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spirk-trek · 3 months

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I would love to hear your thoughts on kirk's backstory and what happened on tarsus iv, I feel like I've read so many conflicting takes on here and none of them actually match up with the episode (conscience of the king)

Hi anon! The way you worded this makes me think you were just looking for information and not a fic request. Forgive me if I was wrong!! 😅

I think the reason there are so many conflicting ideas is because of how vague it is in canon itself (which is cool, leaves a lot of room for interpretation). Because of this, when I recently wrote a thing about Tarsus IV I also struggled with "research" for it. Here's what I came up with:

!!! Disclaimer! I am not declaring any of this the One True Canon™! This is just my interpretation/speculation based on existing lore !!!

To me, it makes most sense for Jim to be sent to Tarsus IV with his mother, and for her to be a civilian scientist/researcher of some kind. I find it very hard to believe the massacre could have taken place if Starfleet were present, which would include George Kirk, Jim's father. George is said to have been absent often due to his work (SNW), so it wouldn’t be strange for him to be separated from his family (this is also just normal in Star Trek in general, i.e. Sulu [AOS] and like… everyone with children in TNG).

A more recent Trek book called Drastic Measures seems to back this exact idea up (depends who you ask which novels are canon, and this book was written for Discovery so take it with a grain of salt).

Sam would, in the TOS timeline, be 10 years older than Jim (~23). That would make it unlikely he'd be tailing after his mother to remote colonies. It's much more likely he was concerned with his own career/family/life.

So, in summary of those points, I think it was just Jim and Winona. Jim is between 12 and 14 years old, and his mother was a civilian researcher (the novel I mentioned earlier made her a xenobiologist, probably for plot reasons).

Something I do see exaggerated sometimes is the method of killing in the massacre. An antimatter chamber appears to be what was used, similar to A Taste of Armageddon, so it would not have been mass carnage or a big dramatic fight in the end. Just... zap.

SPOCK: "He was certainly among the most ruthless, to decide arbitrarily who would survive and who would not [...] and then to implement his decision without mercy. Children watching their parents die. Whole families, destroyed. Over four thousand people. They died quickly, without pain, but they died.”

However, these are also quotes from the episode, so I can see why people might think the massacre itself was more violent:

- JIM: “Four thousand people were needlessly butchered.” - LEIGHTON: “I remember him. That voice. The bloody thing he did.” - JIM: “Are you sure you didn't act this role out in front of a captive audience whom you blasted out of existence without mercy?” - KARIDIAN/KODOS: “Murder, flight, suicide, madness. I never wanted the blood on my hands ever to stain you.”

There was a revolution of some kind, probably brought about by people easily radicalized out of hunger and desperation.

- KARIDIAN/KODOS: [reading] "The revolution is successful…” - SPOCK: “There were over eight thousand colonists and virtually no food. And that was when Governor Kodos seized full power and declared emergency martial law.”

If Kodos already had his ideas about eugenics, which it sounds like he did, he would have seized this as an opportunity. This would make him an even more solid comparison to Hitler, which they were definitely going for to at least some extent (this was written two decades after WWII which many involved in the making of star trek were deeply affected by if not veterans themselves).

Because of the above quotes, I also think there’s merit to the idea of there being multiple formal executions where Kodos gave his infamous “speech” each time rather than just once (this would be another reason Jim would remember it enough to write it down), rather than one massive execution of 4,000 people. However, this quote could be interpreted to mean the opposite:

SPOCK: “Kodos began to separate the colonists. Some would live, be rationed whatever food was left; The remainder would be immediately put to death.”

Arguably, the even more traumatic suffering would be the period of starvation and upheaval leading up to the massacre. To me, a 3-6 month period of slowly worsening starvation as the food supply shrank and shrank to nothing would make the most sense.

One aspect I don't quite get is that Kodos's body was supposed to have been "burned beyond recognition.” Since we know from Conscience of the King his death was staged, then this fake death can’t have been pulled off in the midst of Starfleet intervention upon arrival (they would have taken him into custody to stand trial rather than kill him on sight anyway). Burning yourself to death is a highly unusual form of suicide, so I’m not sure if that’s supposed to allude to him being fake killed in the carnage following the execution when the people didn't react the way he wanted or expected? My only theory is that there was unrest and rioting for the period of time between the massacre and Starfleet arriving with relief, and he used that to fake his death once he knew he would be put on trial.

Anyway, this is super long so I'll cut myself off there. Hope that answered your question, sorry for being crazy! If anyone has anything to add, please do!

#star trek #tw #cw #theory #analysis #captain kirk #tarsus iv #lore #tarsus iv massacre #discussion #reference #fanfic #canon #fanon

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nobodysdaydreams · 5 months

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Well...

...that could have gone better.

(Also it turns out Lovelace IS an alien. 👽 so that's fun, I think?)

(or my reaction to episodes 44-46 of Wolf359)

Welcome back dear readers, sorry for the delay. Procrastinating on finals has been taking up all of my time, thank you for your understanding.

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom

Episode 44: Desperate Times

Now where were we? Ah yes. Cutter lied about their deaths and has an evil girlfriend who makes his robots. Hilbert and Lovelace told Minkowski about the death thing to get her on board, and once they have her, she should be able to get Doug and Hera on board.

Great point Doug. How many secret rooms can one space station have?

And how many copies of the SI-5? Because we already had two Duck boys. If another Kepler strolls in and starts talking about Whiskey again, that might just be too much for me.

No Minkowski. You don't want to kill anyone. But I understand.

Wow. Doug knows some fancy words. "Commander Eiffel" 😂

Oh, they're actually laughing. I'm sorry Doug. Wow, he just made that up too, very convincing.

Aw, Minkowski. I want to hug her. If she doesn't make it back to her husband...

oh yay, she and Doug are talking it out! Friends! My feelings exactly Hera! 💕💕💕

Hera is so sweet. It's weird to think she was built by and modeled after someone so horrible.

Ah. Taking a late night stroll around the ship Hilbert?

Hilbert. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. NOT THE EVIL CHAIR.

Evil chair will kill you. Evil chair will show them your brain which shows them your plan to rebel against them. Do not trust the evil chair Hilbert. For a smart man, you make some remarkably and unbelievably dumb decisions.

I want to believe in them. I do, I really really do. But unfortunately, I know that there is an entire other season left. So...

It's not looking good. Personally, I think the most expendable is Hilbert. They can kill the character off without having to fire the actor. If anyone's about to die, it's him.

The "terrible trio", I like it Doug. Good nickname for SI-5.

The um...the blunt force trauma face?

Oh my this hypothetical of Maxwell, Kepler, and Jacobi falling apart is music, sweet music.

If only...if only.

They are really counting on the SI-5 acting exactly like this. I hope they get it right. I do love the way they make Whiskey Boy out to be such a cartoon villain. He really is.

Oh they're conflicted about who to target. That's right Hera. Target Duck boy. I mean...they did already kill him once, right?

Although slight problem. Let's say they do kill SI-5. Let's say they try to fly the ship back to earth. Can't Cutter just blow the ship up remotely? He'll probably send a missel after them before they even get into the atmosphere. I mean...what would you even do in this situation? He's literally got them bargaining for every second of their lives. Makes you wonder how many teams he has out there like this...

What happened? No gas? Oh dear. Plan B?

HIT MAXWELL WITH A WRENCH? POP A WEASEL?

I don't like how this is going.

"I'm glad I have you alone" Hilbert stop it.

Opponent is not going to hesitate to kill you. That's true. But you can't forget who the enemies are. Cutter and Pryce. And yes. SOMETHING IS WRONG!

Oh dear. Well this is terribly awkward.

...um...so...Maxwell. Duck Boy. Fancy a mutiny?

Guess not. Oh dear. This is bad. This is very very bad.

IS NOT ABOUT THE CONTACT EVENT! IT'S ABOUT THEM GETTING BACK AND YOU KNOW IT.

I KNEW THAT YOU COULDN'T TRUST HER.

"Don't struggle?"

Not the brain sweeping. Maxwell you have lost all my respect, and likely your own if you still had any left in you.

Shut up Duck Boy, literally no one wants to hear from you.

Well this is a pickle. How will our heroes (and Hilbert) get out of this one? 👀

Episode 45: Desperate Measures

"Wakey-wakey", shut up errand boys.

"Passion for disciplining crew members, isn't that right Jacobi?" You're a sadist waste of space who works for a sadist waste of space, we got that Whiskey Boy.

Oh great. Another super secret room. There's probably thousands of them at this rate. A whole city in the sky.

What a nice little room of weapons. As a lover of dramatic irony, I do hope Dr. Robot and our dear Errand Boys find themselves on the other side of those weapons.

Hera you can delay having to respond to her commands! You can! Remember: You can't do this. You're not good enough. Use it to your advantage.

"I knew it!" you did Doug. And yeah, Hilbert didn't sink so low.

"Kill whoever you like least", well there goes Hilbert.

Good work Hera! 🥰 Oh dear it hurts.

THE VENTS! That's right! Go Minkowski!

Geez does Whiskey Boy ever tire of the sound of his own voice? I guess not.

Shut it Kepler! Yeah Doug! He can go to hell! Tell him off!

Doug: "You're crazy"

Kepler: "No Doug. I'm just a man that wants to be taken seriously. That's why I'm sitting here with a gun in one hand, glass of Whisky in the other, while singing "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe" like a cartoon supervillain. There's nothing more respectable or serious than that."

Lovelace is speaking FACTS. He has lost his humanity. But um...ironically so might have Lovelace. Or all of them still unclear on that.

"You're hilarious" "one more thing I have that you don't" ooohhh... dang, it that ain't the truth. No one will be as funny as Doug, but if anyone comes close it's certainly not Whisky boy.

"Very nice speech captain" Well it was better than the Whisky speech Kepler. Take notes.

That's right Lovelace. Who cares what Kepler see when he looks at you? No one. Because he is a waste of space.

She'll survive because of magic alien plot armor.

Aw, she did it for Doug. That's really sweet.

And...off goes the gun. But no screams. He better not have shot Doug.

"You have 30 minutes to think about what you've done. Then we'll talk about Eiffel."

I know I should be furious over the whole "what you've done" comment, but I gotta ask, how dangerously stupid is Kepler? 30 minutes is plenty of time to put a plan into action. What does Kepler need 30 minutes for? Swirling his Whisky around and telling Doug how much he loves the feel of it in his hands.

Why don't you mind your own business Maxwell? Why don't you shut up and mind your own business and throw yourself in the airlock?

Good stalling Hera...yes! Finally knocked out Dr. Robot. Now, as much as I am against murder, eye for an eye, and all that...in this situation, keeping her alive puts multiple innocents at risk.

Anyone got an eye on Duck Boy?

Kepler doesn't care about Maxwell! He doesn't care about anyone!

Doug...great speech for this to work, he has to care about human life, and he clearly doesn't.

Yeah, I don't really like chess either Doug.

Why do I feel like he's going to hurt Hera in a way that only Maxwell can fix?

Ah there he is. "I wouldn't do that so someone. I just blow people up to kill them! :)" ugh Duck Boy is the worst. I knew that he was off doing something silly. "Crazy Jacobi the loose canon" dude, you're Duck Boy. That's your existence.

And I knew Hilbert would be the one to go. They don't have to fire his voice actor to kill him, which makes him expendable.

Well it took a very long time to get here, but looks like Hilbert is finally gonna kick the bucket. And yeah, you guys have no idea how long they've been trying to kill Hilbert. If it was Doug, I'd be more worried, but between Hilbert and Doug, Doug's got the plot armor.

And...there he goes! Oh wait...did she shoot Maxwell! Oh be quiet Jacobi, it's not like you ever actually cared about her. If Cutter or Kepler ordered you to kill her, you would have done it.

You can't talk sense into him Doug. He's a nutcase. We established that.

I love Doug. "Well it's been a topsy-turvy day!"

And see Kepler? Not so fun playing with lives when yours is on the chopping block, now is it?

Yes Doug! Tell him! Oh poor Whisky Boy, are you gonna cry?

Right three people dead: Lovelace, Hilbert, and Maxwell. That's a lot. My money is on Lovelace coming back due to alien magic, Hilbert dead for good, maybe Maxwell lives on in Hera's memory or flashback land.

YES! I love Doug's loyalty to Minkowski!

Does Kepler have an escape pod? I feel like he would. Oh he's telling his duck boy to stand down. But duck boy doesn't seem too happy about that. I guess he cared a bit more for Maxwell than Kepler, even if he would have shot her if given the order.

"Finally over" hm...I seriously doubt that.

Ah yes the aliens. I wonder what they have to say about all this. And Kepler please shut up. "You want to be in charge of this mess, fine." The mutiny literally just happened on your watch. You spent half the crew budget on expensive Whiskey. You don't care at all that Maxwell is dead.

Episode 46: Bolero

Is that music? Um... what is this? I do wonder why they chose to send music, when they've demonstrated that they can send voices.

Yeah...this is a lot. And they lost their human doctor and robot doctor. As much as I hated them, they were useful. Unlike the errand boys, who only seem to be good a cowering in fear from ducks and giving speeches about whisky.

Oh and apparently they like music too. How nice.

"If the commander wishes for silence, then silence she shall have" and yet you're still talking.

Yeah...what do they do now. They have to warn everyone, expose Cutter and get him to jail, but the aliens are also invading. Oh gosh, are Cutter and Pryce aliens? Is this a plot to replace humanity with aliens? That at least makes more sense than Cutter's a loon who just wants to take a gander at some dangerous aliens, but why do I get the feeling that "Cutter's crazy" is what's actually happening here?

Oh right Kepler's special DNA. But your DNA still works even if it's detached from your body, right? 🧬

"We owe it to Lovelace, Hilbert, and Maxwell..." good work Doug. They were evil, they were flawed, but they were still humans.

Oh Hera. Wow, we don't have funerals for animals???? Yikes... I'm starting to see how she was modeled after Pryce now. In that case, I wonder what happened to Pryce. Also Hera, I get what you're saying, but that's an insult to animals. Many cats and dogs I've met are very loyal, kind, and useful.

oh dear she's talking to Lovelace's ghost/memory. 🥺 It's not your fault Minkowski. It was never your fault. And yeah...you all deserve to make it home.

That is if there is even a home to come back to...

Doug, Hera, come on. You're best friends. Wow. And yeah, she and Maxwell were friends, that's why she's so upset! Oh right...if one human friend betrayed her...oh Hera...Doug's not like her you know that! Maxwell would sell you out, Jacobi would sell her out, and Kepler would sell him out, but Doug? Doug would never sell anyone out.

"I know what it's like to not get a chance to say goodbye. And I don't think you're past the point of not caring. Not yet." That's sweet Doug. But you're giving him a bit too much credit. Oh he's mad he killed her? Fair enough, but Jacobi...you said yourself you were monsters! Do you really want to try to claim the moral high ground here? That's right Doug! Tell him! "You're gonna like it...I mean you're gonna feel sad!" Yeah! That's right! Shove the compassion down his throat Doug. Sometimes that's the way you gotta do it.

Minkowski is gonna have some pretty severe PTSD after this. I want to hug her.

Oh no, Hera's remembering Maxwell. "Was everything you did for me part of a secret evil plan?" it's not that simple Hera. Bad people can do good things. Good people can do bad things. Cognitive dissonance Hera, that's how it's possible. Compartmentalization. Circular and deluded thinking. And fake Maxwell is right. It's about you Hera. It's not about her. Forget about Maxwell. Forget about Pryce. You're better than them, and more human too.

Yes Hera, get the feelings out. No, Doug she's coming around!

Oh no...no no no...Doug is wasted isn't he? Kepler's private supply no doubt...oh no... oh Doug.

"I killed them Hera." no you didn't Doug! Intentions matter! You are the ship's moral compass. Don't drink yourself off.

"I'm a drunken mess whether I have a drink or not." oh Doug. Doug.

Please don't give yourself alcohol poison. Oh good self-talk from Hilbert. Yeah Doug never wanted anyone to die.

"How else did you think this was going to end?"

Aw, Doug has so much hope. Never lose that Doug. Never lose it. And yeah, it's nice to believe in redemption. It is theoretically possible. Though in certain cases, highly unlikely. I won't name names.

So...it's just Doug and Jacobi at the funeral? Well. This is incredibly awkward...

Oh right, Hera's never been to a funeral...

Oh nvm Kepler's here for the food. He's so gross.

They gave Hera grief but no way to deal with it? Oh she can't understand why they are gone? The "I wonder if I'll miss you when you go away forever too" is hitting different.

Minkowski came through!

Wow, Jacobi actually is able to say a few nice words.

Dr. Hilbert was a monster 😂. Fair. Completely fair. See ya later Doc. I think Hilbert would have liked it.

Oh don't let Kepler talk. He'd ruin the funeral. Though to be fair, he'd ruin anything.

Never mind looks like the aliens beat him to the punch.

Looks like the aliens decided to come early.

Uh...HERA?

KEEPING WHAT OUT?

Tell me the aliens aren't already here.

Is Lovelace coming back? Oh Kepler knew this was going to happen.

"It can't hear you." DO NOT CALL HER AN IT KEPLER. Alien or not, she's a...well she's a someone.

So she IS an alien? An alien who acts like her? Okay... and yes please, let's start at the beginning. It's about time Kepler. If you're going to talk, you might as well say something useful.

Now I've procrastinated enough but...wow this doesn't look good. Hopefully the crew can get back safely.

#bods wolf359 reactions #wolf359 #renee minkowski #isabel lovelace #doug eiffel #alexander hilbert #hera wolf 359 #wolf 359 #w359 #hera w359 #daniel jacobi #warren kepler #wolf 359 spoilers #alana maxwell

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

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The Only Survivor

CW: PTSD, recovery whump, two former whumpees meet, referenced murder

Jameson Masterlist | Death Valley (Finn’s story)

For @amonthofwhump, day 2: Unhappy family reunion

"Just hang out in the den for a few minutes, okay?" Nat gestures to the room, but Jameson doesn’t get why she calls it a den at all. It’s just another living room as far as he can tell, only smaller and with warm wood-paneled walls that feel decades out of place

There's a couch, a couple of armchairs, a coffee table with a scattering of books and magazines and a TV hanging off the wall. Some blankets are thrown around, thrift store buys on their sixth or seventh home. Some of them, he thinks, might even have been patched.

Who patches a thrift store blanket?

People who need to make them last, he figures, and whose hands work better than this.

There are other rescues around here, somewhere, but they're staying upstairs and Jameson would rather claw his own face off than make small talk with Domestics and Platonics who think he must have done something to earn all those scars, that he's something to fear.

Or worse, that he’s a silly brainless slut who can’t be trusted not to try and jump them one by one so he can feel alive.

Maybe he was that, once upon a time, before he was torn to shreds, but he doesn't want to think about it right now. It doesn’t feel true, but he can’t say it isn’t. He can’t face their stares, the whispers behind their hands, their murmuring about how he must have been ruined by his scars, so ruined no one would want him any longer even for resale.

He can’t listen to it.

So he just glares at the ground, very much aware he looks more sullen and sulking than angry, but unable to help himself. "You said we would take me to get Allyn's present-"

"I will." Nat puts a hand on his arm and Jameson doesn't even bristle anymore, just rubs at the back of his neck with his other hand, leaning his weight on the crutch and the leg bothering him less. Her voice is low and gentle, not irritated or snapping, even in the face of his impatience.

From another room, he can hear low conversation - other people who run safe houses - but he can't quite pick up their words.

Nat waits, until he looks at her. Then she smiles. "This will take ten minutes, maybe twenty tops, I promise. Okay? There's a couple people here tonight that I don't usually get to see."

Jameson nods, expression softening against his will. He leans the crutches against the wall and sits down in one of the armchairs, picking up a TV remote. His fingers twitch, the tendons and bones protesting even this small independent movement, and he nearly drops the stupid thing before he clamps down on it so hard it hurts. "Yeah, okay. Don't make me sit here all fucking night, though, yeah?"

"I won't. Girl Scout promise." Nat shoots him a wider smile - one he finds himself returning - and walks out the door and down to the room with the others. He watches her braid, the rich brown more and more streaked with silver, swinging against her back as she goes, against her eternal flannel shirt.

Her voice is added to the chorus of the others, muffled by walls and distance. People greet her with cheerful exclamations and she calls back. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine the hugging.

He can taste all their voices, layering over and around each other, some in conflict and some in harmony.

He shudders, pulling a blanket over his lap.

His fingers curl around the bunched fabric, giving him a visual excuse when they won't straighten out, if anyone notices. Nobody's in here, but the motion is still automatic. When his fingers twitch, there's nothing to drop on the ground, nothing to look at.

Jameson finds some dumbass cop show on TV and mostly ignores it, focusing instead on spending a few minutes slowly reclining his chair, bit by bit, until his feet rest almost straight out from his body. The throb of pain that stretches down his thighs to his ankles is at its baseline, medication holding back the worst of it.

Thank God for the fucking pills.

One of his knees jerks, bends like a reflex after being hit with a hammer, but the more he takes deep, even breaths the more he is able to slowly unfold it again. Finally, he sits back and relaxes into the low ache. It's so familiar and constant that he wonders what it would feel like if one day his legs didn't hurt at all.

Would it feel like they'd been cut off, if they stopped hurting? Is it the only way he even remembers he has them, still?

There's a figure in the doorway. It’s not Nat, he can tell that much, so he doesn’t look up. He’s very aware that from this angle, whoever it is will see the scar across his face, the way some of his hair is shorter than the rest, growing more slowly as it comes back. If he keeps his chin down, he can hide the worst of it, maybe hold off questions he doesn’t want to answer.

Maybe, with the blanket, they won't notice anything else. Won’t notice his fucked-up legs. But, wait, the crutches on the wall…

The guy - it’s a guy, he thinks, not that he can see more than a blur without looking directly - is just standing there, silent. It makes Jameson feel uncomfortable, prickly and uncertain that he’s really welcome here, whatever Nat says.

Is it another rescue?

Another runaway, one who will run upstairs and hiss to the others, Nat Yoder brought one of the whores, what do we do?

Don’t let them touch you. They can’t stop, if they touch you. They can’t stop.

Joke’s on those assholes, Jameson thinks, hunching his shoulders up nearly to his chin. He never wanted to start in the first place, not with anyone but Nanda, not with anyone but… but Allyn.

You don’t have to get me anything, they’d said, laughing with their hair a mess, a halo on the pillow, as he’d kissed them. I don’t think I celebrated Christmas.

I want to celebrate you, I don’t care what we call the holiday we do it on.

They’d slid their arms around his neck, and pulled him down to them, bit at his lower lip until he hissed from the pain. The memory spreads like liquid warmth through him, then freezes as he realizes the guy is still just standing in the doorway.

“You need fucking permission? Just sit down, if you want, I'm just waiting for Nat to finish." The words come out a gravelly near-croak, more hostile than he means to be. He tells himself to apologize.

I’m sorry. It’s that easy.

He can’t make the words come out.

The guy just shrugs and sits on the couch. Close, but still more than arms' length away, neither of them an immediate danger to the other.

Jameson, trying not to look, has an impression from the corner of his eye of a brown canvas coat lined with corduroy at the collar and ribbed knit at the cuffs, a thatch of ashy blond hair nearly shaved at the sides and longer on top - brutally neat compared to Jameson's growing messy mop of dark hair. Pale under a driving tan, not like the way Jameson looks now that he sees the sun, the way it feels like his skin was just waiting to soak it up again.

There's an angular jaw and a blank expression.

Jameson doesn't offer a greeting - neither does the guy.

They just sit in silence for a while. On the screen, police officers investigate the disappearance of a rich woman's Domestic as time runs out before the kidnapper's deadline. One of them shakes the other by the shoulders, insisting we’re running out of time to save them! You have to help me!

"Hmph." There's a world of derision in that simple single sound the man makes.

Jameson glances sidelong at him. Something is familiar about his profile, but he doesn't know what, exactly. Maybe he's seen him at other meetings before. He's good-looking, yeah, but hard and bitter, you can see it in his face.

Jameson's own scars itch. Just like you can see it in me.

"Be nice if they actually cared that fucking much when someone hurts us," He says, half-joking. Maybe he means it as a kind of apology for being an asshole earlier. The guy's not big but he has muscle, Jameson can see that, too, and it sets something in him on edge. They're alone in here. Anything could happen.

He tells himself that Nat is in the next room, that he could call for help if he had to. He could fight him off, no matter how much it hurt. But all the guy does is turn to look at him, a wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other.

He looks like someone Jameson saw in a supermarket a few times, the way you start to catalog familiarity in the world around you even if you’ve never spoken to someone.

Something about it sets Jameson’s heart to beating faster, and he fights back a wince as his fingers feel like they throb harder in response.

"It would be nice if they look this much for anyone missing," He says, voice slightly raspy. Just a little, not as bad as Jameson's, but he sounds like he's been hoarse for a long time. His voice tastes like cherry sauce on cheesecake. Jameson fucking hates cheesecake.

He has an accent, mouth open a little too much when he speaks. His th in this comes out like it’s dis. Some kind of European thing.

And, all at once, Jameson feels the thunderclap roll through him. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stands up and he knows why this guy seems so familiar, suddenly.

His mouth goes dry, but he swallows hard and closes his fingers tightly around the blanket. “Hey, are you… uh. Sorry, I’m not great at this kind of fucking-... are you Charles Ingvall?"

The guy stills, briefly, and then levels an even analytical stare at him. After a moment, he snorts and sits back, shrugging as his eyes go back to the TV screen, where two detectives beg a shadowy man to just let her go, just let her walk away, nobody has to die here today. "Chaz," He says, after a beat. "Mostly I am called Chaz when I use that name.”

"The cops are looking f-for you, I saw-... uh, an announcement or something-"

"I see it, too. They aren't looking very hard. Thank you for telling me, though.” Sank you for tellingk me. The accent makes him feel a little bit sick. “Is it the police in Utah? They are irritating. Idaho is worse. Montana, they leave me alone mostly.”

Jameson swallows, his throat feeling oddly small and constricted. He looks away - and then forces himself to look back, to meet the man's gaze. He has to see how he reacts.

He has to be sure.

"They, uh. Yeah, but also… um. They’re looking for you here in California, too.”

Charles Ingvall’s eyebrows raise. They’re darker than his hair, just a little. “California? I do nothing here yet.”

“You’ve… been here, though?” Jameson’s voice is getting worse, rasping itself into a whisper as his throat tries to close. He doesn’t want to talk about Robert. He doesn’t want to admit-

But someone else survived Robert.

Someone else lived.

Jameson wants to know why.

“Yeah,” Charles Ingvall says, and looks away from him again. He picks at the seam of his thick denim blue jeans. The word comes out yah, as hoarse as Jameson’s voice. Not quite as ruined, but not much better.

How often did he hurt you to make you scream? The question dies before Jameson can ask it. Instead, he just says, “They found your fingerprints."

The man closes his eyes. There’s a breath, a beat, and then he shakes his head. "Damn. Where? I thought I had wiped them from the last truck. That is irritating. Next time I will ask for help to be sure. This is what I get for trying to do alone, right?”

Jameson’s heart is racing. He feels almost faint with it, and the constant pain of his hands and legs fades a little under the buzzing adrenaline flooding his system. If he had to, right now, he could still run. His body always comes through in a pinch, when he has to run.

For a while, anyway.

Before his legs give out and he collapses on a sidewalk, unseen, just another WRU runaway starving in the street who should have just stayed and hurt and burned and bled for the pleasure of-

“Robert Weber.”

The words come out like flytrap stickiness, nearly gumming his tongue and lips together with the taste. Just saying it makes Jameson smell, briefly, the scent of lemon cleaning products layered over decay. Dead people stuck up his nose, down his throat, stuffing up his ears with their screams for help that wasn’t coming, help that would never come, help that was locked in a cage with his hands over his ears wishing they would just die already so he could stop caring about them so much.

The man goes still when he hears the name. He seems briefly carved from stone, except for the flare of the whites around his eyes. "Who?"

"You… you know goddamn well who.” Jameson’s voice is thready and thin, barely there. His own voice on his tongue has lost nearly all its taste. “They found your fingerprints in a closet in his house. They’re looking for you, you’re-... your family is still looking for you.”

“I don’t have a family.” Charles Ingvall stands abruptly. “And I do not know Robert Weber.”

“Yeah, you do. Hey, don’t-” Ingvall’s moving away, about to walk out the door, and Jameson pushes himself up, too, nearly crashing right back to the ground before he manages to grab one of his crutches, jamming his arm into the grips and holding tight to the handle. The other one clatters and thumps against the hardwood floor. “Shit! Fuck, don’t leave, look-”

Ingvall pauses in the doorway, looking down at the crutch, then back up at Jameson. “You are injured.” He doesn’t sound pitying. Just someone pointing out a truth. “Let me get that. I don’t want to talk about Robert Weber.” He reaches down and picks up the crutch, helping Jameson get his arm through the guides so he can balance again. “Do you understand? I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Yeah, well-... I do.”

“I don’t care.” Ingvall turns away again, and Jameson closes his eyes.

He never admits how bad it was.

He never tells anyone what it was like living in Robert’s house.

He’s swallowed down the pain and the fear and shoved it as far as it can go. But this is his only chance to know someone who has survived what he has, and he can’t stand to lose it. So he follows, thumping along behind Ingvall, and says in a rush, “The cage was made for you, wasn’t it?”

Ingvall stills once more.

Jameson keeps going, his mouth with a mind of its own driving the words even as he feels his shaking get worse. “He bought it for you, but he put me in it, too.”

Ingvall stands there with one hand on the doorframe. His fingernails dig into the painted wood and Jameson wonders if he’ll leave little half-moon marks there, signals of someone who felt something so much bigger than his body and had nowhere for that feeling to go.

Then he looks back at Jameson, over one shoulder. “He did not buy the cage only for me,” He says, heavily. His cheesecake voice weighs down Jameson’s tongue, sticky cherry sauce on top. “He bought it for someone like me. It was there when he brought me into his home. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I had not stopped my car to check directions…”

“I didn’t know anyone survived. I thought everyone went into the basement or... you know.”

“Or out, in the barrels.” Ingvall looks down at the ground, closing his eyes and taking a deep, deep breath. Then he turns back to Jameson entirely. “He called me his little Mouse.”

“He called me the goddamn dog,” Jameson says, and finds himself smiling, just a little. He feels it pull at the scar that cuts through the corner of his mouth. “You got out and decided to help the-... the runaways?”

“I was rescued by a man who helped them. He thought I was one, until he met me. I owe him my life, so I have given it to him, to doing his work. You…” Ingvall’s eyes drop to Jameson’s wrist, taking in the tattoo still there just peeking out beneath one sleeve, faded and scarred over but visible. “Robert bought one?”

“No. I… I ran away a long time before that. I just needed a ride.” Jameson is swallowing too much, he knows it, but he can’t seem to stop. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t seem to get around. “He offered me a ride. There was a bottle of-... of water. He drank a little of it, so I didn’t think…”

“Yeah.” Yah, the accent softer as Ingvall’s voice lowers. “I drank the water, too.”

“Why didn’t…” Jameson hesitates. This isn’t any of his fucking business, but… “You remember who you are. You remember yourself, that you’re… whatever the name was, I don’t remember-”

“Finn Schneider.” Ingvall says the words like they’re made of pins, sticking him with pain with every movement of lips, teeth, and tongue. “I remember the name.”

“Why didn’t you go home? You had a home to go to… why didn’t you just fucking go home?”

Ingvall blinks at him, as if he’s suddenly started singing in Spanish. “Because I was not Finn Schneider any longer,” He says, matter of fact. “Were you sold, too? Did he trade you for something new?”

Jameson’s fingers clench and unclench on the grips on his crutches. “No.”

“Oh. Then how did you-”

“I beat him to death with a goddamn shovel when he made me help him bury another body.” The words are flat and blunt.

“You… you what?” Ingvall’s eyes are wide again, and some of the hardness and the years fall off of his face. Jameson thinks he can see, now, what Robert saw - just a little - in a younger man who could look worried and vulnerable and not simply hardened. Had he looked like that, when he still felt hopeful, before he knew almost everyone was just shit and would fuck you as soon as look at you, would hit you faster than they’d help you?

“I beat him to death,” Jameson repeats, slowly, “With a goddamn shovel.”

“You-... you killed him?”

“Yeah. I… I was tired of watching people die, just really… fucking tired. And… I didn’t want him to kill anyone else anymore. So I made sure he couldn’t, and then I left.” Jameson feels the strength go out of him all at once, and the crutches are the only thing that keeps him standing. He loves these fucking things so much.

“I never thought to kill him-”

“Yeah, I know. If you had, maybe I wouldn’t be this fucked up.”

It hits Ingvall like a punch to the face, and his eyes close as he flinches at the simple, honest truth in the words. “... I-... I never thought I could-”

“I don’t blame you. I know it sounds like I do, but I don’t, fucking swear it. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Just… We’re the only two of his who lived. I know that doesn’t mean anything, not really, because like… there’s always people who survive bullshit, but… it kind of means something to me. That there’s somebody else.”

Ingvall’s jaw works as he looks down at Jameson - funny, neither of them are very tall at all, but Ingvall’s still tall enough to look down. “Does it?”

“Does it not, to you? Mean… mean, fuck, something that there’s two of us? That we aren’t alone?”

Ingvall’s smile is bitter. It’s not really a smile at all, just an upward tilt of the lips that goes nowhere near his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“But-”

“I am glad you lived,” Ingvall says, softening his voice a little. “I am. But we are all of us alone, in what we survive or what we don’t. All we have between us is a man who could have killed us and didn’t. That isn’t very much. Besides that…”

Jameson’s cheeks burn red, embarrassed and a little angry, too, at the casual disdain in Ingvall’s voice. He looks down, but his voice has fled - all his angry retorts wither up and die in the face of having his attempt to speak to someone, to… what, fucking bond or something… looked at with such distant dismissal.

Ingvall goes quiet, for a second, just watching him.

“What? Just fucking say whatever you’re gonna say and stop fucking staring at me.” His left knee throbs with his pulse, a sudden wash of pain that makes his leg twitch. It pulls Ingvall’s gaze to it, and Jameson’s face burns hotter - and so does his anger. “Don’t fucking stare, it’s fucking rude.”

“Sorry.” That’s sincere, at least. Ingvall closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long… I don’t know how to talk about it. I shouldn’t… I have been cruel. I’m sorry. I meant only to say… I guess I just mean-... scheisse.”

Jameson snorts. “Bet I can guess what that word means.”

“Your language stole a curse or two from mine, to be sure.” Ingvall’s voice lightens a little. “I mostly curse in English, but sometimes when I really mean it, well. Scheisse feels more real. What’s your name? I haven’t asked.”

“Jameson. I… I named myself Jameson.”

“The bottles on the fireplace,” Ingvall murmurs. “He always had so many, lining them up-”

“I could read. He didn’t know, usually they make it so we can’t but it didn’t work on me. I could read, and I would sit in the cage-”

“And read the bottles, over and over.” Ingvall nods, just a little. His hands go into his pockets, and he’s still smiling, just a little. Some of the tension has bled out of him. “I did, too. Jameson, what I meant to say, before I was… rude, I was trying to say that we are not the only two who survived him.”

“... we aren’t? There was someone else?” Hope, thin as a thread through the eye of a needle, that there might be other people out there who didn’t end up in the basement or the blue barrels, other people who walked out of that house, or crawled, or-

“You are the only survivor, Jameson.” Ingvall turns away again, and then time he doesn’t turn back.

“... what? What do you mean, you’re right here-”

“Finn Schneider died in the cage. I left as only his Mouse. I go by many names now, but if you called Mouse, this many years later, still I would run to the call."

"But-"

"Listen to me." His voice stays quietly steady, even as Jameson's has begun to tremble. "We are not survivors. We do not share the journey. The stupid trusting silly boy I was, the one who went into that house? He did not leave it."

Jameson stays silent, when Ingvall pauses this time. His face burns even as his stomach twists cold and grows ice from his pelvis to his heart. “Yeah, okay.” He finds himself mumbling and he can’t make himself look any higher than the guy’s knees.

Ingvall sighs. "I am glad someone did survive, Jameson. But I did not. Do not say Finn Schneider to me again. I don't know that man."

He walks away and leaves Jameson standing there in the room with the credits of the cop show playing pointlessly on the television behind him.

When Nat comes to tell him they can go shopping now, he tells her to forget about it, he’s hurting too much anyway, and asks to just go home. She nods, watching him as she gets her car keys out of her pocket, but he says nothing else. While she drives, she keeps giving him sidelong looks, but all her soft well-meaning, careful questions get nothing but grunts.

He makes it to the shower and gets his clothes off before his legs give out entirely.

He sits in the tub with hot water beating down on his back and shoulders, trickling through his mop of hair, hands over his face, whispering fuck fuck fuck fuck to himself while Trash Cat paws at the other side of the door and meows for him. He doesn’t even try to let her in.

He just lets the scalding water burn against his scars.

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp

@whumperfully @pigeonwhumps @squishablesunbeam @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature @d-cs @honey-is-mesi @whump-queen @sowhumpful

#amow winter whumperland 2022 #day 2: unhappy family reunion #unhappy family reunion #whump #jameson bb #finn schneider #ptsd tw #traumatized whumpee #runaway whumpee #escaped whumpee #whumpees meet #disabled oc #disabled whumpee #chronic pain tw #scars tw #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #survivor guilt

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wheucto · 1 year

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ok abnormal beings ii au list

fan as the internet. like the entire internet. his body is actually a robot he controls remotely since it would be pretty hard to put the Whole Internet into a robotic body, even if you are the internet yourself. that or just a database of the internet, but still very similar. he's still hopelessly obsessed w inanimate insanity, somehow.

paper was originally an inanimate piece of paper, until one day someone drew on him and he came alive. because of this, his limbs and face look hand-drawn. he used to live in an endless white void, where he found a rock and pair of scissors. they shared the same origin story, the same mysterious person who brought them to life and disappeared. they tried to search for them, but couldn't find them.

paper can draw things on himself, and they'll become 'real,' too. those drawings have that same hand-drawn look, and their inside (the parts inside the outline) will retain the look they had when he finished it (if it wasn't colored in, its insides are white. if it was made in marker, crayon, colored pencil, or something else, it'll look like that.). he used this power to populate the once-empty void he and his friends inhabited.

one day, he drew a door and placed it in an empty part of the abyss. it led to earth. eventually, he, rock, and scissors went through it. there, they parted ways. he still thinks about them.

paintbrush could be blessed with fire powers or something? be part fire spirit or something?

nickel can act out any part consistently, as if he was truly that part. he's done this as long as he remembers. though, if he tries to act as someone else, it's not necessarily accurate to that person, just what he thinks they act like. nickel doesn't think he has a true self.

through this power he competes on both bfdi and inanimate insanity. it solves the problem of having two conflicting personalities he has to keep up, but doesn't solve the fact he has to travel between the two shows constantly in a way that doesn't make anyone suspicious. somehow, he manages it. kind of.

i said trophy was a cryptid, but he's actually probably something else? i don't know what he'd be, but he has these things he's really particular about. like if he was an urban legend, there'd be specific guidelines on how to interact with him to not anger him or whatever.

he doesn't like people coming into his room without permission or knocking or taking his things. he always wakes up around 2 am, and he's more irritated when people come into his room at that time. he dislikes soap's spray bottle, but it always wards him off. he especially dislikes when it's in his room. that's HIS room soap. his SAFE SPACE. get OUT.

once he finds out he's whatever he is, he uses his new powers for Mischief. he appears in mirrors. paintings. he often lies and says these are part of the etiquette of interacting with him but if you acknowledge it he has to stop doing it. like if he was in a painting chilling and you told him to get out he'd probably have to leave. sometimes he makes up new rules and pretends like they're actual rules, but if you call him out he will tell the truth about it, unwillingly.

oj as like this powerful eldritch creature thing. he knows he is Not Normal and is very upset about this. maybe he doesn't know the extent of his powers because he just. doesn't use them and supresses them all the time.

i'm not really sure about details about his powers but maybe he can make things float. maybe tentacles...? like that come out of his liquid and... something about his juice. maybe it can just like rise out of him and do some Crazy Stuff.

he probably doesn't know he's an eldritch creature. like he knows whatever he is isn't the norm but not that. maybe his parents/creator eldritch creatures put him on earth to be raised by object parents for some reason? maybe these beings create worlds or something. or hide among objects? upon planets with life for reasons i guess.

test tube is more of a run of the mill mythical creature. like a shapeshifter or something. maybe an elf or fairy. she doesn't know this, and in fact doesn't even believe in mythical creatures.

the floor is the island and also some sort of eldritch creature. possibly him and oj are related but probably not.

i think it'd be funny if silver spoon was normal. like. just normal. he's the kind of guy to pretend to be something he's not as to make others think he's cool or something. though i guess he could be an elf.

i once saw the headcanon that lightbulb was a cyborg so i'm putting it here in this au.

suitcase with like an endless expanse of storage inside her. like you go in her and you find this abyss full of random stuff like chairs and sunglasses and various books.

goo as a symbiotic relationship between like two colonial organisms or whatever. one's his face and the other is the goo. both are like kind of colonial microbes i guess? or the face is more like a fungus or something.

goo's face belongs to a species of organisms which can like. change their shape at will and stuff. they can mimic things like faces, which they typically do, but they can also be an amorphous black blob. they stick to things, like rocks or the ground and sometimes other organisms (typically plants or fungi). their relationships with other organisms can be symbiotic, parasitic or commensalistic (neither beneficial or harmful), depending on the individual themself. they can send signals to organisms they lie on.

goo's goo is like a bunch of little microbes. sort of like a slime mold, but not really since i'm pretty sure slime molds are either individual cells that get together in desperate times or a massive cell with multiple nuclei, and whatever species goo comes from is made up of individual cells that are together for most of the time. cells can survive on their own, but like being together. the more cells there are in a goo, the more complex and intelligent it is.

one day, facey was doing normal face creature things like being on a tree, when he spotted a amorphous blue glob of Something moving around like an animal. curious, he attached himself to it, and sent a signal. surprisingly, it sent a signal back. since the goo was a person in its own right, but had no real way of interacting with others, facey offered to be its interface towards other people.

maybe goo can stay two people, one the blue glob thing and the other the face, but since goos are like multiple organisms which build up a person, why can't the combination of both facey and the goo eventually become one person?

tea kettle is a mother but like with teleporting powers and superhuman hearing and stuff like that.

lifering is the kind of mermaid that becomes a mermaid when touching water.

yinyang as two ancient spirtis in the same body. maybe they were always an object (and maybe then even the first object?) or maybe the object form is something gained later that they became for some odd reason.

cabby as a knowledge spirit.

knife as normal but observant. he can tell nearly everyone is Not Normal.

blueberry has some kind of amazing power but makes no use of it. 'what's the point...'

maybe clover as a luck spirit? but then she'd probably believe in luck. blessed by a luck spirit? half luck spirit?

tissues is immune to a lot of Abnormal Stuff that the other people on ii can do or radiate or whatever. otherwise he's normal

salt and pepper learned telepathy somehow. they can do that mental fusion thing now. they don't use that often.

maybe pickle as a werewolf? for some reason? gosh i dont know

#wheucto #wheucto speaks #ii au #abnormal beings au #<- this au's new tag!#inanimate insanity #i am NOT tagging the characters #some characters aren't here_ either because i couldn't think of anything or i thought they were abnormal enough #although i included paintbrush and floor because i included them in my first post and also i wanted to expand upon them a bit

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unnaturalequilibrium · 1 year

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So, hi. It's me again, yeah, me with the obscure recommendations I try to peddle like designer drugs to over-privileged teenagers brandishing their parents black card. But listen *slowly opens trenchcoat* I've got something real special for you this time. It's called 66th North Precinct (check out the trailer).

Back when I watched Bitter Daisies I kept going on about how that trope or the archetype of a stoic detective who is competent in their professional life, but is a bit of a fumble fuck when it comes to expressing their own emotional existence is a perfect fit for a lesbian character and that point still fucking stands. And apparently the Universe is paying attention to some of the fuckery I spew and occasionally even hands me exactly what I ask for. Because this - was it.

You’ve got the main character of Maria who is a retired professional boxer turned police detective who struggles with finding meaning in her work and feeling settled in her life. Surrounding her are her various oddball family members, friends and colleagues who are equal measures helpful and unintentionally hurtful as she navigates a world that is no longer as straightforward as when she was younger and had no real responsibilities beyond winning the next match. On the tin you’ve seen this in some format before, only difference is that for once this character is actually a lesbian with a wife and two kids. But without that being an issue, or well it is the issue as she deals with trying to balance responsibilities and professional fulfillment. So being married and having a family is part of the conflict of this story, but what isn’t a problem however is her homosexuality. Same thing as how Maria’s wife Essi struggles with her relationship with her parents-in-law, but not because of any signs of homophobia but because she’s from the “big city” which in this context is a bit of an offense.

Basically this is the kind of story straight people usually get, but we seldom do. There are no coming outs, no gay panics, no navigating a hateful world. Instead it’s rather simple; it’s wives arguing about domestic things, struggling with communication, supporting each other emotionally and professionally and trying to find time for each other as kids, work and family need to be juggled. It's drama without the dramatics. All of that in the setting of a crime procedural that mixes dry humour with the serious and feels deeply melancholic (vemodigt) in a way that I think only Nordic fiction can be.

But even if the marriage is written in the same way a straight couple would be the character Maria Pudas is the kind of main character you will recognize, the dumbass stoic who is so gay coded all you need are the thumbnails for the episodes to know she’s supposed to be a dyke (posture, styling, yeah just the whole shebang). No, true story, bro. Only reason I started watching was because I was looking through what was on streaming, saw the show, clicked the episode list and got preemptively annoyed because I have seen this before, the perfect lesbian character that never is allowed to be gay. Sure I know judging a book by its covers is uncool and all, but sometimes we do the duck a disfavour by pretending it doesn't know how to quack.

Despite my annoyance I decided that "what the fuck I hear turquoise and self-flagellation is in this spring" and I went against my better judgment and pressed play. And as feared each frame had my eye twitching a little more irregularly as the gay ramped up, but when it was revealed she had a son I had enough, experience have thought me the next scene would then introduce a husband and I couldn’t take that shit again. I refused to lose yet another potentially awesome lesbian character to sloppy straight washing. Luckily I was so completely drained of energy that reaching for the remote took longer than it should have and during that painstaking process another woman showed up on screen and she too acted like the son’s mother - so there I was frozen in place with spasming core muscles as it slowly unfolded that yes, they were introducing her spouse, but turns out that for once the writers had some guts and Maria Pudas was a lesbian and she and her wife were in fact quacking their asses off. Carefully and with narrow slitted eyes I placed the remote back on my coffee table and almost reluctantly was treated. Treated damn well.

This was the after of the happily ever of that romance novel both of us have probable read, you know the one about the boxer who got a concussion and met a doctor she couldn't get out of her system. I mean, honestly I am going to call you a liar if you say you've never read a lesbian romance book or fanfic with a plot along those lines. This was basically the follow up of what happen after they get married. I get though that some people don't want the after part and for others I think this show might be a bit too slow paced and not flashy enough, it's not the CW, but rather it's government funded raggsock drama. That's not for everyone, I get that, but I really do hope you give it a go, because if nothing else it warmed me straight to my core to get so many continuous displays of romantic intimacy between two women. I mean we've been handed sweeps kissing since the late 90s, but I think I can count on my left hand the number of times I've seen something that just shows you simple romantic but non-sexual intimacies between women.

Unfortunately I don't know if you can find it will English subtitles anywhere accessible, but the episodes are up on yle's streaming site which is free with a Finnish vpn: Pohjoisen tähti

If you do find a way to watch come talk to me about what a hoot Maria's boss is, how Niko needs locking up on occasion so he stops interrupting and what the hell are we going to do about this urge to go snowboarding in Lapland?!

#66th north precinct #pohjoisen tähti #wlw ship #wlwsource

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ashdreams2023 · 2 years

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So, this my be a bit specific but I have this nasty little habit of making OC’s to pare with my fictional loves and I fell hard for Bruno. So, with insomnia refusing to let me sleep I have come to your ask box with an idea I would like help expanding upon.

Bruno’s sisters and nieces finally convince him to try and have a vision about himself, specifically if he’s going to find a wife. In his vision he does see him with a girl he doesn’t recognize. A few weeks later the girl from his vision wonders into the village lost, hurt, and no idea how to get home. Bruno recognizes her from the vision, but he also finds out she’s half his age(he’s 50 and she’s 25) and she’s only staying till she can find a way home. So he has a limited amount of time with her, also while getting conflicted because she’s half his age.

She’s shy at first but once she warms up to someone she’s super cuddly and loyal. She has a horrible sense of direction, literally can’t tell left from right. She’s also really sweet and was never sacred of Bruno(or his mice), even when people talk about his visions she’s like “So he sees the future? How is that his fault? He doesn’t make the outcome happen, he just sees it.” Even if he was to have a vision where something happened to her, like she got hurt or sick, she wouldn’t blame him and would more likely tell him not to blame himself. She starts to develop a crush on Bruno but she’s kinda awkward and knows it so she keeps it to herself, instead opting to try and spend as much time as she can with him.

If you don’t want to that’s fine, thank you for hearing me out

Two awkward dorks

"Tío! Come on"

"Don’t rush me kid!"

Bruno closed his eyes then took a deep breath, it was now or never. He had been delaying this vision for god knows how long.

It was only because he wasn’t in the mood to get drenched by pepa’s rain when she got all moody about him not listening to her.

His own future wasn’t something he wanted to know or just be aware about, he didn’t want to see something bad…like he always did but as Julieta once said.

"Even if you didn’t find someone Amor, we are always here beside you"

Pieces of the future flashed through the sands, some familiar places he recognized but he needed a face.

Slowly the sand began creating the face of a woman, unfamiliar to him, someone he had not met before.

Then the sand dropped and the glass piece with the image of the smiling woman stared back at him.

"Great….now how am I suppose to find you.." he groaned.

The madrigals were happy to say the least, looking everywhere for a woman even remotely similar to the vision but nothing. They looked for weeks, until one day.

The family was told that an injured woman walked in the town who looked like she was lost.

Mirabel was the first to see you and her heart raced with excitement when she realized you were indeed the girl her tío saw in his vision.

The family offered for you to stay with him till you heal at least, you felt welcomed, a little shaken but safe.

"So…this is a magic house?" You said.

"Yes! And we all live in it, the amazing madrigals!" Said mirabel.

She was the one that introduced you to everyone, you were a little concerned though with how happy Pepa seemed to have you around….as if she was waiting for you for so long.

Bruno kept his distance from you though, it was due to two reasons, he is too socially awkward to start conversation and two you’re literally half his age.

"I knew it was too good to be true" he mumbled to himself.

It doesn’t take you long to warm up to everyone, eventually try to start conversation with Bruno since he seemed so…distend.

Mirabel told you about his gift and how everyone used to think so negative of it, you genuinely felt bad for him.

"He’s not reasonable for the misfits of others future, he’s only a messenger is all"

Bruno would hear the sort of things you say to defend him and how sweet you were when talking about him with others, it surely made his heart beat a little faster.

He was also the kindest to you as well, from showing his rats to helping you around the casita.

You liked his company and your crush was seen a mile away but you couldn’t say it, so instead that’s how you spent your days together.

Doing little things together, laughing and enjoying all the moments you could see his curls bounce cutely around his face.

Yeah you could stay there for a while longer.

#bruno fanfic #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno my beloved #bruno madrigal #tío bruno #fandom: encanto #encanto requests #encanto bruno #encanto x reader #encanto 2021 #encanto #madrigal x reader #madrigal #imagine #fanfic

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jsindij · 9 months

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i no longer own pink.

yesterday i watched the barbie movie with my friend and, naturally, we wanted to dress up for the occasion.

as i sifted through my closet, i was hit with the realization that i simply don't own pink clothes anymore.

as a young girl, pink was my favorite color.

shirts, jackets, dresses, accessories - you name it. along with my love for disney, princesses, hello kitty, and of course: barbies.

i was such a doll girl.

i was blessed to have a barbie dream house and remote-controlled pink corvette in my collection of toys gifted over several christmases and birthdays.

i remember making little stop-motion videos of my dolls playing house or school and diy-ing more items for them to enjoy.

i never drew on them with marker or cut their hair in obscure ways.

i took care of them,

and i'd like to think they took care of me too.

when we were really young, my sister and i were very close

- back when being young meant your sibling was your best friend and spending time with them was free of conflict and true misunderstanding.

once we reached the age where our interests began to diverge and early indicators of the versions of ourselves we would eventually grow into finally emerged, i suddenly felt alone.

i remember at this initial shift, i had coped through my dolls

- too young to articulate how my first encounter with the realities of growing up made me feel.

but now that i'm older,

i can finally give it an earnest shot.

growing up is thinking your sister hated you because she didn't want to play dolls with you anymore, then realizing it was just because she was discovering other things in the world to be experienced.

it is thinking your sister didn't love you anymore because she stopped saying it and no longer let you hug her, then realizing it was just because there are other ways to express you love someone.

growing up is realizing you actually had a beautiful childhood

-that the things that forced you to mature too soon had obstructed vour memory of what it felt to be a kid.

because you grew up with an older sister and both your parents

and even had two grandparents in the house.

you celebrated birthdays and christmases and had gatherings with extended family where you got to spend time with multiple generations of family members.

growing up is realizing that on average, parents have eighteen years with their child.

that's 18 birthdays, summers, and holidays together before you leave and truly embark into the real world.

and that is a shorter amount of time than we realized while we were living through it.

growing up is realizing that that was why it was difficult for your mother to release you from her embrace when you left for college.

growing up is acknowledging that you could've expressed more gratitude, could've complained less or acted less annoyed when your mother wanted to take photos of and with you.

growing up is realizing the depth of the quote from the film:

"we mothers stand still so our daughters can look back and see how far they've come."

growing up is realizing how similar you are to your mom and finding more and more parallels between you and her as you get older.

growing up is looking through the photo albums on your mom's facebook page because she uploaded most of your childhood memories there and realizing you inherited your love for documentation from her.

it is realizing you should take more photos with your family while you still can (and having a genuine desire to do so) because you understand now how sacred time is and how precious they are to you.

to grow up is to realize the concept of growing up.

as we get older, time feels as though it passes faster because we become increasingly conscious of its value and its loss.

it is to grieve the past versions of ourselves while simultaneously stepping into our next one.

growing up is watching the barbie movie and its message piercing like a needle through the fabric of your adulthood, its thread coated with bittersweet nostalgia.

but it does not damage you with its puncture.

it gently pokes around,

as if tickling your inner child to wake it,

reminding you of how it felt to grow up as a young girl playing with her barbie dolls.

it is crying at the movie theater with absolutely no shame.

it is smiling at the young girl and her mother in the row in front of you when you walked in the theater and seeing the lone elderly woman in the row behind you who also sat through the credits, for you all came to watch the same film.

it is walking out in your skirt and the pink hair bow your friend let you borrow to take selfies with the movie poster before grabbing food for the post-movie debrief.

it is getting a message from a family member who happened to be at that same mall, and her coming by with your niece whom you haven't seen in years to say hello.

it is realizing she is ten now.

it is remembering when she was born.

remembering playing with her as she grew into a toddler.

it is remembering that you gave her and her sister your dolls once you 'grew out of them' at a certain age.

it is then remembering that you left your three-story barbie dream house in the trash room when you moved out of the apartment you grew up in because it was too big to conveniently give to them, and had a lot of missing or broken parts by then.

it is having a memory of the house with its layer of collected dust and not remembering what happened to the pink, remote-controlled corvette.

it is wishing you had kept at least one doll.

it is realizing the same thing applied to your childhood clothes: given to younger family members, donated, or (for the really worn-down pieces) simply thrown out.

growing up is realizing why you don't own pink anymore.

and it is wanting to go and change that.

-C.C.

(Credit: @cam.casi on TikTok)

#barbie

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theoddshq · 4 months

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FREYA AURELIA (jmadelaine petsch fc) the odds are in your favor! Please report to your nearest Capitol Agent to be prepped for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!

ooc

Alias/Age/Pronouns/Timezone: andie / 32 / she/her / estTriggers: [REDACTED]If you had to describe your muse as a canon Hunger Games character, or mix, who would you compare them to and why? Perhaps a mix of johanna and glimmer tbh, anger and beauty and ambition and disillusionment all wrapped into one person. Someone who believed in the games with everything she had, believed in the capitol and the glamour and glory of it all, until she lost something precious and now she is hovering between who she knew she was and who she is becoming. Anything else? nada!

basics

[MADELAINE PETSCH, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER] The 74th Annual Hunger Games are upon us and here comes FREYA AURELIA, a DISTRICT TWO TRIBUTE. Word around The Capitol is that they’re FIERCE & CONFIDENT but can also be CONFLICTED & RUTHLESS. According to sources, they’re 22 and were once described as a wildfire burning out of control, the glint of sunlight on steel, the blinding flash of a camera bulb, comfort found in all the wrong places. What a character! As we always say, may the odds be ever in their favor!

biography

Freya was the seventh child born into her family, it was an absurdly large family and only remotely possible in a district like one or two. Freya’s birth however came when her mother was older and sometimes things go wrong. Without her mother around freya was raised by committee, her older siblings didn’t have time to waste, not really, so freya was instilled with a practicality she rarely actually displayed. People liked to talk, they used to say she was spoiled, had wanted for nothing and it wasn’t quite true. Freya hadn’t wanted for much but that was because she had the hand me downs of six siblings, nothing was new, nothing was hers and hers alone. Why buy anything new when anything she’d ever needed had already been purchased and used before? Freya was envious of other well to do families around her, those with one or two children perhaps, whose dresses and shoes were immaculate and whose toys did not come scuffed or broken or missing pieces. It was silly to be so envious when she had what she needed but freya was born to covet the things her siblings had reveled in that were not hers to experience but she always refused to name that thing mother.

Mr. rost, her father, was the best smithy in the district and he tried to teach freya that hard work, patience and determination was the way to achieve and succeed. Freya was full of that potential when she was little, when she loved to watch her father in the sweltering forge, pounding steel into submission. She’d watch the sparks this process created, she could see the ripple of heat in the light and she always admired the finished product. She was always surprised that her hulk of a father with his enormous, ugly hands could produce weapons of such beauty and finesse. It took her a really long time to realize she fit into that category too.

It would have been easy to take up the artistry, to fall into the family business as it was. But even though she appreciated what her father did, for a lot of reasons, she was not built to be covered in grease and soot and ash, to have her hands be torn up and calloused and rough. She didn’t find any joy in the process she knew by heart to make a sword but she loved holding one, feeling the balance, burying the blade into the trunk of a tree. She liked the feeling of power in her hands, the vibration in her frame from impact, how strong it made her body. Of course she wasn’t allowed to play with the products but there was always an abundance of ones rejected by clients, ones just the right size and weight for her because he made them for the training center in the center of the district, the one where the careers for the hunger games trained.

She was eight when she asked her dad to put her in the training school, but all he could see was his baby daughter with her pretty red hair and her soft skin and her small hands. He didn’t see her for what she was or what she could be, he only saw a baby and she couldn’t accept that. She went as far as trying to show him that she could hold and swing a sword but he only got angry that she’d played with the swords in the first place. He wanted to keep her pretty and pristine and on a pedestal she had no interest in perching on, she was not a doll and she’d prove it to him. She packed a bag one night, walked in the dark to one of her sisters homes, and entered the training academy that morning. Her father never seemed able to forgive her for it, but she was the one with the grounds to hold a grudge.

Freya was popular at the training center, she was an excellent liar and she got prettier as she got older too. It wasn’t easy to excel in the academy, it was full of a few dozen kids, varying ages and backgrounds, who all wanted the same thing for different reasons. There were no friends to be made in that kind of environment but sometimes there were allies and freya found a few but more than that she found someone to rely on, someone to love. She knew better, the teachers had always warned them that every attachment they had was a tether, an anchor, a weakness. But who could keep them self from falling in love?

Eventually freya was the right age to volunteer but the promise of more time with the boy she loved was too intoxicating and she faltered, she didn’t volunteer and her classmates started to think she was a coward, lost her nerve and to get back the respect she had already earned once demanded too much. She made enemies but she didn’t leave the academy, she continued to train, to gain strength, to rise in the ranks if only because her biggest competition kept actually volunteering, except the boy she loved. The other students began to grow resentful but their hostility only served to sharpen her senses and skills, she began to feel untouchable. Freya flew too close to the sun and just like icarus her wings burned when

Freya should have known that the resentments building against her were going to have consequences, but her unending arrogance got the better of her and the bubble of love she was in clouded her judgement to the point of ruin. The reaping arrived and still freya knew in her heart that she’d make it through, she and the boy she loved. But then the worst possible thing happened, her name was called, she’d been reaped. But even though herh eart hammered in her chest she waited for the familiar sound of “i volunteer as tribute.” from the crowd. But in a sea of kids who always volunteered there was nothing but silence, a condemnation of freya ringing out in the square. On legs buckling with every step she walked toward the stage, a walk she’d dreamed of for years and then dreaded and then ignored. She stood, eyes drifting to the boy who had her heart, to her large family, to the greedy and vindictive eyes of her peers from the training center believing justice had been served.

Another name was called, the other tribute and freya couldn’t comprehend anything anymore, the world was deafeningly silent and yet there was a buzzing in her ears that was bordering on painful. She was taken to a room where a few of her siblings came to say goodbye, hug after hug from nieces and nephews, pats on the back when they all knew she’d been condemned. But they all thought she wanted this, that she’d threatened her classmates into remaining quiet if she was reaped, that she had chosen this and they weren’t wrong entirely. And then she had to wonder if she still wanted this now that it was happening anyway.

The boy she loved rushed into the room, wrapped her up in his arms and the world melted away again. She tried to memorize everything she could about him, his scent, the curl of his hair, the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled at her. Their embrace was pained, he tried to apologize for not volunteering in time but she told him no, that this was better, that he should live. Selfishly she asked him to wait because even now she assumed she could win, she could come back to him and they could live happily ever after. They said goodbye and she felt lighter as she boarded the train. Standing at the door she and the other tribute were waving goodbye to the district but something in the back of the crowd caught her attention, it was her lover, her classmates approaching him from behind, one of them sinking a knife into his ribs. And then she heard deafening screaming, not realizing it was her own voice screeching into the crowd as peacekeepers forced her into the train and the doors closed as the train sped off toward the capitol.

Everything since has been a blur but maybe she owes her classmates a thank you. In the hours since the reaping she has gone through a whirlwind of emotions and finally has arrived at anger that provides inspiration. She WILL win, if only to return to two and get her revenge, rub it in the faces of her enemies.

writing sample

[REDACTED]

stats

Deceive - 1

Fight - 3

Lore (knowledge) - 2

Notice - 1

Physique - 2

Provoke - 3

Rapport - 1

Resourcefulness - 2

Stealth - 2

Will -3

extras

#submission #accepted #freya

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dalemiramon · 1 year

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Isolating Yourself In the Dark World

By: Dam Miramon

Locking yourself in dark room makes you more comfortable than facing those people who always criticize you by your actions and words you say, judging you for no reason until you became uncomfortable, uneasy, awkward, upset. These emotions can triggered the what we so called “ANXIETY” and “DEPRESSION”, and those people kept judging you until you locked up yourself in your room. Wondering if there is something wrong about you why they kept judging you for no reason until you decided to kill yourself by committing suicide, drinking high dosage of drugs. Worst you wanted to rebel against them, drinking alcohol, parties. All of these is things is being done by those person who experience anxiety and depression cause by problems, stress and even judgement or criticism.

It is being alone to be remote from the rest of the world and still travel its streets. It is possible to see that lone tree, alone in its beauty, while you are alone and traveling up the route next to the roaring, deafening mountain stream that is fed by spring water and melting snows. The anguish of life is the loneliness of the street person; he is never by himself, alone, far away, unprotected, or defenseless. Being knowledgeable means never being alone, and the pursuit of such knowledge produces unending suffering. That man who travels the streets is constantly in need of expression, with all its frustrations and aches. The movement of that loneliness is sorrow.

THE SUN WAS DOWN, and in compared to the ominous sky, the trees were dark and sharp. The strong, wide river was peaceful and quiet. The moon was barely discernible on the horizon; she was approaching between two enormous trees but had not yet begun to produce shadows.

There is no agonizing, terrifying loneliness like this. It is the solitude of being; it is unblemished, rich, and total. This solitude is similar. Like the fire and the flower, one is alone, but one is unaware of its immensity and purity. Only in solitude is true communication possible. Being alone is not the result of self-isolation or denial. Being alone allows all intentions, desires, and goals to be cleansed. The mental process does not result in solitude. You cannot desire solitude. A wish like that is only a way to get away from the agony of being unable to commune. Isolation is loneliness, the inevitable self-action that comes with fear and pain. Whether broad or restricted, this process of isolation produces confusion, conflict, and sadness. Aloneness cannot be born out of isolation; one must die in order for the other to exist.

Being alone is synonymous with being divided. The flexibility and tenacity of the aloneness. The unmeasurable, causeless thing can only be communicated with by the alone. Life is eternal and death does not exist for those who are alone. An individual who is alone will always be.

The shadows were long and dark as the moon was just beginning to rise above the treetops. Because the river was so quiet, it reflected the stars and the lights from the lengthy bridge in its surface. On the opposite bank of the broad river, someone started singing. His lyrics were sharp and insightful. Once more, life's pervasive aloneness.

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nevertheless-moving · 2 years

Text

Entire Armies Part II

this has been in my drafts long enough so here ya go anon

continued from here

“You can’t remotely disable it or something?” Obi-Wan asked desperately as they chased the trail of the rapidly disappearing Twilight, the three of them wedged uncomfortably in the two seater ship.

Anakin made an indignantly offended noise. “Why would I mod a ship so it could be remotely disabled?”

“I don’t know! Why would you mod a ship so it could be tracked so easily?” Obi-Wan snarked.

“Easily?! You think this is easy? The only reason I can track her is because I’m me.”

“Why would you mod a ship that could be stolen?” Rex muttered.

“What was that Captain? You know I’m still your superior officer-”

“Oh are you now? Wow. Now I can see what the next rest-of-our-lives are going to be like. Can’t believe I was going to promote you over Waxer-”

“You were?” Anakin grinned. “First Lieutenant Skywalker, huh? Has a nice ring to it.”

“Captain Skywalker actually- we were talking about restructuring into one Battalion with more companies, some of them in active combat and others for non-military voluntary assignment.”

“Ooh Captain Skywalker, yeah I could get used to that.”

“Well if this is what happens to your personal projects, you’ll be lucky to make private-”

“Hey! I wasn’t responsible for guarding the prisoner-”

“Technically, as General any security breaches under your command-”

“Oh enough already!” Obi-Wan snapped. “Rank isn’t going to matter if Dooku warns his Sith Master and kills us all while we’re cut off from the rest of the Jedi while also giving him in depth knowledge of the future.”

Anakin shifted nervously, making Rex squawk irritably from his perch half in the still-probably-a-General’s lap. Anakin ignored him. “Is that where you think he’s going?”

Obi-Wan frowned over the navigation. “Well, he’s not heading to Coruscant, which I suppose would arguably be worse...I really don’t want have to fight Yoda...”

“What, the little green guy?” Rex asked incredulously.

Anakin snorted. “Have you ever seen him in a fight? He’s more acrobatic than Ahsoka.”

“Seriously? Isn’t he like, 1000?” the still-definitely-a-captain Rex asked, sounding bemused.

“Aren’t you like, 10?” Anakin retorted.

“Oh kriff,” Obi-Wan said suddenly. “I know where he’s going.”

“Where?” Anakin asked eagerly. “Maybe I can chart a better path than him there...”

“Galidraan.”

“Oh,” Rex and Anakin said in unison.

“That’s- Anakin glanced nervously at Rex. “When does the battle take place?”

“Today, I’m fairly certain,” Obi-Wan groaned. “Fuck, I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this- Rex, what do you want to do?”

“What?” Rex asked, suddenly panicked. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because if I’m right- Dooku’s going to try and stop the massacre of the true Mandalorians.”

“What?” Anakin said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

“It was one of his biggest regrets, before he left the order, before he fell...Yoda believed his pain over the deaths he caused and the rage over being tricked was the first stone on his path to the darkside. Like I said- he once was a good man.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re asking me.” Rex insisted. “I’m not a Jedi or a Mandalorian.”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan acknowledged softly. “But you have ties to both. And this was an event that directly lead to the fall of the Haat Mando'ade and some previously light Jedi and the rise of Death Watch. Not to mention the countless Jedi killed in this conflict and the skirmishes that followed. Arguably, only one good thing came out of the Massacre this day.”

Rex swallowed, “And by that you mean...”

“You and your brothers,” General Kenobi confirmed with a soft smile. “Without this Jango would likely have never entered into a contract with Kaminionis- not that we ever fully understood his motives...but it’s very unlikely, were he to remain Manda’lor, that the vode would come to exist.”

“Wait...” Anakin asks slowly, “Does that mean if Dooku saves the people- wow that’s weird to think about- all the clones will just- stop existing? Like vanish?”

“That’s not how time travel works!” Rex replied quickly. He then turned to Obi-Wan. “That’s not how time travel works, right?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Not that I’m an expert on this, but from what I gleamed from Dooku and the runes in the temple, no. We unmade everything except us. You, the 212th, and the 501st exist. The question is- do you want them, and yourselves, and all your other brothers to exist again?”

There was a long heavy pause, and the normally unflappable Captain began to radiate honest stress into the force. “I have to decide?”

Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged a glance. “It’s...not right for us to do it. It’s not fair of us to ask you to make the choice either but-” Anakin shrugged helplessly. “We’re not leaving it up to Dooku, right?”

Rex stared ahead blankly. “Excuse me for a moment, sirs.”

“Where-”

Rex reached back and grabbed his helmet, pulling it on and sitting stock still while Obi-Wan and Anakin politely ignored the waves of mixed emotion pouring off of him.

A few hours passed like that. Eventually they rotated positions, Anakin and Obi-Wan cramming into one side while Rex stretched out his legs. Obi-Wan entered a light meditative fugue as his mind still wrestled with time travel and the numerous disasters that the 212th had the power to create or prevent.

Seemingly without any prompting, Anakin broke the silence.

“Padme and I were married,” he blurted out.

“I- you- what?” Obi-Wan sputtered.

“Oh thank kriffing heavens,” Rex sighed. “I don’t have to keep that a secret anymore.”

“You knew about this?” Obi-Wan protested, indignant.

“You didn’t?” Rex shot back. “He doesn’t shut up about her- uh, didn’t. Oh.”

“Yes, Oh.” Anakin snapped.

Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing his face. “I...I knew you were affectionate but I didn’t realize the extent...”

- - -

flash forward and they get to Galidraan too late—Dooku screams into the atmosphere broadcasting on all hyperspace and telepathic frequencies ‘ITS A TRAP ITS A TRAP THE GOVERNOR IS SETTING YOU UP TO KILL EACH OTHER DON’T BE MORONS NONE OF YOU ARE THE CHILD MURDERERS DON’T DO ANYTHING’ before crash landing in the middle of everything. They still give attacking each other a solid try, this time with the Mandalorians fully prepared for battle, but then something something time-travel-crazy-handless-Dooku jumps in front of a ricocheting bolt, saving a random Mando teen and dying dramatically.

---

Jango: “So that happened.”

Komari Vosa: “Thank you ever so much for that intelligent remark”

Dooku: [staring at his older-sith-handless-corpse]

Jango: “Sorry, is that your father? Or your brother?”

Dooku:

Komari Vosa: “Jedi don’t have families.”

Jango: “Of course you don’t. Whatever—I suppose you’re going to try and insist we keep the Governor alive, because of Jedi shit?”

Komari Vosa: “Of course a Mandalorian would call not murdering ‘Jedi shit’

Dooku:

Jango: “Is he...meditating?”

Komari Vosa: “I—Master?”

Dooku:

- - -

Anakin, Rex, and Obi-Wan arrive shortly after in their tripped-out future-tech mystery-origin shuttle, try and be stealthy, get captured immediately and then just,, refuse to answer any questions. Anakin is his usually insane overpowered in the force self. Obi-Wan is vaguely familiar. Rex refuses to take off his crappy armor and the Mandalorians are like ‘fair enough religious freedom’ Somethingsomething escape brief cool fight sight scene grab future!Dooku’s body explosions grab the pieces of the Twilight aaand dramatic reveal where Rex takes of his helmet and he looks EXACTLY like Jango but blonde. Escape in the confusion.

fucken cryptids.

- - -

Dooku:

Jango:

Dooku:

Jango:

Dooku:

Jango: “I’m pissed off and confused. And I want to murder someone and I really want it to be you, but unfortunately I think you’re just as in the dark as I am.”

Dooku: “Yes. I...concur”

Jango:

Dooku:

Jango:

Dooku: [pulls out a flask of space brandy, takes a shot, wordlessly offers it to Jango.

Jango: [accepts it, drinks some, makes an appreciative expression]

Jango: “You know...I can’t believe I’m saying this...but—you’re alright. For a Jedi.”

Dooku: “This universe is so goddamn weird and shitty and I’m starting to get real sick of it.”

Jango: “Ha. Yeah.”

- - -

And so, on this day, contrary to the mechanisms of Deathwatch and the Sith, the True Mandalorians and the Jedi fell into a reluctant peace, a fact of great historical and geopolitical relevance. Or at least, such an occasion would be considered important, were it not immediately overshadowed by the emergence of an army of heretofore unimaginable scale, unfathomable strength, and unknown origin.

#star wars #star wars au #time travel au #my au #star wars au no 14 #Entire Armies AU #200 celebration #i have more in my head somewhere

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morifinwes · 3 years

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wangxian fic rec list!

aka in which i read fics, write some recs down for aamna and share them!! they're all wangxian fics and uhh @yibobibo i hope you'll like them!!

modern

wolf devours playboy bunny by @greenteafiend (5K, werewolf!lwj, getting together, idk if anyone needs to know that but there's nudity just not uhh explicit)

Lan Zhan has wanted Wei Ying as long as he has known him, and the worst part is that he thinks Wei Ying could want him back.

Too bad he could never in good conscience let himself go there—Wei Ying has a debilitating fear of all things canine, and once a month, Lan Zhan is the exact, precise thing that Wei Ying’s nightmares are made of.

Aka, Lan Zhan is a werewolf.

between the lines by @jywait (19K gaming au!!!, i'm always down for a good gaming au, lwj is the best aksks he's such a good boy)

☆yilingpatriarch☆: pls...give me some face, help me fight these monsters...I'm gonna die

Bluetooth: no.

"You have died." The screen said, and Wei Wuxian threw his hands up in frustration.

resonant frequencies by chinxe (15K, college au, fake dating au, tw mention of cheating but it's brief and no one was cheated on i promise)

In which Wei Wuxian decides that the best way to deal with being in love with Lan Wangji is to pretend to date him for three weeks.

It goes about as well as can be expected.

drift compatible by windoworwhatever (5K, poetry, fluff, drunkji, getting together, college au)

"It was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, university stipends for graduate students working in TA positions barely covered rent, bisexuals cuffed their jeans, Lan Wangji had a massive crush on Wei Wuxian, and spent his time pining and writing research papers about gay subtexts in ancient poetry."

Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian, and everybody knows, except Wei Wuxian.

the bunny next door by detailsinthefabric (43K, this is mostly fluff and very light angst, and they were neighbors!!!, rabbits!!, aka wangxian's bunny children, this is... so cute i just have to rec it)

Lan Wangji did not know what he was doing. He did not know what he was going to say. He was frozen in place, puzzling over the situation. Maybe he had made the man uncomfortable, which is why he wanted to leave? But his tone had still been so friendly—maybe…

“Would…” he paused, swallowed, forced the last words to come out of his suddenly parched mouth, “would you let me pet him?”

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

Lan Wangji, who doesn't know how to socialize and whose icy demeanor scares everyone away, lets down all his defenses when he meets the bunny next door...oh, and also its owner, Wei Wuxian.

leading tone by silencemostofall (32K, everyone is a music student? or something like that akskk, curse fic, tw panic attacks, tw child abuse, small scene of drunkji, wwx has low self esteem, bro this was so painful to read)

The first time you touch someone you're fated to love, you leave a mark on their skin. If they will love you in return, they'll mark you where you touched them. The deeper the color, the deeper the connection.

Wei Ying has no marks at all.

public places, private thoughts by leahelisabeth (for the love of camelot) ( 8K, cherry magic au, getting together with like... immediate upgrade to fiance status, the author is wrong i crave good wangxian cherry magic aus even tho i haven't even watched cherry magic)

Wei Wuxian had heard the story of course. It had made its rounds through his high school and followed him into his college days. He didn’t think there was any possibility it was true. Virginity was a social construct, invented by creepy old men to exercise dominance over women. The idea that a simple lack of sexual activity before the age of thirty could give one magical powers was absolutely ludicrous.

Wei Wuxian believed this until the morning of his thirtieth birthday.

AKA the Wangxian Cherry Magic AU that absolutely nobody asked for.

i'd be all right (if i could see you) by @thirtysixsavefiles (16K, this was nice, i read this at 6am but it was cute, (while writing this post i must admit i don't remember anything but 6am-me said it's good))

The younger Lan brother is something of an enigma on campus; while Lan Xichen can sometimes be seen in the company of other graduate students or conducting a seminar, Lan Wangji appears to spend all his time in class or in the library. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t attend social events. He doesn’t do anything for fun, as far as Wei Wuxian can tell, and it’s driving Wei Wuxian just a little bit up the wall.

Or, Wei Wuxian convinces Lan Wangji to come to a house party, and then they're assigned to the same group project. Wei Wuxian tries his best, but he is not in possession of all the facts.

axe on leg by itszero (4K, i still don't get why wwx did that but it was nice seeing him jealous for once, jealous!wwx, lwj i love you....)

Wei Wuxian pressed his face into his pillow and screamed. He paused to take a few deep breaths, partially hindered by the pillow, and listened to the sounds of Nie Huaisang slurping his iced coffee, from his seat on Wei Wuxian's desk chair.

Having caught his breath, he resumed his screaming and did not stop at the sound of his dorm room door opening.

"What's wrong with him?" He heard his brother, Jiang Cheng, ask.

The slurping stopped. "He's an idiot."

"He's always been an idiot. Why is he bothered about it now?"

"He forced Lan Wangji to go on a date," Nie Huaisang replied, shaking the ice cubes in his drink.

"Okay and…?"

"With someone else." The slurping resumed.

Wei Wuxian, in all his glorious dumbassery, convinces his boyfriend to go on a date with someone else.

these two most powerful by @stiltonbasket (4K, amnesia, wangxian with children!!!, aksksk this was adorable, dadji!!)

When Lan Wangji went to bed last night, he was alone in a tiny guest room with nothing but the howling of the wind in the mountains and his own lonely thoughts for company.

But when he opened his eyes in the morning, Wei Ying was asleep beside him.

(In which Lan Wangji loses twenty years' worth of memories after a night-hunt gone wrong, and his life as a doting father and husband continues without a hitch somehow.)

good things come to those who wait [but i ain't in a patient phase] by @cerlunas (4K, getting together, pining lwj)

Lan Wangji can't take it anymore.

“I love you”, he says, and god, it feels terrifying. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian starts, but Lan Wangji doesn’t want to hear it.

He grabs his cup and drinks everything. He doesn’t know what face Wei Wuxian is making at him right now, and it’s okay.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats louder, but it’s too late. He is already falling asleep.

Or, even after 13 years, Lan Wangji is still in love with his best friend. Maybe it's time to open up.

wei ying, will you marry m- oh my god he swallowed the ring! by selene210 (2K, marriage proposals, crack, marriage proposals but.. they go wrong)

“A ring?”

And indeed it was. The ring Lan Wangji was going to propose to Wei Ying with. That the man had now choked on.

“You swallowed it.”

“It was in my soufflé! Why did you put a ring in my soufflé Lan Zhan- oh. oh”

of glittery valentine's cards by @soft-fics (3K, valentine's day, this was adorable aksk, a-yuan best boy!!)

Lan Zhan didn't want to know what his best friend had planned for Valentine's Day; his heart would simply not be able to handle it. When his son tells him that he made Wei Ying a Valentine's Day card, though, Lan Zhan decided to bring it over anyway.

of coffee and white tea by @soft-fics (9K, fluff, lwj doesn't like coffee, wwx buys him coffee, then they switch drinks, again and again and again, the staff ships it lmao, tbh jc shouldn't have done that like wtf)

For the fourth time this week a stranger orders him a cup of coffee. Lan Wangji wonders how exactly to tell this man to stop ordering him coffee he doesn't even like. Turns out, buying the other white tea and switching drinks is not the best way to go about it

canon setting

on the importance of restraint (or lack thereof) by nixthothou (4K, in which sizhui snaps, i love that boy, no like seriously he's the best boy)

Lan Sizhui does not usually find himself in the company of Sect Leader Jiang.

Suffice to say, Lan Sizhui's feelings toward him are conflicted.

lan wangji is wei wuxian's baby by lilycs (3K, i was craving fluff while reading this, lwj my beloved, drunk!lwj)

Lan Wangji gets drunk from barely a cup of alcohol, becoming a whiny baby and asking his husband for cuddles.

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (8K, wei wuxian & lan sect, 5+1 things, in which they learn to love him, they're all part of the wwx protection squad lead by lwj, wangxian isn't the focus but !!! THIS)

Times change, but some people remain the same.

The Lans are nothing, if not aware of this.

For one of their own, they will stand against the world.

Or, 5 times the Lans defended Wei Wuxian, and the 1 time he was there to see it happen.

so why not crack your skull when the mind swells by @greenteafiend (13K, love curse, post cql canon, curses, getting together, fluff, so much fluff, lwj tries to talk about his emotions!, lwj pov)

Lan Wangji detects the curse trying to curl through his heart meridians like smoke. A love curse, then. It must have been cast remotely somehow to have found him in his bed in Cloud Recesses. No matter. Lan Wangji crushes it easily, enveloping it in his spiritual energy, and then squeezing. Curse averted, Lan Wangji closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. He thinks no more of it.

Two days later, Wei Wuxian arrives in Cloud Recesses.

Or, Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel terrible pain when he and Lan Wangji aren’t touching.

i started from the bottom / now i'm rich by x_los (57K, time travel, fix it, jealous lwj, crack treated serious, god this is so good tho, wwx/wrh & wwx/jgs but like as a joke and it doesn't really happen, but it has its purpose!!)

“First, you get the money. Then you get the power, respect - hos come last.”

Wen Qing traps Wei Wuxian in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but Wei Wuxian isn’t interested in being the beneficiary of the Wen Remnants’ noble sacrifice. His efforts to free himself accidentally send him back to the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Coreless but armed with demonic cultivation, knowledge of the future and his wits, Wei Wuxian takes advantage of this opportunity to come out on top of both the war and its aftermath—before either has a chance to happen—by marrying and swiftly burying the cultivation world’s worst men.

Lan Wangji is confused, hurt, and uncomfortably aroused by Wei Wuxian’s improbably elaborate series of Sect-themed bridal negligees.

lead me on through by mrsronweasley (55K, they're in love your honor, arranged marriage but they don't know to whom, basically wwx & lwj want to practice kissing which then goes beyond kissing but not the whole way y'know, lxc the best wingman tho)

"Who do you think your betrothed is?" Wei Wuxian asks, sprawling out in front of Lan Zhan and enjoying the prim thinning of his lips at the question. He shouldn't be sprawling—they're in the library, for one, and Lan Zhan is studying, for another—but he can't help himself. Wei Wuxian is a sprawler.

"I do not believe this to be of importance," Lan Zhan responds, without turning his gaze away from his book.

"What!" Wei Wuxian sits up. "How can you say that? Of course it's important! This is the person you'll be with for the rest of your life, Lan Zhan."

523 notes · View notes

wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

Text

Milkshakes

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Overwhelmed when Loki saves you, you respond to his kindness with fear. Determined to apologize, you seek Loki out to thank him with a couple of milkshakes and some fries. Warnings: a tad angsty but much fluff A/N: This is actually one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written. Hope you all enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

Of course it had to be during your lunch break that a supervillain attacked the city. Of course today you decided to go out to eat instead of packing something. And, of course you had to be walking by the building right as it crumbled. You started praying to any god that there may be to save you from being crushed. Though, you hadn’t actually expected one to save you.

In the moments before you would have been flattened, Loki put an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. Raising his free hand, a glimmering green force field appeared around you. The falling matter bounced off of it and landed around you, the shield offering strong protection. Of course you were thankful to be rescued, but did have to be Loki? You knew he was supposedly reformed, but so many news outlets still ran stories about how he was dangerous. A ticking time bomb. You’d never quite formed an opinion on him, and it was causing great conflict in you now. On the one hand, he looked very intimidating from this close, what with his impressive stature and horned helmet and all. But on the other, he was saving you from the actual super villain destroying the city. Perhaps if there wasn’t so much going on, you could think more clearly. Alas, your thoughts were a messy, confused jumble, leaving you fearful of the super-powered god in front of you.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his deep, smooth accent as the shield shimmered away into nothing. The god brought his arm to shield your eyes from the small pieces of debris still falling, the other one still around your waist in a protective manner. “Are you injured at all?

“I, um, uh, I- I,” you stammered, backing up. “Mhm. All good. Uhhh, thanks.”

You were certain you must be the most awkward person in history, but instead of making fun of you, Loki just looked sad. Even with the hurt behind his eyes, his arms shot out to catch you when you stumbled over the wreckage. He guided you away from the obstacles to a place where you could walk unhindered. He moved back from you as soon as he’d finished escorting you.

“You are welcome,” he finally responded. “I am sorry for frightening you. You should get somewhere safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, he left to rejoin the battle. You started retreating from the scene, steering as clear of any large structures as you could, cursing yourself the whole time. Loki had saved you, and you’d been afraid of him. What kind of nonsense was that? And you were certain he got that kind of reaction all the time, based on the way he’d looked at you and realized your bumbling actions were a result of fear. Fear of him after he’d so carefully and gently saved you.

You felt stupid and petty as you joined a throng of people being guided away from the scene. After nearly two years of working to protect the city, Loki should have gotten more praise and love than he did. You realized it now, only moments too late. Someone should tell him he was appreciated, a hero. And if no one else was going to do it, you resolved to do it yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The meeting was dreadfully boring, but someone had to go. Seeing as all the other Avengers were busy, that someone was Loki. Besides, Stark had told him it would be good for his image to head up the restoration of the city this time round. The committee and resources were all a part of Stark Industries, of course, so Loki felt there should be some employee to take care of it instead of him. But whatever, he’d been roped into it now, and he figured that there was some merit to what Tony has said about his reputation.

Luckily, with a week having passed since the battle, great headway had been made with the repairs, and the meeting was much shorter than expected. Itching to get outside, Loki headed to the main doors.

“You don’t understand,” Loki heard someone say to the receptionist as he approached the front desk. “He saved me the other day. I have to thank him. Please?”

Loki just rolled his eyes as he pushed through the turnstile. He couldn’t even begin to count how many fans had tried this tactic to meet their favorite Avengers. Granted, no one had ever tried to see him, but he was coming to terms with it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder which of his colleagues you were trying to get through to see. Perhaps Steve, or maybe even Thor. Loki was so lost in thought it barely even registered when the voice switched from pleading with the receptionist to calling after him.

He turned and stopped, recognizing the person jogging after him as you, who he remembered from the battle. “May I help you?” he asked in the most pleasant tone he could manage.

“Yeah. Uh, hi. I don’t know if you remember, but you saved me the other day,” you explained sheepishly. “You know, during the attack.”

“Yes, I recall.”

“Oh! Good. I just wanted to say thank you for that. For saving me, I mean. And the city.”

“I see,” the god replied, suspiciously raising an eyebrow. “Well then, you are welcome. Really, I was just doing my job, though.”

“Well, I still appreciate it.” There was a lapse in the conversation, as neither of you were really sure what to say next. “Can we go somewhere? Like for coffee or something. Can I buy you a coffee?”

Oddly enough, that made Loki distrust the situation even more. Ok, maybe you were actually a super nice person who had a guilty conscience for making him feel bad, and maybe that prompted you to come thank him properly. But that you wanted to buy him something, presumably to show your newfound appreciation? Absolutely preposterous. The only people who ever did something remotely as kind as that were his fellow Avengers, and not even all of them or particularly often. Any of the other people who openly supported him didn’t show appreciation, per se. It was more that they felt he’d done enough to redeem himself at this point, which wasn’t exactly the most thrilling phrasing either. But here you were, awkwardly shuffling your feet and asking to buy him coffee. Loki supposed he shouldn’t pass such an opportunity up. And yet, he probably was going to.

“No thank you,” he finally replied, shaking himself from the shocked, catatonic state he’d fallen into. “I do not much like coffee.”

As he walked away, he thought that would be the end of it. That perhaps you’d only been talking to him in the hopes he’d invite you to see the other Avengers, too. That maybe you’d go back to trying to wheedle your way inside at the front desk. Much to his surprise, you came hurrying after him.

“Wait,” you called. “Ok, so scratch the coffee. How about ice cream or tea or a milkshake or something? Anything really, you name it.”

Now that you were outside, he observed you again while he thought, as if hoping the sunlight would reveal your true intentions. He couldn’t find anything malicious in your expression, just some sort of anxiety. Loki must have taken too long in coming to a decision, because you started rambling.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you into it or anything, but I wanted to do something nice to say thank you and-” you cut off and bit your lip. “Is this stupid? It sounds stupid. It’s probably stupid. I’ll go now. Again, I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

“One moment,” he said before you could make your retreat. “You said anything I want, correct?” You eagerly nodded as Loki got an idea. “Alright then. I would like a five course meal at the nicest restaurant in London, please and thank you.”

“I, um. I know I said anything but, uh...” You noticed his serious expression had turned into a sly grin. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. My apologies, but I simply could not resist,” he chuckled.

You began to laugh, too. Not in a way that made him think it was out of courtesy or pity, but an honest to goodness laugh. Briefly, he thought it one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, before quickly shaking the idea from his mind. It was ridiculous; he hardly even knew you. But you seemed pretty adamant on showing your gratitude. Plus, you’d apologized to him, which was more than he could say for most of the people in his life.

“You know, I would usually say tea, but a milkshake actually sounds quite lovely right now,” he told you once you’d calmed down. “That is, if the offer is still open.”

“Of course it is!” you happily told him, the smile on your face growing. Not to mention you seemed much more at ease. “I actually know a great diner that’s just a short walk from here, if that works for you.”

“By all means, lead the way.”

It took approximately ten minutes to get to the restaurant. After properly introducing yourselves, you kept up a light dialogue. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly; just hesitant, as if both of you were afraid of saying the wrong things and shattering the blissful moment. Loki still couldn’t bring himself to fully trust you. Such a feeling just wasn’t in his nature, especially not when it came to someone he just met and had a considerably rocky start with. Even so, he found himself enjoying your company.

Arriving at the diner, Loki held the door open for you as you walked in. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for a seat, the classic red stools at the bar free at this time of the afternoon. Loki swiveled the seat back and forth ever so slightly, and found himself chuckling when he caught you doing the same thing. You offered him a shy smile as a waitress handed the both of you a menu.

The God of Mischief had only ever had the pleasure of drinking a milkshake once before, a vanilla one when the team had convinced him to try it on one of their outings. He’d thoroughly enjoyed it and planned on playing it safe by ordering the same thing now. When you asked what he was getting, though, you were having none of that. After nearly five minutes of rousing debate, you’d finally talked him up to chocolate. Part of him was having so much fun with the discussion and how animated you became about the topic that he almost didn’t want to concede. But the waitress came back to take your orders, and he didn’t want to make her leave and come back again.

“Oh, and some French fries too please,” you added after ordering your favorite milkshake.

Loki shot you a perplexed look. “French fries?” he asked after the waitress moved away.

“Yeah. Please tell me you’ve heard of them before.”

“I have. I have even eaten them a few times before, believe it or not,” he answered as you turned to face him, leaning on the counter. “But are you certain they go with a milkshake?”

Your jaw dropped open. “Of course they do. Listen, Loki, you haven’t lived until you’ve dipped French fries in a milkshake. You’ll love it, I promise.”

You continued to help him expand his knowledge of Midgardian cuisine as you waited for your order to come. Once it arrived, you dipped a fry in your shake, just as you had said, trying to convince him just how delicious it truly was. The trickster skeptically picked one up and mimicked your actions, plunging it into the frothy liquid. The second it hit his tongue, his face lit up in pure delight.

“See, I told you,” you laughed.

“Indeed you did,” he said back, the corners of his eyes crinkling from how wide his smile was.

An hour and another order of fries later, the two of you finished your snack. Loki was in a better mood than he’d been all month. Honestly, he was a little sad when the bill came.

“Are you certain you do not want me to pay?” he checked as you fished out a twenty from your wallet to cover the low-cost meal. “Or we could split it, at least.”

“Loki, it’s fine,” you giggled. “This is me thanking you, remember? And, honestly, it’s me apologizing, too. I was just startled the other day and there was a lot going on. I hadn’t ever really thought about what I’d do if I met an Avenger, least of all if it happened while they were saving my life. I was overwhelmed; I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about yourself or anything.” Without really thinking about it, your hand moved to rest on top of his. It was a surprise to Loki, but a welcome one. “Because—and I can say this with absolute certainty—you’re amazing, Loki. You do so much for the city. I hope you know how appreciated you are, at least by me.”

His other large hand came to cover yours. “Thank you, darling.” He didn’t mean to say the pet name, but it just slipped out. “I cannot express how much that means to me.”

Somewhere in his heart, he wanted to tell you everything, make you privy to all his inner turmoil. But that was buried underneath years of pain and rejection, too heavy to move for someone he didn’t know all too well, no matter how connected he felt to you in this moment. So he let the urge pass over him, hoping his thanks would be sufficient enough in expressing how he felt.

“You’re welcome, Loki,” you told him, squeezing his hand. Then you stood up. “So, I guess I’ll be letting you get on with your day then. This was really nice, though. Thanks for agreeing to it.”

“You’re welcome and thank you,” he replied. “It really was.”

After waving goodbye to each other, you exited and Loki stayed where he was, picking at the last few nubs of fries left in the basket. He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t leave, too. Just that something was missing.

“Ah, young love,” the elderly waitress who had been serving you all day said to Loki as she came to collect the empty dishes. “Magical, isn’t it?”

“Love?” Loki choked out. “I am afraid you are quite mistaken. It was not even a date. I hardly even know them. I will probably never even see them again.”

“And you’re just gonna let them walk out?” she tsked. “It’s a right shame, sonny. Let me tell you, you don’t just let something like that walk out on ya.”

He looked at the door for a second in melancholic contemplation before bolting out after you. He shouted his thanks to the waitress as he pushed open the glass door, exiting out into the harsh sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, they scanned for your form before it walked out of his life forever. Spotting you, he jogged in your direction and called your name. Funny, he thought, how just earlier that day the roles had been reversed.

“Loki?” you asked, stopped on the sidewalk as he caught up to you. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“Actually, the problem is what did not happen.” He kicked a rock with his shoe, as suddenly the ground became very interesting to him. His insides were a nervous mess. Clearing his throat, he gathered his courage to continue. “See, I do not have any way of contacting you again. And it had been my sincere hope that you would want to do this again, let me take you out somewhere.”

“That sounds amazing,” you agreed, jotting down your number on an old receipt you’d found in your wallet. Smirking, you parroted back his words from earlier. “How about you take me for a five course meal in London?”

“Oh, so you have turned my own jokes against me. How very clever of you,” he laughed. “What if we just went to see a movie, instead?”

“Perfect,” you nodded. “Just text me a time and place, and I’ll see you then.”

“I look forward to it. As soon as I buy the tickets, I shall let you know.”

“Sounds awesome! It’s a date.”

As you parted ways, for real this time, it registered in Loki’s mind what you’d said. He hadn’t particularly been thinking about his phrasing or in what way he was asking you to hang out. But apparently you’d taken it as an invitation for a date. As Loki arrived back at the Tower and flopped onto his bed, already dreaming of your laugh, he found he was quite happy that you had.

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astridthevalkyrie · 3 years

Note

25 with Levi??

okay, so there's this oneshot or series of oneshots i've been meaning to write for a while, and this prompt lines up, so here's the first part to that. i will probably rewrite/repost this when/if i post a full oneshot. consider this a promo!

25. “Hey hey hey, look at me.”

requests are closed!

"Darling," you begin, not quite sure how to put this nicely, "one of the things I love most about you is the stability you bring to my life."

Levi nods, as though to say he knows that very well. You like to think that sometimes your boyfriend can hear your thoughts before you even think them.

However, maybe there are some thoughts that you should have actually said out loud, just so he got the memo.

"So I'm very confused," you continue, slightly frenzied, "as to why you thought that adopting a literal child without telling me first would be a good idea."

Levi is clearly not used to being chided, being the incarnation of perfection itself that you know him as. He looks just as conflicted about how to apologize as you do about how to reprimand him. A couple of feet away, a kid, a child, a kindergartner of all things, sits on the couch, playing with your stress cube quietly, oblivious to your conversation.

"I'm his godfather, and I hardly knew what was happening until it happened. Shit, I hadn't spoken to Grisha or Carla in years, I had no idea about the car accident. I didn't even know they put me as his godfather until this morning. The last time I saw that kid was when he was born, and that's it."

"The last time I saw that kid was never, because I didn't know his parents, Levi! Do you expect me to just drop out of college to raise him?"

"Jesus, no. You don't have to do anything, let me take care of it. I'll take a break semester, work double shifts and try to find a daycare nearby during the day so I can watch him at night during your evening classes. You don't have to do a single thing, okay?"

He's trying to placate you, and it works, because really, how could it not? Of course, you don't want to raise a kid, at least not right now when the both of you trying to get through law school and working at the same time, but you can't be angry with Levi for proving what a kindhearted person he really is at his core. The two of you are somewhat known as a very cynical couple, and there had once been a widespread rumor that if someone were to ever be in a threesome with you two, they would leave in tears. Where that rumor came from you have no idea, but whatever its origins, you know it's not true, simply because Levi has never been remotely as cruel as people make him out to be. Is he dry as hell, mean with a resting bitch face that puts most people off? Yeah. But he's got one of the sweetest hearts that you've ever seen, and you know that he could never reject someone who needs his help.

As Levi watches you consider everything through, a defeated look covers his features, and with a feather light touch, he reaches up to place his palm against your cheek. "Hey," he mumbles softly, "I know this is a lot. I'm sorry for springing it on you. If...if it's too much, you don't have to feel obligated to deal with it."

You furrow your brows in confusion. What?

"I don't want this to ruin the good thing we have going." A really good thing, you remind yourself, as he looks down, almost forcing himself to continue. "But more importantly, I don't want to fuck up your life with a decision I made. So if you want to leave, if you need a break, if you have to...whatever, you don't have to feel trapped by this."

"Hey hey hey, look at me." Your own hands cup his cheeks, tugging him up to make him look at you. "Give me some credit, baby. I said stability was one of the things I love about you, not the only thing. I'm a little pissed, yeah, and really overwhelmed, but I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

It's not something the two of you say to each other often, mostly because you never need to. You say it in other ways, like how when you get back from your night classes he stays up so he can warm up dinner in the microwave, or how you always organize your schedule around the cleaning regime Levi has on Saturday mornings, because you know how important tidiness is to him.

Levi looks relieved, so relieved that he presses a short kiss to your lips, conscious of the child in the room. There's no certainty here, you have absolutely no idea how two grad students who have to work their asses off to make ends meet are going to raise a child, but with Levi, you're willing to try, and that's what matters.

#aot x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #eren jaeger #writing prompt #dad levi #valkyrie stories

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queenshelby · 3 years

Text

The Last Semester – Part 21

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,856

Warning: Pregnancy, Angst

A week had passed since Cillian found out about the pregnancy and he had been nothing but gentle, helpful and responsive since. Every day, he asked you how you were feeling. He brought you prenatal vitamins and constantly reminded you to drink enough water. He even risked a black eye on several occasions when running into your father who was struggling with the situation and has refused to speak to Cillian again. He was furious and blamed him for everything, thinking that he should have been the responsible adult.

You weren’t sure whether Cillian did all this simply for the fact that you were pregnant or whether he wanted to get back together with you and, whilst you hoped that the latter was true, you wouldn’t make it so easy for him this time around. He had to fight for you if you were what he wanted.

You loved him, but part of the trust you had built throughout your relationship had faded after he pulled away from you for the second time when he faced what you thought were just a few small hurdles. What you didn’t know was that, in fact, the hurdles he was facing, weren’t so small at all. He was deeply conflicted and being with you could cost him much more than his friendship with your father. It could also cost him his career and this was something he began to slowly realise.

***

It was a Sunday afternoon and Cillian was waiting for Nadine, his ex-wife, to pick up the boys from his home.

As usual, she was late and his sons were getting frustrated having to wait around for her once again.

‘This sucks dad’ Charlie growled, causing Cillian to calm him down whilst, deep down inside, he hoped that Nadine would arrive soon as he had invited you over for dinner that evening and, the last thing he wanted, was having you and Nadine in the same room together

Until recently, Nadine had again broken court orders, withholding contact to the boys on several occasions. If it wasn’t for the fact that Charlie had his own mobile phone, Cillian wouldn’t have been able to communicate with them at all for weeks.

It was like a game to her. Whenever Cillian was even remotely happy with someone else, she would come out to play and he soon regretted having given her another chance earlier that year before he took the teaching position in London.

When she found out about you, all hell broke loose. She felt humiliated and embarrassed especially knowing that her attempts to get him back were futile.

And the worst of it all was that she knew about you for a very long time, using you as leverage against Cillian until he finally gave up and let you go.

It was that night, when he called you, breaking up with you when he found out that you were his friend’s daughter, that he slipped. He slipped with Nadine because she was there to pick up the pieces when he was at his worst.

Whilst this little hiccup didn’t result in anything more than a few kisses, it was a mistake and he knew that it was a mistake. The worst of it all was that it gave Nadine hope in a situation where there was none. After all, he loved you and not her.

Of course, Nadine was willing and able to use this against Cillian. She had already threatened him on many occasions to make public the many façades of their marriage and how he chose a young girl over the mother of his children.

This was exactly what his agent was worried about. He knew Nadine for many years and he knew about the skeletons in Cillian’s closet and, whilst there weren’t many, they could become quite scandalous.

Being with you and loving you was too difficult. It was an against all the odds type of situation. A twenty-year age gap was hardly going to be successful. Was he going to risk everything to simply give it a try?

***

Finally, at 6 o’clock, Nadine’s car pulled up in Cillian’s driveway and she quickly jumped out of her seat and ran towards the front door.

‘I am sorry I am late. I got caught up with a friend’ she said in a haste.

‘You could have called’ Cillian then said before allowing her inside.

‘Why, do you have a date?’ she then chuckled, causing Cillian to sigh and call out for the boys.

Just as they emerged from their bedrooms, you also pulled up in the driveway and Cillian immediately knew that this would be problematic.

You noticed Nadine’s car but walked towards the front door of the house anyway and Cillian was quick to let you in after giving you a polite kiss on your cheek.

‘Hey’ you said, greeting Nadine who didn’t bother to say anything to you but, instead, roll her eyes.

‘What is she doing here?’ Nadine then asked Cillian, ignoring your presence.

‘I invited her. Why?’ Cillian asked somewhat annoyed and Nadine immediately huffed in disapproval.

‘I don’t want her to spend time with my children. It sends the wrong message to them’ Nadine explained.

‘And what message may that be Nadine?’ Cillian asked rather irritated before Nadine escalated the situation and, once again, insulted you.

‘You think it’s a good idea to show the boys that this is ok? Being with someone that much younger who clearly isn’t compatible in any sort of way?’ Nadine then said before Cillian told the boys to wait in the car as he didn’t want them to hear the conversation between him and their mother.

‘Can you not do this in front of the children?’ Cillian asked angrily after the boys left with their Gameboys.

‘Do what? You are the one who is fucking a uni student, not me’ she then shouted and it soon became too much for you to listen to.

‘Hey, listen, I am going to go. This is awkward and I don’t want to be in the way, really’ you then said, feeling uncomfortable.

‘Wait on Sweetie. I am not finished’ Nadine said and you turned around at the door, rolling your eyes at her as you did.

‘Did he tell you that, when he visited Dublin a few months ago, he spent time with me? Just the two of us?’ Nadine then asked before telling you how she was very well aware of Cillian’s needs and that you were likely too young and inexperienced for him and he would have realised this by now.

‘Nadine, that’s enough!’ Cillian growled, interrupting Nadine as she went on.

‘I am going’ you then huffed out, irritated and upset. She was taking it too far and you didn’t need this in your life.

‘Y/N, hold on’ Cillian said, trying to hold you back but you shook your head and left. You didn’t want to deal with this.

‘Just remember what I have against you Cillian. Surely, if this becomes public, Y/N might get some ideas. Poor thing, so young and innocent. Also, the boys are staying with me for the next two weeks’ Nadine chuckled somewhat amused.

‘Fuck this, Nadine. I have had enough of this crap. Fucking do it, eh! Send it to the fucking paper just as you have threatened for years. I no longer give a shit and in so far as the boys are concerned, I will be in contact with my lawyer tomorrow. A fit and proper person doesn’t use their children as leverage. Fucking wake up, would you’ Cillian growled before storming outside with the boys’ backpacks and putting them into Nadine’s car before giving each of them a hug and saying goodbye to them.

‘Love you guys, see you on Wednesday’ he said with a warm smile before getting into his own car with the view to drive after you to apologise about Nadine’s behaviour and having you get caught up in this.

***

As expected, just before Cillian arrived at your house, he received a call from his agent Brian who was clearly upset and annoyed.

‘We have a problem Cillian’ he said with an almost terrified voice.

‘I know. Her name is Nadine’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I have seen it. Just then. She sent it to me via email’ Brian said concerned.

‘Did you enjoy it?’ Cillian laughed.

‘You need to take this seriously Cillian. Nadine also told me that you are back with the girl’ Brian then said.

‘She held this against me for fucking years and I played along for the boys’ sake, but I can’t keep going like this’ Cillian then explained, causing Brian to sigh.

‘This and the fact that you are with a 20 fucking something year old who also happens to be your friend’s daughter is a fucking disaster mate. You need to break it off’ Brian argued.

‘She is pregnant’ Cillian then said, knowing that this would annoy Brian even more.

‘You are fucking kidding me. Fuck mate. For your career’s sake you need end it with this girl quietly, pay her, get her to sign an NDA’ Brian explained.

‘No Brian, I won’t be doing any of these things. Let me tell you something. I married Nadine because she was pregnant with Charlie. I never loved her. I simply did what others told me was the right fucking thing to do. This is probably why our relationship was so messed up. I was about to do this again, listening to what others tell me is right or wrong and what is good for me. Listening to you, to Nadine, John and my mother. But, luckily, this time, I just came to my fucking senses’ Cillian said just before he pulled up in front of your apartment building.

‘She is twenty years younger than you, what do you think will happen in twenty years? Will she still be around? Will she be worth all this?’ Brian then asked somewhat upset.

‘I don’t know, but I am keen to find out’ Cillian said as turned off the car.

‘This could be career suicide Cillian’ Brian said.

‘Perhaps. So, I suggest that you work hard for your commission while you still can and use these connections of yours to make publication of what Nadine has sent you hurt as little as possible’ Cillian chuckled.

‘It’s a sex tape Cillian. What the fuck do you want me to do about it? Censor it?’ Brian asked.

‘If you do, keep the good parts, eh? I need to go’ Cillian said.

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine

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the-modernmary · 3 years

Text

to be enough || aaron hotchner x gn!reader

Summary: During a movie night with your boyfriend Aaron, you accidentally stumbled onto his old wedding video, and it makes you wonder if you could ever compete with his first love?

A/N: This was an anonymous request, thank you SO MUCH for sending this in!! It’s my first request and it was so much fun to write!! I love soft Hotch so, so much. I’m sorry this took so long to get out. I was sick on and off for like two weeks straight, it was a whole thing. I hope you like this!!

masterlist || read on ao3

“I’ll make popcorn and open the wine, you pick the movie. We’ll meet back on the couch in ten minutes,” Aaron said quickly as he pressed a kiss to your cheek before making his way to his kitchen.

You giggled at your boyfriend’s eagerness as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. Truth be told, you couldn’t blame him, though. It was rare that the two of you ever really got the chance to just hang out at his apartment. Whenever Aaron was home, he liked to spend as much free time with his son as possible, which you completely understood. So between spending time with Jack and Aaron being away on cases, you lived for these small moments of alone time and domesticity.

“You might regret letting me pick the movie, my love,” you called to him jokingly as you sat down in front of his TV, looking for where the remote was hiding. “I am very loyal to my early 2000’s chick flicks.”

The sound of Aaron’s laughter floating through his apartment made your heart swell. He had never been the tough, FBI unit chief around you, but he was also rarely so carefree and light. There was always a shield around him, especially with the way he would carefully choose his words so as to not give away too much of himself. He was always so guarded and unwavering.

Aaron poked his head out of the kitchen, hair falling in his eyes. “In the interest of honesty, I’m fully planning on moving this to the bedroom before we even get halfway through the movie,” he admitted, his voice carrying even over the sound of popcorn in the microwave.

You giggled again and shook your head fondly, unable to stop the smile spread across your face at his words. Seeing him be so playful was like a gift — always a surprise, but never unwelcome. You lived for those small glimpses of the man you knew he was.

Aaron went back to choosing the perfect movie night wine and you settled on the couch, turning on the TV and ready to pick out the goofiest, most feel-good movie you could find. Before you could pull Netflix up, however, the DVD that was already in the television began playing.

The film was grainy and the camera work was shaky at best, so you weren’t sure exactly what you were watching at first. There was a church in the background and men dressed in nice suits. Kids dressed in their Sunday best ran around in the grass. The camera panned over to a couple who were clearly getting married, going by the big white dress the woman was wearing.

The camera zoomed in on the couple and your heart dropped to your stomach, because there, right in the center of the screen was Aaron. It was a much younger version of him, of course, probably law school, but it was definitely him.

Oh god, this was his wedding video. Which meant that the beautiful, blushing bride wrapped in his arms and making him throw his head back in laughter was Haley.

Aaron had told you about Haley and everything that had happened between the two of them right up to her murder pretty early on in your relationship with him, but then it was never really mentioned again. But you had heard the whispers on nights out with his team, listened to them all gossip amongst themselves about how “I never thought Hotch was ever going to move on?” .

Despite every logical bone in your body screaming at you to change the film before Aaron came back into the living room, you couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination. The Aaron on the screen was so different from the man you had come to love.

You watched as the film Aaron spun Haley in circles and peppered her entire face in kisses. The entire time, they never once stopped touching each other, even if it was something as simple as holding each other’s hands. Aaron kept glancing over at Haley with the biggest heart eyes you had ever seen, and it was nothing like the way Aaron had ever looked at you. Even when the couple was supposed to be paying attention to the people giving speeches around them, Haley and Aaron kept sneaking glances at each other, mouthing “I love you” like it was the only thing they could think to say.

Aaron looked so happy and so free and it was so unlike the man in the other room. In the year and a half you had been dating him, you had never seen Aaron with a smile so big. He never gave you PDA so freely, and it wasn’t something you realized you even wanted until you saw him do it with somebody else. Suddenly, you wanted to feel young and reckless and dizzy in love the way he looked back in the film.

It was unfair to ask him to live every day with you feeling like it was his wedding day, and you knew it. Still, something stirred inside of you that made you crave for Aaron to look at you like that, even just once.

What you had with Aaron now was safe and a certifiable “adult” relationship. Not to say it wasn’t nice, and there was plenty of passion and fun in it. All of your friends constantly expressed how envious they were that you had found somebody who was so stable yet still unpredictable and could sweep you off your feet with romantic dates under the stars. Being with Aaron felt like home for you, and you had always thought that he felt the same, although now you weren’t sure. It had never occurred to you that Aaron may not have ever really gotten over his first love.

The microwave beeped, signaling that the popcorn was done and that Aaron would be back in the living room at any second, and you quickly switched the TV to Netflix, clicking whatever movie popped up first, not even bothering to look at the title.

Just in time, too, because not long after, Aaron made his way over to the couch, precariously carrying a bowl of popcorn, two wine glasses, and a bottle of a sweet red wine that had become a go-to for you both. He generally preferred red wine, but you hated the dryness of it and basically only drank sweet, dessert wines, so when the two of you found this one, it had seemed like fate. Most of your relationship with him felt like fate, honestly.

You forced yourself not to think about the fact that Aaron was happily drinking white wine in the wedding video.

“Either the definition of ‘chick flick’ has changed drastically,” Aaron started, plopping down next to you. “Or Mad Max is very different from what I remember.”

“I decided to change it up, put on a movie neither of us will be invested in,” you lied, desperately fighting to keep your voice even. “That way we can move right into the bedroom portion of the night.”

“I like the way you think, sweetheart,” he chuckled, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. His thigh was pressed against yours, but even then, he felt a million miles away from you.

It was unfair to get so worked up over this whole wedding video thing, and you knew that. His time with Haley had ended long before he had even met you, and logically, you knew that people could fall in love multiple times. Still, that didn’t quell the anxiety that was bubbling in your stomach, making you queasy.

Why was he even watching that video, anyway? Did he often sit right there on the very couch you were cuddling with him on and rewatch the happiest day of his life? After a date with you, did he ever come home conflicted about his own emotions and feeling guilty for moving on, and go down memory lane to remind himself who his real true love was?

You kept thinking about how giddy he had looked in that video, and how easy it had seemed for him to be with her. And Haley… God, how could you compete?

She was stunning, no doubt about it, with her blonde hair and bright eyes that shined, even through shitty 90’s video camera quality. The pink on her soft-looking lips only seemed to make Aaron want to kiss them more and more, maybe to see if he could smudge her lipstick. It never once budged, though, because of course it didn’t. She seemed too perfect to have faded lipstick on her wedding day. She had floated across the makeshift dance floor, like a fucking Disney princess leaving a trail of fairy dust and sunshine everywhere she went. Everything about her seemed soft and kind and good, all things you had never once associated with yourself.

It was no surprise that Aaron had decided he was going to marry her from the first time he saw her, as he had said in his vows. She was everything you could have ever wanted to be, and clearly, she was everything Aaron had ever wanted.

Aaron’s voice snapped you out of your rapid descent into crippling insecurity. “I can hear you thinking from here, honey.”

You took a long sip of your wine, avoiding his piercing gaze. “I’m just concentrating on the movie,” you lied.

“The movie you picked specifically so that we didn’t have to pay attention?” he retorted, eyebrows raised. Really, you should have known better than to try and give him such a blatant lie. Aaron reached over you to grab the remote and paused the movie, placing his hand lightly on your knee. “What’s going on?”

How could you even explain what you were feeling? It definitely wasn’t jealousy, although you almost wished it was. At least with jealousy, you could push it to the side as an awful, gross feeling that comes from years of internalized misogyny and being told that other women are inherently competition for the attention of men. You could deal with that feeling.

But it wasn’t that at all. Despite Aaron’s obvious devotion to her, you found it hard (and a little twisted, if you were being completely honest) to be jealous of a woman who was violently murdered in her own home in front of her young child. Besides, jealousy would imply that you and Haley were on somewhat equal ground, which you so clearly weren’t.

Haley was his high school sweetheart, the love of his life, the woman he had chosen to have children with, and you…

Well, at one point you thought you could have been that, too, but now you were faced with the fear that you were nothing more than a person to fill the hole in his heart that Haley had left. Even worse, however, was the sinking feeling that you weren’t sure if you were ever going to be enough to fill it completely.

“It’s stupid,” you stuttered out, avoiding Aaron’s eyes, which were so full of concern. That was the worst part. It would be one thing if Aaron didn’t love you, but he did love you. Just not in the way he loved her. “Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

“I—” You cut yourself off with a sigh and shifted on the couch so that you were facing him. “Am I enough for you?”

Aaron looked about as taken aback by your question as you felt. You hadn’t meant to burst through the gate with that particular insecurity.

“Are you enough for me?” he repeated slowly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, like the question didn’t make any sense. In all honesty, it probably didn’t. “If you mean ‘am I happy with you’, then yes. Incredibly. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

That should have made you feel better, but it wasn’t the answer you were looking for. You absentmindedly picked at a loose thread on your sweater. “I saw your wedding video,” you admitted shamefully. It felt like you were a little kid getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “And, I don’t know… You looked so happy and so… alive with her. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime love, Aaron. I’m never going to be able to be that for you.”

Aaron’s frown deepened, and for a moment you were worried that he was going to get angry at you for watching the video. Maybe you had tainted that one happy memory for him. But the lines on his face softened just a bit and he covered your hand with both of his.

“Have you always felt like this?” he asked cautiously, attempting to keep all emotion off his face. “Like you’re not… enough?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes. If I think about it too much. Especially when we first started dating. But never this intense. I guess since I had only heard stories of her, it was almost like she didn’t exist? But now that I’ve seen her and how you looked at her… I love you so much and I want you to be happy, but I’m scared I can’t be that for you. I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line, but this has been eating me up from the inside for a while now and I—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Aaron cut you off mid-ramble, and you took a shuddering breath. Guilt was written all over him, which made you want to crawl into a hole and never be heard from again. “Have I done anything to make you think I’m unhappy?”

“No, of course not! You’ve been nothing but wonderful. But I’m not Haley. I can’t make you as happy as she made you. And maybe this is selfish of me, but it hurts to know that you don’t love me the way you loved her.”

Aaron’s frown deepened, but he still held on tightly to your hand. “I didn’t think you would want me to,” he said, and now it was your turn to be confused.

You could practically see the gears turning in Aaron’s mind as he tried to find the right words to verbalize the floodgate of emotions that had just opened. Being vulnerable and open about his feelings wasn’t something he was very comfortable with, and it definitely didn't come easy for him. The fact that he was trying and willing gave you some comfort.

“What I mean to say is…” he backtracked. “You’re right. You’re not Haley and the way I loved her is different from the way I love you. I love you differently because you’re different. And I’m different now, too. But different doesn’t mean less, and it never has. I would never want you to think that you’re just some consolation prize.”

He was looking at you with such intensity and sincerity that you could have cried. “It’s just that when I realized you had been rewatching your wedding, I kept thinking that maybe she was your one love,” you explained nervously. “I don’t know what that leaves me.”

Aaron took your hand that he was holding and moved it so that it rested on his chest and you could feel his heartbeat. “My love isn’t finite. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

You melted into his touch, and it was like the sun came peeking through the storm clouds. He didn’t have the exact same expression that 25-year-old him did on the wedding video, but it was something close. Maybe even something more. It was warm and inviting and felt like coming home after a long day.

“You’ve been nothing but the picture-perfect boyfriend,” you assured. “This is all me and my own insecurities. I saw that you had been watching the video and I just… spiraled, I guess.”

Aaron mindlessly rubbed his thumb back and forth on your hand. “I should probably explain why I was watching it, then.”

“God, no, you don’t owe me any explanations for what you—”

“I was showing Jack,” Aaron interrupted, his voice soft. “He doesn’t remember her that much, and he definitely doesn’t remember when we were married. Most of his memories are of fighting or divorced parents. I wanted to show him that his parents loved each other.”

Your face went hot as embarrassment spread through you. “Wow, that makes perfect sense and I feel like an idiot,” you breathed. “I’m sorry.”

Aaron pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as he stood up from the couch. “You’re not an idiot, and you have nothing to be sorry for,” he promised. “Come on, let’s get changed into something a little nicer.”

You looked down in confusion as your movie night outfit. “Why?”

A mischievous glint flashed in Aaron’s eyes as he bent down and gave you another kiss, one much less chaste than the one before. “Because,” he mumbled against your lips. “I’m going to take you on a date and show you just how much I love you.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x y/n #criminal minds #my writing

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