bakerstreet | Forced Telepathic Bond Meme: I'm With Stupid

Telepathy. The ability to hear the thoughts of others and pry into other minds. Suddenly, you have it. Or maybe you always had it.

And now you're connected, for better or worse, to another person, for who knows how long. You can feel their thoughts and, more alarmingly, they can hear yours. You share dreams, you can feel them there constantly, you their joy and their grief.

INSTRUCTIONS;

1.] Post with your character name, canon, and any preferences you may have.

2.] Try not to leave just a blank comment. Maybe write a little scenario about what your character is thinking or feeling, something their partner can pick up.

3.] Whoever tags you now shares a telepathic bond with your character.

4.] When tagging, you may roll 1-5 Extent and for How on the RNG if needed.

EXTENT OF TELEPATHY;

1. Sudden Onset Limited. It's a bond limited to exclusively you and your partner.

2. Sudden Onset Unlimited. You and/or your partner can hear the thoughts of others, but it's largely uncontrollable. And you retain a special bond with your partner that you can't block off.

3.] Experienced Limited. You've had your bond for a little while now, and have some experience with controlling it. Limited between you and partner.

4.] Experienced Unlimited w/o Partner. You've had telepathy for a while, but having a bond with your partner is new and confusing.

5.] Experienced Unlimited Partners You and your partner are pretty used to this, and either you, or both of you, can use telepathy on other people.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

1. Genetic. Baby, you were born this way. Maybe you didn't know it because it was a recessive trait and only appeared at a certain age. Maybe it's a mutation. Your partner shares this genetic trait and, by proximity, you've been bonded.

2. Government. Generic "The government is responsible!" Either you consented or you did not, but you've been partnered by an act of your government... or someone else's.

3. Experiment. You started trying to just bend spoons and... whoops! It was an experiment. Either you planned it or an enemy/evil scientist is responsible!

4. Through Strife/Friendship. You got really close, whether by sharing a hardship/trauma or just being together and getting on.

5. Really Intense Sex. Smut option. Guess it was so mind-blowing that you literally connected minds.

idea from

guiltapalooza
meme by

terrabelle

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Slowly but smoothly, the way wire cuts through butter, the red to her thoughts shutters and then blinks out completely, like a candle snuffed by a pinch of fingers. The red of her hair against her skin and the bathroom tile is too dark to look like blood and there's a strange feeling to the way her thoughts seem to settle, like the way tumblers fall into place inside a lock, sliding into order. (Damage control inside your own head is never a quick job.)

She breathes in, then out. Steady inhales and exhales of breath and, eventually, her eyes open, her smile not-quite matching his, but an attempt all the same.

Thank you, says the thought, even if her mouth doesn't. ]

[He stays over here on this side of the bathroom even though he wants nothing more than to get up and crawl over to her, to reassure with touch — whether he'd be reassuring himself of her he's not sure. Phil's doing his best to keep a lid on his own thoughts, his own emotions, because Natasha's having a hard enough time with her own brain, she doesn't need to fight his too.

When she looks up, he huffs out a quiet little sigh of relief.

Anytime, he tries, still not really sure if he's doing this right. You okay?]

[ There's no answer, at least not in a thought or a word. It's more a feeling, the way a wave smooths over a rock on the shore — clean and anchoring enough to mean yes even though she can pick up on his worry. Maybe they've never been the most verbal people — never had to be — and even without the magic or the science or whatever it is, she'd know something was bothering him. She's spent enough time with him to know that.

Natasha doesn't move an inch, except maybe to blink and tip her chin, but there's a quiet tug on the end of the thought he sends her, like she's rapping her knuckles on the front door. It's not quite a let me in, but it's close enough — I'm okay, now; what about you? ]

[He still wants to go over to her, but he keeps still again, holds back enough to lift his shoulder at her.

I'm okay.

And then he carefully lets down his guard, and maybe it's like opening a door but it feels more like letting his walls collapse under their own weight; one minute he was sitting across the room, buttoned-up and pure Agent Coulson, the next he's laid bare for her to pick across.

There's confusion, worry for her, worry for him, an ache in his chest that will never go away, that deep-seated roiling uncertainty of what this all will mean in the long run for them, whether or not it's permanent and how it will affect them later on down the road. But underneath all that, Phil is an ocean of calm, clear water. He's centered, he's happy, his mind rejoices at being so close to her even though they're on opposite sides of the room. Beneath all the worry of today is a deep, quiet hum of love, and if he feels it bubbling up in his chest whenever he looks at her, surely she can feel it now too.]

[ If he's laid bare, the way Natasha seems to slip into the space between his thoughts is with a strange kind of care. It's the same way her body remembers when to step and when to pirouette, her precision the same way a blade slides through the space between ribs. There's confusion, and worry (me too, her thoughts say, and then there's a strange kind of resistance like she has to grow used to sharing that kind of thing, now that they're linked).

Natasha chooses then to move, climbing out and sliding down the wall to sit next to him. She's not touching him, save the warm line of their shoulders — if Phil is an ocean then Natasha is a desert, dry and harsh but far from barren. (You surprised me, her thoughts seem to say. I didn't know I could love you.)

But it's something else she vocalizes, practicality before sentiment: ]

I can't work like this.

[It's totally cliché, but when she reaches out (into his head), he feels almost relieved; comforted like a missing piece of a puzzle has slotted into place. He makes room for her in his mind like she's always been there, moving aside so she can fit around him the way he's let her fit around the rest of his life.

He leans a little into her shoulder but doesn't take her hand, doesn't turn to look at her, nothing. Just a quiet press of his arm against hers.]

No. [Also aloud, because this is something that requires the precision of words, not the slideshow of feelings that flashes through their minds.] We'll both be benched until this is sorted out.

[Only then does his hand shift against the cold bathroom tile, sliding over to curl his fingers around hers.]

[ Her fingers might not curl against his but she leans into the join of their shoulders, pressing against that line of contact. The tile is cold against the balls of her feet and it's a passing observation, how he's wearing that tie she got him from Manila — if it makes her smile it's quickly drowned in a sea of frustrations. Natasha's not good at downtime; it makes her restless, even if she understands it.

An inhale, an exhale, and then she shifts to rest her head on his shoulder, a tumble of red falling down the slope of her face. ]

And if it's permanent?

[ It's Natasha, so she's not looking for reassurance — it's a real, logistical question. ]

[He squeezes her hand gently, a slow press of his fingers around her hand as he tries to sort out his jumble of thoughts. Feeling her frustrations simply amplify his, but he's better at pushing that aside than she is at the moment. Yeah, he doesn't want to lose his job, or get benched for the rest of his life, but he can't focus on that right now. He has to reassure her, to get through the debrief, to settle into something else until they can fix this.]

If it's permanent... [A quiet sigh pushes past his lips and he gently rests his cheek against the top of her head.]

Then we'll have to find something else to do.

[ There's a thought that passes, unguarded and unfiltered, through her head. It's the kind that says I love you, the words pressing at him like her hands do when she moves above him in the dark — the kind that's anchoring, letting him focus on what he needs to before tackling his own. (She doesn't need his reassurances, but this isn't about that.) ]

We could join the circus, [ Natasha says, a half-attempt at some kind of joke. ] Learn magic tricks. Run away from this life of crime.

My mother would be so proud. [He turns his head a little to press his lips to her hair — I love you too — his thumb slowly stroking over her knuckles. He clings to that likes a lifeline, focusing on the warmth of her affections until he settles down mentally.]

Are you okay, sweetheart? [The endearment slips out without him meaning to let it go, but he doesn't try to backtrack.] I mean, really?

Mm. [ Her hum is mild, neither this or that, but her evasiveness isn't deliberate — or so her thoughts say. Instead it's just one of those expressions that Natasha hasn't quite deciphered yet, that for how well she wholly knows herself love isn't always something she always understands. ]

I was seven, the first time. It's a little uncomfortable. [ She exhales, not bothering to clarify. ] I'm alright.

[His thumb doesn't stop stroking her hand, though there's a brief stricken tinge to his thoughts. Thinking about the Red Room and what that did to Natasha always makes his heart hurt.]

I'm here for you. [She knows that, he knows she knows. But he needed to say it.]

Forced Telepathic Bond Meme: I'm With Stupid

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so. early.

noooo :c /blankets

my job suuuuuucks.

bundles you up!!

mmmm blanket bundles

blanket burrito! c:

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