a quiet yet smart and talented girl, it was nice having yet another girl in the family. Life was finally setting into a better comfortable rhythm... but nothing can last.

Jason returns and you can barely recognize your poor child. He was covered in scars and his eyes were filled with rage and hatred. The buried sorrow from his death resurfaced with vengeance and your sorrow grew as he accused you and Bruce of replacing him with Tim. You cried and begged him to believe you, that you'd never replace him, and after many arguments and a few injuries due to his lash outs, he finally came to believe you. You wouldn't let him go after he accepted your affection once again, and to be honest he didn't want to let go either. It was heaven being reunited and bonding with your lost child, tracing over each other's scars and reminiscing.

"I missed you mama... I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay baby... it was never your fault... never..."

Once again everything was getting better, and there was yet another member added to the ever-growing family. Stephanie was another incredibly intelligent girl you had meaningful conversations with and worked with during missions. Everyone fit so perfectly into the complete puzzle that was the Wayne family. The puzzle was finally complete and gone was the devastating loneliness you once had, or so you thought... because out of no where came a puzzle piece with such a big impact it could break the puzzle as whole. Damien Wayne... That small boy brought all of your relationship problems with your oh-so-perfect husband crashing down. Bruce, the same man who held you so tenderly whispering sweet words of love and devotion, had cheated on you. You screamed and wailed tearing apart your nest and cawing in hatred and betrayal. You were so distraught, but you never fought with Bruce in front of your children. You tried to make peace with Damien but he only drew his sword and spit out hateful words of how you'd never be his mother. You looked to your other children for comfort but they only gave excuses for Damien and Bruce. They only wanted to keep the family together but in the process they were breaking your heart. You were confused and heart broken, you couldn't understand why the family whom you gave unconditional love and care to were treating you like this. The crows of the manor seemed to be the only ones on your side, they were also confused on how your mate could've betrayed you like this and how your family could take his side. Hatred filled your broken heart and you lashed out, screaming and clawing at Bruce begging for answers.

"WHY WHY WHY WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? TO US? HOW COULD YOU!? YOU FUCKING BASTARD! I HATE YOU!"

"I'm sorry... It was a mistake... I'll fix it..."

"YOU CAN'T FIX THIS!...I-I WANT A DIVORCE!"

Bruce went deadly silent after your words, his eyes dead and hollow.

"...What did you say?"

The coldness in his voice and the way his aura shifted dangerously made you feel uncertain.

"I-I said I wanted a divorce..."

You spoke softer, stepping backward in caution as Bruce began to dangerously advance toward you. His large calloused hand shot out to wrap around your throat leaving you to helplessly squawk and flail.

"We are not getting a divorce"

Despite the finality of his words you would never stay with a cheater. You clawed and flailed until he let go due to a particularly deep cut to his arm. Once let go you quickly flew away not looking back. Despite the man's screams for you to come back you never did, but he never forgot about his sweet wife whom he needed back in his arms.

You lived your life once again in the alleyways of Gotham, you always mourned the loss of your once perfect family but they were the ones who betrayed you. With no one nearby, you flew around an abandoned building looking for food until you were suddenly shot in a wing causing you to squawk loudly in surprise and pain. You crashed into the hard concrete below, ripping out feathers and scratching your tender flesh as you fell.

"I'm sorry ma I had to... I was wrong before please forgive me... You're the best mom I could ever have."

"D-Damien..?"

"Shhh ma don't talk too much you're hurt. Bruce and the others are coming they'll help you okay."

You couldn't help but weakly stare at the young boy in shock. Your heart beat rapidly and you nearly peed from fear, Bruce... he's coming... Was he going to punish you for running away? The way he had choked you when you threatened divorce proves that he isn't past hurting you... God you were so scared... You tried to get up to fly away but that only resulted in you flopping heavily back onto the ground and Damien worriedly trying to get you to lay back down and stay still. You tried to get back up but you suddenly felt an excruciating pain in your head and a loud

SMACK!

And everything went dark.

When you woke up you were in an all-too-familiar room... It was you and Bruce's old shared bedroom. You had bandages covering your head, wing, and any other places with injury. You were locked in the room, but that wasn't the only this that caused you great distress. You looked down at your wings and found that your wings have been clipped. You let out a loud distressed scream alerting the other inhabitants of the manor. Bruce and your children burst into your room with worried and disheveled looks.

"My love is everything okay!? Are you hurt!?"

"MY WINGS MY WINGS MY WINGS!"

Bruce only gave you a sympathetic look and moved to hold you in his arms to comfort you. Your children only watched silently as you shook and cried in despair.

"I'm sorry my love but it had to be done... We can't have you flying away my little crow... This is your home I even adopted another child for you to take care of since I know you love taking care of children. His name is Duke you'll love him... We won't ever let you go ever again..."

Bruce cooed and cradled you in his arms as he sang you your special song. The same song that you sang to him when he lost his parents, the same song he sang to you when Dick left, the same song you sang to Jason at his grave, a song of despair and loss now come back to haunt you just as it always has.

Divider credits: popmilky and k1ssyoursister

Author's note: Wow this is the longest I've ever written lol. This was super fun nevertheless and I'm glad that this was my first request. Like I said this is the first request I got but I still have more to write but I will be writing those soon as well as the next chapter of my main fic so stay tuned! Like always thank you all for reading and I hope y'all have a good day/night.

[jaythes1mp]

Hi can you please make a yandere batfam meeting a merfolk reader or what your headcanonns on how that would go especially if reader is willing to stay and maybe even help with the more aquatic stuff of vigilante work

Definitely! This is some general stuff, a link to the chapter once I’ve written it will be added at the end. If everyone could please cast votes for what you’d rather before I start writing it, would be great!

Anon, I know your initial ask wasn’t really a request, but I want to write this. Haha… hope you don’t mind.

Yandere Batfam x Merfolk Reader

In the early stages of your involvement with the BatFamily, when their obsessions with you are just beginning to form, they would seek out your assistance in their crime fighting endeavours. This is under the assumption that you’re already a well known vigilante of sorts. Their obsession growing after they encounter and become acquainted with you. Learning of your skills, and how your kind can help them if any villains were to take their fight to the water surrounding Gotham’s edges.

But once the Bat's obsession has matured into a deep, twisted fascination, they would never allow you near the battlefield. Their possessive nature would take over, and they would be unable to bear the thought of you being hurt or even fighting others. Even if you were incredibly powerful, their protective instincts would render it moot the moment they have their possessive grasp on you, effectively ending your crime fighting days.

However, if you were not affiliated with any vigilante work from the beginning, the BatFamily would never even entertain the idea. Their fixation would target you on a personal level, rather than the dynamic of needing crime fighting assistance.

They might encounter you under various circumstances, such as: (numbered 1,2,3,4.)

By chance along Gotham’s shores, accidentally stumbling upon you.

You were caught in a trap, leading to your capture and confinement at Wayne Enterprises research facility. <- my favourite

One of the Bat’s had suffered an injury that sent them plummeting deep into the waters of Gotham, but just as they’re about to loose consciousness you swim them up to the surface. Saving them.

Or you may take the initiative on your own accord, reeling in one of the batfamily for either help or sustenance. The rest of the family coming to the rescue only to learn that you’re non threatening, and that the chosen member is cuddling into your side.

They would grow unhealthily fixated on you. Attached. Every aspect of your appearance and your mysterious species would fascinate them. The thought alone that you could survive in the harsh dangerous waters of Gotham without Bruce’s high-tech equipment ever detecting your existence baffling them. This would spark a curiosity turned obsession that would drive them to uncover everything about you, no matter the cost. Their intrigue shifting into a deeper, twisted form of love.

Initially, they would design a high-tech enclosure for you at the Wayne Manor, meticulously crafted to provide everything you need to thrive and more. Which you willingly enter, unaware that you’re under their watchful eyes, who monitor your every move, their fascination growing.

Under the vigilante route, where you’ve allied yourself with the family, you would move to the manor to discuss and plan out operations aimed at capturing and stopping a villain who was terrorising the city. Your presence there would foster a bond between you, as they relied on your skills and knowledge to aid them.

Voluntarily travelling there to discuss plans and strategies to combat with the villain and future perpetrators who has target Gotham.

Versus the ‘found’ routes, where you’d go because you trust them.

1 & 4 -> You would go to the Wayne Manor intrigued and fascinated to explore an entirely new place. Having only known of Gotham’s currents before, the thought of learning about human culture piques your interest. Contrary to the ominous warnings from the Elder Mers, these humans have been nothing but kind. They haven’t tried to harm you in any way, neither confining you in cages nor cutting you up to consume you, nor taking your scales. The Elder Mers must have misled you! The BatFamily is proving to be nothing but sweet and welcoming. What’s the harm in staying with them for a little while? You’re sure your clan won’t even realise that you’re gone.

2 -> You would either have no choice in the matter, as you were considered the Wayne’s property under the public’s eyes, Or you would leave under a negotiation with one of them. Desperate to escape from the constant scrutiny of the scientists who eye you as nothing more than a piece of meat. Their tests leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, had become unbearable, with the small transparent tank doing nothing to offer you comfort or refuge. A public spectacle being observed daily by prying eyes. You’d do anything to never have to become an experiment for these humans ever again.

3 -> They would invest months, devoting themselves to understanding your life, gradually winning you over with their kindness. Persuading you to reciprocate their efforts by visiting the enclosure they had meticulously designed specifically for you. You were fascinated by their accomplishment, having built a structure that seamlessly connected to every room within their manor. Slowly you visited more often, their efforts touching you deeply. They had created this for you. Maybe humans weren’t all bad…

Whichever route you take, the end result is the same; they become deeply, unhealthily obsessed with you. Having them hold you captive, their obsession transforming into an intense, lasting fixation. They would have no intention of ever letting you go, keeping you confined in their carefully crafted webs, for the rest of your life, never permitting you to escape their grasp. Their desire for you becoming all-consuming, forever entrapping you within their influence.

Please vote for which of them you’d like to see most!

Romantic or platonic? Tell me in the comments or anon asks, please.

[circeyoru]

Twins But Still Different = Requested

[Liu Zhigang x Jinwoo’s Younger Twin!Reader | Sung Jinwoo x Younger Twin!Reader - Platonic]

The Request

For as long as you could remember, you always had a knack for learning languages and anything academic. You weren’t one for physical activities like playing outdoors or anything too active like sports or the like. You were the complete opposite of Sung Jinwoo, your beloved twin. While Jinwoo would play catch with your father, you would bake cookies with your mother. Though, even with your differences, the two of you were twins and were still as close.

After Jinah joined the family, the two of you were the older siblings, Jinwoo being the oldest and you the middle child. The two of you would care for the youngest while your parents were busy with work or doing other things, so the three of you were close even with the new addition to the family. According to the other parents, it was undoubtedly a rarity how there weren’t favouritisms or rebellious phases from either you or Jinwoo. In truth, there were but those were nothing compared to other children’s. The most you two did was fight for who gets to sleep at the top bunk or getting what toy to play.

When you two were in high school, the two of you excelled differently. Jinwoo was more social while you focused your time on academics. You never touched physical education nor gave it any thought, but Jinwoo was definitely better than you ever would. Still, you seemed to have good reflexes and agility, Jinwoo had more strength, speed and stamina. If anyone were to look at you two side by side, they’d say the two of you would complete each other.

And you’d agree. With Jinwoo by your side, you two could do anything. Even after the dungeon breaks all over the world and Gates started appearing out of the blue. Your father awakened as a Hunter and protected your family from monsters. When the world recovered somewhat, your father had gone to be an official Hunter to earn even more money. Jinwoo would learn from your father, in case he awakens as he said, and you did your part, researching everything there was to know about Hunters, Gates, dungeons, and especially the monsters and their abilities.

Due to your obsession would learning about the new subjects and ground-breaking discoveries, you were one of the top researchers to provide knowledge for the Hunters. Since you were fluent in many languages, you were not only able learn your own country, but to give these information to the other countries. What you seek wasn’t fame, but any glimmer of hope of finding your father and curing your mother.

The worst came to past when your father went missing inside a Gate and your mother fell into a coma known as Eternal Slumber, something new after the Gates appeared along with Hunters. Speaking of, Jinwoo awakened as a Hunter, but as an E-Rank, even given the title <The Weakest Hunter of All Mankind>.

It was painful to see and hear the comparison made between you and Jinwoo. None of what you did was to one-up Jinwoo in any sense. So you cut off any that openly laughed at your twin with such malice and mockery. Jinwoo was just as hardworking―if not, even more―as you because he was putting his life on the line while you worked in the safety of a lab of some library.

How dare they…

You feared, deep down, that Jinwoo might hate you in some way because of this. That it would drive a wedge between the two of you, but your twin was still as supportive as he ever was. You’d give him a masterclass of what you established and trained him to at least know how to identify monsters and their weakness to increase his survivability in the dungeons. To tell what would be advantageous to him, or help him help his team so that he would be protected. 

Knowledge is power in cases. No one can just use brute force and powers in dungeons. There are more factors in play and you’ll give Jinwoo this weapon. He may be an E-Rank Hunter and he may be looked down upon, but that still doesn’t mean he’s weak and powerless. You’ll use your fame and wisdom as a shield for Jinwoo.

Soon, you were scouted for your academic talents. Agents from the Chinese Hunters Association approached you with an offer you couldn’t refuse. They prioritized knowledge and information, so you were a perfect candidate in their ranks. You couldn’t leave Jinwoo behind, in turn they offered to transfer part of your pay back to Korea to your family so you wouldn’t have to worry too much. You grudgingly agreed after Jinwoo and Jinah encouraged you to go, saying they’d be fine. In return, you promised to return every long holiday.

Your work in China wasn’t too different and everything was relatively the same since the most challenging part―language―was already dealt with. You quickly became the leading researcher in Gates and anything related, China was abundant in resources and they provided you with everything you ever needed to advance. You held talks and lectures, even programmes to educate citizens and Hunters alike. Every day, it was a race for you to fulfil your goals for your parents, as well as other victims.

It wasn’t on your bucket list to meet China’s strongest Hunter though. A 7-Star Hunter, even a National Level Hunter too, Liu Zhigang. You pictured him to be more arrogant and egoistic, yet he was quite down-to-earth. Sure, his questions challenged you but they do give you some insight to what you have been stuck on. You’d just give credit where its due, but Zhigang would always say, “For the world or whatever, right?”

“You’re always like this…” You’d chuckled back at him, playfully pushing him off the side of the table―only because he let you, else you wouldn’t be able to even move a muscle―to get the papers under his butt. “Let me get my work done, mister seven stars.”

“Told you to call me ‘Zhigang’ already, little owl.” Zhigang glared down at you.

If it was the first time you met him, you might have been intimidated, but no. You smirked back, “And I told you not to call me that.”

The Hunter shrugged and played with his blades, throwing it in midair and then catching it or spinning it in his hands. “Look into a mirror, you have giant dark circles! I didn’t call you a panda cause your neck looks nonexistent! Just like an owl.”

Tick marks appeared on your temple and you shouted at him, “Get out! I can’t concentrate!! Go train or run over a mountain!!!”

Zhigang would constantly pester you when you were cooped up in the lab. At first, you two were introduced to each other by the officials since their strongest Hunter should get your findings as soon as possible in case of any development or if he was needed in battle. He insulted you to your face because you quote “Too young” and you kicked him where the sun didn’t shine without hesitation.

Thus, some tension was between you two, any outsider would see sparks between the two of you were your eyes connected. Not the romantic or friendship kind, mind you. It was the “I would have killed you if you weren’t important to the world” type of sparks. Yeah. Think ‘murderous’ but aim lower, or maybe higher, who knows honestly.

Why?

Because you two work wonders.

Though you’re not a Hunter, you were sent with Zhigang into a dungeon with a team of 4 to 5-Star Hunters in the front. Zhigang was there as a safety net and you were there as the instructor. Despite your animosity between each other, there was a surprising level of pure trust between the two of you. Some would say, complete trust. The two of you respected each other and your proficiency in your own specialty; Zhigang as a strong Hunter and you as a knowledgeable researcher.

The Hunters had the perfect seat in the house to view your partnership with Zhigang. While some might argue you weren’t needed, anyone would say otherwise when they saw what happened that day. A normal B-Rank Gate turned into a Red Gate, luckily, it was a forest environment and the temperature wasn’t too bad. You quickly assessed the situation while Zhigang handled your safety, and you easily deduced what the surroundings were, what changes would be brought with time, and even what potential monsters would appear.

Contrary to belief, it wasn’t a typical forest. It was like a mix of forest and river or ocean; at night, the forest would be submerged. They would have drowned if they had made camp on the ground level. Since in the morning there weren’t any monsters, what they would face was aquatic-based monsters; the boss would also possibly be of that kind or a mix of land and sea.

You and Zhigang worked together as the perfect pair to pinpoint a plan of action. Zhigang could take down a boss, only if you can correctly identify what exactly it was and devise the perfect plan surrounding its weakness. The Hunters that tagged along could only set up camp somewhere safe so the two of you could work with a peace of mind.

In the end, you narrowed it down to three bosses but they required different tactics entirely. Still, Zhigang reassured you that he was capable of switching gears if the situation calls for it. He told you while holding your shoulders and staring dead into your eyes, “I trust you with my life as you do yours with me. We’re in this together.”

That was just one of your partnerships with Zhigang inside a Gate. Your teamwork with Zhigang sparked international headlines, prompting some daring and envious individuals to try what you did. Needless to say, the death count was at an all-time high. There were a few noticeable factors; knowledge, skills, luck, and complete faith in others. Any hesitation and it’s bye-bye life. 

You were only alive because it was Zhigang by your side; if it was anyone else, you would have died as well. You also couldn’t be 100% correct in your assumptions and information; in the end, you still have to rely on a Hunter’s skill and instinct to ensure your survival. That Hunter had to be both powerful and strong―physically and mentally. Liu Zhigang checked all those boxes.

Things happened and one after another boom, you two were a couple. There wasn’t a romantic confession nor a candlelight dinner. You were the one to ask him over the communications after he finished defeating another boss to be a couple and he said yes, while drenched in said boss’ blood. 

After that, nothing much changed except for you two living together and sharing more daily moments with each other, like making meals in the kitchen and not the research pantry or sitting on the couch lazying around and not sleeping in your office chair later to be slapped awake by Zhigang for your bad position. It was mundane. It was good that there was no expectation to be some celebrity couple and make a show out of it. Though you guess it might have something to do with you two keeping it under wraps.

“Hey, isn’t that your twin?” Zhigang called out to you while the TV was playing behind him.

“Huh? What?” You shouted back, fixing yourself a good bowl of instant noodles after a day of work. You came out of the kitchen to join Zhigang on the couch, but when you came close and saw what was on the news, you froze. “What?!”

“Woah!” Zhigang caught your bowl that you subconsciously let go of. “Hey, you can’t use this as an excuse to have me cook…” He stopped when he saw your face, he placed the bowl down on the coffee table and slowly guided you to sit down. “I’ll book tickets to Korea. How does that sound?”

You could only nod your head, still in shock over the news. Your silly twin had that silly face and stupid expression when he was caught off guard. He might look and sound different, but it was still the same old Jinwoo. If anyone deserved to be S-Rank, it was him.

As your loving boyfriend promised, he booked the tickets for you to return to Korea. When you got to Korea, it was chaotic to say the least, crowds gathered and pictures kept snapping in your faces. Zhigang would shield you in addition to the Hunter Association staff members. It was annoying but expected since Zhigang was present and you were back in Korea; you were famous then but even more so now since your twin rose to the S-Rank title through a reawakening.

You tried calling Jinwoo again to let him know you were in Korea, yet you were sent to voice mail like all the other times. It was odd how frequently that happened recently. Though you chalked it up to the timezone and work schedules. Jinwoo’s was unpredictable as a Hunter was always on standby in case of emergency. You had a fixed schedule; however, you tend to overwork yourself as a workaholic, according to Zhigang.

“I’ll check into the hotel, join me when you’re done.” Zhigang gave you a hug before you exited the car.

You hummed and nodded. “Thanks for being patient.”

“I think you trained my patience when I waited hours for you to be done with work to get a simple meal.” Zhigang huffed. It was true; sometimes, you’d forget about lunch or dinner plans entirely and let a lonely Hunter sit at the table waiting. So Zhigang end up calling you an hour or two before meal time to confirm you were going to be free to eat, if not, then chances are… he’ll drag you out of the office to eat.

The car drove off while you waved it bye. Your hand dropped and you glanced at the hospital building. You tightened the coat around you as you stepped closer, it hugged you tightly as if you were shivering in a blizzard. It had been four years, you had so many discoveries, cracked so many monsters, and made so many contributions. Yet none could wake up your beloved mother.

You sat down in the chair next to the bed. With your authority, you had the hospital give your mother an exclusive private room and 24/7 visiting hours. It was mainly for Jinwoo since after you were gone to China, he was the only one left to take care of your mother. Jinah would visit, but you told her to take care of her studies so Jinwoo wouldn’t be worried about her. Then again, if you had found a Hunter with teleportation capabilities, you would be visiting your mother as well, instead of always burying yourself in work.

“Mom…” You adjusted her covers after you opened the window to let the warm night breeze flow into the room to air it. “I’m back home, I’m sorry… I still haven’t found a way to wake you up…” You grind your jaw, holding back tears. What was the use of all the fame, wealth, and power you had when your father was still gone and your mother was sleeping and awaiting death? “I’m trying… I’m sorry… Jinwoo’s risking his life and I’m just… I’m so useless…”

You glanced at the familiar scar on her neck. There was that one time when Jinwoo wanted to wash your mother’s hair, but didn’t check the water temperature. You were reading how to wash women’s hair thoroughly when you heard your mother’s panicked screams. You rushed out of the bathroom while hugging the book close to your chest. The scene you met was Jinwoo’s face riddled with guilt and his eyes zoned in on the spot your mother was covering on the side of her neck.

You quickly let go of your book and went into the kitchen for a cloth then soaked it with cool water, quickly passing it to your mother to help her burn. Then you pulled Jinwoo away after checking he was fine and told your mother so she could tend to her injury. You guided your in-shock twin back into your shared room and hugged him, and he cried like a baby while clutching onto you. He was sorry that it was his fault his mother was hurt and you were sorry that you weren’t there to help in time. That was probably the only time you two cried in secret from your parents.

“Why can’t I always be there at the right time?!” You collapsed, hugging her hand dearly to you. It was still warm, but you shudder to think how long it’d maintain its warmth. You swallowed, trying to calm yourself, all these buried emotions were coming back full force and more. You placed your head down in your folded arms that still held her hand close. “Can you wait a little longer so I can find the answer, mom?”

The silence was deafening. Your ears honed in on the rustling of the curtains and the quiet and slow beats of her heart in contrast to your loud and speedy one. You’re not patient, you couldn’t wait. No, you could wait, but could your mother? Every time you relaxed, that little voice in your mind would question, “What if your mother passed away then?” or “What if that time could be used to find some clue?”. You knew you were pressuring yourself and you didn’t give yourself much luxury to relax when your mother’s life was on the line.

A new sound dragged you out of your spiralling negativity. The strong flap of wings that would point you to some type of bat or dragon beast, though the silent would eliminate a bat-type beast, so a dragon-type. Given the lack of destruction, it was a smaller one, so a wyvern? Then you heard a soft cling and you looked up, there was Jinwoo in battered clothing and some form of mist around him. His glowing blue eyes shifted from your mother to you and they widened. “You’re here?”

“Jinwoo…” You shot up.

He landed on solid ground and you two shared a hug. It has been a year or more since your last visit to him. And he changed so much. He must have been through a lot.

“Are you visiting mom after a raid?” You smiled up at him.

“Something like that. I actually want to try waking mom up.” Jinwoo raised a vile with red liquid inside.

Your eyes widened, “Where did you get this? Are you sure this can wake mom up? Can we trust this?” You shook your head, “No, I need to test this. If something goes wrong, I―”

“Calm down. I know.” Jinwoo spoke. You stopped and looked up at him. You glanced down at the vile, and his arm was shaking. Just as you’re worried, he felt the same. “I know the risks…”

You took a deep breath and cupped his hand in yours, you smiled, “I’ll trust you. As you trust this.”

Jinwoo took the stage. Gently, he lifted up your mother and tilted the vile to let the liquid flow down her mouth to her throat then her stomach. Jinwoo let her lay back down as he took a seat, waiting for the best. You two held each other’s hand, gripping it tightly to ground yourselves with each other’s presence. 

Please let us take over… the burden you’ve been carrying, mom.

Time ticked by second by second. You waited. Jinwoo waited. You hoped. Jinwoo hoped. You wished. Jinwoo wished. Once more, you two were in sync with each other. Though, all this time, the two of you have been working towards this. You two maintained your family and living. You two searched and searched for a cure. It didn’t matter who was first to do it, it wasn’t a race or a competition.

“Could it be…”

Simultaneously, your heads raised and your eyes widened at the woken figure on the bed. To hear her voice once more call your names with such care and affection. Jinwoo and you gripped each other’s hands unconsciously, as if making sure it was reality and not a dream.

“How long was I sleeping for?” Your mother asked gently as if we were fragile glass.

“4 years.” You pressed your lips tightly, your eyes starting to get watery, you kept blinking repeatedly.

“It’s been 4 years.” Jinwoo answered as stoically as possibly, his head lowered.

“4 years?” Your mother repeated with shock in her voice, “How about Jinah? Is Jinah fine?”

You nodded with a smile while Jinwoo answered, “Yea, she’s fine.”

Your mother smiled back, “Thank you, my precious twins. You two kept your promise.” Mother took Jinwoo’s free hand, then gestured for you to come closer and give her your hand. She held both your hands in hers. “Being hurt like this…” She looked at Jinwoo, “It must’ve been difficult.” Then at you, “It must’ve been tiring.”

You shook your head violently. It didn’t matter that your hands were rougher now, that there were little harder spots from the paper cuts or the shallow cuts you got. Even the aching muscles you have from time to time for training self-defense to enter Gates. As long as this scene happened. It was all worth it. You’re positive it was the same for your twin.

For tears flowed down from both of your faces like a river. Finally. Finally, all that you two have done bore fruit in the best way. The three of you hugged each other. How long has it been? It must have been long because both of you cried like babies again. Just like that time in your rooms.

“Yea.”

➤ Manhwa Used: Chapter 89

Note: Hello, hello~~ There's been a lot of dark and angst posts, so I'm switching it up with some lighter ones. This one has two pairing, but love interest is obvious guys. Hope you like this one~~ (though it's a bit long)

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @rozuburedo @ariseverdark

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Andra Watkins at For Such A Time As This:

For readers unfamiliar with the SAVE ACT, it requires Americans to present a birth certificate or passport THAT MATCHES THEIR LEGAL NAME when they register to vote. Why does this matter? Because the majority of American women change their names when they marry. Their legal names do not match the name on their birth certificate. Just over one half of Americans have a passport, and these numbers fall in Communities of Color, which would impact the ability of Women of Color to vote. The SAVE ACT could lead to a significant percentage of American women needing to obtain some new documentation to protect their right to vote.

[...]

Answer: Because if Congress passes the SAVE Act, the President will sign it. It could become extremely difficult to obtain these records once they are required, which is another way to discourage targeted groups from registering to vote.

According to Pew Research Center, 80% of American women take their husband’s last name when they marry. The SAVE Act could cause up to 80% of American women to be ineligible to vote, forcing them to take onerous steps to recapture their unquestionable right to vote (unquestionable until the President issues an Executive Order nullifying the 19th Amendment, like he has attempted for the 14th). If the SAVE Act passes and I don’t have a passport, I will have to present a copy of my birth certificate to register to vote. Luckily, it matches my legal name. For up to 80% of married American women, it won’t. If you’re like me and didn’t change your legal name when you married, you should still order copies of your birth certificate. What can American women do if their legal name doesn’t match their birth certificate? Women who changed their legal names upon marriage by taking their husband’s last name will only have three options, and one may not be honored by many government agencies. [...]

According to the website Alias Flip, the SSA allows users multiple name corrections in their lifetimes. For example, if a woman took her husband’s name when she married and changed it with the SSA, she can simply provide a copy of her marriage license, another form of ID, and a name correction form to change it back to her maiden name. This process may allow women to change their names on credit cards and similar, but Alias Flip warns that other government entities may not honor this change request. For example, it may be difficult to change one’s driver’s license or passport using an amended SSA card. Still, this inexpensive process may be worth a try before going the only other available route: Petitioning a court to change one’s legal name back to her maiden name. Petitioning a court to change one’s legal name back to her maiden name. While most states allow women to easily change their names when they marry or divorce, changing one’s name for any other reason is more complicated, time-consuming, and costly.

[...]

My advice to women who are getting married imminently or plan to marry someday? DO NOT CHANGE YOUR LEGAL NAME. KEEP YOUR MAIDEN NAME. IT IS YOUR NAME. I know. I know. I heard so many opinions when I chose to keep my maiden name upon marriage. My mother: “But people will think you aren’t really married and are living in sin if you don’t take your husband’s name!” Various friends: “But don’t you want your name to match your children’s names?” (Where is the rule that children must take dad’s name?) Several elderly aunts: “I am sending this letter/note/card to Mrs. Your Husband’s Name, because women should take their husband’s name when they marry.” (After several very charged confrontations, they stopped this passive aggressive behavior. Sigh.)

The SAVE Act, which is supposedly about combating the nonexistent problem of “noncitizen voting”, will harm many women of their voting rights, due to a provision requiring Americans to present a birth certificate or passport that is congruent with their legal name.

[arc-misadventures]

The Report

Winter: General Ironwood, I wish to make a report about my joint mission with, Jaune Arc on a, C Class seek, and destroy mission.

Ironwood: Ahh good. I was going to ask you to report on that mission. You rarely take any missions from the quest board since becoming my second. Any missions you do take, are missions I sanctioned you to take, along with the rest of your specialist members. So, tell me, Specialist Schnee, why did you decided to take on this mission, and with Jaune Arc at that?

Winter: At once, Sir.

Winter: I was made aware of the mission particulars whilst I was playing a game of chess with, Mr. Arc. He informed me that he had never heard of the target before reading the mission request. Upon doing research about the target, a C Class Grimm threat called a, Karniviar, and more research about the, Grimm's last know location, he deemed this quest to be a, B, or potential A Class threat.

Ironwood: He deemed it to be a potential, A Class threat? What made him think so?

Winter: Understanding the potential threat of a, Karniciar alone more than grants it the ranking of a, C to low, B Class threat. It's bone platting requires high caliber AP rounds to pierce. It's claws posse the capabilities to tear through reinforced fencing with ease. It possess a bight force of an estimated 20,000 psi, making it capable of biting a, Knight in two with relative ease. All the while it's tail spike posses the potential to pierce through the armour platting of one of our, Paladins.

Ironwood: Fascinating... what level of it's evolution is this, Grimm categorized as?

Winter: Unknown, Sir. I did my own research before joining, Mr. Arc on this mission, and from what meager reports there are, I lean fiund myself agreeing that this is an, egg based, Grimm.

Ironwood: Egg?

Winter: Yes, the first stage of this, Grimm begins in an egg stage where it remains underground until it matures, and hatches into a fully formed, Karniviar. I would estimate this this new born stage to be at least in the, Gamma Classification.

Ironwood: Gamma? If it was already like this, I would hate to see it in the, Beta Class of it's evolutionary development, let alone in it's, Alpha form. So, this is why, Mr. Arc saw it as a potential, A Class threat.

Winter: Negative, Sir.

Ironwood: Beg pardon?

Winter: Mr. Arc did not see the, Karniviar as a possible, A Class threat for those possibilities, Sir. He saw it as a possible, A Class threat due to it's geological location, and it's potential harm it could inflict upon, Atlas, and Mantle.

Ironwood: 'Because of where it was located, and it's potential harm it could inflict to the people of, Atlas, and Mantle?' I must say you have me most intrigued, Specialist Schnee. Please, continue.

Winter: Thank you, Sir. During, Mr. Arc's research he found out that the, Karniviar was located near a fishing town called, Breakers Peak. This town itself provides sixty percent of, Atlas, and Mantles raw supply of fish.

Ironwood: Sixty percent of, Mantle, and Atlas fish supply? Ahh I see... He classified it as a potential, A Class threat because if it attacked this fishing town it would disrupt the amount of food entering, Atlas, and Mantle, didn't he.

Winter: Partly, Sir. Mr. Arc theorized that if this, Grimm attacked, Breakers Peak, and even if it only managed to reduced the towns fishing capabilities by thirty percent, the consequences could be quite dire. If the price of fish goes up, the price of any food produced items with fish goes up as well. Resulting in an domino effect where the rise in prince of one item leads to the rise of price in another. And, if food prices continue to rise people would start to get worried, and as the more people get worried...

Ironwood: The Grimm become more active. And thus, the result of leaving this, Grimm alive leads to potential devastation to, Atlas, and Mantle without it even having to attack us directly.

Winter: Mr. Arc's thoughts came to the same conclusion as well, Sir.

Ironwood: No wonder he saw it as a potential, A Class threat... His thought process taking into the account not just the, Grimm itself, but where it was seen, and the possible threats it could have in that given area. Hmmm... I think we need to adopt such a train of thought when assigning threat levels to missions.

Winter: My thoughts exactly, General. I have already started a rudimentary outline of a possible new way of classifying , Grimm threats based upon. Mr. Arc's thought process.

Ironwood: Very good. Hand that to me for my review once it is completed.

Winter: Of course, Sir.

Ironwood: So was this the reason why you accompanied, Mr. Arc on this mission?

Winter: It was one of three reasons, Sir.

Ironwood: One reason? What were the other reasons?

Winter: When, Mr. Arc told me about this mission, we where playing a game of chess. A game where... he thoroughly defeated me... Effortlessly at the...

Ironwood: Effortlessly? For you to say that is quite the complement, if I am not mistaken, you are considered a grandmaster at chess.

Winter: I am considered a grandmaster at chess, but after, Mr. Arc thoroughly defeated me, I feel like a novice at chess once again.

Ironwood: What did he do?

Winter: I don't know how he did it precisely, but to summarize: Psychological warfare.

Ironwood: Psychological warfare? Hmmm... I didn't take, Mr. Arc as one who would apply such tactics in a fight. How did he do it?

Winter: I was focusing on the fact that, Mr. Arc hadn't moved his queen, thinking that his plan was to move his other pieces into the perfect position so he could suddenly spring a trap, deploy his queen, and go for the kill. But, in actuality his plan was to make me think that he had some sort of grand plan with his queen as the focal point of it. However, Mr. Arc had no intention whatsoever of using his queen, and was instead focusing on getting my other pieces into the perfect position. And, then go for the kill.

Ironwood: His entire strategy was based on the idea that he was going to us his queen, the most valuable piece on the board. When in fact, he had no intention of using his queen from the begining?

Winter: Correct, in fact I was so focused on his queen I never realized that he in fact, never physically touched his queen to begin with. It was because of this unexpected strategy he implemented, I was curious to see how he planned to deal with the a beast such as the, Karniviar all on his own. So, I asked to accompany him.

Ironwood: I see, how did he deal with the, Karniviar.

Winter: When we arrived at the town he asked the locals where the, Karniviar was last seen, Jaune then went to the area to explore it. When we arrived at the area it was last seen, an old abandoned, Dust mine. Jaune spent some time watching the monster from a distance where he finally implemented his plan.

Ironwood: Which was?

Winter: Mr. Arc came closer to the, Karniviar, the beast turned to roar at him, and in that instant the, Karniviar roared, Mr. Arc threw one of his portable shield walls into it's mouth. When it went done the creatures mouth he activated it, and broke the creatures neck from the inside. The creature died within seconds, and started to fade away before it even hit the ground. From start to finish, it only took a minute for, Mr. Arc to defeat a C Class threat.

Ironwood: Seriously?

Winter: Yes, I have video of the event to prove it.

Ironwood: Show me.

Ironwood: ...

Ironwood: Impressive... that was most impressive.

Winter: I assumed, Mr. Arc would stabbing the creature between it's armour plates, but as, Mr. Arc said: 'There are plenty of chinks in its armour to exploit.'

Ironwood: I would have attacked the creature between the armour plating, or trying to break the platting. I must confess, I wouldn't have thought about going down it's throat. I can see why you decided to join, Mr. Arc on this mission. This was quite an informative mission you decided to take on.

Winter: That... That wasn't entirely why I joined him on this mission, Sir...

Ironwood: Ahh, the third reason why you joined him. Tell me, what was this third reason?

Winter: I am... I am worried about, Mr... I am worried about, Jaune's mental stability, Sir...

Ironwood: His mental stability?

Winter: As a result of his social isolation because of his peers. Jaune has developed a habit of talking to himself; He denies that this has been happening of course, but on the few times I have caught him talking to himself, his eyes linger to the side for a bit before denying it.

Winter: I am worried he will harm himself, directly, or indirectly because of this. So, Sir, I request permission to be assigned to any joint missions, Mr. Arc takes. So, I can ensure his mental stability.

Ironwood: ...

Ironwood: Permission granted. Also try, and see if we can get him in for a psychiatric evaluation as well. In fact, put all of, Team RWBY, and the other members of, Team JNPR into this as well. This is standard practice anyway among veteran, Hunters. These kids have been through quite enough as it is.

Winter: Thank you, Sir. I will do so at once.

Ironwood: Oh, and, Specialist Schnee?

Winter: Sir?

Ironwood: My condolences concerning the loss of your father.

Winter: T-Thank you, Sir... It was so sudden, I have no words for this sudden, terrible incident that has happened to my family. It's such a shame that he was taken from us...

Ironwood: ...

Winter: ...

Ironwood: That was a terrible performance, Specialist Schnee.

Winter: Did you honestly expect me to be sad after that monsters death, Sir?

Ironwood: No, not at all. I just thought I should say it, it was polite to offer my condolences for the loss of a family member. I certainly didn't take a celebratory drink at the news of his passing. No, nothing like that happened at all.

Winter: Of course, nothing happened at all.

Ironwood: Well then, is that all, Specialist?

Winter: Yes, Sir.

Ironwood: You're dismissed.

Winter: Sir!

[bluemari23]

new _world || choi seungcheol

summary: the night of your 18th birthday left nothing to be desired; waking up to no hint of any soul bond left you one of the unbonded. almost eight years later, however, you find out that you are very much not unbonded, and that your soulmate is someone who you admire. very much. pairing: choi seungcheol x reader genre: soulmate au, soul bonds, fluff, angst warnings: not a lot, overwhelmed and insecure mc, mc believes she's unlovable, bad thoughts, scoups falls first, hopeless romantic scoups, word count: 3.3 k part 1 of ?

masterlist

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

Despite the normal day you were having, bosses who never seemed to learn how to use their volume button properly and coworkers who continued to get into your space despite you constantly reminding them how much you enjoy your singular personal space, you felt the tension building in your body like no other. 

You could feel how tense your shoulders grew as the day trudged on, shuffling, and crumbling on the invisible weight that seemed to settle write in the crook of your neck and shoulder. “Coat hanger pain” is what your doctor had called it, another symptom of your undesirable stress and anxiety. No massage on earth could help it though, as you had been to numerous masseuses, some even recommended by your doctor. None had worked or even lessened your pain. 

By lunch time you had decided you needed a break, a well-deserved break, if anything. So, you had scheduled your couple-day wellness time, something your company thankfully provided despite your supervisors absolutely hating that they couldn’t deny the requests. You would be off work for the next three days, as well as the weekend, so five days total. 

That should definitely be enough time to relax and take the ever-growing load off your shoulders, you think, more like you hope. 

In addition to the break, you decided you would also treat yourself to your favorite take-out, having been depriving yourself of it as of late due to work.

It had been a split second decision, but something completely worth it as you kick your front door closed behind you and retreat to the couch, almost immediately dropping your work bag and coat onto the floor in favor of placing your food onto the small table that you had placed in front of your couch. 

You tried to ease your mind, empty your thoughts as you watched mindless reality television, but your attention was caught by a program about the research and cause of unbonded.

Unbonded were people who never received a soul bond on the morning of their 18th birthday. There are a few well known soul bonds. 

Soul transport, where one member of the soul bond transports to their other. 

Soul glow, where upon being in the presence of your soul mate, your body will glow in an attempt to draw the two souls together, only the people in the bond can see the glow. 

Soul bloom, where a crown of flowers favored by the other soulmate will appear and will only go away once you touch your soulmate.

Soul string is the last well known one, where the “red string of fate” ties you to your soulmate, growing thicker or disappearing depending on how close or far away your soulmate is.

You woke up to nothing. Not even one of the rarer soul bonds like the soul mark. You had waited, days, weeks, and now eight years later, you had resigned yourself to the fact you were one of the unbonded. It was something that constantly hung on the back of your mind, watching your friends and even coworkers discover their bonds and finding their soulmates over the years.

But it wasn’t meant to be for you. 

Suddenly feeling a little nauseous, you put the bite of food you were about to eat back into the take-out container, your thoughts getting to you again as the program continued to play. You had always dreamed about having a soulmate, someone who would love you unconditionally and take care of and be there for you. 

You had been so used to doing everything yourself, by yourself, that you secretly wished for someone to take care of you. Someone who you could just turn your thoughts off with and they would make all the important decisions for you. Maybe you just wanted ot be babied, you didn’t know, but you were tired of being alone and being crushed by the seemingly unbearable weight hanging from your shoulders at any given time. 

“Unbonded are found to be people who are deemed “unlovable” and individuals who don’t fit in with soc—” You can’t help but want to throw your remote at the man who spoke as you turned the television off. 

You had heard those words way too many times now and grew resentful at how those words hit right into your core. 

Yeah, you did feel unlovable sometimes, but you didn’t think that warranted not being gifted a soulmate by the universe. You tried to be better, to help those in need never when you yourself needed help, thinking that then, maybe then, the universe might take pity on you. 

“No!” you exclaimed firmly. There was no way you were gonna set yourself up for more unbearable thoughts and tear stained pillows. Not again. 

“You’re gonna sit, enjoy your food, drink some wine, and watch your favorite movie. This is a well-earned break and you are going to enjoy it.” You told yourself, trying to break out of the negative thoughts and mood you put yourself in. 

And that’s exactly what you do. You indulge in the food, watch your favorite movie, laugh out loud at your favorite parts, and even have a glass of wine or two. 

But you still go to bed dejected, taking the words of the program from earlier to heart. Maybe you were unlovable and unworthy of a soulmate. Maybe it was time for your dreams of having a soulmate to come to an end and accept that it just wasn’t meant to be for you. 

A small tear fell from your waterline as you fell asleep, heart and head heavy at the thought of your future. 

-*-*-

You dreamt you were enveloped in the best hug ever, big arms wrapped around you and small but loving kisses placed against your temple. You remember burrowing into the person’s chest, reveling in the warmth you were feeling and the sense safety you were experiencing. It was like nothing you had felt before. 

Seungcheol’s dream almost mirrored your own, his arms wrapped tightly around you, almost covering you with his entire body, holding you against him and keeping anyone else from seeing you so vulnerable. He loved how you fit just perfectly against him, how you curled deeper into his embrace, your nose nuzzling against his clothed chest, taking in his comforting scent. 

He couldn’t help but to bring one of his hands down your hip and to the back of your thigh, cupping it and moving your so your leg was propped up over your hip. He needed to feel closer to you, desiring to feel closer to you in any way he can. 

Neither of you wanted the dreams to end, but your phone alarm drew you from your slumber. 

“Fuck.” You bite out, having forgotten to turn your alarm off the night before. You try to untangle yourself from the warm weight you felt on top of you, holding you to them—wait a minute. 

You open your eyes, alert and scared at the fact that someone was in your room, in your bed with you, only to stare into the sleepy, closed eyed face of Scoups from your favorite kpop group, Seventeen. 

You blink heavily, trying to get rid of the sleep still in your eyes, almost hoping that your eyes weren’t lying to you. They had to be, right? There is no way your ult bias of all people was currently wrapped around you, holding you tightly to their chest. 

Your body tenses in shock, still for a couple of seconds before you try to forcefully remove yourself from the man’s embrace, surprise and slight embarrassment fill your body as he only tightens his hold on you. 

“Stop moving, baby.” You haven’t practiced your Korean in a while, but you knew you didn’t misunderstand his words as he tries to nuzzle into your hair.  “Go back to sleep.” 

“Uhm, excuse me, sir? I’m not sure how you got here, but I am really freaking out.” You whisper, not wanting to break the atmosphere but also wary of what kind of reaction Scoups will have once he realizes he isn’t at home in South Korea but in your bed in America. 

However, he doesn’t react like you thought he would. You imagined him pushing you away, maybe in disgust or fear, and angry yelling asking you what was going on or how he got here. None of that happened. 

“His eyes opened, not recognizing the room he was in or the person he was holding, but he knew exactly what had happened. Only one thing could explain what had happened to him.  

Smiling down at you, he couldn’t begin to think of how to express his excitement, only holding you closer whispering as he did so. 

“Finally.” You watched the word leave his lips, this time in English. Confusion flooded you as your eyebrows furrowed at his statement. You couldn’t understand what was going on. 

You had to be dreaming still, that was it. 

You were dreaming. 

But your alarm was still going off. 

“Uh, sir? I’m not sure exactly what you mean, but if you could let go of me, that would be nice.” You try again, hoping that some sense of the situation you found yourselves in would hit him, but it didn’t seem to work. 

“I’m never letting you go, not now that I’ve finally found you.”

Despite appearing unbonded, Seungcheol had always known he had a soulmate, had a feeling gripping his soul and wanting him to follow the feeling. He had always desired to have a soulmate, someone to take care of and who would understand his sometimes overprotective and possessive nature. He knew he would wait as long as he needed to, for any semblance of a bond to kick in, despite people trying to convince him otherwise. It wasn’t normal, he had been told, for late soul bonds to occur. But here he was, holding his soulmate to his chest, in her room only the heavens know where. 

Soul Transport.

His bond with you transcended space and time and brought him to where and when you needed him the most. He could see the tear stains on your cheeks, how puffy and red your eyes were. He had the sudden desire to hide you from the world, scaring away all of your troubles and worries and keeping you with him at all times. 

You would never be subjected to taking care of yourself ever again. Not while he was there to do it for you. All of your wants, needs, and desires would be met by him. Your soulmate. 

You were his soul. 

The only thing to snap him out of whatever trance he was still in, smiling softly down at you, was his phone ringing. 

Scoups reached down to the pocket of his sweatpants to grab his phone, giving you the opportunity to scramble out of his arms and bracing yourself across the room. You observed the idol, watching as what seemed to be disappointment crossed his face for a second before he answered his phone. 

“Hello?” Seungcheol answered the call, already knowing one of his members was the one calling him, probably wondering where he disappeared too.

“WHERE ARE YOU?! We’ve looked everywhere. We have a meeting with our managers in twenty minutes and you’re nowhere to be found!” Jeonghan yelled into the phone, making him wince and pull away for a second. 

“I’ve found her.” Was all he said, smile growing on his lips again. 

“Huh? What are you talking about? What do you mean you found her?” This time it was Joshua on the phone, grumbling coming from the background.

“I’ve found my soulmate.” Seungcheol was barely able to get his sentence out before he heard screaming on the other end.

You, on the other hand, was just lost in complete shock at the situation you woke up to. You went to bed last night crying about not having a soulmate and being unlovable, and now, now you had not only a soulmate, but your soulmate was your ult bias from your favorite kpop group. 

There was no way in hell you weren’t dreaming. 

Either that or the universe was really fucked up at the moment, giving you false hope only to probably take it back.

You couldn’t help but to watch Scoups, sitting up in your bed and holding one of your plushies to his chest, smiling as he listened to whoever was talking on the phone and responding back. You were too in your head to even begin to try and translate the conversation, caught up in the way he was just smiling at you, so softly and with all the love in the world. 

You weren’t gonna lie, it was making you a little uncomfortable. You were so unused to anyone looking at you in a positive light that you didn’t know how to react or think. 

A hand gently grabbing onto your own snapped you out of your thoughts, looking up to see Scoups looking at you concerned. 

“Are you okay, my soul?” Oh my gosh, his English was so adorable, you couldn’t help but fangirl for a second. He called you his soul. He called you his soul. He really did think you were his soulmate.

“Uhm, I’m not sure.” You replied honestly, truly unsure of how you were feeling. You felt tingles and sparks suddenly at his embrace of your hand and looked down, only for black words to slowly appear on your forearm right under the palm of your hand. 

His name was now written in black script on your arm. 

A soul mark. 

You looked at his own forearm only for your name to be written on his skin, your handwriting staring back at you. 

Now you knew you weren’t dreaming. 

Two soul bonds were rare. Almost unheard of. Your own bond with Scoups was soul transport and soul marks was an even rarer combination. Looking up at him, his expression mirrored your own, one of complete shock.

“Hello? Cheol? You still there?” The voice of Joshua came from the speaker on his phone, breaking the moment between you and your soulmate. 

“Yes, we are here.” His eyes refused to leave you, like he was trying to imprint the image of you into memory. 

“Hello there. My name is Joshua and I am a friend to your soulmate.” Joshua’s voice was so sweet and he spoke. You figured he was there to translate for Scoups, seeing as Joshua was from the states and spoke English fluently. 

“Hello Joshua. I uh, actually know who you are and who my, uh, soulmate is. I am a fan of your group.” The blush on your face wasn’t even considered a blush anymore. Your entire face was red from embarrassment as you looked at your Seventeen posters right behind your bed on the wall leading Scoups to look. You couldn’t even look his way once the smirk grew on his lips. 

“And I do speak a little Korean. I’m uhm, still learning though.” You finish off, looking anywhere but Scoups who was still holding your hand, his thumb now brushing softly against your palm. 

“Oh, you are a carat? That’s awesome!” You could tell Joshua and Scoups had become genuinely excited at the fact that you were a fan of them, and it made you smile a little bit. Joshua then asked for your name, and upon hearing you say it, you could see Scoups mouthing it, the gentle smile still on his lips.

After exchanging a bit of information about yourself like where you live and work, the conversation turned a little deeper.

“Well, Cheol wished for me to explain to you what needs to happen. I’m sorry about this, but soulmate laws are a little different in Korea.” You finally looked back to Scoups, only for him to bow his head a little bit. “Because your soulmate is South Korean, you are now considered a South Korean citizen and therefore, fall under our soulmate laws and registry.” Joshua finishes, but you still don’t understand what is going on. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand what that means.” You tell both men, trying to make sense of why Joshua was telling you this. 

“Well y/n, it basically means you will need to reside in South Korea with Seungcheol, as South Korea has a ‘No Separation’ policy.” Your life seemingly flashed in front of your eyes. 

Yes, you hated your job and all of your coworkers, as well as your small, shitty apartment. But it was all you had for yourself. It was something you accomplished on your own. 

But you’ve always wanted to be taken care of. This could be your chance to be with your soulmate and he obviously seems to want to take care of you. your inner voice spoke up. 

It was true. Just from what you know of Scoups, he loves to take care of his members and those around him, but you had to remind yourself that you don’t truly know your new soulmate, only what the cameras show of him. 

“Seungcheol wants me to reassure you that he will do whatever he needs to do in order to make everything comfortable for you. Well, he actually wanted me to tell you that he will provide everything for you and that you will never want for anything again but it seemed a little too forward.” Joshua rushed out the last sentence causing a surprised laugh to leave your lips. 

It was almost too perfect. 

You had a soulmate who fit every wish of your dreams. 

Everything started to feel overwhelming. You didn’t know how Scoups was so accepting of this, seeing as he has had to wait longer than you have for the bonds to click between you two. You felt Scoups squeeze your hand before drawing you into his chest, enveloping you into his embrace. It’s like he could tell you were about to fall apart and he was there to hold the pieces together. 

“Our managers are already booking plane tickets for you to travel back here, and the plan will leave tomorrow morning. I’m so sorry about how fast this has to move, but for both of your safety and because of our hectic schedules, we need to get you both here as soon as we can. Is this enough time to get things sorted out for you? If not, when you arrive, our team will help you settle everything else.” Joshua’s voice seemed a thousand miles away and you felt like you were floating. 

“It seems I don’t have a choice, so yes.” You could feel Scoups squeeze you tighter before talking into the phone and ending the call. 

He held you for another couple minutes, not wanting to let go of you. You didn’t want him to let go either. You knew the bonds were real now, that your soulmate was indeed Choi Seungcheol from the kpop group Seventeen. The safety and reassurance you feel just from his touch was enough for you to accept everything. 

To believe everything would be okay. 

“My soul?” By the heavens above you loved his name for you. You don’t think you would ever grow tired of it. You could feel the heat rushing towards your cheeks as his name for you reminded you of everything going on right now. 

Reluctantly pushing away from Scoups, you made your way to your closet, looking for the luggage set your bought when you last visited your family. Once you found it, you turned around, only to find Scoups looking over your kpop collection. You grew a little embarrassed, really not expecting your soulmate to be a kpop idol. 

You needed to start packing if your flight was going to be leaving tomorrow morning. You set your luggage on the floor, earning you a look from Scoups who moved forward looking ready to do whatever is needed. A man on a mission. 

You were leaving tomorrow to live in South Korea with your soulmate, and by the heavens you would try to fit everything you could into your luggage set. 

[risestarkiss]

Being Baby Blue

Rise Ramblings #313

Leonardo Hamato is…an interesting individual.

As a middle child, he doesn’t have to shoulder the responsibilities of the oldest, nor is he fawned upon or babied over like the youngest. Therefore, he ends up having more of a lackadaisical approach to life.

In his free time, instead of training like Raph, Leo can normally be found reading comic books.

And for good reason! Someone has to be up on the latest issues of Jupiter Jim and his space odysseys.

But, other than being a Jupiter Jim superfan, who is Leonardo Hamato?

If you ask Leo, he's...*takes out a list*: “Primetime,” “First,” “The Best,” “Number One,” “The Champion,” or some other iteration of all of the above.

...Huh. Anyways...

Of course, the first thing Leo would tell you is that he's the team's "Face Man."

As the "Face Man," he’s the one that turns up the charm when they need to schmooze their way out of, or into, something.

He's the face of the group! It's a very important title, right?

Well, in this scene with Hueso, we learn what Leo really feels about his place on the team.

"There's no team with just a face man." "I'm nothing without them."

Hmm. If he thinks that he is nothing without his brothers, then what's the deal with all of this "Number One" and "Champion" talk?

I believe that Leo is exhibiting a form of Reaction Formation.

Reaction Formation is a primitive defense mechanism that involves transforming one's unacceptable feelings or emotions into the opposite.

"Solicitude may be a reaction-formation against cruelty...romantic notions of chastity and purity may mask crude sexual desires, altruism may hide selfishness, and piety may conceal sinfulness."

Leo has been creating these grandiose titles and this larger-than-life persona for himself as a means to cope with his feelings of insecurity, his anxieties, and combat his self-deprecation.

Gee, forming a larger-than-life persona to counteract their suppressed feelings also reminds me of someone else we know…

But, I digress...

Behind the fabrications, his insecurities, who he pretends to be, and who he wants to be, the real Leo is still on display, starting as early as the first episode.

He's attentive, he understands the team's strengths and weaknesses, he assesses situations, he comes up with great plans on the fly, and he is a voice of reason.

These are all the characteristics of a great leader.

However, something happens when he’s actually appointed as such.

There he goes again. He's cocky, arrogant, and act's as if he's unphased even by the prospect of loosing his brothers. If this is Reaction Formation, then what is he trying to mask with these behaviors?

Previously, he was masking his insecurities, his anxieties, and his self-deprecation, but with the faces he pulls when he thinks no one can see them, I want to say the newest emotion is fear.

He is terrified of being the leader and floundering under his new responsibilities. He's scared of the consequences of his actions, and what those consequences may mean for his brothers. However, instead of voicing his insecurities, or communicating with his team, he doubles down and falls back into old habits.

The "Face Man" persona is turned up to an 11, and things get worse and worse until...

His greatest fears have been realized.

He has failed as a leader. He has failed his brothers. He has failed to stop the invasion, and they are all going to die because of his failures.

Now he's faced with the harsh reality of his own mistakes, thus he finally faces himself.

"It's scary to be responsible for the lives you protect, your team...your family. But we do it anyway because that's what it means to be a hero."

He may be speaking to Raph, but he's talking about himself.

His words are his true feelings, the same feelings that have been holding him back this entire time. By opening up, he's able to surrender to himself and let it all go.

And it's the breakthrough we all have been waiting for.

What Leo doesn't know is that through letting go, he's able to become the true face of the group he is destined to be.

He's the face of hope.

Update: This post now also exists in video form. 😌💙

○○○○

Previous | Being Big Red

Next | Being Purple ○ Part One • Being Purple ○ Part Two • Orange, Baby!

Finale | Being Hamato Yoshi

[lincolndjarin]

hollow star ⊹₊⟡⋆ ch. one

chapter one : when flesh meets steal

ao3 kofi main masterlist (series masterlist coming soon )

pairing: din djarin x scientist!reader

rating: 18+ mdni - check chapter tags for cws

word count : 6.1k

summary: Din agrees to help you when he's sees the credits you're offering in exchange for protection, after all, it's a simple mission. Artifact retrieval and data collection.

That's what you told him.

And why wouldn't he believe you?

tags: strangers to lovers, horror, non-consensual voyeurism, slowburn, psycological horror, fear

70,000 CREDITS - PRIVATE ESCORT DETAIL : FREELANCE OPERATIVES ONLY

SERVICE TYPE: Discreet Escort / Protection Detail 

DURATION: 2 weeks (approximately) 

LOCATION: Classified - Outer Rim, unregistered planet (coordinates provided upon meeting)

COMPENSATION: 140,000 credits, 70,000 upfront, and the remainder upon completion of the job. (an additional 10,000 credits will be provided for every day of service required after the initial 2 weeks.)

BONUS: Hazard pay negotiable based on situational escalation.

REQUIREMENTS:  Combat experience, (soldier or soldier adjacent is preferable) must be familiar with navigation and willing to travel through hostile terrain. Preferably a ship that does not require a crew and has a solo operator. (negotiable) Must not be affiliated with the New Republic, or any Jedi-aligned factions. 

Private client requiring an armed escort for the purpose of a personal research trip. The objective being artifact retrieval and/or data extraction. No combat is anticipated but the client requests protection against potential scavengers or environmental threats. Client will not be armed. No questions asked, no answers expected, discretion is non-negotiable. 

There’s several blocked lines of text at the bottom of his monitor, encrypted information about the client that makes him furrow his brow. The black screen flickers a bit, his thoughts accompanied by the quiet hum of the space that surrounds the Razor Crest. 140,000 credits is nothing to scoff at, it’s the type of payment he’d expect on a high risk job, or something far more sinister than this. That kind of money is often offered up for jobs that most people wouldn’t choose because of its morality. Hit’s put out on children, or the defenseless. Or at the very least something that would take well over a few months. 

Not this, not a simple in and out escort job. 

The redacted information is concerning. Too concerning, even with the payout promised. His fingers type into the system for a few moments, trying to push through what he knows to be simple defenses put up by the guild before the screen blinks and the text is easily revealed to him. With a pleased sigh he sits back in his chair and reads. 

Client shows signs of previous Imperial affiliation, though not flagged for war crimes. Known history with a classified archives division. Linguist, no combat personnel history. Last known activity listed as an unexplained incident with a vault located at Station Mourna 2. (now sealed.) Was assigned to the Imperial Historical Recovery Taskforce, or I-HRT, division 12. No last known location. No existing warrants or bounties on head. 

The Imperial affiliation stands out to him but it reads like they had very little to do with anything more than their history department. Which seems benign enough and would explain the exorbitant fee. They can simply afford it. 

But there’s just something off about the listing. 

It should be so simple, it’s a clean cut job, a bit clinical, but nothing of the sort would be required of him. It’s the top left corner of the screen that makes him the most hesitant. 

36 applications received, 0 accepted. 

The client clearly requires someone experienced, it can’t even be seen by anyone without a certain guild clearance level but 0 acceptances out of 36? It’s unheard of, even with the pickiest clients. Anyone who would have applied at this point would have been more than qualified. 

Maybe the client is particular about certain things, or maybe they already found someone and forgot to remove the listing. Either way it’s simply too tempting to resist any longer. He needs the money, or at the very least he needs the distance. 

He can’t just keep waiting here, burning through fuel, for something that is never going to happen. 

He enters his guild code, fingers lingering above the send button before finally clicking it. Rocking back in the pilot's seat he lets his head fall back. Accepting the fact that he won’t be receiving a response before the message has even been fully sent out. 

So the immediate chime made by the ship's notification system is more than a shock as he sits back up. 

Congratulations! Your application has been accepted! The client will be waiting for you on : CORUSCANT 

Attached you will find the message provided by the client, best of luck!

I would like to be retrieved as quickly as possible from the Kaelen Memorial Travel Port. Payment will be exchanged immediately after boarding. Your haste is appreciated. 

Dr. Thorne

The response makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He can’t place the sense of dread this all fills him with but unfortunately his mind is made up. A lot of things fill him with dread these days, so he might as well make a little money. 

It’s not like he has anything left to lose.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Sleep doesn’t come easy to him.

It never has, but especially not these last few months. Almost always it’s just simple restlessness, a refusal to turn off the hunters instincts and relax. Waking up in a sweat after a dream of just barely snagging a bounty, or finding himself at the end of a blaster being wielded by one of the many nameless faces he’s turned in over the years.  

Tonight is different though. Tonight he sinks into sleep slowly, but deeply. 

When he wakes up he’s met with a feeling he hasn’t felt in decades. 

The wind. 

Cold, and sharp against his face as he cautiously gets to his feet. He’s standing in a field of ash, no visible sky above, only more grey and smoke. 

He manages to pull himself together enough to realize he’s dreaming but it doesn’t make him any less disoriented. His hands find his face, scratching at the unfamiliar sting of air on his flesh. Looking around and trying to take in his surroundings proves fruitless until something slowly slips through the smoke above him. Swaying back and forth in the breeze until it gingerly lands in his open hands. 

A feather. 

A dainty, black feather.

When he shifts his gaze upwards to find the source he finally finds something else in the endless expanse of space around him. A star. 

Although it’s barely that at all. 

Hanging from a mess of wires is a poorly made steel outline of a star, desperately trying to stay together as a few sparks twitch out of the exposed cables within. It tries to flicker, to turn on but all it manages is a pathetic glow from the hollow space within. It isn’t a normal light it emits either, he immediately recognizes it as the same glow made by the darksaber, instinctively he reaches for his hip to find it but only grabs air. Looking down in search of it forcefully makes him drop down a foot into the ash. 

Before he can find his footing he sinks again, another jolt down so that he’s up to his knees in ash. Frantically, he tries to hold onto something, anything, but there’s only more grainy ash, he finds no purchase as he sinks, quicker, and quicker, unable to hold on any longer he takes a deep breath, preparing for the punishing lack of oxygen he’s about to be faced with. 

And then he wakes up. 

Gasping, and clawing at the single sheet that lines the mattress in his bunk. 

It’s a tight squeeze when he leverages himself out, falling to his knees in the cargo hold of the ship, wildly ripping his helmet off before the air can properly depressurize, giving himself a sharp pain in his temples. He’s too desperate for air to care about the headache he’s gonna have for the rest of the day. 

⊹₊⟡⋆

It’s late. 

The port you’ve requested boarding at isn’t one he’s familiar with. Coruscant is a large planet though, and there’s plenty of places in the galaxy that he’s never been to. As he approaches the first thing he notes is how dark it is. The entire planet is lit up, especially from a distance. The mass of cities and the vibrant nightlife keep the planet well lit. Unfortunately for him, it seems you’ve chosen the only dark patch on the entire planet. It isn’t easy to calibrate the landing because of the lack of light, he can’t see anything clearly but it appears to be completely empty so he picks a random spot and prepares himself. 

The ship hovers above the crumbling refueling station, slowly descending before landing with a hiss of air. For the price attached to the job he certainly wasn’t expecting to dock in such a shitty spot. Unsure of what to expect he makes his way to the loading dock and lowers the ramp, before it even reaches the stone pathway a pair of boots land on the edge. 

Instinctively his hand twitches to his blaster as he assesses the figure. 

Alone, cloaked, and calm. Before him stands who he is certain must be his client. He was expecting a stony faced doctor, someone older, someone that looked like they’d spent plenty of time out in the field. 

Which is why he’s taken aback by the sight of you. 

Doe-eyed, looking out of place in the dark robes that adorn your body, the only out of place thing about you is the small pale scar along your jaw. In one swift motion you drag a large suitcase up onto the platform behind you. 

“Worn, but efficient.” Are the first words out of your mouth as you take in the sights of the ship, as if he isn’t standing directly in front of you. “I suppose this will do.” Nodding to yourself you finally let your gaze settle in him, a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes adorns your face. “Hello, Mandalorian.” It’s almost posed as a question, you want confirmation that you’re in the right place despite the fact that he’s standing before you in full beskar armour.  

He isn’t sure how to respond. The client information section of the listing flashes through his mind as he stares. 

Imperial affiliation. 

Your outfit surely suggests that but the rest of you screams inexperienced. He hasn’t ever seen someone who looks so unprepared for a field job. And he finds himself experiencing a feeling he’s only ever felt a handful of times in his life. 

Surprised. 

But you can’t know that. 

He’s supposed to be the seasoned bounty hunter who can handle anything thrown his direction. At least that’s what you’re paying for. Convinced his voice will betray him, he only nods at you. 

“Good, I’m Dr. Thorne, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Stepping further up onto the ship you hold your hand out towards him. With robotic movements he gives you a quick and firm handshake before immediately withdrawing. Even through his gloves he can feel just how cold you are. 

With every passing second he’s regretting this decision more and more. 

“I appreciate your punctuality.” You rock slowly, back and forth on your heels as you size him up, making no attempts at being subtle. “And you’re taller than I expected. Not an issue, just something of note.” You force a laugh but he still doesn’t speak. Partly because he isn’t the chatty type but also because he just doesn’t know what to say. Your tone is too clinical, like he’s a patient and you’re his doctor. “And you haven’t interrupted me once, which is… polite, I suppose.” He can’t decide if you’re joking so he continues to nod. 

Everything about you is odd, it gives him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is why he doesn’t usually take escort jobs. They require too much talking, it’s been so long since he’s had someone aboard that wasn’t a bounty he can’t even discern if this is typical conversation. You’re too clinical, too detached from your words, if it weren’t for your constant twitching and unpredictable muscle spasms he’d have thought you were a droid. He has to remind himself that you’re just a person, and he’s met plenty of people, some over twice your size, and never once felt intimidated. 

With an indiscernible shiver he shakes off the feeling, after all there is no direct threat here, just discomfort, and he’s more than well equipped to handle a little discomfort. 

“Would you mind directing me to my chambers so that I might deposit my belongings before we proceed?” The naivety of your statement makes him scoff, and briefly his walls break down. You’re about to be in for a rude awakening as he tilts his head to the left, the airlock doors open on a small storage compartment. Clearly a space used to store weapons or fuel, that has been cleaned and haphazardly refurbished with a cot, a steel dresser, and a storage trunk. 

But you are completely unshaken. 

Despite your neatly kept robes and hair pulled back is a strict tie you show no signs of distress at the tiny living space. 

“Well this is easy enough.” You grunt a little, dragging your large bag forward, tossing it into the compartment before turning to face him once more, riffling around in your robe pockets and presenting him with a large satchel that jingles with the sound of credits as you hold it out politely towards him. 

“You don’t seem up for conversation so I suppose we should just get on with it then.” You click your tongue, softly, it doesn’t seem like you even realized that you did it. “Perhaps I should try speaking your language. My plans are as follows; I would like safe and comfortable transportation to my desired location. When we arrive I would like you to accompany me as I conduct my research. It is nothing of great importance, more of a personal project of mine, I’d like to retrieve an artifact for my personal collection. It isn’t considered particularly valuable by any means, it’s just something significant to the niche of research that I’ve devoted my life to. While I am willing to share more information on it I’d rather not and I’d be willing to bet that you don’t want to hear it anyway so I think it would be for the best to keep it that way. I am not anticipating a need for protection, the site was condemned ages ago, but I find that preparing for the worst case scenario is best. You will accompany me. I will examine the ruins, collect samples and data, and when I’m done, we will board the ship and you will bring me back here.” 

Your eyes dart down to the credits and then back up to his visor. 

“70,000 credits, as promised upon arrival. With another 70,000 to be transferred electronically automatically at the end of the two week period along with a bonus for your discretion.” The end of your sentence drifts off to a whisper as you wait for him to accept. 

You barely breathed during your ramblings and his brain is fighting to process everything at the same speed as your voice. 

A moment of eerie silence swallows the space around them, something of significance that he can’t quite place, nor can he discern if you feel it too. A sour taste in his mouth and the feeling of bile rising in his throat, a feeling of being watched, all eyes on him. Waiting for him to make the choice, the right choice. 

And as he thinks it over you react with enough tiny tells to finally let him know that you’re just as nervous. 

You’re in a constant state of motion, even when you appear to be still, as if there’s something under your skin keeping you going. 

But it was foolish of you to even think you could hide from him, he was trained to do this, to read a situation like this with deadly precision, despite how low stakes it might look to an outsider he can feel the weight of the situation, heavy on his chest as his eyes roam the oncoming storm that is you. 

The way your jaw ticks, the subtle flex of the muscles in your cheek as you fight the urge to grind your teeth. Your nails chewed down to the quick, and the skin around them red and angry from nervous scratching and picking. The color of your undereyes is just a little too bright, you’re covering up something with makeup, almost certainly dark under eyes. The scar that runs along the bottom of your jaw is barely visible when you’re facing forward but he can tell it’s old, it healed long ago but everytime you look in the mirror you’re reminded of whatever it was that gave it to you. Oddly enough, the culmination of all of this is enough to finally relax him a bit. It’s what finally makes you human in his eyes.

You put on a good show. 

At first glance he was entirely convinced that you were this mysterious, calculating Imperial doctor, but he can see through all of that with a closer look. You’re a survivor. You’re scared of whatever mission it is that you’re about to embark on, but you’re not the threat you try to discreetly present yourself as. 

“Trust is expensive out here.” The stare of wide eyed innocence you give him makes up his mind as he holds his own hand out and accepts the credits. You visibly exhale when he does. “I just hope that with this, I’ve earned yours.” 

The nod he gives you provides no promises, you’d be stupid to think that he trusts you, but at the very least you’re putting some trust in him. 

And that’s enough to make him speak his first words to you. The question that’s been on his mind since he saw your listing. 

“Where are we going?” He can immediately tell that how ragged his voice is from disuse is startling. He can’t seem to recall the last time he had to speak. 

Politely, and anticipating this question you reach into your robes once more before producing a small slip of paper with coordinates neatly written on them. 

“I don’t know the name of the planet, it’s old and I haven’t been able to find many records of an official title.” He’s quickly realizing that you speak like you rehearsed this all, it’s an odd, robotic, tone. It makes him want to ask more but he knows that he probably wouldn’t like any answer you gave him, the way you speak unsettles him. Instead of dwelling he tries to map out in his mind how long the trip will be from here to this mystery planet based on the coordinates. 

“Should be about two days of travel, is there anything else you need before we leave?” He has rations set aside for the two of you but with the possible end date of this job being ambiguous it’s troubling to think that all you have is one bag. “I have enough rations stored away for four weeks worth of travel, with four days total in round trip travel time I’d advise you to make sure you’re properly equipped.” You aren’t looking at him anymore, instead your eyes wander and begin to study the ship around you. 

“I have everything we’ll need.” He watches as your temperature rises, just a degree or two, wondering if it’s your nerves that are causing this reaction. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

There’s no reason to draw this out any longer than necessary, with his pockets weighed down with his payment he makes a beeline for the bay door panel, with a deafening groan the steel doors slide shut. Ignoring the feeling of your eyes on him he pushes a series of buttons, ensuring a proper seal on the airlock. No going back now. 

“Shall I join you in the cockpit? Perhaps I could properly brief you on the mission and we could exchange pleasantries.” You give him a polite smile but he shakes his head. The last thing he wants right now is more conversation with you. 

“Get some sleep, it’s gonna be a long trip.” He tries to control his tone, attempting a cordial manner of speaking. 

He can’t get to the cockpit quickly enough. Careful to lock the hatch behind him he starts to set the course. It’s a fifty hour trip there, fifty hours until the unknown. Setting the ship for an auto pilot trip he leans back in his chair, taking deep breaths until the blinking light on the control panel breaks him out of his silent meditation. 

The ship's motion detectors. 

He’s never used the security system, he’d had it installed as a sort of baby monitor for the kid but he’d never needed it. He so rarely has anyone on the ship to monitor. 

He fiddles with the controls briefly until the monitor to his left hums to life with the grainy image of you, standing alone right where he left you. 

As you look around the room, taking your time to note everything around you he finds himself fascinated by the sight of you. Being able to watch you from the outside makes you much more interesting. 

When you finally move it isn’t too rushed to your chambers.

Instead you move slowly, drinking in the space. You lift your hand and your robe flows like water around you, and you touch the closest wall. Pacing, circling the room you brush your hand up against everything, not searching or scheming, just feeling. Mapping out the space. You pause in front of one of the many supply lockers crammed in against the interior wiring of the ship, tilting your head as if you’re listening for something. A small, private smile tugging at the corners of your mouth before you move on. 

His gloved hands flip through the switches, cycling through the different feeds until you’re back on the screen, stepping lightly into a cargo hold. 

You’re so careful. You don’t pry or rummage through his things, instead you just do a lap around the room, fingertips dragging along the seams of the walls that conceal panels, the cold steel of storage crates. 

You linger over things like the emergency oxygen masks and the first aid kits, like you’re memorizing their placements. Everything in the room feels your featherlight touch as you slowly trace every edge and curve. He feels like he watches you move from room to room for hours until you finally make your way into your quarters. Instinctively he changes the feed again only to be met with static. A frown forming on his face until he realizes why. 

When he’d purchased the ship he had to calibrate the system to his liking, and he’d marked any rooms used as sleeping quarters as private. He didn’t normally have guests on the ship but he wasn’t a creep. His thumb hovers over the manual toggle anyway, and a thought crosses his mind. 

He shouldn’t be watching you, you clearly have no ill intentions. It would be wrong to keep watching. 

But you’re wearing all those layered robes. 

A concealed weapon isn’t just a possibility, it’s smart. And with your intelligence it should be expected. 

And of course he hadn’t searched you upon boarding, you’re a paying customer, it would have been rude and might have lost him the job. 

He flexes his hand. 

Something about you was off, even the listing had been strange. The wise decision here would be to make sure that everything appears typical. His mind argues back and forth with itself as he tries to justify this, eventually his curiosity gets the best of him. 

Just until you’re done changing, he tells himself. Just to be sure. 

The feed cuts to an unblurred view of your room. 

For a moment you just dig through your bag, and his jaw tightens. You pull out a few notebooks and pens, tossing them onto the cot. Your movements are so much more fluid now, without rush, more natural looking than you’d been in front of him. 

Standing with your back to the camera your fingers find the ties at your waist, loosening them, the fabric falls off your shoulders. Slowly and methodically you slip off each layer, catching them before they hit the floor, and folding them neatly. It’s a long and arduous process as you go layer by layer until you’ve got a stack on your dresser and you clasp your hands together, finished. 

Now revealed is a thin underlayer, a close fitted tunic and pants that end just above your knees. Clothes meant for sleeping, nothing else. Tight enough to make it obvious that you’re concealing nothing. 

He tells himself again that this is all just a precaution  

His throat feels terribly dry. 

He should turn it off. But he can’t.

Reaching up, you undo your hair, arching yourself back in a stretch that makes his entire justification for watching you suddenly feel twisted and dirty. 

There are no weapons. Nothing hidden. 

Nothing but you. 

And then, you froze in place.  

Halfway through a groan of relief as you stretch, you turn towards the wall. 

Head tilting up until your gaze is facing the camera. 

Not just towards it, right at it.

Your eyes are calm, not accusatory, not shocked. 

That somehow makes him feel worse. A bead of sweat sliding down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. 

And you tilt your head to the side, just a smidge. Like you’re staring right at him. Like you’re the one observing him. 

He cuts the feed. 

Turning the monitor off entirely as the cockpit goes silent and he’s staring at his own reflection in the now blank screen. Helmeted, emotionless, guiltless. 

He certainly doesn’t feel that way, as shame is starting to set in like cement in his chest. 

Leaning back in his chair he exhales slowly. 

He certainly isn’t going to sleep soundly tonight. 

⊹₊⟡⋆ 

The familiar scent of the motel room fills your head as you rush back in, slamming the door shut behind you with a panicked breath, scrambling for the lock before relaxing. 

It’s a shitty place to stay, with even shittier neighbors. Your research is too important to be kept here, you know that, but you don’t have any other choice. This was and continues to be the cheapest option. Just as you’re setting your bag down your tablet across the room chimes. For the last three months you’ve felt your heart race at the sound of that notification dozens of times, only to immediately be disappointed. Tonight is no different. Your breath quickens immediately, almost to the point of hyperventilation as you dart across the room, kneeling in front of the bed as you type your password into the device. 

[ YOU HAVE : 1 NEW APPLICATION - WOULD YOU LIKE TO REVIEW IT? ]

Out of habit you’re tapping the space where the “yes” icon is going to appear before it’s even there. The screen changes to the applicants guild code, but that’s not the information you’re after, your eyes skip over it the redacted information portion, you’ve already put a system in place that reveals it and you desperately search for the one word you’ve been waiting for. 

And for the first time since you put out this damn listing, you find it. 

Mandalorian 

It feels like your heart stops, you know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but this could be the one. 

Male, 40 years of age, (estimate) combat capable, well experienced, specialties in location and extraction of bounties, Mandalorian, solo operation. 

He fits all the parameters, even if they’re vague. It isn’t a guarantee that he’s the one you’ve been waiting for but you don’t even think about it as you type in your response, signing it with the name you were given during your time serving the Empire. 

Dr. Thorne 

You hurriedly pack everything you can into your bag before laying down, heart racing, the moment you get a response you’ll be checking out of this hell hole. If the guild member arrives and isn’t the Mandalorian in full silver with a mudhorn signet on his pauldron you’ll just turn around and try again. 

… 

In the morning you have an estimated arrival time and it’s all finally coming together. You tell yourself over and over again to not get ahead of yourself. It’s more than likely that you’ll be checking back into hotel hell tonight. 

There’s nothing left to do at this point but wait. So that’s exactly what you do, you sit by the small window and wait for the sun to set, your eyes locked onto the clock on your tablet. Until finally, a little after ten o’clock there’s another notification chime and you know he’ll be landing soon.

You dress yourself in the only nice clothes you have left, your robes, and travel to what you know to be an abandoned space port. Pulling your cloak more tightly around yourself as the cold settles into your bones. You aren’t standing in the dark for long, soon enough there's a rush of hot air as a ship materializes out of the darkness, landing directly in front of you. You’re absolutely wired at this point. It feels like there’s an electric current running under your skin as a loud hiss fills the quiet air around you and a large ramp lowers itself to the ground and you can see the soft golden light within. 

You’re too fired up to wait for it to hit the ground, careful not to lose your balance you hoist yourself up. Taking in the sights of the ship, forcing a smile, preparing yourself for the wave of defeat that will wash over you when you see him. 

And then you do. 

And he sees you. 

And the weight of the world is lifted off your shoulders. 

Your brain stops working but thankfully your mouth doesn’t, you’re on auto-pilot, introducing yourself, shaking his hand, greeting him. 

Him. 

Standing before you just as you’d dreamed. In a full suit of silver armour, the signature Mandalorian helmet adorns his head. He’s taller than you thought he’d be, more menacing. You aren’t scared of him though, you couldn’t be. Your eyes drift to his shoulder, the mughorn symbol visible from where you’re standing. 

You finally manage to shake off the sense of awe and ask him where your chambers are and he scoffs, how odd. He nods to an open room to your left and you drag the bag carrying your entire life over, tossing it in. It’s a palace compared to the types of places you’ve been living in. It’s clean. It’s safe.

He doesn’t seem to want to talk to you yet, that’s fine, he needs to warm up to you. You just need to get him to accept the payment and then there’s no going back. You grab the credits, the precious compensation that’s going to be your salvation and hold it out towards him. When he doesn’t react, panic starts to rise like bile in your throat. 

He’s just staring at you. 

Suddenly you’re terrified. 

Terrified that he’s changed his mind.

Terrified that he’ll want to negotiate for more money, something that you can’t afford. 

Terrified that you’ve said something that’s convinced him that this isn’t going to work. 

And most of all, you're terrified that he sees right through you. 

That he can see this facade you’re putting on solely for his benefit, this image of a weak and helpless girl, desperately in need of help. You’ve worked too hard to look broken, like a damsel in distress, you’ll be damned if this crumbles now. 

“Trust is expensive out here.” The words tumble out of you before you can stop them. Stupid! He just needs a little time, if you keep pushing him you risk losing everything before you’ve even begun. 

Your heart flutters as he closes his hand around the bag. 

Of course he accepted. He’s going to protect you now, you knew he was the one. 

“I just hope that with this, I’ve earned yours.” You give him a much more relaxed smile. Of course he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s perfect. None of this would work if he trusted you immediately. It needs to be slow, gradual, and earned. It needs to be real. And with what likely awaits you at the station you know you will need that trust soon. 

You know you shouldn’t push it, you should go to bed now and leave him to his work but you want him to trust you now, you want him to be everything you know he can be. 

But he doesn’t want that.

He isn’t ready. 

He tells you to get some sleep but you aren’t tired, how can you be expected to sleep at a time like this? You don’t argue though, and you don’t follow him when he retires to the cockpit. You know you likely won’t see him until you land so you familiarize yourself with the ship. 

Taking deep breaths to ground yourself. 

You can’t remember the last time you felt at ease like you do now. 

You’ve spent the last decade in and out of highly hazardous working conditions, and then for a few years after that, you were in and out of the worst hotels in Coruscant. Always running from the thing that just won’t leave you be. 

It’s a breath of fresh air to enter your chambers and know that you can sleep soundly tonight. 

Careful not to wrinkle your only presentable clothing, you fold it all neatly, setting it aside for the days to follow. You’re ready to get into bed when the hair on the back of your neck stands up mid stretch. The all too familiar feeling of being watched. 

That can’t be right, not here, not now. 

Nothing should have been able to follow you here, turning and scanning the walls of your room you don’t see any obvious signs of danger. 

A patch of discolored paint in the corner catches your eye. It vaguely resembles a shadow and your blood runs cold, ever so slowly you tilt your head, trying to see if it’s a trick of the light. Slowly, the feeling of being surveilled eases. It’s just paint, dark patches of paint. 

It’s normal to be nervous. That’s what you tell yourself. 

Good things don’t happen to you.

They never have. 

You deserve to enjoy this fleeting sense of peace, for however long it lasts. 

After messing around with the buttons near the door you manage to turn the lights off. Leaving you in complete and total darkness as you slide under the wool blanket that’s been left on your cot. 

You have no control over the smile that creeps across your face as you deeply inhale the air on the ship, allowing yourself to savor it. 

Oil, iron, gunpowder, sweat. 

With the lights off and your vision completely obscured, your other senses are enhanced. You don’t just smell his sweat, you taste it. The distinct and metallic tang. Him. 

A combination of flesh, and leather, and something deeper, something so uniquely him. So familiar. 

Something that lit up that sharp and all consuming fire inside you. It started as a quiet hunger but has been growing for days, for weeks, for years. 

You feel your pulse quicken and fight to keep your breathing steady. How are you supposed to maintain your composure when you aren’t afraid? When was the last time you didn’t feel a constant underlying sense of dread? Unable to contain yourself any longer, you whisper into the silence of your cabin. The name that you’ve been repeating in your head for ages. 

“Din Djarin.” 

The name that has lived only in your mind reverberates around the small space, as if the galaxy itself was whispering it to you. You’d never spoken it aloud before now. You’d been saving it for a special occasion, it had taken time to learn it, patience, a deep dive into records, and rumors. It had taken quite some time but it hadn’t been hard. Not for someone who knew where to look, not for someone who was meant to know it, not for you. 

You’ve spent nearly a year on his trail, your studies, your life's work, they'd all lead to this moment. To him. 

You don’t have to be afraid anymore. 

He’s real, he’s here. You can feel his presence here, taste him, smell him, feel him. All of him, as he fills the space, you bury your face in the blanket and deeply inhale. The stress and the panic that have been building in your chest for Maker knows how long, starts to melt away bit by tortuous bit. 

You found him. 

And he’s going to save you.

a/n : I'm super super rusty so if this is bad let's blame it on that and hope it gets better lol, love y'all and thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello! I saw that your requests might be open so I figured I'd send one in! I might actually send in a couple if it's alright ;-;

Could you please write something about the Fellowship (+ Faramir, Eowyn and Eomer if possible) with a reader whose hands are always super cold and prone to frostbite? So they have to wear like 3 pairs of gloves in brisk weather just to keep their hands safe.

I have a condition called Raynaud's Syndrome where the blood vessels in my hands actually constrict in the cold so I lose circulation to my fingers if I don't wear layers of gloves and hand warmers, and I actually run the risk of losing my fingers so with colder months moving in I would love some comfort about it. Thanks so much dear, thank you and take care of yourself!

(of course it's alright! send as many requests as you want x I don't write for all of the fellowship individually (not totally confident with all their characterisation yet 😅) so I'm just going to do the ones on my character list :) I hope this is ok!)

(Includes Sam, Pippin, Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, Faramir (separately) x gender neutral reader - no warnings, all SFW)

Sam:

Sam is constantly worrying over you the second it starts getting cold. Every 10 seconds he's checking up on you, asking if you're feeling ok, are you too cold, do you need another pair of gloves? Even if you insist that you're completely fine, he'll insist on giving you his own gloves, 'just in case', and if you're travelling then he'll fuss over you being sat close enough to the fire.

Pippin:

Pippin will make a lot of jokes about how you always seem to be cold until you explain your condition and he realises how serious it can be. He still teases you sometimes, but he's much more sensitive about it and only makes jokes once he knows you're completely fine and you've got enough layers on. (He's secretly nervous over you a lot but tries not to outwardly worry you too much.)

Aragorn:

Aragorn is more of a silent worrier than the others. Obviously he'll make sure you have everything you need to stay warm and then some, but his support is wordless. You'll often find yourself with extra gloves in your pack that you're certain you didn't put there, or with blankets covering you that definitely weren't there when you went to sleep. He doesn't fuss too much though, he trusts that you know your condition and limits far better than he does.

Legolas:

Legolas panics a little when you first explain your condition to him. Humans are just so fragile and he forgets sometimes! It means he's constantly keeping an eye on you, and will get whatever you need at the drop of a hat. He doesn't particularly feel the cold, so he will practically pile any of his spare clothes on you to keep you warm, and he doesn't sleep much, so he watches you to make sure you don't get cold in the night.

Boromir:

Boromir is a gentleman, and is definitely the type to offer his cloak as soon as he feels a chill in the air. Even if he's cold now, he assures you that he is fine and that you need it far more than he does. If you're in Gondor with him, he'll have custom gloves specially made for you to keep your hands as warm as possible. (He's also taken to carrying a spare pair around with him, just in case you should need them.)

Faramir:

Faramir, upon learning of your condition, will immediately try to learn more about it. He'll do as much research as he can and will provide whatever will help the most to assist with managing it, and if there's anything additional you suggest he leaps to get it done for you. He's also the best about comforting you if you have anxiety surrounding it, ensuring that you both know how to manage it as best you can and that he'll do anything to keep you safe.

[coralinnii]

Congrats on 2.7k followers!! You deserve it! :D For the event, may I request Malleus, Azul, Jade and Floyd with a gentle giant S/O? As you can already guess, S/O is super tall (you can change this detail if you’d like, but perhaps they’d even be noticeably taller than Malleus?) and maybe even kind of intimidating because of it, but they’re very friendly, quiet, and gentle. 

Again, congratulations on your achievements!! Keep up the great work you’re doing 🥳

‧₊˚✧ My Statuesque Sweetheart ‧₊˚✧

↳ Tall Gentle Giant/Reader

feat: Malleus ❋ Azul ❋ Jade ❋ Floyd genre: fluff note: no pronouns were used with the reader, I love beluga whales (it’ll make sense in Jade’s ver.),

Sooo…being someone that can’t relate to being tall :I, I went around to ask some of my taller friends to know what’s that like, so this took longer cuz of research. I also got into Genshin to prep for another prompt someone asked me and dang, do I gotta research on that too.

Similar prompt: Tall!reader who loves hugs

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

You were certainly a surprise to him. In his long years, rarely does he find people where he doesn’t have to tilt his head down for once.

Despite your height, you were as cute and friendly as a woodland creature, a contrast to Malleus who exudes regal power without much effort. He’s fascinated by you as your stature can command the room yet your energy has a rather soothing effect on him and those around you. 

Man is saying you have zero scary dog energy, and that is adorable to him.

If you’re the affectionate type, congratulations! You’d be one of the few to be able (and allowed) to reach his horns. What started as curiosity soon became a habit as you made it your love language to care and clean Malleus’ iconic features. As a bonus, everytime you are done it’s fun to lay your head gently upon Malleus’, between his horns which catches him off guard no matter how often it happens. 

Having a tall man with money certainly has privileges as you now have access to his personal tailor as well. Was there a pair of pants you really like but it only reached your ankles? Not anymore, let the royal tailor deal with that and add some matching accessories to that. 

However you feel about your height, you are a sublime creature of beauty to Malleus. When he looks up to you smiling at him with the shining moon behind you highlighting your tall outline, he hasn’t seen anyone more otherworldly than you. 

You stand out amongst every human I have encountered. Hm? Ah, I do not refer to your stature but rather… the way you effortlessly capture my attention and ensnare my thoughts with visions of you.

Azul being around an incredibly tall person? What else is new? Azul doesn’t feel all that insecure about his height, before or after meeting you.

Well, you’re definitely the most pleasant person he knows that towers over him, at least. He knows that many, him included, would use your sort of stature as an advantage over others. Instead, he likes your rather sweet nature and way of conduct. 

If you have stretch marks due to your rapid growth spurts, Azul would feel absolutely touched if you trusted him enough to show it. Azul would genuinely praise your resilience to may have been an aching and painful experience to go through. If you let him, he could create a potion to get rid of the marks if it truly makes you insecure, but he finds you beautiful no matter what. 

Watch him flinch and get flustered anytime you wrap your arms around him, smothering him with your taller form. You would laugh to see him so easily out of sorts if you press your weight onto him. He can handle it of course, but the heat of your all-encompassing hugs is vastly different from his time in the cold sea. 

Azul would provide certain things that would suit your needs that others may overlook. Suddenly, you would find blankets that can cover you entirely, or you were gifted a coat that is actually a long coat that doesn’t awkwardly cut off at a weird length on you. Mirrors in Azul’s private room are always suspiciously up to your eye-level whenever you visit. 

He’s happy to know that you see him as someone reliable regardless of that. He has an interesting way of showing his appreciation

Do you like the new decor of the Mostro Lounge? The new additions are quite beautiful and eye-catching. The tall but dazzling designs were inspired by you, after all.

Oh my. What a sight to behold, you are. 

Jade doesn’t seem like the type to brag about his advantageous height, but he is aware that not many can reach his stature and even fewer actually pass him in that regard. 

He still treats you as courteously as he always does, even more so as the two of you start to grow closer. 

A nice bonus about having a tall boyfriend is that most of the things in his room are perfect for you! Beds you can fully stretch out in, actual full-length mirrors that don’t make you bend down, and furniture that doesn’t require you to squish yourself into. Jade’s (and Floyd’s) has become one of your favorite places to visit.

He does find it amusing that some people may find you intimidating because of your height as he knows that you were far from any definition of that word. Jade would chuckle to himself whenever he sees you getting happy or excited, like watching a playful beluga whale squeaking in joy. Your gentle features and bright smile shines through any misconceptions of your intimidating form. 

Though not quite used to it, Jade doesn’t mind having to crane his neck to meet your gaze. Especially not when he could watch your adorable quizzical expression as he asked you to lower your head to him, only to whisper teasing words into your ear. He especially finds it fun to watch you jump to your full height in flustered surprise, even occasionally bumping your head on a hanging decoration. 

Really, how could he resist you? 

Do you need rest, my love? Perhaps a cup of tea can soothe your aches and joints while you sit.

Oh, Floyd would have no issues with you being taller than him. Probably the opposite, really.

Don’t @ me but I fully believe Floyd has a thing for legs, be it his own or others. He’s so fascinated by these human features that you may even catch him blatantly staring appreciatively at your legs. 

“What’s the big deal? They’re right there, who can blame me?”

He will however, with full confidence, laugh his lungs out if you hit your head on the door frame or trip on an ottoman seat you didn’t notice. Maybe he’ll rub the ouchie away but he’ll be laughing while he does.

Be prepared for impromptu fashion shows with custom made shoes to show off your gorgeous mile-long legs. Floyd could spend hours looking through online shopping with you, showing you websites that specifically cater to tall drinks of water like yourself.

This man will be floored by the experience of being the little spoon of a hug. To be able to lean into your arms and rest his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat while you  lovingly pat his hair? You can be unknowingly smothering him and he’ll be loving every moment of it. 

Regardless if you’re confident or not, Floyd loves to take you dancing. If you’re not confident in your dancing, Floyd is more than happy to lead you with every beat until you have fun. The man just loves to see the flashing lights paint your body, with your smile being the brightest of them all.

Did you get taller, Shrimpy? Aha ha, just pulling your leg there! Though, wouldn’t make a difference to me. You’re still a hottie even if you, hehe!

[luimagines]

Since requests are open... may we perhaps have the Chain with an SO who's really into astronomy and space? Just the biggest star and planet nerd to ever walk Hyrule.

(Totally not inspired by my own geeking out over how gorgeous the night sky is in TOTK, nope, not at all).

I'm going to have to do some research for this one. ^.^* But I'll do it for you, Nordic!!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

The ship rocked softly back and forth on the seas, cradling the sleeping heroes as the moon gently draped the bedazzled sky with it's softer toned light.

Wind was still awake, as were you. Both of you were trying to keep the course of the ship on the right track.

Your lantern light was the closest thing you had for a light source to look at your maps and charts. You consider yourself lucky to have this on hand. Only Wind seemed as well versed in the stars as you were, hence the agreed upon decision to leave you both to your devices while everyone else went to sleep in the hammocks the small ship provided.

Wind was silent as he stood by the wheel.

You mapped out the course for the next island you were to make land, following your previous notes and comparing them to a map you had purchased before you had set sail.

A short sigh escaped your lips as you started to pack up. You couldn't keep doing this. Your eyes were strained and the moon made it difficult to see the needed stars for you figure out if you were going the right direction. You'll give it an hour or two- let the moon move further across the night sky and then start recharting what you needed.

"Going to bed?" Wind asked quietly.

You shook your head. "I'm tired, but I'm not going to leave you alone just yet."

An bitter chuckle tumbled from your lips as you stretched. Your spine and ribs popped and cracked from the needed release of strain. You saw Wind flinch but ignored it.

"If only it wasn't the full moon tonight. It would make this a lot easier."

"I can't even see the Farore Constellation." Wind sighed in despondent agreement. "I know these stars... but we're technically sailing over an island right now, so I doubt I'd actually be of much use as a navigator."

You snort. "That's why I'm up with you and not sleeping in the hull of the ship with the other guys."

There's no other sounds afterwards. There's a moment of stillness, save for the callings of the wind and the waves in their frequent call and response symphony.

"I've actually never been on a ship before." You admit, breaking the moment.

Wind jolts, almost as if he was startled awake. He tilts his head with a cheeky smile growing on his face. "Really? You're a natural at navigating. I never would have guessed."

That sets your frustrations at ease for a bit. You sit down against the railing, turning your body to talk to more experience sailor. "I just like looking at the stars for fun."

"Fun?" Wind gets a credulous look as he giggles. "I just knew the stories I was told as a kid. But I wouldn't say that comparing them to maps was fun."

"I know the stories too, sir and it's fun for me." You rolls your eyes playfully. "It just means we make a good team. I wouldn't be able to steer the ship for the life of me."

"You literally just turn the wheel left or right."

"I'd steer us right into a cliff face."

Wind giggles again.

"You actually know what you're doing but I actually know where we're going." You grin. "It works out."

"I guess so." Wind shrugs. "Better us than any of the others guys."

"They'd capsize the ship."

"Don't joke like that. Bad luck."

You smile. You don't necessarily believe in luck, but you've heard sailors to be the suspicious sort. You'll let him have this. "I retract my statement then. How far along are we following The Star of Demise?"

"About 15 knots, why?"

"Change coarse to sail towards Nayru's Trident." You grin. "We'll hit land fall by morning."

"Perfect."

[just-a-creep-babe]

A Demon’s Ache — Part 19

Eyeless Jack x Reader

A Demon's Ache Masterlist

Dedicated to @cookiereblogss --- tysm for all the support you've provided, this series wouldn't be here without you <333

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Just like always, parting from you is difficult

He’s helped you clean up after everything’s been said and done, but even then, he just can’t bring himself to leave

He doesn’t want to abandon the warmth of your body, doesn’t want to abandon the indulgence of your scent surrounding him

And he can almost trick himself into believing it’s mutual

Your gaze lingers on him for a split second longer than usual, and your lips part, almost as if you want to say something

Jack’s never really been a religious man, but he’d pray to every god under the sun if it meant you’d stay with him

Tell me to stay, tell me you want me as badly as I want you

But then you press your lips back together, like you’ve reconsidered your words, and part of his black heart shrivels up and dies just a little bit more

“I should get back to my room,” you say, and when you bite your lip as you say it, all he can think about is kissing you until you’re both dizzy all over again

He swallows thickly, nodding

He wants to say something, but he can’t think of the right words

Tension mounts, filling the sparse distance between you

He can’t bring himself to move

And, from the very first moment he met you, he’s almost always felt like there was something pulling him towards you

But right now, that feeling’s amplified tenfold, and God, the mere thought of parting from you is nauseating

More

All he can think about is how badly he wants more of you

He’s so fucking hopeless

He’s about to lean in to kiss you again, acting purely on some base impulse within him

But then, you blink, as if snapping yourself out of some trance

And you mumble out an excuse, turn away, and leave him behind again

He has to fight every ounce of his being screaming at him to follow you

A few minutes later, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying his hardest not to think about going to your room

It’s pointless, he knows it is

With one final breath, he sighs, summons the willpower to get up, and tries to find a way to make himself useful

He avoids the hallway that leads to your room, instead opting to take the longer route to the library

Doing research is going to help keep his mind off things, he thinks

Well, it’s either going to distract him, or make things even worse by reminding him of what he did to you

But, at this point, he’s willing to try almost anything to stop overthinking

The warm smell of old books greets him as he enters the familiar room

Rows and rows of imposingly large bookshelves press up against the walls, each of them holding hundreds of colourful books—novels, encyclopedias, bibliographies, scientific studies—whatever topic you could possibly want to read about is kept in this very room

Despite being what could almost be considered the “heart” of the mansion, however, it’s almost always empty

And today is no exception

Jack takes in a deep breath, enjoying the honeyed scent of aged paper and the intimacy of the large empty space

He takes a second to orient himself amongst the rows of information, and then it doesn’t take long for him to find the section on all things demonic anatomy

As soon as he gets settled into his research, he doesn’t notice the time going by

And every time his thoughts drift back to you, he forces his attention back to the task at hand

All he allows himself to focus on are the paragraphs upon paragraphs explaining the compositions of demons

Mating rituals, sexual reproduction, anatomical differences, cultural and generational distinguishers—

He knew the demonic world was complex, but he never realized just how complex it really is

He ends up with a pile of heavy books stacked up next to him at a secluded table

Finding specifics is more difficult than he realized it’d be, especially because he doesn’t exactly know where he fits into things

Does he classify as possessed? A cross-breed? Some kind of undead?

He knows the very basics of what the cult was trying to summon when they created him, but clearly, they didn’t know the ritual properly, or it wasn’t a functional ritual, because he’s damn sure they weren’t planning on ending up with whatever he is now

He’s a fucking walking abomination because of those incompetent assholes

After what feels like arduous hours of research, he only finds anything useful in a mere two of the books he’d initially pulled out

And with his limited information on the specifics of his “breed,” he only manages to gather a couple of points that might be relevant

One; mating marks are much less common between a human and a demon, so both the available information and known effects are even more limited to begin with

Two; the intensity of a mark’s effect generally reach their peak anytime within the first to fourteenth day, and it gradually stabilizes after anywhere between three months to a whole year

Three; the intensity of the effects further depend on the type and strength of the demon, which, while useful to know, is ultimately a null point because, again, Jack’s a fucking abomination of a monster

Four; there are no known ways to reverse the effects of a mark

Reading that fourth point leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he tries not to dwell on its implications too much

Finally, the fifth point; because shared marks between humans and demons aren’t common, depending on the type and strength of the demon, there’s a high likelihood of the human not surviving the initial peak of the effects—which, again, makes cataloguing the anomaly all the more difficult

That last point is all he can take before snapping the book shut

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck

He stands, his thoughts racing a mile a minute

He’s about to rush back to you to make sure you’re ok, but as soon as he takes that first step, he stops dead in his tracks

Wait

What’s he supposed to say—he fucked up and bound you to an eternal arrangement, without your consent, and now there’s a chance it’ll fucking kill you?

The implications of it all crash into him like a tidal wave, and he suddenly feels like he’s drowning in a million and one thoughts—each one worse than the last

How badly did he fuck up?

He doesn’t realize how hard his heart’s pounding or how quickly he’s breathing until the room starts to feel like it’s shrinking around him, and he’s not sure if he’s about to puke or pass out

Keep it together, keep it together for her sake

He swallows thickly

Deep breath in, deep breath out

After years of managing his instincts, he, at the very least, has gotten decent at controlling himself when his emotions spiral

Deep breath in, count backwards from ten, deep breath out

It’s ok, he’ll figure something out, he tells himself, and he doesn’t know if he’s blatantly lying to himself, but it doesn’t matter right now, anyways

Right now, he needs to think clearly

He needs a plan

He doesn’t know how much longer he stays at the library, either pacing back and forth, wrestling his frantic thoughts, or standing deathly still with his sight zeroed-in on the books splayed out on the table

It’s like he just can’t think of anything useful—his mind’s a fucking mess

He’s too tense, too high-strung to think properly

He needs to calm down if he wants to get anywhere productive, he realizes

He pauses one last time to weigh his options

And then he blows out a frustrated breath of air, picks up the useful books, and heads out of the library

Straight to his room, he dumps the books on his desk, leaving them open to re-read later, then heads out of the mansion

He tries not to think about you, but it’s just about impossible to stay distracted for more than a few minutes at a time

He registers that it’s dark and cloudy outside when he steps out, but he’s otherwise too absorbed in his own thoughts to focus on his surroundings any more than that

Hunger

If there’s any feeling strong enough to compete with the thought of you, it’s his hunger

He lets it take over, lets himself surrender to his baser instincts, and the rest of the night is basically a blur

You still resurface in and out of his mind, but whenever he sinks his teeth into that squirming human flesh, the sweet burst of blood filling his mouth snaps him out of it all over again

He’s not proud of what he does, but in the heat of the moment, he’s too indulgent to care

He’ll regret it in the morning

He always does

Surely enough, by the time the sun is creeping along the horizon, he’s satiated, yet nauseous with guilt

He returns to the mansion, makes his way to his room, and almost immediately collapses into bed

He’s filthy, covered in dried bits of blood and gore, but that’s a problem for future Jack

Having spent most of his energy, he expects to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but sleep doesn’t come so easily

Instead, he simply lays there in the dark, waiting

And, waiting one minute turns into fifteen, then fifteen minutes turn into half an hour, and before he knows it, the hours are slowly but surely trickling by and he just can’t seem to fall asleep

A dull ache of exhaustion settles in his now-sore muscles

He huffs, rolling over, trying not to let the thought of you permeate his mind yet again

But he just can’t help it

How could he live with himself if something happened to you—how could he live knowing he’s the one who killed you?

He can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen; he needs to confront you and figure things out

But first, he really needs a shower

He gets up, grabs a towel and a change of clothes, and makes it to the nearest bathroom

He throws his shirt off over his head, yanks his filthy pants down, then steps into the shower and lets the warm water wash away his sins

He stands there, motionless, for a few minutes as the water running off his body turns from black, to red, then almost pink as the mess of gore is rinsed off

He grabs the soap, runs it over his ashen skin, and tries to think of a way to broach the subject

He’ll have to be open, honest and genuine; no bullshit, no hesitation, no leaving any information out

And if you hate him for it, then that’s that

It’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it, anyways

Even if you come to loathe every fibre of his being, he needs to stay level-headed enough to handle it

He needs to find some kind of solution with you; he’ll do anything to fix his mistake

The more he thinks it through, the more he’s able to rationalize things

He still feels like total and absolute shit for what he’s done, but at least now, he feels somewhat more in control of himself—at the very least

He finishes rinsing off the remaining soap, steps out, wraps a towel around himself, and returns to his room to get dressed

One last look at the demonology books splayed open on his desk is all it takes for him to finally straighten himself up and head out his room to find you

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he’s too lost in thought to remember to check, but he knows you’re not in your room anyways

Like a strange sixth sense, he feels a tug pulling him towards the kitchen, almost as if there was an invisible string guiding him right towards you

And, surely enough, there you are, sitting at the table with a warm mug of coffee between your hands

On instinct, he takes in a deep breath—and that’s when he smells it

He freezes, stopping dead in his tracks

Feeling someone in front of you, you look up from the coffee between your hands, and your eyes lock with his

Every muscle in Jack’s body tenses

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way

He takes another deep breath—just to check, just to see if somehow got the wrong impression

But there’s no denying it, no masking the scent

Hoodie and Masky—their odour is all over you

He almost doesn’t know what to think

Those fuckers

Those fuckers slept with his mate

“Jack—“

You say his name, but he doesn’t even hear it over the blistering rage pumping through his system

Something within him snaps

The demon takes over again

And all he can suddenly think about is one thing

Kill