#rome's writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

criminalskies · 8 months

Note

Hi Rome! I hope you're well 😊

Would you be able to write something about reader constantly trying to snuggle up with Aaron because they just love how warm and affectionate he is with them? They love that only they get to see this side of him and it makes them feel so so special. And Aaron loves the physical contact and the fact that he's not always the one trying to initiate it. He loves that they want him just as much as he wants them<3.

I think Aaron's love language is definitely physical touch once he's comfortable in a relationship ❤️.

Hi Sweetheart! I am so honoured to write this for you. I love this fic so much now!! Also I can only hope this fills the prompt for you <3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Aaron is a nervous MESS. This is enough fluff to kill a family of four. Mentions of sad moments in Aaron’s childhood, also, Jack doesn’t exist here. Not well proof-read.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

When the spark lit the fuse.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Aaron Hotchner had been in love before, he’d had his fair share of dates in high school with one milkshake and two straws, he’s cared for a handful of people enough to watch over them, offer them his jacket when they looked cold. He’s even been married before, he’s loved someone deeply enough to stand up in front of everyone in both of their lives and devote himself to this person, forever. Of course, it turned out their ‘forever’ was cut short. But in any case, Aaron Hotchner swears up and down that he has been in love before, he’s experienced love before, so why does it all feel so different with you?

Looking back on all his years of dating and courtship and marriage, he sees now that those were all a more distant kind of love. Touchless. A game of push and pull with very little actual contact ever made. He had a partner, a lover, but never someone by his side. They always moved in sync, but never in tandem. That’s what’s been different with y/n, he supposes.

It wasn’t an overnight change, for Aaron Hotchner to go from a man who would reach out and hold your hand if the setting was appropriate and you seemed to really need his support. He’s always been shy in showing his affections, particularly in front of those he holds close. Maybe that was his father’s influence, always rousing at him to detach himself from his parents. Even going as far as to send him to boarding school because Aaron was too quick to seek his mother’s comfort for a boy his age. ‘For a man’ As he was so-called. He was fourteen.

In any case, Aaron’s always been all too careful with when and where he shows his affections. He can’t pinpoint exactly when or where you were able to tear down those deep-seated insecurities and shames of his, but you did it.

It all goes back to before you even asked Aaron out. That’s right, you asked him. Yet another reason his journey with you has been in stark difference to the dyssynchronous relationships he’d previously held so close, he wasn’t the only one putting himself out there. He wasn’t the only one taking steps to be closer to you, each step he took, he found that you had taken a great stride to meet him in the middle. He had never had someone match him each time he tried to deepen his relationships, let alone to have someone else taking the steps first.

But, before you asked him out and changed his way of living and loving forever, you were just a bright spark in Aaron’s dark days. You worked the reception desk at Quantico’s FBI field office, you saw the tired, dreary faces of every agent that walked in and out of the building’s doors morning and night. You took your position very seriously, offering each dreary agent a bright smile as you greet them each day. Aaron couldn’t help but notice you, like a moth to a flame, each morning after peeling himself out of his bed, he would run on autopilot, styling his hair, shaving, picking out a tie, packing himself a sandwich he probably won’t touch for lunch. It was all done without so much as a moment’s consideration, until he reached the tall doors at the front of the building. He suddenly becomes all too aware of the fact that he may have coffee breath, and his hair at the crown of his head is sticking out in every direction as he catches his reflection in the glass. He straightens his tie, smooths down the lapels of his collar and tries desperately to remember how exactly one pulls their mouth into a natural looking smile. Dear god, you make him so frazzled he even forgets how to act like a person.

All of his efforts to prepare for his fourteen foot walk to the elevator doors are never enough to stop your warm “Good Morning, Agent Hotchner!” from drawing all the air he was once capable of holding in his lungs - out of his mouth, jaw hanging slack where it once sat tightly drawn. He manages to draw in enough air for a rather strangled “g’morning.” as he presses the elevator button.

He raps his fingers against the handle of his briefcase as he eagerly awaits the metalling pang of his exit strategy arriving. He doesn’t hear you swiftly springing out of your seat and bounding around the desk over to him until he swears he can see the haze of your halo appear in the reflection of the steel doors beside him. He turns to look at you, partly in shock and partly because he really can’t help himself from stealing another look at you at every opportunity.

“Sorry, Agent. You just have, um. Here. Let me get this.” You lay a warm hand on his chest as you take his tie in your other one, using your nail to try to pick off what must be toothpaste off the sleek black fabric. Aaron feels a churning heat rising from his chest up his pulsepoint on his neck and spreading into his cheeks as attention is brought to the burning sensation of your hand against his hammering heart.

That was the first of a hundred small moments the two of you shared, in which your hands found a home against Aaron's body and his whole world became set in motion. Of course, he knew deep down that the Earth had been turning for billions of years before your soft hands barely caressed his skin and set his nerve endings on fire. Rationally, he knows that, but it’s like he’s experienced so much in his lifetime, it isn’t until your body makes contact with his own that he begins to feel the world around him.

It wasn’t long before Aaron began yearning for more of your delicate touches. He still denies to this day that he started planting feathers in his hair or roughing up his tie before setting foot into Quantico each morning. Of course he wouldn’t intentionally smudge some of his morning oatmeal on his lapel so that you would lead him by the arm behind your desk to the sink and dab it out of the fabric for him. The highly regarded, frankly, very busy SSA Aaron Hotchner would never spend time in his parked car scrubbing his rough hands over his own eyebrows, trying to get the long hairs to sit scraggly against his stern brow. That’s just preposterous. Ridiculous. As ridiculous as the way time would come grinding to a halt as you’d set your gaze on the scraggly brows in question, moving your eyes down to look into the swirling pools of chocolate and honey gazing back at you. Aaron would feel the flicker of a thousand nerves lighting up over his scalp as you brush down his angry brows with your thumbs, your other fingertips finding a home on his temples for stability.

When you finally did ask Aaron out, he was so wonderstruck your bottom lip actually darted out in a sort of tearful pout, thinking he was rejecting you or that you had embarrassed yourself and misread all of his lingering stares and increasingly radiant smiles he cast your way each morning. Thinking you had just imagined the regret in his voice each night he said goodbye, you thought he had been sad to leave you. Wanting to say so much more, but his silence now spoke for itself. You’d been wrong.

Aaron felt so frozen in his own body as his every impulse to tell you yes, YES, he would love to go out with you died in his throat, suffocated by the sheer volume of joy coursing through him. As your hand fell from the cuff of his coat you had clung to, and your eyes dart to the ground, turning your head away from him, Aaron manages to regain a skerrick of control over his own body, reaching out a hand to wrap around your bicep, turning you back to him as his cheeks warm and begin migrating towards his ears, making his beloved crows feet appear beside his glistening eyes. Yet again, he denies that there were tears at the notion of someone asking him out, of you asking him out after all this time, but you know what really happened.

“Y/N, nothing would make me happier.” Aaron’s dry mouth finally regains the ability to work normally. You seemed to now be the one standing in a daze, his hold on your clothed arm still sending the same trickles of lightning throughout your body that Aaron had felt through his own before, each time you’d held onto him.

As one date turned into many, and weeks spent together bled into months, Aaron could feel himself changing. Growing. You had come into his life and taken the wool from his eyes, showing him what a love can be like when the two of you want to foster and nurture it, carrying it between the two of you through your lives, even as it changes and evolves. The two of you aren’t carrying separate entities alone, but instead your hands are intertwined around something beautiful burning between you.

Aaron didn’t notice some of the more underlying changes in himself, he knew he could feel and see rays of sunshine warming him from within, he didn’t realize the sun was only able to find him because you had dismantled the walls he had built, that were casting him into darkness all of these years.

Aaron, however, was not the only one to notice these changes. After a rather successful third date, the two of you had planned a fourth. Sadly, a life of chasing serial killers and child abductors and otherwise scummy members of society got in the way, and Aaron had to reschedule you more than a few times before you two lovebirds finally got to go on another date. You were so excited when Friday night finally came around and Aaron had not been called on another case. You wanted desperately to run into the elevator the minute the clock struck five and pull Aaron by his coat out of the office and into the night, but sadly your coworker was running late to relieve you and take over the front desk. Luckily, Aaron was just as eager to meet you, and he felt ten squinting, profiling eyes on his back as he shut his office door at 5:02. He dropped his briefcase between his shoes to pull on his scarf and his coat before his long legs carried him, gliding down the stairs to the bullpen with a hint of a smile gracing his relaxed features.

“Hotch, I must be seeing things. Are you actually leaving this place on time for once? Is your office on fire? Did you accidentally forward your snarky email to Dave to Strauss by mistake?” Emily was the first to retort, leaning back in her seat and not trying at all to hide her amusement.

“No, everything’s fine, Strauss’ contact address in my emails is unmistakable. I learned that lesson years ago. I have some… plans tonight. Can’t be late.” Hotch offered Emily a smirk, quirking his eyebrow up towards his hairline as he ran a hand over his tie. A new tie, Morgan notes.

“Oooooooh no way. Ain’t no way my man has a date tonight! Aight, bossman. Take that fancy new tie of yours and show your friend a good time.” Derek offered a toothy grin, reaching his fist up for Hotch to bump as he breezes past, still not slowing to make conversation.

Hotch accepts Derek’s fistbump, much to the younger agent’s surprise, he expected his comments to get under Aaron’s skin more than anything. Hotch makes it a rule never to encourage prying into his personal life, but maybe he’s content enough with said personal life to allow a little prying these days.

Hotch reaches the elevators, pressing the button for Ground Floor as he offers his bewildered team a wave.

“Goodnight, agents. Please let me find this unit still in one piece on Monday. Remember to lock the doors when you leave, no parties, and no loud music after nine.” Hotch stepped into the open doors with a smile gracing his features and his team was left in what can only be described as shock.

“Okay, tell me I’m not hallucinating. Did Hotch leave this place willingly, of his own accord, on time, with a smile on his face and jokes? He’s got jokes all of a sudden?” Emily was blinking slowly as if to clear her vision, at the others who all appeared equally stunned by their boss’s sudden change of habits.

“He has been in a better mood lately, last week when Penelope kept referring to the previous case notes as ‘the tea’ Hotch made no efforts to correct her. The last time she tried referring to an unsub’s criminal record as their ‘bio’ he looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel trying to stay calm asking her not to call it that.” Spencer chimes in.

“Hold your horses, pretty boy. Go stake out the South windows in the briefing room and see if you can see our happy camper heading out the front door, I gotta go get babygirl to see this. She’ll never believe me otherwise.” Derek bounced away in a jog towards the batcave, retrieving the BAU’s most renowned gossip monger to delight in their boss’s new developments. Meanwhile JJ, Emily and Spencer moved quickly to the window in the round table room.

Derek and Penelope just made it in time, Derek pushing Penelope to take longer steps, her stilettos the only thing preventing her from sprinting to the window. The front doors of Quantico swung open, six floors down, a large arm holding them open as two heads of hair, tightly embraced, floated out of the tall doorway. The hand holding the doors is revealed to be their boss’s, holding onto his briefcase and shouldering a larger sage green bag, presumably belonging to the individual who’s seen leaning their head on Aaron’s free shoulder. His arm tightly snaked around their waist as their own arm disappeared under the shielded warmth of his long coat, wrapping around his back in a sort of walking embrace. Despite the awkward angle the team has of the couple six floors below them, they look to be talking animatedly as they walk, Penelope squeals as Aaron presses his lips to his lover’s temple leaving a warm kiss against their skin.

“How- How?! How long has this been happening? Quick. Profilers, profile! What do we know? Who is this mysterious fallen angel in our midst? Oh my god. We have to go to my lair tonight! I have to track down these star crossed lovers and see how compatible they are and oh! My god-” Garcia is cut off by her own gasp as she sees you and Aaron stop by the car, where he puts your bag in the backseat before bending down on his knee and taking your ankle in his hand, guiding your foot to his thigh where he ties your hanging shoelace. You’re still talking, your hands gesticulating wildly as you recall the events of your day to Aaron, who has long since finished tying your shoe, and is now just watching you talk, still pinned down by your foot, he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, even from six storeys up, on the opposite side of the carpark, Emily swears she can see a glimmer in her boss’s eyes as he watches his date talking. The lights on the outside of the building behind you, making you look like an angel to him as your ‘halo’ illuminates the signet of the FBI on the face of the building.

“So this is why he’s been religiously applying chapstick lately. I thought he was just becoming really sensitive to the wind.” JJ offers, Penelope jumping up and down and clapping her hands together in a silent celebration before clutching her necklace in front of her heart.

“He also changed his haircut this month. I have seen that man enter this office on the first Monday of every month with the same high and tight crew cut for like, three years now. This month he kept the top longer, damn we should have seen right through that.” Emily sounds almost disappointed that the team failed to see the lover effect in full force.

“Hmm, making it easier to grab onto?” Derek asks with a smirk. “My man.” Penelope’s hand comes up to whack the back of Morgan’s head in retort. Spencer stands, looking bewildered by the comment and by the sudden violence.

“Wait a minute. Do they work in this building? I know that face.” JJ questions.

“Yes! That’s it, they work at the reception desk! They always say good morning even when it’s technically 12:09pm. The worst time, though, they even said good morning to me at 2:35! Must have been having a long day.” Spencer laughs to himself, the rest of the team not finding his exact timekeeping anywhere near as funny as he seems to.

“Oh boy, I will have to ask them what bossman’s like on a date tomorrow when I come in. This is too good an opportunity to resist. Maybe we can bribe ‘em with a latte from down the street, babygirl we gotta find out how they like their coffee.” Derek wraps an arm around the blonde, trying to appeal to her pro-level social media snooping skills for assistance.

“He looks happy, guys, like, lovesick puppy level of happy. Maybe we just leave this alone, let them… come to us when they’re ready?” Garcia offers, sounding surprised at her own voice offering to stay out of someone’s business.

The others all seem to agree with their chirpiest team member that the only way to let Hotch continue being their happy, joking, playful boss is to make sure this person stays in his life, and the best way to do that is by letting them be. Of course, this won’t stop them all from racing towards the South window the next time Hotch leaves work on time, but he can’t exactly punish them for looking, can he?

Things continue in this fashion for a few weeks, and the team marvels each time at the amount of physical affection their boss is comfortably showing in a semi crowded carpark, bustling with agents coming on and off the clock. He’s become less and less shy about letting his arms find home around your waist each time the two of you stroll out of the building. It isn’t until your ninth date was rescheduled for the second time that the team got to see the two of you up close. Aaron’s team was working around the clock to find the source of a classified information leak in a neighboring bureau department.

You got off work, your smile falling when you saw a text from Aaron that he was probably not making it out of the office at 5, let alone before dawn the next morning. So, you set off to the chinese takeout place a street away to fetch his team some fuel. You got an assortment of mains, sides, chopsticks and cutlery, and a bag so full of drinks you thought the handles would break, sending eight cans of carbonated sugar to explode against the pavement, spraying everywhere. Luckily, you were able to double bag the contents and successfully bring it back to Quantico and up to the sixth floor.

The elevator doors opened and it was like setting foot inside a life-sized beehive, agents whizzing past you in all directions, manilla folders being passed around and stacked haphazardly on desks where phones rang and rang with no free hands to answer them.

You manage to weave your way through the hustle and bustle and into the bullpen, where you spin around, looking for any familiar face when you spot Aaron and his team in the conference room, blinds half drawn to occlude the whiteboards from sight through the glass. You knock against the door to the conference room with your knee, not having so much as one finger free to knock on the wood. Your heart is racing with the excitement in the room, though, the agents all seem to be radiating a sort of anxious feeling so potent it feels like the air is thick with TV static. The door swings open, revealing a very wrinkled Aaron standing before you. You feel the sharp, anxious twinkle of the static clearing from before your very eyes like fog meeting sunlight as Aaron looks behind you, looking left and right before he smiles at you and pulls you into the conference room, closing the door.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on? Are you alright?” Aaron asks you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders and looking at you to study your face.

“I’m fine, love! I just thought you guys seem so busy, you could use some dinner.” You raise the bags in each of your hands, seeing Aaron’s frown lines fade and his dimple appear in their absence as he and his whole team smile over at you. Aaron takes the bags from your red hands, surprised to find they’re both so heavy as Morgan clears some space on the roundtable for the food. A wave of ‘thank you’s wash over the room as Dave, Penelope, JJ, Emily, Spencer, Derek and even your Aaron all show you their gratitude at the offering of fresh, hot, food on what was bound to be the longest night they’ve worked in months. Aaron pulled you into his side as the team each introduced themselves to you, shaking your hand excitedly as they all failed miserably to hide the fact that they already knew your name and exactly why you’re here.

You open all the containers of food, explaining all the options you brought and which ones are meat-free for Penelope and offer each agent a drink with a smile, feeling Aaron’s gentle hand resting on the fall of your shoulder as you hand spencer a knife and fork you got specially for him and Aaron asks you if he can get you a plate ready. The team is starstruck, both at your display of kindness and thoughtfulness for every member of his team, and at how comfortably you seem to fit right against your boss. The two of you are practically joined at the hip, each time Hotch asks you a question his hand finds your knee or your arm or your waist to brush over it and get your attention. After a full minute passes of his hands staying away from your body, you move your wheely chair closer to his, looping your hand under and around his bicep, elbow resting on the armrest of his chair as he engages with a conversation with Reid and Dave regarding how exactly the leak of this information stands to gain anything from it.

Once Aaron’s scarfed down his plate of food, his free arm lays over the back of your seat, curling around your far shoulder and rubbing there as he checks in with you if any of the information you’re hearing has upset you at all. He offers to find some place to sit alone with you if you’re uncomfortable for another ten minutes or so before he has to go back to the investigation.

Emily and Penelope are sitting at the opposite side of the table, completely in awe as they watch their boss who’s usually known to move almost like a statue, very calculated and still. If he’s undisturbed long enough he can actually often appear as if he’s not even breathing or blinking when he’s hard at work. But here, he moves so naturally with you. The two of you have a way of reassuring one another without a word that you’re there for the other and you’re okay without so much as making eye contact.

Garcia audibly gasps when you lean in to place your head on the slant of Hotch’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as most of his team is engaged in a conversation about the possibility of a team of people being responsible for the leak when Hotch looks down at you, a smile of unbridled adoration donning his face and he cranes his neck to kiss you on the crown of your head. In front of everyone. In the middle of a meeting about an emergent situation, her boss found enough joy in his heart to smile widely and kiss you, while you’re nuzzling your own smile further into his neck. She never thought she’d see the day her compartmentalizing, dedicated to a self-destructive degree boss actually found someone that loves him so freely and so openly that he’s actually comfortable enough to do the same.

“Garcia, is everything alright?” Aaron asks, Penelope is ashamed that her audible surprise has dragged the happy couple out of their special moment as both of your eyes are blinking back at her, concerned.

“Everything is just swell, sir. Couldn’t be better, actually.” Penelope smiles, beaming with pride and eyes darting between the two of you.

“For the record, Garcia. I agree.” Hotch offers his own proud smile and a wink as his voice lowered to a whisper, half of the team not registering the interaction as Spencer was rapidly scanning seven files at once with the wave of his hand, looking for the exact time logs from the door to the evidence storage facility on the nights in question.

From that one fateful evening onwards, you became a staple attendee at any and all BAU family functions. The team had loved you from the moment they met you, for you had changed their stoic, slave-to-his-desk boss forever. You had changed him slowly and so kindly that he had seen it happening all around him and still didn’t care to question it.

The whole team, even the young doctor Reid noticed the difference between Aaron and his past partners compared to you. How when you entered the room, Aaron’s hands would start to seek you, and you’d find him, letting him hold onto you. You knew his past experiences had made him paranoid of losing those he loves, and you don’t mind one bit proving to him that you’re still there. They all noticed how whenever you or Aaron laugh at something the group said, your eyes find each other to see the other smiling, feeling free. They all grew to love seeing the two of you moving in the same spaces, your bodies never falling out of step or losing their harmony. No matter how stressful Hotch’s work gets, you can always find a way to soothe his stresses away, with a hand kneading at his shoulders or a gentle thumb grazing against his cheekbone, your hold cradling his face. You made Aaron feel okay with looking possessive, or small and delicate, or just looking like a man in love. You showed him it’s okay to need reassurances and that he’ll never have to be the only one offering them again.

You’ve shown him a love that burns so brightly he doesn’t mind loving you publicly or in private, loudly or whispered in a longing ear. Aaron Hotchner loves you freely, without restraint. He loves you on your quiet mornings just as he loves you from behind a karaoke mic at a crowded bar. His love for you grew too fast and too beautiful for him to contain it anymore. He will tell you he loves you in every language he can. Because from the first time the two of you made contact, like flint on steel, there’s been a spark. He’s glad you were brave enough to reach out and take hold of it, the two of you keeping it safe, because now the heat from that flame keeps you both warm even on the coldest nights.

tagging: @montyfandomlove , @pastanoodles11 , @ssamorganhotchner, @hotchnerbau , @hotchs-babygirl , @ssa-tahlia-obsessions , @p0ssywhippedcream , @14buddy22 , @elenamoncada-ibarra , @supercriminalbean , @ssaspencerreidswife , @levithestripper , @beehive16,

#rome's writing #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner oneshot\#aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x gn!reader #hotch x gender neutral reader #hotch x y/n #hotch x you

535 notes · View notes

thatpunnyperson · 10 months

Text

According to NBC here in the US, the missing titanic sub has been found. As debris. Off the bow of the Titanic wreckage.

And it looks like the sub suffered what we all suspected, and what was undoubtedly the more merciful of the two options: a catastrophic implosion from the pressure.

Also, more info has come to light about the fishing trawler with the hundreds of migrants that sank cataclysmically off the coast of Greece, indicating that the greek coast guard knew about the vessel AND how much trouble the vessel was in, and were towing it at a speed that made it capsize, at which point they unhooked the tow line and watched the trawler sink without helping the passengers to safety. Despite a bunch of other ships trying to help as well throughout the whole ordeal.

So a lot of people are dead, all because of regulations (and the lack thereof) regarding sea-faring vessels and rescue protocols. People shouldnt be allowed to make a business charging a ton of money for a ride on an uncertified, unsafe, un-seaworthy ship going deep into the ocean with no distress beacon or tether to the mothership. People also shouldnt be allowed to enact laws that criminalize the ferrying of refugees, which then force the refugees to hitch rides on fishing trawlers, and which also prevent people from helping those fishing trawlers full of refugees due to fear of legal consequences.

Hopefully BOTH of these events spark changes on an international scale in terms of what is legally allowed to be sailed, who is legally allowed to be the passengers, and what the rescue protocols are in the event of disaster for any seafaring vessel, illegal or not. It shouldnt be just the global 1% who get 24/7 search parties and remote-operated submersibles helping rescue them.

#the question of 'what do we owe to each other' can be answered simply with 'the dignity of retrieving our remains when we die'#another answer is 'the dignity of thinking about each other fellow humans with similar motivations and feelings'#also 'stopping someones potentially self-destructive behaviors just because theyre rich and want to feel special'#also i feel like humans have been sailing the seas long enough that it should be guaranteed that people will survive sea voyages #im very mad about specifically mediterranean maritime disasters because we have ancient writing saying they made it safe #sailing from Egypt to Greece was so old hat and safe that people legit took the ancient equivalent of cruises back and forth #cleopatra habitually sailed from alexandria to rome with a ton of ships and was fine #Nero tried to have his mother drowned at sea by orchestrating a dramatic shipwreck while she was our sailing AND SHE SURVIVED #and then swam to shore got back to rome and whooped his ass #fuckin pliny the elder tried to evacuate people from pompeii and the surrounding coast villages when vesuvius erupted #and he actually WAS able to rescue people #but he himself had an asthma attack from the fumes which led to a heart attack and he died on the beach #there is legit no excuse for that trawler of migrant refugees to have wrecked #negligence all around #anyway #oceangate

12K notes · View notes

hotchs-big-hands · 2 months

Note

Ada my love you know that boyfriend ‘test’ of handing them your purse/handbag/bag when you go to the bathroom to see how they hold it? Yeah I need your take on our BAU men x that trend pls. Would they hold your purse?

AAAAAAAAA HELLO MY LOVE ROME ITS SO NICE TO SEE YOU IN THE ASKBOX 🥰🥰🥰🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖

gosh I LOVE this trend thing, it's cute. I'll ummmm do smth I've never done before and do some hcs for more than just ayayron, as requested 😳😳😳😳😳 gahdayum

What the different BAU men would do if asked to hold your bag/purse for you when you go the bathroom.

GN!reader|sfw

Aaron Hotchner

Okay so this man is like. The biggest gentleman ever of course. So when you approach him during a team night out with your bag he takes it without hesitation to your question.

"Of course, it's safe with me."

He is very protective of it, gripping onto it to his chest with one arm and hand whilst the other holds onto his drink as he sips periodically. He doesn't pay any mind when the others eye him curiously, and when you return he smiles slightly and holds out your bag to you.

"Here you go. Don't hesitate to ask me again as well, sweetheart."

He has to admit, he adores the delighted grin you offer in return when you thank him for holding your bag. And he's able to drown out the chuckles of the other members of the team because he's certain he probably looks like a lovesick puppy.

Derek Morgan

Derek raises his brow with a teasing grin as you ask him to hold your bag for you.

"Mind if I take a lil peek?" He jokes, chuckling when you babble at him not to look, panic flashing in your eyes. "Relax, sweets. I'm not gonna look."

Holds it under his muscular arm and stares down anyone who gives him a funny look. He's shameless, plus he's happy you trust him to take care of your stuff.

You return momentarily and look relieved to see him holding it protectively. He smiles and holds it out to you when you're close enough.

"There you go, sweets. Don't worry, I didn't look inside." He winks at you and you lightly shove him, pouting playfully. He loves teasing you.

Spencer Reid

Man's shook when you ask him of all people to hold your bag for a moment.

"Me? I-I mean of course I'll hold it!" He hates that his voice cracked but you don't seem to mind though, smiling sweetly and thanking him before you turn away and disappear to find the restroom.

He is holding onto the bag straps so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. No-one is getting hold of this bag, if it's the last thing he'll ever be sure of. Derek saunters over with a grin and chuckles as he points out how tight his grip is. But even as he feels heat rush to his cheeks, he dutifully holds on tight to your bag.

Your return makes him smile with relief, but he holds on tight to the bag even as you now come to stand face-to-face with him. You hold your hand out and ask for your bag back and he flushes. "R-right yeah, here!" He said quickly and holds the bag out, grip still strong until you take hold of it.

You giggle softly and thank him, and he grins awkwardly as he watches you turn away and head off elsewhere. It's only when he feels Derek's hand lightly land on his shoulder that he refocuses and embarrassment floods his senses. Hopefully, he'll be more confident in himself next time you ask him to hold your bag.

David Rossi

When you timidly approach Dave at the table he's seated at with Aaron and hold out your bag to him, he raises a brow at you when you ask him to hold your bag for you for a moment.

"Hm? You want me to take care of it for you? Of course, tesoro."

He places it on the table in front of him, not without smoothing his hands over the surface slightly because well, he is fond of you after all. Aaron huffs out a quiet snort, raising his brow with a grin at him. Dave shakes his head and waves him off.

You're quick to return with a shy smile, thanking him sweetly for keeping an eye on your bag. He picks up the bag and holds it out to you, making sure you've secured it before he drops his arm. "Anytime, tesoro. I'll look after it for you."

He winks at you and delights in your flustered movements, meeting his eye and as Aaron stands and gives him a pointed look, Dave pulls out a chair next to him and invites you to join him for the evening.

Lmao this was probably shit but I'm not too confident writing for other characters 😭😭 I hope people enjoyed tho regardless KSSKSK

#aaron hotchner x reader #derek morgan x reader #spencer reid x reader #david rossi x reader #a's writing #beloved rome 🥨💖#criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction

559 notes · View notes

lucky-fy · 15 days

Text

For the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people)

I had this illustration commissioned (a big thank you to @lunehowls) for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP).

The general pitch is as follows :

AU in which Laios never got to meet his sister again, putting his life on a whole other path, a more desperate one. A military deserter with barely a coin to his name, Laios hitches a ride on a boat to one of the elven continents, where he learns about magical tattoos that binds one’s soul to a wolf’s, effectively making them artificial werewolves. Illegal magic be damned, this feels like the answer to… everything.

In the process, he learns about the existence of an illegal fighting ring in one of the elven cities, where beastmen gladiators gather. Freshly tattooed and without anywhere else to go to, Laios decides to head there, where he meets Lycion, an elf and artificial werewolf gladiator. If they first bond over a simple shared meal, by spending time together (sharing the same room in the barracks, maybe the same bed? gasp) they find that they have a lot in common, notably a shared distaste for the body they were born in, a dysphoria partially remedied by becoming a werewolf.

They bond :)

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #lycion #laicion #I'm heads deep in research regarding Ancient Rome gladiators... and loving it. Really fascinating stuff.#I bemoan the fact that most papers are locked behind a paywall (though I found one that gives a free pdf access)#(and no. Sci-hub is not an option. It's blocked in my country)#I'm also re-reading DunMeshi and taking notes to get a better grasp of Laios and Lycion as characters. Character studies if you will #and I still need to fully outline the fic #I know where I'm starting (struggling to choose a POV for that first chapter LOL) and where I'm ending so there's that #and a bunch of disconnected scenes (as we all do ahaha)#anyway. Doing all of this while studying for veterinary school. It's hard. I feel guilty whenever I'm not studying...#let's just say I don't expect the prep work for the fic to be ready before this summer (+ I need to finish the Kuro cosplay for Japan Expo)#hopefully; once it's done; I'll be able to set a schedule and write smoothly #werewolf #werewolf laios #rarepair #Fy posts

374 notes · View notes

whereserpentswalk · 9 days

Text

People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

346 notes · View notes

short-wooloo · 1 month

Text

Godzilla really said "if I fits I sits"

(Edit: Spoilers below!)

"Now I am become sits, because I fits"

262 notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 1 year

Note

more dave lizewski please anything🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

dave is the type of horny idiot that doesn't know that women masturbate too.

you slip a mention of it into a story you tell him one day, and he's genuinely shocked. "so i had just finished masturbating, right, and then she calls me–"

"wait ... women masturbate?"

and he's dead serious. you try to convince him that yes, most women also masturbate but he legit refuses to believe you.

until he slips into your window one night just for fun, sans kick ass suit and just as dave, no crime fighting vigilante. you wished he would've knocked on the window, or used the front door, because you're laying there with your legs opened and a baby blue vibrator pressed up against your clit with his fucking name on your lips and thoughts of those pretty blue eyes and that weirdly perfect curly brown hair and everything that is dave lizewski.

he's still half-kneeled over on your roof. stood still. starstruck. mouth agape.

and your eyes open when you hear the sound of your window sliding open, and your legs close when you see dave there.

"what the fuck!" you swear and dave, like the idiot he is, climbs into your room instead of walking away and pretending this never happened. so now, you're mid-masturbation, frozen because of shock, having to address this entire situation.

"girls actually masturbate. you weren't kidding."

"no, i wasn't, dave." you spit his name out, all of your frustrations and anger let out in the four letter identification.

and you, for some reason (maybe it's dave's idiocy meeting your brain), bite your lower lip and tilt your head.

"wanna see?"

dave ends up sitting cross legged at the edge of your bed, given a front row, perfect view, of your spread legs and leaking cunt while you work your vibrator against yourself. and now, when you moan his name, you aren't ashamed like you were before. you're proud and satisfied to see that your sounds and the show you put on has dave slipping a hand in his pants, pulling it back out to free his cock which he tugs rhythmically.

and dave's idiocy really must be contagious, because for some stupid reason, you're opening your mouth just as you're about to reach your peak and you notice that he is too.

"cum on me, dave, please. on my pussy."

#something i would do tbh #stupid but yk #when in rome #davesworld!#dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski smut #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski #kick ass #kick ass smut #kickass #celeste writes misc

2K notes · View notes

venator-signum · 7 months

Text

crying i will never get over the fact that percy jackson canonically at age 17/18 is actively thinking about getting married and growing old with annabeth this feels illegal

#rosi shitposts #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #theyre best friends #theyre lovers #theyre boyfriend girlfriend #theyre soulmates #despite this i fully know this mfer wont propose until theyre both AT LEAST early 20s #and/or finished with their new rome uni courses #rick riordan write a canon percabeth proposal i dare you

453 notes · View notes

canisalbus · 1 month

Note

I like to imagine, in the 'canon', before Machete's assassination, as they drift apart, Machete starts having terrible nightmares. A distorted version of himself, resembling only the worst parts of him hurting everyone he loves (aka Vasco) and potentially even killing him. As he realizes how dangerous he is he starts distancing himself, hurting Vasco even more in the process. I even imagine them exchanging some pretty heated and mean spirited words (especially Machete) a few hours before he inevitably dies.

All that can tie back to that other anon had said about Vasco having nightmares. He feels guilty and that he's responsible for what happened.

Oh boy, that's terribly sad ;^;

Machete had been spiralling for a while before he was ultimately assassinated. I'd like to think they were still very close and not actively drifting apart, but there was definitely some tension in the air. Machete had been retreating into his shell, consumed by mounting paranoia and self-loathing and felt that it was actively harmful and dangerous for Vasco, the light of his life, to be near him. Vasco was worried of course, but they had had rough patches before and Machete had always managed to outrun his demons that far, he believed things would work out eventually like they always do. He had no reason to think it would end this time.

#I don't know if they parted in tense terms #I'm inclined to think they didn't #it just seems so cruel #maybe it was more like 'we'll figure this out the next time I come to visit'#'I'll write to you'#'stay safe'#because Vasco wasn't in Rome when Machete died he was at home in Florence and only found out about it days or weeks later #answered #anonymous #Vaschete scenarios #Vaschete lore

167 notes · View notes

brother-emperors · 8 months

Text

CAESAR AUGUSTUS AND MARCUS LICINIUS CRASSUS

this is about the spolia opima that crassus was robbed of lmao. like, yeah okay octavian could've asked him not to claim it, but nevertheless. a kind of theft happened there.

Fact and Fiction: Crassus, Augustus, and the Spolia Opima, Catherine McPherson

#this is one from the vaults I started a few months ago and finally finished. it’s always the furniture details that put things on hold lmao #the former co consuls are fightinggggg (?)#rome is built on top of other people. this is about both the imperialism-slavery machine and the way that all these guys would #politically devour their own generation to sit on a throne. etc. anyway. octavian specifically sits on a throne of other people’s #accomplishments. that’s a specific kind of debt to carry around your neck. or theft depending on who is doing what #this was theft. anything involving Agrippa was a gift so there’s an obligation to succeed which is it’s own kind of currency so to speak #sugghrhfh. every crassus always has to be like this. in my heart i always root for whoever decides to go up against rome #and then i'm stuck with the guy who should've got a spolia opima like. congrats on your win. i guess. i think. RIP.#ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT. while im talking about this crassus. domina fucking sucks. what an absolute clusterfuck of a show #anyway. if anyone ever does augustan age politics again. octavia would be a great character if you want to invent shit #but also more importantly octavian should seduce crassus for this. thank you.#octavian #marcus licinius crassus.....christ how do i write down that he's the grandson of my crassus. i'll figure it out later #roman empire tag #drawing tag

336 notes · View notes

steviesbicrisis · 11 months

Text

(Okay this is turning into a summer series thingy because the idea of Steddie exploring Rome together while making Lizzie McGuire references makes me HAPPY)

Eddie: but wait, if you are italo american, do you still get an Italian clone? or is it an American clone?

Steve: what

Eddie: yeah you know, like Lizzie and Isabella

Steve: People don't have italian clones, Eddie

Eddie: WHAT THE FUCK

Steve: For the millionth time, Lizzie McGuire the Movie it's not an accurate representation of Italy-

Eddie: You take that back.

Robin, coming in: I've been looking for you, dingus

Eddie: ...

Eddie: OMG HERE'S YOUR CLONE!!

Steve: SHE'S NOT MY CLONE!

Robin, who has no clue what’s going on: he’s actually my clone

Eddie: ah yes, makes sense

Steve: I give up

Eddie, sighing: I can't wait to meet mine

476 notes · View notes

criminalskies · 6 months

Note

hello hello icon, love your writing, hope your doing good today!! 🩷

if you're taking requests do you think you could write something that gives "my big fat greek wedding" where the reader is bringing hotch over to meet their family and while reader has been warning him that their family is kinda crazy it's not til the night of, that hotch really gets it because hes just watching reader get more overwhelmed throughout the night while they drag him through all the introductions and dodge every plate of food and little mean comments from cousins. I just feel like he'd be so good about pulling reader away for a sec and comforting them through the loving chaos that is a huge and wild family and being like "yeah still love you tho". also like change whatever you want, do whatever bestie xx

Hi lovely anon! I must apologise rq for this taking me A CENTURY to write. I hope you're still there to read this <3 Aaron hotchner x GN!Reader. 5.4k words. warnings: mentions of testicular injury. your aunt is kiiiiiiind of a pervert, but just longing stares. No copping a feel. mentions of alcohol. that should be it! please enjoy!

Since working at the BAU, you have tried awfully hard to keep your biological family and your work family separate. You’ve successfully intercepted every one of your aunt’s offerings to surprise you with food at your office (and three to five of your younger cousins in-tow). You’ve successfully kept your loving parents from appearing at the doors of the BAU with over exaggerations of just how classified and gruesome your work is, no civilians past the front doors of Quantico, etc. You thank all the layers of misrepresentation of FBI work in the media for getting away with that one.

It’s been hard work, ten months of intercepting family group texts and abating their offers to bring you food with pictures of your home-cooked meals sent no less than three times a day. You’ve had to recycle a lot of the same photos to cover up your habit of buying takeout after a long day, but they don’t seem to have noticed. So far, it’s all been worth it. You’ve successfully convinced your coworkers that you’re a perfectly normal FBI agent with a perfectly normal family. It’s even worked on the one person you have most hoped to impress, your boss. SSA Aaron Hotchner. It has been even harder work convincing your family to steer clear of your apartment whenever he’s over and the biggest effort of all has been getting out of your family’s weekly Sunday Dinner. Which is in reality a twelve hour event. You’ve only had a few lazy Sunday dates with Aaron, but they have been some of your favorites. Shed of his suit and tie, you see him let loose of all his usual restraint. You see him relax, and that’s something you wouldn’t trade for anything. So you can take all the quips from your mother, aunts, cousins, nephews and grandfather as long as you have to, to keep your little bubble from bursting.

Aaron seems to believe you have a peaceful, quiet life. You’ve tried very hard to stage your apartment to look like the kind of place someone can read in airy silence on their days off. You want to create that space for your boyfriend, one where he doesn’t have to be ‘bossman’ or ‘SSA’ or even ‘dad’. He can just be Aaron.

Of course, you know each time you’ve been vacuuming or watering your plants, only to hear the agitated scraping of keys in your door, as the heavy footsteps of your nieces and nephews come clambering down the hall to your apartment. Your space quickly floods with the hustle and bustle of your loud, overbearing family. You know one of these days they’ll waltz in uninvited and find you and Aaron curled up in bed, probably giving the poor man a heart attack in the process.

Which is why you’ve decided, after six months together, you know how lucky you’ve been to not be the unsuspecting victims of a thirty person ‘pop-in’. So you’re going to quit while you’re ahead. This illusion is getting exceedingly tiring to uphold and you really suspect your boyfriend, the expert profiler, must have lost his touch if he hasn’t realized there’s more to you than meets the eye.

You’re just going to have to sit poor, sweet, unsuspecting Aaron down Saturday night and ask him about joining you to your family’s place for Sunday dinner. You feel bad for giving him such short notice, but really it is better this way. The less time you have to warn your mother that you’re bringing your boyfriend over, the better. Although, it might take longer than just Sunday to get said boyfriend up to speed.

Saturday night arrives and you’ve been acting completely off. You’ve been so focused on trying to plan your warning speech for Aaron that you spaced out during dinner three times, only realizing when you would notice your boyfriend’s signature head tilt and drawn brows staring back at you across the table. You completely missed him reaching across to hold your hand, and you missed him asking you about coming to Jack’s soccer game Thursday night. The third time, when you’re staring right through Aaron’s shirt as he was filling you in on the interdepartmental FBI gossip, he knows something must be seriously wrong with you tonight to not want to hear about an SSA and a section chief getting caught in a supply closet at the gala for the Seattle field office.

“Okay, that’s it.” Aaron huffs, moving your plate and his from the table to the kitchen counter before he comes to pull your chair back from the table, squatting opposite you now until he’s at your eye level, taking you gently by the shoulders. “What is the matter, angel? You’ve been staring straight through me.” You feel guilt wash over you as you see the concern in Aaron’s eyes, searching yours for any signs of distress.

“Oh- I’m sorry bear I’ve just. I just have something I have to ask you about. But, here, we should go sit down.” You grab Aaron by the hand, pulling him to his feet as you rise from your chair. You see a flash of terror across his face before he can reel in his expression, once again giving you his signature stare that means he’s listening. “No! Don’t stress, it’s nothing awful, just, complicated. Really.” You squeeze his hand reassuringly as you lead him to the couch. He breathes a sigh of relief at hearing you’re not about to break up with him or tell him you’ve fallen in love with his brother or anything drastic.

You sit cross-legged on the couch as Aaron settles into the corner, turned towards you to give you his full attention, his hand still nestled in yours. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in through your nose, out through your mouth before you spit it out. “I want you to meet my family.”

Aaron’s dimples appear as his face begins pulling into the most unexpected smile and he laughs a puff of air through his nose at your admission.

“That’s it? That’s the thing that had you giving me a thousand yard stare all night?” He asks, unable to conceal his incredulous look.

“Yeah. That’s just the start of this whole speech. There’s a dinner tomorrow at my parent’s place. But it’s no small event, Aaron. My family is kind of a lot, in every way imaginable or otherwise.” Now it’s Aaron who tries reassuring you, shifting you to melt against his side on the couch as his arm wraps around your tense shoulders.

“Angel, if they played any part in making you who you are, I would love to meet them.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple now.

“Okay. Well, for my own safety of mind I’m going to issue you some forewarnings so you’re at least prepared for some of the insanity. You ready?” You turn to look him in the eyes as you ask him.

“I’m ready, love.” You admire his bravery, really. You know he’s a seasoned FBI agent having worked in Seattle, Quantico, coming face to face with serial killers and people who would have turned his face into some kind of mask or couch upholstery if they had the chance. Still, you can’t help but worry at how badly he seems to be underestimating this situation.

You pull out a framed family tree from the back of your home study, watching the blood slowly drain from Aaron’s face when he realizes there are close to 65 names being mentioned as people who will be at dinner tomorrow to meet him. You warn him in particular about your uncles Ronnie and Tommy. You know how they treat new partners in this family. Ronnie will challenge Aaron to a friendly little wrestling match, hoping to pin him in thirty seconds and make sure he knows he’s not the toughest guy around. Meanwhile, Tommy is trying to talk Aaron out of wrestling Ronnie, to see how easily coerced your poor boyfriend may be. These are crucial moments for Aaron to demonstrate that he’s not macho to a fault, nor is he easy to intimidate.

Next, your Aunt Rita. She will eat him whole if she’s given the chance, you know how little self control she has around any man you bring home, let alone one that’s tall dark and handsome, and an FBI agent at that. You warn him not to hold Rita’s hand, no matter how many times she tries to offer it, because she has a grip like gorilla glue and won’t let him go again. If he ever starts to dance tomorrow night. He is to move away from her at. All. costs. She will shamelessly grind on his thigh after just a few drinks.

You warn him about your grandmama, how she thinks she’s twenty years younger and can still go up and down the stairs on her own. If he sees her dawdling away, just take her elbow and guide her back. You have no doubts about Aaron here, though, knowing he’s ever the gentleman and would never let his guard down, allowing your 98 year old great grandmother to wander out of the house’s side gate or into the dog’s kennel alone.

Lastly. Your second cousins. There’s the quadruplets, who you think should really be kept on leads, there’s Charlie, who’s genuinely known to bite strangers, Angie, who is smart as a whip and will do everything in her power to make your new boyfriend feel stupid. There’s Davie and Ruby, who like pulling off ‘pranks’, only they seem to be mistaken that the crucial element of a prank is that it’s deceptive AND funny. See, they think slipping a little roast beef into a stranger’s back pocket is the height of comedy. They’re especially into using tripwires or pretending to be floating around face-down in the pool for someone to dive in and rescue them.

By the end of your long list of precautionary tales, Aaron feels like he’s studying for the bar exam, he’s memorized the names of almost all your immediate relatives, and the rest he’ll have to figure out as he goes. He knows which aunts will be offended by him not taking a heaped portion of their provided dishes, and he knows which uncles will try to feed him enough beers to take down a moose. He’s as ready as he can be, and the more he focuses on what you’re telling him, the more you start to recognise the look in his eye, it’s the same look you always see whenever he’s about to enter a maximum security prison. Knowing that inmates will try to belittle him or lure him towards them, knowing he’s like a bucket of chum floating just out of reach of shark infested waters. But surely if he’s survived every one of those encounters before, your family won’t be the thing to break him… right?

The two of you settle down that night to watch a movie, and you are especially doting to your beautiful kindhearted boyfriend, trying to make sure he’ll remember how lovely and caring you are to him, even if he’s soon to realize you were essentially raised by a pack of wolves. When you offer to make him a cup of tea for the fourth time, he sighs and drags your lying form over his on the couch, essentially caging you in his arms.

“Angel. You have to stop.” Aaron says, in a matter-of-fact way that makes you believe you have no choice in the matter. “Stop apologizing to me for something that hasn’t even happened yet. However crazy, however loud, however boisterous or blunt your family is, I will leave there loving you just as much. Probably even more, given the way things have been trending lately. Okay?” He moves a hand to your cheek now, caressing it as his soft eyes try to reason with your worried ones, he looks so perfect under the warm lamplight. He has been the perfect boyfriend so far. Maybe, just maybe, he can handle your family and everything that comes with it.

“Okay, bear.” You close your eyes, burying your face in his chest and letting his steady heartbeat lure your own racing heart back into a healthy rhythm, as his hand finds its home against the crown of your head.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You spent the next day like you’ve spent most Sundays of your life, preparing enough food to sink the titanic. Okay, poor example. Enough food to feed your entire clan, perhaps. Aaron is nothing short of adorable as he swans around helping you, it is very nice not doing this alone, you have to admit. Having him chop and prepare the extra vegetables while you’re able to watch the sauce in the pot so for once you don’t end up with half of the flavor firmly stuck to the base, having to strain out the lumps right before you go to leave. Aaron even insists that he has all the bases covered, ushering you into your bedroom to please shower and get dressed so you’re not late. It occurs to you then that not only is he not scared of your family, he actually wants to make a good impression on them.

The two of you make it into the car, only six foil trays of food and a tart for dessert in hand, with time to spare. Aaron parks the car just down the street and turns off the engine, turning to see you chewing on the inside of your cheeks as you insist you’re sweating due to the piping hot lasagne in your lap, nothing to do with nerves. A large hand reaches over the console to gently take your own, bringing it towards his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s all going to be okay, sweetheart. Really.” He says, bringing your hand back into the space between you both, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“I know. You can handle serial killers and talking down people with bombs strapped to their chests. I’m sure my cousin's threats of throwing whipped cream at you from off the top balcony will pale in comparison.” You breathe out. “Let’s go, love.”

The two of you have barely made it through the front gate before you’re met with two familiar faces, your second cousins ‘guarding’ the front door with waterguns aimed at Aaron and yourself.

“Password!” Davie barks.

“Davie. Ruby. You guys keep getting taller, huh?” You try buttering them up while you think of what a five and seven year old would consider a worthy password for your family home.

“Really? Ya think so? Ruby asks with a bright smile, more gaps than there are teeth showing. You know she’s not the mastermind of their evil plans, it’s Davie that has to coerce her into helping him.

“Oh boy, do I!” You add, laying it on thick while Davie approaches Aaron, his brows drawn tightly together.

“You’re new. He’s new?” He turns to you, pointing at Aaron with a rather displeased look in his tiny face.

“Davie, meet Aaron. Aaron is my boyfriend.” You say puling your intertwined hands into view of the little ones, where Ruby responds with a vehement “ewwwwww!”

“COOTIES!” Davie yells, the two of them running back around the side of the house, of course off to tell their parents the news off this imminent cooties outbreak.

“That was a fantastic start. So far I’ve gotten one very passionate ‘ewwwwww!’ “ Aaron chuckles, squeezing your hand before he picks up the trays of food once more, carrying on into the house.

You can hear the rabble from the back rooms of the house bouncing around and echoing out of the open door, your mother’s uncontrollable laughter cutting through the cacophony as Aaron’s dimple appears on his cheek. She sounds just like you when you give off a real, genuine laugh. One that bubbles out of you, throwing your head back and grabbing at your stomach as tears spring from your eyes. Aaron loves that sound. You don’t see him beaming at you from the corner of your eye line.

You made it not quite three feet into the hallway before Aunt Rita’s speed walking towards you both, margarita in hand already threatening to spill and dinner has not yet begun.

“Here’s our happy couple!” she all but yells, turning her head to announce “I found em!” back down the hall as she moves to engulf you in a hug. “Y/N, it’s been so long!” Rita holds you, trapped there in the hug as she’s no doubt raking her eyes over Aaron’s form behind you.

“Aunty, I only saw you two Sundays ago.” You remind her politely, knowing that in this household that qualifies as half a lifetime.

“I know, baby, faaar too long.” She finally releases you from her grasp as you quickly step back, half-blocking Aaron from her reach.

“This is my boyfriend, Aaron.” You wrap a hand around his arm, holding onto him like a lifeline as you pray Rita will find it in herself to leave him alone.

“The FBI Agent!! Woooooow, sugar, we’ve been hearing so much about you lately. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mister F-B-I.” Rita moves her glass to her other hand, offering her wrist to Aaron as she bats her eyelashes. Shameless woman. Luckily, Aaron being a perfect gentleman, well versed in abating old ladies, he takes her hand rather briskly, placing a barely there kiss on her hand and relinquishing it back to her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, ma’am.” Aaron offers a tight lipped smile, careful to keep his dimple levels in check. You warned him that one of your exes was practically pulled by his cheek to meet the rest of the family when Rita spotted his dimple on show.

“MA’AM?! Ugh, now you’re just making me feel ancient, Sugar. Please. Call me Rita.” She shoves Aaron’s chest, her hand lingering a moment longer than you’d really like it to, but your boyfriend has enough humility to ‘stumble’ back slightly at the push.

“Of course, Rita. My mistake.” Poor Aaron’s hands must be burning holding the tin foil trays in his palm this long, luckily Rita moves out of the way, standing to the side and most definitely eyeing your boyfriend’s ass as he walks away, you walk behind him, shielding him from her wandering eyes. You feel terrible that he’s been here all of two minutes and he’s already been ewwwww’ed at and now treated like a piece of meat. Heaven help you.

“Y/N! Come here, my baby!” Your mother swans out of the kitchen, your breath catches at the sight of her apron, a curvy bikini model body drawn over the fabric, with a KISS THE COOK! Tattoo and lipstick marks all over the model’s skin. Classy. Very classy. Your mother plants a sticky lipglossed kiss on each of your cheeks, hugging tightly around your neck before turning to Aaron. She takes the trays from his scalding hands and places them on the counter before opening her arms to him with a smile. “This must be Aaron! I’m Y/M/N.” She pulls him into a tight hug, his tall frame bending down to get his arms around her shoulders as his cheeks receive two somehow equally sticky kisses.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs Y/L/N. I’ve heard so much about y-” Aaron’s cut off by a football flying between his face and your mother’s and colliding with the refrigerator. You all turn just in time to see your uncles all whiz around, suddenly very focused on the patch of dead grass in the back corner of the yard.

“Boys! Excuse me Aaron, we’ll pick this up again.” Your mother saunters out of the back door, waving a meat tenderiser in the air, you choose not to hear the string of expletives currently gracing the ears of everyone in a three mile radius. Instead, turning to greet your other, better behaved aunties and older cousins all gathered in the kitchen, a pasta-making train formed by seven pairs of hands. You’re informed that your folding skills are needed to finish off the agnolotti.

You’re eternally grateful to your two eldest cousins, who offer to get Aaron a drink and secure him a seat in the corner of the dining room, far from Rita who keeps walking by sucking cherries from the punch between her teeth as she eyes your boyfriend. He seems to be blissfully pretending he can’t see her, instead engaging most of your cousins in conversations about what exactly profiling even is. You hear the usual wave of ‘wow’s and ‘ahh’s washing over the building crowd when Aaron is able to tell that your uncle Scooter is planning to move to the coast and retire this year.

Once dinner is finally ready and being served on the porch, you and Aaron are able to grab some plates, only to find that the last seats left are right between your two most testy uncles. You sit Aaron next to Tommy, hoping he can withstand the mental games, instead of Vinnie’s prodding at his masculinity. From what you hear, it sounds like Aaron is able to effectively corner Tommy, using his own logic against him without sounding too callous about it. You smile to yourself while you dig into your potato salad, how you’ve managed to get this lucky with Aaron, you’ll never know.

Before dinner is over, however, your dad comes walking, suitcase in hand around the side of the house, having returned from his work trip overseas, the crowd erupts with a cheer when he reveals he has brought home as much spiced rum from the duty free stores at the airport as he could legally purchase at once. Scooter races inside to bring out some tumblers of ice for all those old enough to drink. Aaron stays seated at your side while you hug your father hello, and start a fond conversation with him. Aaron’s always heard you talk fondly of your dad, a calm voice in a sea of abrupt, booming family members.

He sees you gesturing towards him, smiling warmly while you talk with your father and Aaron’s never been much of a lip reader, but he does see your dad pull you into another big hug after he asks something with the word happy. A fluttery feeling spreads through Aaron’s chest as he watches you, thinking about how happy he is with you, as well.

His bubble of warmth is quickly burst when Vinnie marches up to Aaron, a hand slapping down over his clothed shoulder as he asks why he’s not drinking any rum.

“You some kind of mormon or something? Or an addict?” Vinnie asks, not very delicately.

“No. Neither.” Aaron keeps his tone friendly and measured. Vinnie wants an argument, wants a fight. He’s not going to give it to him.

“Come get a drink with me, then. Ay Ay Ron.” Vinnie pulls him by his sleeve as Aaron carefully discards his plate on his seat, checking the dogs are safely secured away from all the food.

You turn, seeing Aaron’s interrogation-proofed stare as Vinnie pours at least four standard drinks into the glass, offering it to him with a smirk. Aaron takes it with a thank you, ever so polite. He’s hoping to pour some of it out, you’re sure. But Vinnie is refusing to take his eyes off of the man as Tommy rounds Aaron’s other shoulder, an equally evil smirk on his face. Your cousins call everyone’s attention to the lawn by the side of the house, announcing they’ll be playing a football game in five minutes!

“So down your desserts and get your game faces on!” one of the quadruplets booms, you never can tell which one is which. Not that it tends to matter since they mostly move in a huddle. Your younger cousins and second cousins all erupt into cheers and chants, running to grab one last slice of cake and ice cream before their game starts. Your dad goes off to greet the rest of your siblings and you cross the lawn, growling children whizzing past your legs as you try not to kick any of them over. You meet Aaron, putting yourself between him and Vinnie, seeing Aaron’s nervous sipping of his drink has left him with just one finger of rum left in the tall glass. Oh dear. You’re glad he can hold his liquor as his arm wraps around your waist, holding onto you like a lifeline as Tommy continues his rant about how government workers are overpaid for their work and the FBI has more coverups than it has investigations these days.

Luckily, your father cuts his brothers incessant yammering off, holding out a hand to shake Aaron’s, asking if he can pick his profiling brain for a moment about something. You see Aaron release a tiny breath of relief, following your father into the house. You take the opportunity now to smack each of your uncles on the shoulders.

“Please behave, you two. I like this one. Please, you’ll have a hundred more chances to interrogate him if you don’t scare him off tonight. Just, tone it down. I know asking you to stop is pointless. But please. As your favorite brother’s favorite child, I’m begging.” You plead with them both to stop just short of sending Aaron barreling into his shell he wears at work. You don’t want him being in his unsub-defense mode every time he walks into your home. You’re met with two grunts of acknowledgement, and you set off in search of some better company.

The football game starts up fair enough, two teams of kids playing only semi-gently against their relatives. The score is 3-2 when Aaron and your father emerge from the den, your dad’s arm around the man's shoulder, dragging him with a smile on his face to get some more rum. Luckily, your dad has the civility to let him pour his own drink, however he pleases. They find a spot in the crowd, watching the game as Aaron settles into your side, eyes searching yours to find you doing the same. You both have a shy laugh and turn to watch the game, happy to see that the other is okay.

You engage in some more quiet conversation in your corner of the field until Davie gets a little overexcited, kicking the ball far too hard after he scored his touchdown and you watch in slow motion as poor sweet Aaron is barely able to remove his hand from yours before the wad of leather and lace collides brutally with his crotch, and his knees buckle, hands coming to hold his crown jewels as he bites his lips hard to hold in a loud cry. It takes every ounce of self control in his body to keep himself even partially upright, wanting very badly to curl into the fetal position to nurse his burning balls.

“Oh my god! Aaron, are you okay?!” He manages a weak nod, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he manually forces himself to continue breathing. “I’m gonna get you some ice! Wait there! Or, well. I’ll be back!” You turn towards the kitchen, where you spy Davie’s toothy grin, receiving a crisp $20 bill from Vinnie. You are so going to pour that man’s precious rum down his favorite shirt the moment Aaron is able to breathe naturally again. You rush to grab some ice, filling a zip-loc bag and sprinting back out to where Rita is sitting, holding Aaron’s hand tightly in hers, fanning him with her hand-fan as the redness in his neck only spreads upwards towards his ears.

You stand before him, holding his face in your hand as you place the bag of ice in his hand. He can freeze his own nuts, you’re sure he doesn’t need you dropping the rock hard ice into his lap. He finally opens his eyes, looking up at you with a rather strained look on his face. You bend down to place a kiss on his forehead, silently thanking him for being the most patient man on the face of the earth.

Rita luckily has the grace to leave you two alone now, freeing up the seat next to Aaron which you take, brushing his hair back from where it now sticks to his forehead.

“Thank you for being the best boyfriend in the world. I am so, so, so sorry this is such a mess I… Aaron?” His brows draw closer and closer as you’re talking, his eyes focused on the darkness beside the house as you try to trace his line of sight. Without a word, he springs up, ice falling to the grass as he runs around the house, looking like he really ought to have his torch and gun out, this is his ‘calculated emergencies only’ run. You trot after him, rounding the corner of the house just in time to see him catch your grandmama by her shoulders before she steps into the busy street, cars whizzing past as she blinks at your boyfriend, and he turns her on her feet to come back around the house.

You take her by the shoulders as Aaron locks the gate this time, and you feel your eyes welling with tears at how wonderful a man you’ve found. One that will chase your great grandmother without hesitation, not a thought spared for his already tenderized family jewels which are no doubt screaming at him to sit back down. You come face to face with most of your extended family, who all ran after you both to see what all the commotion was about, and your mother rushes over to take your grandmama into her arms, thanking Aaron profusely as she turns to take the matriarch of the family to bed.

You take your moment, as the family all turn around, following the pair back into the house. You wrap your arms tightly around Aaron, breathing a shaky breath as his arms wrap around you just as tight. You move yourself up to give him a kiss, body pressed against his as he responds with a whimper in the back of his throat and you jump back, realizing you’d pinned his poor traumatized package between you.

“Sorry! Sorry.” He cuts you off with a bruising kiss, bodies now a safe distance apart as he takes his chance to kiss you the way he’s wanted to for over an hour now. Ever since he spoke to your dad, and learned just how highly you’d been speaking of your beloved boyfriend all these months.

“Don’t be sorry, angel. I love you, your big, crazy family and all. I love all of you. So, please, stop apologizing, because I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” He thumbs the tear from your eyes, whether they’re from the adrenaline of almost seeing your beloved grandmother struck by a car, or from the tenderness of this moment, he isn’t sure. But either way, he’s handled serial killers, rapists, arsonists, shooters, bombers, and now your cousin Davie’s sharp left kick. He will handle everything life throws at him from now on, with an extra spring in his step. Because he has you. Yes, that includes the people who created you.

“That being said, I really need to lie down. I had like, four standards in half an hour and although I know you’d love me ball-less, I would really like it if they don’t fall off just yet.” You sniffle a laugh, moving an arm around his waist as you promise to lead him to your childhood bedroom. He can look at every ugly yearbook photo he wants to. He’s even earned the right to read your atrocious love notes you wrote to a celebrity when you were seventeen and convinced he was in love with you. This only seems a fair trade for his black and blue balls he’ll have to waddle into the office with, tomorrow.

tags: @montyfandomlove , @pastanoodles11 , @ssamorganhotchner , @hotchnerbau , @hotchs-babygirl , @ssa-tahlia-obsessions , @p0ssywhippedcream , @14buddy22 , @elenamoncada-ibarra , @supercriminalbean , @ssaspenceswife , @levithestripper , @wearenumberonebutitsaurl, @geminitapestry, @bucxkysdoll, @hotchs-big-hands

230 notes · View notes

sicknessinmotion · 6 months

Text

headfirst by maz rome (@sicknessinmotion).

#dropping the writing again <3 #writing #maz rome

192 notes · View notes

arbiterlexultionis · 7 months

Text

Instant Eternity

Time travel involving the infinite realms is truly a bizarre thing. Sometimes it follow one set of rules, and sometimes that set of rules may as well not exist. Usually, however, it works in one of two ways, the first is when the time travel is achieved through artificial means such as clockworks portals and allows for the altering of the timeline as one would expect time travel would allow. The other type of time travel is through natural means, portals usually, and it’s just that, Natural. That portal to the past opened up in the past the same moment it did in the present. If you step into the portal in the year 2000 then you already stepped out of the portal hundreds of years ago. It’s A Thing That Already Happened. Danny himself experienced this, as while chasing Vlad through time they fought in the middle of a Roman coliseum and, whoopsy daisy, set a really big fire. A fire which Danny had learned about years before he even had his accident.

So, the infimap can take the user anywhere, anywhen. And the infimap is just that, a map. It doesn’t make new roads, it just drags you across already existing paths. So it is a natural form of time travel, if you use it to go in time to kill your grandfather in order to insure your never born your interference will result in your grandparents falling in love and your birth.

Danny realizes that anytime he needs to heal from a battle or has gone 156 hours without sleeping or eating he can use the infimap to pop back to the past for a few days and then have the map bring back to the “Present”, exactly one second after he left. A three week vacation that lasted one second. At first he’s really wary about using this, worried about accelerated aging or getting lost in the time stream and a hundred other issues. At first.

It’s been months sense the accident. Sam and Tucker have both shot up several inches. Danny, on the other hand, hasn’t grown sense the accident. At all. They fought a ghost who could rapidly age opponents, a single slap turned Tucker into a decrepit old man. The ghost wrapped his hands around Danny’s throat and spent 5 minutes trying to strangle him while Danny bought time for Sam and Tucker to pull off the plan. The sucked him into the thermos, his influence on time ceased so Tucker returned to his proper state. “Jeez it sure is lucky he didn’t try and age me, right guys? Ha ha ha”. Danny gets blasted through a natural portal while making a trip through the zone and spends years trying to get home, not aging a day.

He can’t deny it after that, can’t ignore it. He’s immortal. He’s going to live forever. He’s going to watch his friends and family whither away and die out. He’s going to have to spend the rest of his life wandering from place to place trying not to get outed as the same 14 year old who save someone’s great great grandma 100 years ago.

After having his first middeath crisis, suddenly the only reasons he had to not spend years on end wandering the world and the past is gone, even if he loses the infimap, worst case scenario he’ll just take the long way home. Suddenly, he’s dreading the next 80 years of the “Present”. He decides that if he’s going to watch his friends and family grow old and frail he’s going to make sure it’s takes as long as it possibly could, from his perspective. By the time they’re 20 Danny’s gonna have 200 years under his belt.

He becomes a temporal tourist, hopping into the past every time the late night fights and schoolwork become to much. Spends years in every civilization imaginable, mastering every skill he can, leaving legends in his wake.

I feel like Danny and his adventures do have a lot of potential for story’s, as it’s a pretty good setup for having Danny in any type of time period or historical event for extended periods of time, fighting in the trenches of World War I, exploring the Americas during the era of colonialism, sailing the seas a swashbuckling vigilante pirate. I, however, have most of my related ideas being based around crossovers. So most of that will be in part two, so that people who like to filter out all that can still see this post.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #fic prompt #dp au #story prompt #writing prompt #danny phantom au #dp #Danny’s Immortal #temporal tourist #Temporal Tourist AU #Danny the next time Vlad goes on and on about his TWenTy YeARs ExperIANce: That’s cute #Dash pulls up to start something and Danny fresh from spending 13 years as a baker in Ancient Rome is just like Who’s this strange child?#He completely forgets about a English project for Lancer and when Lancers standing in front of his desk asking for it #Danny just like “it’s in… Um… in the bathroom “the bathroom? “yes “ okay go get it. Now.#Danny comes back two seconds later with the best project Lancer has ever seen. it’s autographed by Shakespeare #he had to ask what the project was before he left.

235 notes · View notes

bongo-clash · 1 year

Text

Even when you don't know what it is your job knows what it is

DP/DC week prompt: There was something off about them

'Danny Phantom, alleged several-thousand year old ghostly entity, has a feeling something’s not quite right with Captain Marvel, alleged several-thousand year old champion of magic. He reckons there's no time like the present to confront his hunch.'

Look, Danny’s been working with the Justice League for a while now, and he likes to think he knows them all pretty well. Some of them are more open about their civilian identities than others, but even if he doesn’t know who everyone is behind the cowls, he’s got their personalities down pat at least.

Everyone except, perhaps, Captain Marvel.

Maybe that’s not fair to say. Captain’s a friendly enough guy- nobody’s ever had a bad conversation with him that Danny knows of- but he’s weirdly flaky. The longest he’s stuck around post-mission is probably about five minutes tops, and no one actually knows anything about the man; the League have a habit of hanging around after missions for drinks and talk, and the Captain’s been offered a place with them several times and not taken it once. In all fairness, neither has Danny, but he has an excuse. They think he’s about several thousand years older than he actually is and also a full ghost, so they’d probably expect him to drink and he doesn’t want to have to go through the awkward process of refusing and nor does he want Jazz to go ape on him for giving into peer pressure.

…That’s another thing; Captain Marvel is allegedly several-thousand years old, but when Danny looks at him there’s a strange sense of camaraderie that makes him think maybe they’re both liars.

The longer he’s spent thinking about it, the more sense it makes. Their behaviours probably have a lot in common from an outside perspective: coming across awkward around the other members of the team, passing on every event outside of work, sharing very little about their personal lives least of all a civilian identity- which neither of them are even suspected to have. After all, Phantom’s a ghost, and Captain Marvel’s the champion of magic, it seems reasonable to assume their have some other plane of existence they return to when they’re not in the Watchtower. But Danny just goes back home to Illinois and tells his parents he was at Tucker’s again, and he really doesn’t believe that the Captain just sets up shop by the ‘Rock of Eternity’ or whatever he’d mentioned it was called.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, though, because what if he’s wrong? There’s a non-zero chance that he’s just projecting his own issues on the man (and that sounds so much like something Jazz would say that it physically hurts), and if Danny tries to confront the man about a lie that isn’t there, then the Captain will know he’s lying, and he’ll totally get booted off the team or placed with Young Justice. There’s nothing wrong with YJ, but it’d just hurt to have worked side-by-side with them proving his reliability for so long only to get pushed away because of his age.

So he doesn’t say anything, figuring there’s not much choice other than to wait for some kind of confirmation. Until, of course, the opportunity for confrontation arrives in the aftermath of one mandatory League check-point meeting.

Check-point meeting with the Justice League are really just contractually obligated gossip sessions regarding their recent heroic endeavours that quickly descends into normal conversations. Contrary to the usual progression of these meetings, however, Green Lantern is prodding at Captain Marvel to tell him about what it was like visiting ancient civilisations before they fell.

It’s one of those weeks where the other members are being a bit more insistent on finding out more about the Captain. They’ve made their peace with the fact that they’re not going to get much in terms of a civilian life out of him, but every single member of the League (with the exception of maybe Martian Manhunter) is invariably nosy, which obviously leads to their more mysterious members coming under scrutiny every now and again. This also includes Danny on occasion, but Phantom has a brilliant out for interrogations in the form of making people uncomfortable about the fact that, even if he’s an ancient entity, he clearly died young. All he has to do is pull out some wistful bullshit about wishing he’d lived long enough to experience mortal romance or something equally upsetting and he’s home-safe.

The man across from him, however, taking the form of a very much full-grown adult, has no such excuse.

“Come on, Captain, surely you can tell us something! I thought you were around for ancient Egypt?” Hal exclaims, leaning just slightly over the meeting table to scrutinise his colleague. The Captain is looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“Of course I was!” Marvel agrees quickly, accompanied by a nod of the head that could almost be described as frantic. “Ancient Egypt was around for ages, probably couldn’t’ve missed all that if I tried! I wasn’t around for all that much of it though, I- uh, I caught the tail end of it- when Cleopatra was pharaoh, if I remember right- but I was… I was a little busy somewhere else during that, uh, era.”

Green Lantern raises an eyebrow behind the green domino mask. “Busy? Busy doing what?”

“Well-“

The Captain is making a very particular face, the kind that Danny imagines he himself makes when he’s scrambling for any reasonable excuse to get out of the hole he’s dug himself into by lying. And Danny looks at him from across the table, the man catching his eyes with a look he can only describe as odd and desperate, and he makes a decision.

“That was around the time all those conferences were being held to sort out the mess between the newly-formed undead societies and the natural ghosts, right? There was some involvement with living mages, if I recall correctly; I’m sure I saw you at one of those.”

In terms of lies he could’ve told, he figures this one is pretty low-risk. There were a lot of diplomatic meetings held between natural ghosts and the ones existing post-mortem when proper civilisations first came about and people from them started dying, after all (though he knows for fact the living weren’t involved in any way), so it’s not like he’s pulling it out of his ass. If he’s wrong about the Captain and the man admits he doesn’t have a clue what Danny’s talking about, then he can just say it must have been a realms-exclusive thing- hard to remember the finer details when it was all so long ago- and they’ll be none the wiser.

But if he’s right, and he’s really beginning to think he is, then-

Sure enough, the man across from him nods vigorously, clicking his fingers together as if his memory’s just been jogged. “Right!” He chirps, sending Danny a brazen smile. “I don’t know how I forgot about those! Man, those conferences dragged on, didn’t they?”

Bingo.

“Don’t even worry about it- I honestly would’ve thought the first ones were around the revolution at the end of the Qin dynasty in China if you hadn’t reminded me- my memory was way off. Speaking of that though, have you spoken to Pandora since? I figured you two would get along pretty well, but I know there wasn’t much time for small talk and dimension hopping wasn’t half as easy as it is now.”

Captain Marvel shakes his head with pursed lips. “Can’t say I have; not a lot of free time between everything, like you said. Would love to be introduced properly though!”

“Well, I did say I would- couple thousand years later than I thought it’d be, but better late than never.”

The tension easing from Marvel’s shoulders is probably obvious to everyone in the room. Superman looks to the both of them curiously. “You never mentioned knowing each other?” The Kryptonian questions. Phantom laughs the way he sees his mom do during those weird adult get-togethers.

“Oh, we’ve crossed paths a lot,” He declares with a wave of his hand, brushing the notion to the side, catching the gaze of the Captain in his peripheral even as he keeps his eyes on the other superhero. “Can’t say we had the opportunity to get to know each other properly between it all, though. Relations between the magic living and the restless dead have always been a little… fraught. I was just planning to keep things professional on my end unless the Captain wanted to seek a friendship outside of work since I wasn’t sure how appreciated it would be, especially given how much fuss ghosts have been giving the mortal plane recently.”

Marvel’s laugh mimics his own. “That’s what I was thinking! I guess no amount of time can time will change how weird it can be trying to made work friends.”

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), Captain Marvel is waiting outside the hall for him when the meeting is adjourned and each member of the League goes their separate ways. Wordlessly, Danny follows him deeper into the Watchtower, floating behind before phasing them both into one of the locked rooms everyone knows there’s no cameras in, for the sake of being allowed confidential discussions in at least one area of the place- when approved, of course, but these walls don’t hold Phantom just yet, given that the ghost-proofing paint doesn’t quite stick over the lead-lining.

“So.” Danny starts, when they’re both inside the office and the silence begins to creep thick into the air.

Captain Marvel looks nervous. “So.”

“You weren’t at those conferences.”

“No, I wasn’t.” It seems almost painful for him to admit, hands flicking slightly like he wants to fidget with them but doesn’t want to be caught doing it. “I’m grateful you, uh, that you said I was there- thank you, Phantom- but why’d you cover for me?”

For the first time today, and maybe even the first time in the Watchtower, Danny levers himself down from the air, putting both feet on the ground. He hopes beyond hoping his face comes across sincere. “Because I wasn’t there either.” He admits gently, watching for a response.

“I- what?” The man doesn’t appear to know what he’s meant to say. Well, time to rip the bandaid off.

“Captain, you’ve not been around for six thousand, have you? I’m willing to bet you haven’t even been around for 18.” The reaction is immediate. Marvel’s eyes widen, pupils shrinking with alarm, arms coming up as if in defence as he splutters some kind of excuse, and Danny interrupts before he can spiral too hard. “Dude, don’t worry. I seriously won’t tell anyone if you are- I’m not a snitch.”

The Captain’s expression looks utterly lost. “Why?”

Danny thinks it’s probably best to just bite the bullet here. He stands still as the transformation washes over him, bright silver-blue rings parsing over his form, exchanging gravity-defying white hair for scraggly black, hazmat for jeans and a sweater, and Lazarus-green eyes for a gentler blue. When the light finally dissipates, he gives the Captain a second just to process, before sending him a wry grin.

“Hi, Captain Marvel, I’m Phantom- otherwise known as Danny Fenton- Ambassador for the Infinite Realms and sixteen year-old half-human-half-ghost boy.”

The other hero stands still for a long, long moment, mute with shock, before muttering a quiet ‘Shazam’ and allowing the room to fill with the sudden crackle of a lightning bolt. Where the hulking form of Captain Marvel once stood, a boy is left in his place- eyes and hair the same, if a little less put together- but only just coming up to Danny’s shoulder, wearing clothes that have clearly seen a few years go by. If Danny had to guess, he looks about eleven or twelve

“Hi, Phantom,” He says, a little quieter but with more confidence than he’d had before, staring him resolutely in the eyes. “I’m Captain Marvel- also Billy Batson- champion of magic and twelve year-old and world’s mightiest mortal.”

Danny cannot resist reaching over to ruffle the kid’s hair. “Amazing to meet you,” He beams. “And if anyone asks, we’ve known each other since the Early Dynastic period of Egypt and are in no way human or related to any living humans. You good with that?”

Billy looks up at him with a gap in his teeth and mischief in his eyes.

“Phantom, I am more than okay with that.”

#dp/dc week 2022 #Billy asks afterwards what all the historical evidence of Danny is about and Danny explains his time travel shenanigans #And invites Captain Marvel to join in on a few too just to really buff up their alibi #Billy discovers the joy of vandalism in Ancient Rome #Fun fact: I have no idea what happens in this fic because I finished it 1 minute ago and I'm too tired to read it over #If there's any mistakes we can all just ignore them and that's cool and fine!!#Title is from Let's Get This over With by They Might Be Giants because I was struggling for a name and it's just what I had on #dpxdc #dp au #danny phantom au #Bongo's Writing!!!

1K notes · View notes