Am I Dreaming Rn 🙀

worth it

fandom: supernatural

w/c: 2903

summary: Takes place right before the events of swan song. Dean takes a depowered Cas on a date. Pre-destiel.

an: first supernatural post! there is no getting over spn, everybody who's ever had business with that show makes dang sure of it. i'd also just like to say @wordstrings single handedly developed my frontal lobe. everything she's written is a masterpiece and a half.

~~~~~~~

Dean found Castiel in Bobby’s kitchen, staring discontently at the microwave with burrito in hand. Deciding not to make his presence known just yet, he leaned against the doorframe. This was probably Cas’ first time using one. He took a guilty pleasure in watching the angel try to use things he was unfamiliar with. He almost always does it wrong the first time. It amused Dean, who thought an angel’s knowledge was supposed to be infinite. He supposes the details get lost in it all, especially the ones that aren't critically necessary to pay close attention to.

There was so much about Cas that was, thankfully, unlike any other angel they’ve faced. For one, he wasn’t a sciolistic, know-it-all douche about humanity. He didn’t pretend to know everything. He wore all his confusion shamelessly, right on his face, in squints and tilted heads that didn't give a fuck about who saw how clueless he was. But he actually tried to understand it all, too. He always seemed grateful whenever Dean showed him how to work things he didn’t have to worry about before his tenure on Earth, like using a phone. The other angels would never take any kind of guidance from what they love to call 'filthy apes.’

Castiel frowned at the angry beep of the microwave after he tried to press a button while the door was still open. Dean smiled and mercifully stepped into the room, flipping it closed and nuking the food for him. Cas gave a shy thanks while Dean grabbed the beer he came inside for.

“So, you're eating now?”

“Apparently, I need to.” Cas sighed and itched at his eyebrow in irritation. As the smell hit them both, Castiel’s stomach rumbled fiercely.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Sorry to hear that.” When the microwave beeped, Cas hungrily retrieved the burrito before Dean could issue a warning. He dropped it in surprised pain, where it mashed into a steaming pile on the floor.

“Ah- it’s hot.” Dean said too late. He held himself back from looking too sympathetic at the sad way Cas stared at the mush on the floor.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Cas said somberly.

“Well, usually you have it on a plate.”

“No, I mean…” Castiel sighed, in a way that was so unlike his usual, nonbreathing self that Dean had to bite back a smile. “I don't know how you do being human.”

He sipped at his beer, shrugging. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Everything is so.. so much. I feel so much more than I ever have.” He stared forlornly at his fingers. “Every discomfort and pain. Sensations that are both limited and amplified by a three-dimensional body. Hunger..” Cas glanced at Dean. “I don’t know how to manage.”

Dean shifted, unsure of what to say. He's never been anything more than human, he couldn't really understand the loss. To be stripped away from everything you've known and turned into something.. less. Something you've only ever watched. He imagined it’d be like if Dean were to turn into a still drawing, or a cartoon. Unable to move or do anything he’s used to doing existing with a Z-axis.

But he’d always treated Cas like he was just some dude anyway. Maybe he shouldn't, and whenever he thought about what exactly Cas is, he really really shouldn't act as if he's just the homeschooled kid. But it comes so easily. Dean’s always teased those he admired, it's how he shows his love.

The surface part of his brain told him to play offended, to tell Cas off for acting like being human was something so awful. But he didn't. Instead he took Cas by the wrist of his coat, pulling his hand under the sink as he drew cold water from it.

“Look, I know it sucks. Especially now. But.. it’s not like you're useless.” Dean let go of Cas abruptly, sheepishly aware of how he’d held on. “Hell, me and Sammy would be one big tumor right now if you hadn't shown up against Pestilence when you did.”

Cas flexed his fingers under the running water. “Right. That was unpleasant too.” He said dryly.

Dean scoffed at his attitude. “C’mon. Bug bites and burns and getting sick are just one part of the experience. Being human, it’s- well it isn’t all bad. If we had the time..” He cut himself off.

It surprised Dean how bad he felt over Cas potentially never getting the chance to experience earthly delights. The small joys that make it worth carrying on, even with all the horrors that surround them. His heart ached over their fate for the millionth time.

“Dean?”

He slapped the water off. “Fuck it. Come on.”

—-

“Are you going to try to take my virginity again?”

Dean jammed his keys way off the mark of the ignition, dropping them on the floor of the Impala.

“What?! I-I wasn't- that's not. You don't-” Dean stuttered, face blazing. He retrieved the keys hastily, pointedly not looking at Cas, who was no doubt eyeing him warily.

“Okay, that wasn’t what I was doing. That was- well, I was, but I wasn’t. Whatever. No.” He shook his head hard. “I’m taking you to get some real food.” Cas’ stomach instantly growled again just at the mention of food, drawing a displeased frown from Cas and a chuckle from Dean.

The drive was quieter than usual. He looked over to the passenger side, only to see Cas slouching. It was ever-so-slight, but recognizable enough when the angel usually sits ramrod straight at all times. Dean wondered if his joints ached now where they didn't before.

"You okay?"

Cas blinked, very humanly. Seeing it happen made Dean realize Cas never really blinked when he was at full strength. Never gave him a break from those unsparing eyes.

“We should be preparing for the fight..” Cas murmured.

“We are. A big, greasy warrior’s meal is just what we need to nourish our bodies. You can’t stop the apocalypse on microwaved burritos.” Dean huffed. “Believe me, this is necessary.”

They ordered their food to go, a couple burgers with fries and two milkshakes. Castiel was bent on trying to ruin a nice thing Dean was trying to do. He caught Cas looking in the paper bag on his lap with too much longing. Dean lost count of how many variations of ‘I don’t understand. Why can’t I eat this right now?’ or ‘are we there yet?’ Cas would repeat on the drive to their destination. To stop the griping, he let Cas take some fries, so long as he didn't use the ketchup and inevitably make a mess. He taught Cas to dip the fries into his milkshake, which earned him a skeptical look, but he listened anyway. He nodded in approval and commented on the delightful sweet/salty contrast.

They finally arrived at the top of the overlook, just in time for the sky to begin transitioning into warmer hues. He shut off the car, replacing the sound of the rumbling engine and music with a serene silence. It added something to the beauty of the sweeping view of the Badlands.

“Bobby took me and Sammy here the first couple times dad left us with him. Sam wouldn't stop crying.” He left out the details of his own explosive tantrums. “Back then, being left in a stranger’s care without knowing when dad would be back was as close to the end of the world as it got. But this view made it all a little better.”

Dean took his eyes off the view, shifting them over to Cas. He flushed when he saw Cas was already staring at him instead of the sunset.

“Uh, it’s nicer o-out there.” Smooth. He snatched the bag out of Cas’ hands and exited the car to sit on the hood.

Castiel followed him out, butt-scooching awkwardly next to him as Dean dug around in the bag. Dean huffed. “Man… did you seriously eat my fries?” Cas shrugged so unapologetically he couldn't help but laugh and shove the burger into his hands, hands that immediately started ripping into it.

Dean didn't know why he expected Castiel, Angel of the Lord, who used to fly above the heavens and the Earth for business just last week, would’ve been impressed by not even the most impressive view in South Dakota. But every time Dean took his eyes off the pinkening sky, Cas was only looking at him. Dean should've felt hurt by his blatant disregard of the 'food and a view' he drove 20 miles out of his way for. But he didn’t.

Dean spoke with his mouth half full. “Y’know, I came here after I didn’t say yes to Michael.”

Cas swallowed the ravenous bite he took from his own burger, which was already almost entirely gone. Man, this human Cas was giving Famine Cas a run for his meat.

“You did?”

“I was so close to saying yes, Cas. It wasn’t easy. Fuck, none of it’s been easy. Going against what angels say is meant to be? And as much as I wanna believe I’m always right… sometimes their words would get to me. I mean, you'd think they’d know better about what's right than something like me…”

Cas finally seemed entranced by the sunset as it reached just above the rocks. “I know how you feel, Dean.”

“Yeah, I guess you would.”

“You did the right thing. Because of you, this cliff that's lasted over a millennia will remain after tomorrow.”

Dean sucked in a breath.

“Because of us..but yeah. Who gives a shit about paradise without being able to live first?” He finished his food and tossed the wrapper into the paper bag. He laid back against the hood of the car, arms resting up to cushion his head. The first few stars of the night started to make their appearance. He smiled when Cas copied his pose, as the angel never looked any semblance of relaxed before, and chuckled at the deeply content sigh that followed.

“Agreed. The food was incredible. As is this place, Dean. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. Now that you’re mostly human, you should at least get a feel of what you’re fighting for.”

Much more sentimentally than he’d prepared for, Cas replied “I already have.”

After a moment of silence, he followed up with “Though I’m not entirely convinced it was worth the wait to eat.”

“Gluttony is a sin, Cas.” Before he could stop himself, one of the hands beneath his head reached out to give Cas’ stomach two quick squeezes.

“Hehe.”

For the briefest moment, he feared that Cas was rejecting his admittedly affectionate touch, immediately placated when he looked beside him.

Cas shifted away with a subsiding grin on his face. He had hardly ever seen the angel smile, despite Dean basically never not making jokes. The closest Cas gets to smiling is the occasional, unmistakable reverence in his eyes that don’t quite reach his lips all the way. But there for a moment he saw a big grin, with shiny teeth and all.

“Huh. I think this mostly human you is ticklish now.” He stated as casually as possible.

“Hmm. Don’t be ridiculous.” But he wasn’t fooling anybody. Dean saw the grin, the big stupid grin that he never saw his angel do before.

He hummed, keeping his eyes on the stars. Nonchalantly, he tried to reach over to Cas' stomach again, but was caught by the wrist by a strong hand.

He smiled quizzically at Cas, who was smiling back at him. At him, because of something he did. Dean made him smile.

Things escalated after that. He shifted to sit up, in an instant he dove his other hand towards Cas’ torso. That hand was caught before it could land too, but Dean succeeded in startling a low giggle out. That fueled the giddiness rioting inside him.

This was ridiculous. Dean was being ridiculous. How sweet that laugh was was ridiculous. Cas hardly smiles, but he never laughs. It lit his body up with a crazed energy, like seeing a comet pass by, one that hasn’t in thousands of years, and won't again for a thousand more. It was rare and magical. He felt like a little kid, chasing that comet down the street.

Dean pushed hard against Cas’ hands, frantically reaching and clawing and wiggling his fingers at the slim space of air around his body, desperate to make contact.

“Ah- Get off of me! Stop doing that!” Cas grinned, arms starting to shake from the combination of holding up Dean’s body weight and anticipatory laughter.

Dean continued to wrestle, joyously demanding through gritted teeth “Just let me tickle you! It’s part of the experience!"

Cas managed to get a knee in between them both, shoving Dean hard enough to roll him off the car. He planted his feet on the opposite side of where Dean brushed himself off, bowed in a stance prepared to fight. Dean couldn't keep any of his exhilaration out of his grin, leaning down as threateningly as possible.

“Why’re you so scared? I didn’t think anyone was stupid enough to try that before.”

Cas panted nervously. “I-I don’t know. It's instinctive. What you're going to do, it's- ah!” He shouted when Dean feigned toward him, defensively curling his arms up. Cas shook his head, frustrated and no doubt confused by his reaction.

“Aww, Cas, don't you trust me?” Dean skipped side to side, unable to keep still. There must be something in an angel’s laugh, something addictive that Dean couldn't stop himself from tweaking out about. There could be no other reason he was so excited to tickle a grown man.

Dean saw the trenchcoat swish up before he really saw Cas’ body move, and suddenly they were fighting each other to the ground. With a heavy forearm pinning Dean's chest, he felt fingertips tapping rapidly up and down his side and, okay, Cas has definitely never done this before, but it was effective enough to get Dean giggling.

“Heh- w-what are you- doing??” Dean snorted, totally endeared by the strange, very Cas way he was trying to tickle. Cas looked delighted.

“I was worried this trait was something only new humans shared. Babies, young children, recently fallen angels. But it looks like you haven’t grown out of it.”

“Screw you, you're doing it wrong!” He laughed, managing to reach up to dig into Cas’ ribs.

The angel’s yell echoed throughout the overlook, instantly retreating off of Dean to curl into himself, but Dean’s hands followed.

Giggles streamed out of Cas helplessly as Dean expertly provided a demonstration and oh, he wanted to cry. If the laugh before was a comet, this was a full blown meteor shower. Cas flipped onto his belly, trying to crawl away while also protecting access to sensitive spots with his trench coat. Dean grabbed his leg and yanked, enveloping it into a tight three-limb bear hug and relentlessly squeezed at his thigh with his fingertips.

Holy shit, Cas lost his goddamn mind. His hands slapped the ground while he laughed his head off, begging Dean to let go. The sound was bright and unexpected, at least an octave higher than the pitch he uses when speaking.

“Ain’t this awesome, Cas?? You like being human yet?”

Dean didn’t get a response besides a rapidly shaking head. Cas writhed on the ground with an even stronger bout of cackles, and suddenly Dean was the one overwhelmed. His insides flared with an intense kind of joy, and he found his own cheeks hurt from smiling. Cas was laughing hard, and Dean was loving it so much.

He spaced out the tickles in random pulses, a method he personalized and perfected, knowing all too well how maddening the feeling must be.

“Deeaan- AAAAHA! YOU HAVE TO LET GO!”

Dean wasn’t planning on that for awhile, but found himself rolling away with a wheeze when, despite the stronghold, there was just enough give for Cas to reel back and effectively kick him in the nuts.

They both lay on their backs, curled inward, catching their breaths and trying to recover. The sun had set completely while they were playing, but the stars twinkling dimly over them was just as welcome of a sight.

“Dean, why did you do that?” Cas panted, but Dean could still hear the smile.

To hear you laugh. “To teach you a lesson! Hahh, ow..”

“In what?!” Cas sounded exasperated.

“In letting loose. You should have some fun for once- at least once in your life.”

“So tickling is fun for you?” Cas asked, and Dean’s sure he didn't mean to make it sound judgy, but with the exasperation still in his voice Dean went bright red.

Dean gaped. “Huh? I mean- well, uh, tormenting you is. Yeah, really great fun. What about- did you- was it fun?”

Cas took a beat to think about his response. “It was.. thrilling. I'm glad to have experienced it.”

“Well, you're welcome. I’ll do that anytime. All the time. God, you were great.”

Cas hummed in a low voice. “I did enjoy it. I enjoy trying new things. Dean, is it more fun in the getting or the giving?”

Dean blushed, about to make a quip at the innuendo, until Cas ambushed him yet again with unrenderable speed. They wrestled under the stars, laughter echoing in bounces throughout the cliff.

i think im funny

Fade into view

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Steve/Eddie

Summary: Steve tries to confess to Eddie that he likes being tickled.

Words: 900

It was almost poetic, the way the sun spilled into the room that July afternoon and lit Steve up where he sat on Eddie’s bed, nearly like a spotlight. He truly did feel exposed, trying to figure out what to do with his hands, where to rest his gaze. Eddie wasn’t the worst audience - in fact he sat there patiently, kindness in his very bones - but despite how many times Steve had rehearsed this speech he still found the words stumbling over his tongue and refusing to come out right.

“I just-” He paused, swallowed, restarted. “Maybe you’ve noticed that, uh-” Inhaled, restarted. “You know this thing you do.” His only full sentence made almost no sense.

“Thing?” Eddie, bless him, did his very best to not smile, although his struggle was very visible to Steve who would love to put his attention anywhere but on his confession.

“You know.” There were many things Eddie did, Harrington. “How you- torment me?”

“With tickles?” It wasn’t necessarily a miracle that Eddie could figure it out just from that, since Steve always said he liked tormenting him after he’d reduced him to an incoherent mess. “Sure.”

“It, uh-” Made him so fucking happy he was putting himself through the torture of saying it aloud just so Eddie never took his protests seriously enough and stopped doing it? He couldn’t say that. No way.

“It what?” Eddie tilted his head at him now, curiosity laced in the way he batted his eyelashes, in the way he raised his eyebrows. “Am I doing it too much?”

“No, no.” Truth was he probably was, but Steve, being an addict, needed it even more. “I- is it hot in here or is it just me?”

Eddie reached out and grabbed the hem of Steve’s shirt, fingertips nudging his neck and making him recoil ever so slightly, but all Eddie did was pull at it. “Maybe go for a tank top. I can lend you one.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, because he knew that if he allowed Eddie to get up and walk away he would never try to speak of this again. “I, uh. Well. You know. How you torment me?”

“Yes, we’ve established that I’m terrible for tickling you,” he said with a laugh. “I can stop.”

“No.” The word had left his mouth much too quickly for Steve to register it was even forming on his tongue.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Uhm.” What the fuck was he supposed to say now? “I just-”

“Do you like it or somethin’?”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat and he looked away. He could lie. He could say no. Say he simply enjoyed the intimacy of it all. Say he enjoyed laughing. But while all of it was true it missed the key part of it all: that he liked it, period. Liked the whole experience of it.

“I do.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected Eddie to do. To ask questions, to get up and leave, to call him gross. All he knew was that he didn’t expect him to let out a low laugh, reach out to gently squeeze his knee and say, “I know, I’m just messing with you.” But he did do exactly that.

“What.” Steve’s word was barely a question at this point. “You mean to tell me I’ve been sitting here trying to confess like a moron and you already knew?”

“You make me sound mean when you put it that way.” Eddie shrugged. “But yes. Of course I knew. Why do you think I keep doing it?”

“God, I hate you so much.”

“Awe, but you were just confiding in me. Of course you don’t hate me.”

“Stop grinning at me.”

“I can’t help it when you’re so endearing.” Eddie tried to pinch Steve’s cheek, but he slapped his hand away. “You don’t want me to touch you? You don’t want me to tickle your belly to pieces right this second?”

“Shut up.”

“Pin you down and make you say out loud how much you like it?”

“Oh my god, you wouldn’t.”

“Watch you blush and stutter.”

“Eddie, I swear to god.”

Eddie softened, reaching out to run his hand over Steve’s hair. “I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to. And thank you for telling me. You know I’m just messing with you.”

“You love teasing me,” Steve mumbled, leaning into the touch. “So mean.”

“I enjoy flustering you, I do admit.” He moved his hand down, cupping Steve’s cheek. “And I won’t tickle you until you ask me to.”

“Oh my god, you are mean.”

“I would call it considerate.” Eddie trailed his hand down further, fingertip moving from his throat to his chest to his ribs to his belly. “Just say when.”

Of course Steve said when, quietly, awkwardly, breathlessly, and Eddie had him pinned immediately, fingers curling over his skin and not stopping. Steve started begging for mercy out of habit, but he knew he would die if Eddie stopped now. Luckily for him Eddie must’ve realized it, for he merely used his other hand to squeeze at his thigh, over and over and over until Steve nearly bucked him off the bed. “Fuck!” he cried, and Eddie laughed as well, purring out a “Yeah?” which had Steve blushing to his roots.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

No, I can't just look at a pic on Pinterest and draw a tword continuation to it—

Although who said that I can't?

alright my next post ain’t nobody going to be able to predict this

*explodes everywhere* hi

have you ever done ler eleventh doctor??

I didn't done...

Until today..!

A small drawing while I'm sitting on shift at a point where there are few clients, because I suddenly had a need for content with River

I once read a fic that was about Spencer accidentally handcuffing himself to his bed cause he was practicing escaping them and Derek found him and basically nsfw things went down BUT what if you replaced the nsfw activities with tickles 👀👀👀

Spencer wouldn’t necessarily call himself someone who was prone to luck, other than the fact that he was born as a white male in the 20th-21st century, and really, he was one among many. Sometimes he even considered this a misfortune seeing as certain things were now expected of him which he very rarely managed to fulfill. He was skinny and fidgety and intelligent in a way which had always made him an outcast in certain areas of his life. And with outcast he meant severely bullied as a child and not always warmly received as an adult. And it was fine. He didn’t care. Who was he to wish for a community anyway.

He was around nine - no dad, mom acting in a way he yet couldn’t comprehend - when he decided that luck was not on his side and that he would have to fight for everything in his life other than a splash of white male rights, and so he had never really considered himself very lucky.

Until Derek Morgan entered his bedroom one random Friday evening without having been invited, that was.

“What the hell?”

“I would say the same thing - because how the hell did you even get in here - but I have frankly never been happier to see you in my life.”

“Reid, what- is it an UnSub? Wait, we’re not even working a case.”

“It’s not an UnSub.”

Something flickered across Derek’s face. “Is it a lady?” His wagging eyebrows were enough to have Spencer flushing, until he added “or a gentleman, I don’t judge,” which really had him wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

“It’s not. Shut up.”

“Are you really in a position to be rude to me here, pretty boy?”

Derek was, of course, right. Spencer shifted, grateful that he was at the very least sitting on the bed rather than the floor which had been his first choice before he’d changed his mind about forty minutes ago. “Sorry, sorry, just- get me out of here, please.”

Derek hummed as he approached him. “Well, you did say please. But I gotta know how this even happened first. You owe me that much.”

“I think you owe me an explanation as to why you’re barging into my apartment.”

“I think I barged in just at the right time, didn’t I?”

Spencer relented. “I was trying to practice my escape skills.”

“Ah. And then you couldn’t escape.”

“Something like that.”

“What was your plan for this exact scenario then?”

“I have brunch plans tomorrow with Garcia and she would eventually realize something was up and find me. Or the cops would. I don’t know.” He pulled at his trapped arms, grateful that the handcuffs at the very least weren’t messing up his blood circulation. They were merely tight enough to stop him from slipping out, cuffed to his sides in a way that didn’t hurt. He’d decided he wanted to start slow, not realizing he wouldn’t get any further than this.

“That would be like 15 hours from now.”

Derek was blinking incredulously at him. It was embarrassing. Maybe being found by Garcia in 15 hours would’ve been better.

He averted his gaze. “I know. I just- I guess I wanted to prove myself.”

Derek sat down on the mattress next to him. “To the team?”

“And myself.”

He sighed. “We’ll have a proper talk about this eventually. I guess I should get you out first. Where’s the key?”

“Uh.”

“Spencer.”

“I’m not sure?”

Derek moved his gaze to the ceiling. “Of course you’re not. Why would this rescue mission be easy.”

“I thought I’d get out without it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, clearly you overestimated yourself.” Spencer caught the moment Derek regretted his words, but he couldn’t blame him. Spencer had been doing too many stupid things recently in an attempt to prove himself. A bad decision during a case and a scolding later, he’d started doubting his abilities as an agent in the field. Hotch had told him he could stay behind the scenes if he preferred, but that his analytical skills were useful in the place of action too. And so Spencer had tried to improve.

Clearly it wasn’t working.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, no, I get what you mean.” He leaned his head back. “Just get me out of here.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that without a key?”

“You’re an FBI agent, aren’t you?”

“Ha ha smartass.” He poked Spencer’s side, most likely out of habit, but Spencer, who couldn’t move away from it properly, tried to jerk back which merely resulted in him slamming himself against the headboard. “Jesus, sorry, sorry.” But Derek was laughing and Spencer was too, maybe out of nervousness, maybe because this whole situation was ridiculous.

“It’s okay,” he said, suddenly blushing for the second time since Derek walked in on him. “I wasn’t prepared.”

“Downplaying your ticklishness, I see.” He leaned closer, grinning. “I have you right where I want you, you know. I could even tickle your neck since you never let me do it without freaking out.”

Spencer could feel the ghost tickles beneath his chin, which wasn’t helped by the fact that his collar was touching his neck already. “You wouldn’t.”

“Are you so sure about that?” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “It would be soooo easy. You wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Spencer started giggling, which was probably the most embarrassing thing he’d done during this whole interaction. “Derek.”

“There we go. There’s that smile.” He leaned back again with a laugh. “I won’t do it, but it’s fun teasing you.”

“You’re an asshole.” Spencer turned his head away from him in an attempt to compose himself, and as he did - surprised squeak, sigh of relief - he caught sight of the key on the floor in front of his closet.

“Hey,” he said later, when he’d been freed and fed and, yes, somewhat tickled to death. “Why did you come here?”

Derek put down his burger. “I was bored. You weren’t answering your phone. Was gonna bug you to entertain me.”

Spencer let out a laugh. “Well, did I?”

“Oh, very much so.”

everyone is pretty awesome, i'm curious as to who all the "founders" of TFB are.

i'd consider you a notable person! i get a little starstruck when you interact with one of my very rare posts 🙈

wordstrings was and still is very impactful for me, as is nhasablogg and the-best-medicine.

I was wondering what blogs people here in the community consider to be significant and notable people 👀

Like, the stars of the tword community

For me it's @/otomiya

It's camp!

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Steve, Robin

Anonymous said: Hi! Could you write one where Steve is messing with Robin so she straddles him and tickles his belly button? Maybe they’re at his house having a sleepover and he makes fun of her haircut?

Words: 920

Steve became suspicious when Robin didn’t want to take her hat off in the middle of july. “You’re gonna get heat stroke,” he told her, going back and forth between opening his window and slamming it shut upon realizing it was still too early in the evening for the air to have cooled down. “I’m serious, Robin, I don’t feel like driving you to the hospital if you collapse.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling the neon green thing lower down so that it covered her eyebrows. “It’s comfy.”

“It’s psychotic behavior. Did you shave your head or somethin’?” It was mostly a joke, but the way Robin tensed up made him gasp. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” she was quick to reassure him, pulling a strand of hair out of the hat. “See? Hair.”

“So then what’s your deal?”

“I might’ve cut my hair myself?”

Steve waited for her to laugh and say she was joking, but no laughter came. “Robin, oh my god.”

“Listen,” she started, sitting up, legs crossed on Steve’s bed, where she was about to spend the night like many other nights. “I- it’s a gay thing.”

“Okay?”

“Shorter hair? Like short short hair.”

“Right.”

“The hairdresser never wants to cut it as short as I want.”

Steve was beginning to see where this was going. “So you decided to take matters into your own hands.”

“Exactly. But-” She winced, grabbing her hat, but not pulling it off. “But I messed up.”

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You should’ve asked for help.”

“I know.”

Her voice sounded small, which was fucking terrifying to hear and Steve found himself reaching out to squeeze her knee. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Promise you won’t laugh if I show you?”

“‘Course not.”

“It’s getting hot.”

“Told you.”

She sighed and shoved the hat off, her hair a mess of tangles on top of her head. Steve waited for it to settle down enough before he said anything, only to promptly realize it wasn’t settling down at all. 

“Oh my god.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“Woah, woah, am I laughing?” He wasn’t laughing, but that was mostly due to shock. “Robin, I- Did you try to cut layers?”

Robin nodded wordlessly and Steve mentally wondered how he could convince her to go get it fixed at a hairdresser. “It’s- nice. It’s camp.”

“Did Eddie teach you cultural words again?”

“It’s a good thing he did. I can definitely see the vision here.” He framed her face with his hands. “Way ahead of your time. A trendsetter.”

Robin snorted. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not! It’s-” He waved his hands around, trying to think of a word. “Cool?” The way he’d said it, slightly high pitched, laced in a question, accidentally made way for a laugh which came out at the end, and he was already apologizing by the time Robin had tackled him.

“You’re so dead, Harrington!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not funny, it’s just-”

“It looks bad. Just say it.”

“I’m sure we can get it fixed-” He had no time to say anything else as Robin’s fingers were worming their way under his arms, nimble and strong and unbearably ticklish. “Wait, wait, I’m only trying to he- stop!”

Straddling his hips, Robin and her ridiculous haircut hunched over him, her frown slowly smoothing out as he laughed and laughed and begged and laughed. She’d caught him off guard, okay? He could totally fight back otherwise. Probably.

“Oh-kay, no, not there, come on-”

Robin had this thing where she would zero in on a spot and not move away until Steve was a puddle beneath her. This time it just so happened to already be one of his worst spots, much worse than underarms which she’d only tortured for a minute. As Robin ignored him and tickled the edges of his belly button, shoving his flailing arms away easily, Steve felt he would pay for three of her haircuts if only she stopped.

It was a good thing they were alone, because Steve’s scream could surely be heard throughout the whole house. “Robin!”

“This is what you get,” she said, finally grinning at him which was at least a bit of a win for him. “I told you not to laugh.”

“I barely did- oh my god!”

His hands being free was nearly worse, as he came close to relief and then pulled right away from it. Robin was occupying one of her own hands purely with blocking his attempts, her other dancing around his belly, but mostly keeping close to his navel. His shirt was still pulled down, but it tickled too much nevertheless.

The first time she’d discovered this particular spot was a day he could never forget no matter how much he tried. The persistent pokes, over and over again, laughing when he jumped. Embarrassing, but also strangely nice to feel close enough that this could be happening. She’d discovered many spots since, but that memory was one of his strongest.

Also maybe because Robin kept bringing it up, making a very clear reference now as she was poking at his navel over and over. His whole body jerked with each poke, his laughter becoming choppy. He felt nearly as ridiculous as her haircut. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her that though. Although how much worse could this get if he did?

She stuck her hand under his shirt and Steve found out just how much worse it could get, all right.

it’s not so bad here

fandom: criminal minds

w/c: 2155

pairing: platonic BAU (mostly prentiss and morgan), spencer reid

summary: perspective of spencer: on the jet ride home after a long case. The team is so tired they get a lil silly. fluff + minimum angst I mean it is spencer’s brain.

a/n: this is quite literally my first time for everything, my first time using tumblr and my first ever fanfiction. i had a lot of fun so perhaps expect more maybe?? I want to thank the amazing @nhasablogg for being the biggest inspiration and just so cool honestly. they helped a lot with this work and have just been the kindest person ever!!! anyway pls read the following with all this☝️in mind.

~~~~~~

Spencer never really got used to flying. The team was currently thirty-six-thousand-eight-hundred-sixty-four feet above what Spencer assumed (or more accurately, calculated) would be Tennessee based on flight patterns from Dallas to Quantico and the amount of time they’ve been in air for. Which was roughly three hours, forty-five minutes, six seconds. Seven. Eight. They had about three more hours to go.

The pressure was building in Spencer’s ears and he grimaced, swallowing hard in an attempt to pop them. He always felt a pang of anxiety whenever any pain came to his head, as his memory would replay his mother’s cries for relief during bad episodes.

There was one night when Spencer was eleven, experiencing his first true migraine after finishing his college applications. It was one of the few times Spencer remembered his mother taking care of him instead of the other way around, she was almost completely lucid. His fear was much stronger then, and while he was a boy-genius, his brain was still biologically too immature to handle it.

“I’m dying, mom.” The corners of his eyes wet with tears. His mother smiled at him. It wasn’t often that Spencer behaved his age like this.

“No baby, your head is just too full, and your skull is too small to contain it. The pain is just your head expanding, working to grow and stay ahead of your thoughts.”

“Actually, your brain can’t be too big for your skull. There’s just a blood vessel swelling, and that’s putting pressure on the surrounding nerves which is making the muscles around my skull tighten and causing…” he groaned in frustrated pain. His mother stroked his hair soothingly.

“Would you listen to your mother for once, Spencer? Just go to sleep, you can’t feel the world in your sleep, you know. Go somewhere other than this reality, where your head isn’t constantly working. Relieve some of that pressure... It’s too stressful here, isn’t it?” A far too familiar distant look crossed her eyes for a moment. He rushed to retrieve her.

“Mom.. would you stay with me tonight?”

She returned her son’s gaze. “Of course, I’m not going anywhere.”

His pain seeped out with every stroke, as if his mother’s fingers were magically sucking it out from his skin. As he fell asleep, he found that she was right. He didn’t feel anything. It was like traveling through time.

—————

The case in Texas was particularly rough. Over the past five days, the team got maybe a total of eight hours of rest each. And as far as successes go, they’ve gotten better wins. As a headache creeped up on Spencer, he kicked off his shoes and curled up on the jet couch for a nap. He fell asleep pretty quickly, ready to skip through the headache until he was in Virginia again.

But a funny sensation on his right foot caused his leg to jerk in. I thought I couldn’t feel the world in my sleep. He stirred to see Prentiss standing at the end of the couch.

“I like your socks, Reid.” She said, before wiggling her fingers over his left pink-and-purple striped sock.

“Hey!” He pulled his other leg in and smushed it against the cushion to smother the feeling. He checked his watch, the jet couldn’t be landing already? “What’d you wake me up for?”

“I couldn’t help myself. Purple’s my favorite color.” She grinned at his reaction, before it faded into a frown. “Hang on, now that you’re up though, how come you always get the full couch to sleep on?” Morgan leaned over from his seat, invested in the conversation.

“Thank you. I’ve been meaning to say something about that bull.” He craned his neck, exaggerating the pain of sleeping upright.

“Reid is the youngest,” Hotch said from out of nowhere, neither against him nor in his defense. Spencer hadn’t even noticed him watching. Had they all been watching him sleep? Rossi continued for Hotch, “I suppose he assumed he got first rights to the couch for being born last. And you all let him.”

Hotch went back to the paperwork in his lap, diligent even while running on no sleep. “No, what about Ashley Seaver? She was younger than Reid,” he said. Definitely against him.

“And he still took the couch. Like a gentleman,” said Rossi.

Suddenly, Spencer felt very ganged up on.

“Is that right?” Morgan squinted at Spencer as if he stole something precious from him.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Prentiss said. “We can’t let him get away with this anymore.”

At first, he was confused by the rare playfulness of his coworkers, especially from Hotch adding to the banter after the crazy, long week. Then he realized; everyone was sleep deprived and filled with a goofy, delirious energy. And while they weren’t able to catch the unsub, they were able to return a young girl back to her family - traumatized, but albeit unharmed - something they saw far too little of. The feeling left everyone more fuzzy than anything, it outweighed the disappointment of losing the unsub. Reuniting a family always strengthened his own, Spencer thought. Perhaps that fuzziness and fatigue was expunging all the professionalism they maintained while the case was ongoing.

And now Spencer - who was just sleeping soundly on the couch that everyone was hungry for - was beginning to feel that fuzziness himself. He faced his back towards his team as he pulled his cover up to his chin and closed his eyes.

“If you wanted it, you should’ve gotten to it first.”

At that, he heard Morgan rise and make his way toward the couch. The blanket was ripped off him dramatically. He kept his eyes closed and opened his mouth to snore lightly. His snore lasted half a second before the sound was abruptly cut off, immediately snapping his mouth shut in a toothy grimace and slamming his elbow down to his side.

“Get your ass up, Reid,”

“No.” He buried his face into the back of the couch, trying to hide his smile as if the way his elbow followed each of Morgan’s delivered pokes didn’t give him away. Reid stiffened a bit more, he focused on schooling his reactions and moving less. If he started laughing, there was no way they would stop, probably even after he gave up what they wanted.

“C‘mon, it’s time to wake up.” His resolve began to crumble when Morgan tasered both sides of his ribs. “Share with the rest of us.”

“Ahhh-ha! Stop!” He huffed out a laugh before holding his breath to stop himself. His face quickly flushed as he wiggled on the couch.

“You know, everyone else sits during the whole flight. As a courtesy to the rest of the team. Except for you-” He accentuated by digging into his ribs again, causing another yelp and laugh to slip. “-who’s just sleeping here like a baby. What’s up with that?”

“Derek-“

“Hmm?”

He couldn’t speak.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Reid? You’re not ticklish, are you?” Prentiss cooed as if nobody could tell he would be just by looking at him.

That’s all it took to crack him. Once the hysterical laughter began he couldn’t stop it. Like a defense mechanism, his brain started working in overdrive to apply logic to best overcome this assault. It took no time to figure out he could never physically stop Morgan; in terms of strength he was far outmatched.

Well, tickling is essentially the body’s response to unpredictable stimuli, so theoretically he could dull the sensations by predicting the attacks. He could trick his brain into believing he was tickling himself. He applied it in a fraction of a second.

All he did was swat at Morgan’s hands in an awkwardly gentle manner, unable to take hold of them. It really did absolutely nothing. Spencer wondered if he were one of the few who could tickle himself.

Before he could think of another solution, Prentiss grabbed one of his arms and hoisted it up above his head.

“No no no, wait wait doN’T-“

Being able to predict was proven a completely worthless tactic. Morgan tickled under his arm and he screamed. His ears finally popped and he could hear the sounds of his own bright laughter at its true pitch. His defense mechanism was shot, as if Morgan’s fingers were sucking out any ability to form a useful thought.

“Oh my god, how’d an eagle get so high up here?” Prentiss teased before breaking down herself.

Spencer wailed and curled his legs in protectively. When that did nothing, he kicked and pulled down at his arm. When that did nothing, he fell back in a whiny giggle in an attempt to garner their sympathy. That did nothing but encourage them.

“Hotch!”

Hotch finished his note, glanced very briefly at his team before returning to his work with the slightest of smiles. Spencer felt betrayed. Supervisory special agent my AAHHAA-

“Oh oh, what’s going on? It sounds like fun, let me see,” JJ turned the laptop over to show Garcia what was happening: Spencer flopping red in the face with Morgan practically sitting on him, Prentiss crouching - legs wobbly from her own laughter - behind Spencer’s head, still holding onto his arm.

“Oh geez, Spencer. How did I not know you were ticklish! Because of course you are. What did he do to deserve this? Did he cheat at Go Fish again?”

Upon seeing Garcia’s grin and his own disheveled form mirrored back at him, Spencer felt embarrassed. If anyone was going to make this a recurring experience, it would be her. He wasn’t totally against the idea, which made him blush furiously harder.

“Okay, okayokay! Y-you can have the couch. I don’t want it. I don’t want it!” Prentiss let go and Spencer squirmed out of Morgan’s grasp, falling to the floor of the jet. He stayed there catching his breath in high-pitched giggles, bewildered by what just happened. He wiped his eyes and looked up at Hotch and Rossi, who stared down at him with immense amusement.

“Thanks for the help guys,” he exhaled, exhausted. They both shook their heads with fond smiles.

“I trusted my agents could handle an internal conflict on their own,” Hotch said.

“You mean manhandle..”

He looked to Morgan, who was settling comfortably on the couch with Reid’s blanket, Prentiss cuddling next to him. He rubbed his sides and looked down at the ground, defeated.

“There’s plenty of room for all of us, big guy,” Prentiss offered her hand, inviting him to the couch. Spencer took it with a smile and sat down awkwardly with his hands resting on his thighs. She draped the blanket over the three of them.

“I’m sorry for being a couch hog.”

“I’m sure you are,” Prentiss snickered.

“It’s alright, Reid, you seem like you always need the sleep. We were just having fun. Did we go too far?” Morgan asked sincerely, arm around Emily and hand on Reid’s shoulder.

“Nah.. I-I had fun too. I mean, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while. I don’t think you guys have either actually.”

“Yeah, well, you did look really funny.” Prentiss said.

Spencer nudged her with a smile, earning him a poke which he quickly followed with a soft noooo don’t.

Morgan scratched the side of his head, mostly to teasingly get his attention. But it felt nice. “Start preparing for a lot more of that.”

“Hmm.. my mom used to do this for me.”

“Tickle you?”

“Uh, no. Stroke my hair. Whenever I got a bad headache, she would tell me to sleep, and then she would pet me until I did.”

“Do you have a headache now?”

“Earlier, a little.”

Without saying any more, Morgan patted down his (now) short hair before stroking up and down soothingly.

“Like that?”

Spencer slumped over and began fake-snoring. Morgan withdrew his hand and sat up a little straighter, which immediately woke him back up “I’m kidding I’m kidding I’m kidding please just- keep doing what you were doing.” They returned to their original positions after Morgan shot him a warning look.

Prentiss rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned his own head back against the couch and allowed himself to relax. The reality of Emily being there with all of them suddenly hit him. Countless nights he begged for her death to be reversed, to be a hoax. To be replaced even. Back then he wished to go to another reality, somewhere without the pressure and the stress, somewhere he couldn’t feel the world. But now, how lucky was he for her to be returned, for her to be truly safe and sound and laughing with them again? He would rather be nowhere else.

He checked his watch, there was two hours left of the flight. The three of them fell asleep very quickly, but rather than try to skip through time, Spencer savored the moment.