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mdawritings · 3 years

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“Arrested” [Aaron Hotchner X Female Reader]

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: E

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader

Wordcount: 8,510

Summary:

The BAU is working a case in the DC area: an unsub killing women outside of nightclubs and bars. When you get arrested and manage to end up in the same precinct as Aaron Hotchner, the team discovers that their unit chief has been sleeping with a MUCH younger woman. Even more importantly, they discover that aside from being Hotch's fuck buddy, you have had direct contact with the unsub. Told through cute and smutty flashbacks throughout your relationship with Aaron.

AO3 Link

It had been weeks since you’d seen Aaron. The first week you didn’t see him was because of a case over the weekend in Florida. You had sent him a few scandalous pictures while he was flying home…

You rest your head against the arm of your sofa lazily. You reach for the phone and look at the simple text from Aaron. “On the way home now. I want to see you soon.” Just those words send bolts of happiness, excitement, and arousal through you. You press the top of your phone to your lips to suppress your growing smile. You text him back.

“Been imagining your hands touching me instead of my own”

Aaron picks up his phone at the chime. He reads the message from you and can’t help but start to stir a little. God, the thoughts of you home alone… touching yourself thinking about him. Yeah, that definitely does something to him. It’s not like you weren’t in his thoughts the entire time. It's difficult to focus on a case when all he really wants is to be home, buried under the covers with you, taking in your light, yet intoxicating perfume. Touching your soft, perfect skin. Hearing you scream his name… He almost lets out a moan but catches himself and looks around the jet at his sleeping coworkers.

He quickly replies to your message, “Oh yeah?”

You jump up from the couch, exhaustion rapidly dissipating from your previously sore limbs at the thought of seeing Aaron tonight. Memories of his large hands touching, groping, squeezing your body flood into your mind.

You hurry to slip on the purple lingerie set you bought. You stand in front of your bathroom mirror. You take a few minutes, capturing some, quite honestly, fucking amazing photos.

“Missing the feeling of you buried inside me” You send the photos along. You grow even happier at the thought of him getting a fucking hard-on while just a few feet away from his sleeping coworkers. You revel in the effect you manage to have over such a powerful, dominant, authoritative man. It makes you especially proud to think about his normal demeanor, stoic, hard-faced, serious, and how easy it is for you to reduce him to simpering, whimpering, moaning mess under your touch. Your phone chimes a mere seconds after sending the photos.

“You are torturing me. We HAVE to see each other when I land”

You fell asleep in your bed in that lingerie waiting for him. You didn’t see his messages until the next morning, saying the sitter for Jack fell through and he probably wouldn’t be able to see you until next weekend.

At the start of the second week, he got called away to a case in California. That one took up the whole week and by the time he got home, he was way too exhausted to spend time with you.

This kind of thing went on for two weeks. A full month without Aaron had been torture. It wasn’t like you expected him to drop everything and come running to you. You understand he has a kid to take care of and an FBI unit to run. Plus, it isn’t like you two are really dating. Do you sometimes wish you were? Hell yes. Is it reasonable or feasible? Absolutely not.

That doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy what you have going on right now. He comes over to your place, tired and frustrated from a long day at work, and he— well he fucks your brain out. You’re always working hard on your Ph.D. and Aaron’s job is just plain stressful. You both need and enjoy the amazing stress relieving benefits of casual sex. You do enjoy each other’s company without having sex sometimes. It usually happens on those weekends when you or he or both of you are way too exhausted. But really, it's the moments after sex that make you question what you truly are to one another…

Your heart rate begins to steady and you can’t help but smile up at Aaron. He looks down at you with that small Hotchner version of a smile. It’s a smile that wouldn’t seem like much to anyone else, but you know how infrequently he lets the corners of his mouth turn up in happiness. “How do you do it?”

You soon realize after letting the words out, (and from the confusion on his face), that he cannot, in fact, read your mind and understand what you mean, “How do you go from seeing all that bad out there in the world to lying in this bed with me with that adorable smile on your face?”

For a split second, you think you’ve said something wrong. The smile falls from his face and his brows tense up. You always tease him about his eyebrows, telling him the more he frowns the more wrinkles he’ll get.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to cross a line—”

“I don’t want to pull you into all this… my work. I want to protect you from it.” Your heart practically sinks into your stomach. That’s not the type of language you use with your casual sex partner. Then again, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t worry every time he leaves for a case. You worry that you’ll never see him again. You won’t even find out he’s dead because no one knows about the two of you.

“Y/N,” he pulls you out of your thoughts. His voice cuts through the silent room and you look back up into his soft eyes. They’re searching your face, scanning your behavior. You can tell he’s trying to figure out what you could possibly be thinking.

“Stop doing that,” you warn him, but your tone is light-hearted, “That whole studying my behavior thing you do.”

“Profiling,” he corrects you and runs a hand over your hair. The action is like a natural reflex for him, he’s not even consciously aware he’s pulling you closer to him.

“Right. That. Stop profiling me,” you laugh.

“Well, how am I supposed to know what’s spinning around in your head when you zone out like that.”

“I’m thinking about the fact that you listen to me rattle on and on about statistical physics but you don’t talk about your job.”

“You need to stop talking about physics after sex. It makes me feel like I’m sleeping with Reid,” he laughs and notices your confusion, “He’s a coworker of mine. You’d like him.”

You’d like him. That phrase sticks with you. Does that mean he wants you to meet his coworkers someday?

You’re not sure why you and Aaron never discuss a real relationship. Well, it’s more like Aaron never discusses a real relationship. Aaron doesn’t really discuss anything. The first time you really talked to him you thought his closed-off nature was charming, dreamy…

“Aaron Hotchner… right?” You look over the man who has just walked up to the bar next to you.

He reaches for the beers he’s just ordered, obviously for a group, but stops as you call out his name, “I’m sorry do I know you?”

“You work for the FBI… Behavioral something unit.” Your laugh sounds loud and obnoxious to you, but to him, it’s bright and cuts through the din of the chaotic bar.

“Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Aaron’s eyebrows furrow. He looks you over before turning his attention back to your face, searching it for answers.

“Oh god!” You're not really the type to strike up a conversation with a man in a bar but you’re feeling bold, not to mention empowered by the liquor, “I must seem so crazy. You gave a talk at Georgetown I attended. I’m a Ph.D. student there. It was about criminal psychology.” His face softens as he begins to realize you’re not a crazy stalker nor an obsessed fan. You stick your hand out for him to shake, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, again, I guess,” He nods as he shakes your hand. You can tell he’s just trying to be polite and he glances over his shoulder at a group of people at a booth. Their eyes are all on you two. He wants to go back but something about you is drawing him in. “So you’re pursuing a Ph.D. in psychology?” He moves to sit at the bar next to you.

“Actually no.” You feel flush rushing into your face as he moves closer to you and sits down. You can’t help but look over his body. He’s much closer to your height now that he’s sitting down. He’s wearing a black quarter zip and dark jeans. His hair is neatly gelled back. He does not fit into this atmosphere. “I’m getting a Ph.D. in physics. I conduct theoretical research on the experimental implementation of quantum computing with trapped ions in— I conduct research.” Your blush deepens.

Aaron smiles widely at your ranting before jumping in, “So what were you doing in a criminal psychology lecture?”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment, “I snuck in. It sounded interesting.” You shrug slightly and reach for the drink from the bartender. “I almost didn’t show up, but then a classmate told me one of the FBI agents was very attractive.” You give a small wink before reaching for your check for your drinks from the night. “And she was right, Agent Prentiss is drop-dead gorgeous.” Your attempts to keep a poker face fail, your lips curling with delight.

Aaron laughs as he takes the check from your hands. “You don’t have to—” You protest slightly but Aaron holds up his hand to silence you.

“My treat. As a thank you, for breaking the rules to see my lecture.” He shares in your smile as he hands the bartender his card, paying for your drinks. Your ex just broke up with you a few weeks prior so you came out to cheer yourself up. Seeing Aaron Hotchner up close and personal is… definitely a pick me up.

“Do you have a business card or something?”

“Uh… yes.” Aaron is hesitant to hand it over but reaches into his wallet for one. You grab a pen and take the business card from Aaron. You scribble down your number on the back and hand it to him.

“This is my number.” You hold it out before reaching for your purse. He looks down at the number and then back up at you. For a grown, adult man, he doesn’t seem to understand. You can see confusion written all over his face, it’s quite adorable honestly. His face though it seemingly remains emotionless, in just the few minutes you’ve spent talking to him, you see hints of smiles hidden under a professional, powerful exterior.

“Call me sometime. You know, so I can pay you back for that drink.” You stand up from the bar, legs weak from the heavy drinking you’ve done, “Or if you just want some company.” He nods slightly in response and you turn to leave. You can’t help but turn for a second to watch as Aaron walks back to his table of what appear to be friends. One of the women looks back at you and smiles the most infectious, sweetest smile at you. You return it and move to leave the bar.

It wasn’t until late that night that you got a call. The drinking your sorrows away didn’t stop once you left that bar. You were curled up on your couch, a glass of wine clutched in your hands.

“Hello?” you mumble into the phone, pulling the blanket around your shoulders tighter.

“We didn’t really get to talk much at the bar, but I’m pretty sure you made some promises about paying me back for that drink,” A stern man’s voice cuts through the phone.

“Aaron?” you ask momentarily confused, “It—It’s late, are you drunk?”

Your laugh rings through the phone and it’s that laugh that has Aaron so intensely drawn to you. He can’t help himself. He needs to be near you, “Just go to the door.”

You stand up, “My door? How did you get my—oh right. FBI agent,” you muse and open your door. And there he is, standing at the door with the phone pressed to his ear. He pulls it away and hangs up. “This is incredibly creepy, I hope you know that.” You lean against the doorframe, pulling your large sweater around yourself tighter. His eyes run over you. You grin slightly, catching his wandering gaze, and at that, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“So about that drink you owe me.” Aaron takes a few hesitant steps into your apartment. He closes the door behind him, “How about you pay me back wit—” he starts to talk but you don’t let him finish his sentence. You grip his shirt and pull him close, your lips melting against his.

It’s messy and passionate and needy. You struggle to stumble along, guiding him towards your bedroom and his hands are touching every inch of you. He hurriedly pulls your sweater off and tosses it off to the side before unzipping your dress. You let it fall to the floor and kick it off as you match his frantic pace, pulling off his shirt and pushing down his jeans. He lays you down gently and reaches around to unclasp your bra.

“Holy fuck,” Aaron groans as he takes a second to take in your naked body.

Then he’s leaving a trail of soft kisses down the expanse of your chest and breasts. He travels down further. His lips brush against your inner thighs, his stubble tickling your skin. He smirks up at you wickedly as he grips your thong in his teeth, pulling it down your legs. You already know your soaking wet pussy will give away just how bad you want him right now.

He doesn’t hesitate, he goes to work on you. Licking and stroking and rubbing your clit. Your back arches and you grip the sheets and his hair. You massage your breasts, panting heavily as two of his fingers press into you, his tongue flicking your overly sensitive bud of nerves. “Oh god, Aaron yes!”

His name rolls off your tongue and you continue to chant it like a fucking mantra as his somehow rough yet gentle touch drives you wild. You feel the knots building in your stomach. Your legs tremble with pleasure as your eyes shut harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You’re panting intensely at this point and the whole room practically slips away as your orgasm hits and your body feels out of control. Every nerve ending on fire. And Aaron is merciless, he continues to lick and tease as you ride out your high.

He can’t help but grin proudly at the number he’s done on you. As he comes up to plant a few more kisses on your lips, you feel his rock hard erection pressing against your thigh. You kiss him hungrily while fumbling to stroke him through his boxers.

The groan the emerges from his lips is… holy fucking shit it’s sexy. You flip the two of you over so you’re on top of him, your chest pressed against his. You dip your hand into his boxers, pumping the entirety of his length. You feel him getting harder and his cock twitches in conjunction with a loud, throaty groan. “Y/N." His eyes flutter open and he grabs your arm to still your motions. “I need you, now.”

Within seconds he’s peeling his boxers off, you roll the condom down onto him and you slam your hips down on his. You can’t contain the loud gasps and moans as you feel your walls stretch around him. Fuck it’s been too long since you’ve had sex. You’re still for a second and Aaron bucks his hips, needing friction, needing to thrust and feel your tightness around him.

“Oh god." Your eyes are practically rolling back in your head as Aaron takes an agonizing pace, lifting your hips all the way up just to slam them all the way back down again.

He has a vice grip on your hips and you can feel the bruises forming under his fingertips. You grind your hips against his as you ride him faster. “Fuck you feel amazing,” Hotch lets out another one of those agonizingly sexy groans.

“I’m close,” you whine out. Aaron reaches to rub your clit with his thumb as he starts thrusting his hips up to meet yours chaotically. That combined with his large cock hitting your sweet spot sends you tumbling over the edge once again. It’s not long after that you feel his cock throbbing deep inside you, his hips messily thrusting and his face contorted up in pleasure. His panting becomes rapid and it's not long before he’s coming undone inside you. You flip off of him to collapse at his side on the bed.

“So when are we doing this again?” you pant heavily and hear a beautiful sound beside you. The sound of Aaron laughing.

Sometimes you worry if he’s embarrassed by you. I mean, you’re a few years shy of 20 years younger than him. You’re still in school. He was starting college by the time you were out of diapers. He runs a whole goddamn unit of the FBI and you’re still a student. You both are in entirely separate places in life, how do you reconcile that? It’s not as if he keeps you secret. Jessica knows you and you met his son Jack one time. Besides, you’re not really showing him off either. Not that you have many people to show him off to.

Like said, it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him which has just left you to sit around and overthink just about everything.

Aaron is working a case in DC. You saw the news reports the other day. Women were turning up dead in alleyways behind popular nightclubs and bars in the downtown area. Despite this horrifying news, you were happy when he told you the case was at home. It meant less travel. Less travel means Aaron is less tired. Which means more sex for you. And god, did you need sex.

It’s your friend’s 27th birthday and in an attempt to keep her from crying about getting a year older, you and a group of friends promised to go out drinking with her. You reach for your phone to check for any messages from Aaron. You would drop all your plans if he told you he was coming over tonight. There is one new message but it’s not exactly the text you were hoping for.

From: Aaron:

Please be safe for the next few days. Don’t go anywhere alone. Call me if there’s any trouble or if you need anything at all.”

You furrow your brows. It’s not news that Aaron cares about you and wants to look out for you but usually while on a case it’s radio silence from him. Yes, if you were really in danger he would want you to call immediately, but usually, he tells you he needs to focus on the job and nothing else. You dismiss the text, chalking it up to the presence of a serial killer in the city you both live in. Hell, you were pretty freaked out too. You had seen the girls on the news, 20-30, with your hair color and around your height.

You let out a long sigh, knowing you are most definitely not getting laid tonight. It’s time to get stupid drunk with your friends and enjoy your night anyway.

It does not take long for you and all your friends to reach the perfect level of sloppy drunk. Seeing as you all haven’t been out in months, what with some of you pursuing real jobs, grad school, med school, and whatnot, there hasn’t been a lot of time for screwing around as you did in college.

“So come on! You cannot still be single,” your close friend Sarah screams in your face over the music.

“It’s complicated,” you feel your words starting to string together. They’re not quite slurred but it’s getting there, “He just comes over, fucks my brains out, we spend some time together, and then it’s over.”

Your comments provoke a loud response of laughs and cheers from your friends, “So we don’t even get a name? Or a job? Or where you met him?”

“He guest lectured a course on abnormal and criminal psychology a few months ago,” You start to explain but Sarah is cutting you off before the words have left your mouth.

“Months? This has been going on for months?” You roll your eyes. The bartender places another full tray of shots in front of you guys. She nods towards a man at the edge of the bar. As you look up, he gives you a small wave and smiles. Creepy.

“No, I ran into him a few weeks after and I just gave him my number.” You down the shot, souring your face up before reaching for a lime wedge to chase it, “And then things just happened.”

“Name? Job? Age?” Another friend rattles off at you.

“Isn’t this Sarah’s birthday? Shouldn’t we be talking about her?” You try and steer the conversation away from yourself. You turn back to the bar and see that same man who sent you the shots staring at you. Even when you turn away you can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head.

“Well I want to know, so this is a birthday present,” she continues to pry and it drives you crazy. You're just not ready to share what you and Aaron have with the world.

“His name is Aaron and he works in the FBI and he’s 45,” You mumble that last part into your glass as you take a long sip.

“He’s how old?” Your friend’s jaw drops and another friend grins widely. Your face is burning hot at embarrassment and all the attention.

“Can we all just shut up and drink?” you command forcefully before downing your own.

Hotch looks down at his phone, waiting for any sign that Y/N has seen his text. He doesn’t panic though. She has a life, she’s busy. She probably has plans for the evening. Maybe she’s out… with someone. Aaron shakes his head slightly before forcing his attention to the case. But his mind wanders. Would she go out with someone? It’s not like anything between them is defined. I mean, he would never go out with anyone else. He just wants her. If she wants to go out on a date she can do whatever she wants. Yet, Hotch can’t help but feel the jealousy coursing through his body. The idea of someone else touching her… yeah, that makes him angry.

His more rational thinking takes over. Maybe she’s busy with school work. He knows how hard she’s been working on her research. He fails to hide a smile as he thinks about the way her face lights up when talking about her research. The passion she has for her work is extremely adorable...

You hear three short raps at the door, “It’s open!” you call out as you rush to get all your thoughts down on your computer. You hear the door open and the footsteps approaching.

“You leave your door unlocked? Do you realize how incredibly unsafe and unwise that is?” You can hear that Aaron probably has his stern face on, judging by the disapproval in his voice.

“I knew you were coming,” You shrug and gnaw at your bottom lip furiously as you work, “I just need one moment. I was thinking that in a controlled quantum environment...” As you start to ramble Aaron’s hands snake around your waist. He pushes your hair to the side, placing feather-light kisses along your neck.

“Mm,” He mumbles against you.

“Wait, wait,” you moan, “If you keep doing that I’m going to lose my train of thought and I will never forgive you unless you can formulate how to create thermal distrib—” He nips at your skin and gives your hips a squeeze. Your groans grow louder.

“The physics can wait,” Aaron growls against your skin, turning you around so he can passionately kiss you, “I need you now.”

The panic doesn’t ease because Aaron reaches to call you once again. You don’t pick up because well… you’re a little preoccupied drowning your liver. He thinks, if you had just given a small ok text, he would know you’re safe. But he’s panicking. He continues to panic for the next hour until something unexpected soothes that anxiety. The sound of your screaming drunken voice radiating throughout the entirety of the precinct the team is working in. But as soon as the wave of anxiety dissipates, he feels his stomach drop.

“I’m a victim here!” you screech and cement your legs in place so that the officers holding your arms are practically dragging you.

“Ma’am please!” You kick your legs violently as the officers try to seat you in a chair. They undo your handcuffs and redo them so that your hand is cuffed to the desk. “We’re understaffed and backed up so you sit here and shut up while we get you booked.”

“He was feeling me up! Under the skirt over the panties. He grabbed my ass, I’m sure I have a mark you wanna see it? He assaulted me!” you continue to screech and reach for the hem of your dress, ready to flash every cop in the precinct your ass.

“So you smashed a bottle over his head? Real ladylike,” one of the officers steps forward and holds your hand tight to keep you from lifting the dress.

“Don’t I get a phone call.” Now your words are slurred together. That last round of shots before you got arrested is hitting you hard.

“Once we book you.”

“I know a federal agent. From the FBI,” you spell out the letters obnoxiously, “Do you even know what that is?”

“Yes, I’m sure the federal government will come running to post your bail. Stay here. Don’t move,” the officer commands and you hold up your handcuffed wrist to demonstrate that you’re quite frankly incapable of going anywhere.

“Oh my god,” Prentiss lets out a small laugh from the conference room. “I can hear her through the closed doors.”

“Well, most of this room is glass and sound travels through the glass just about the same as it does air. A better insulating material would be a foam or fiberglass or even a mineral wood composite,” Reid clarifies before giving that signature tight-lipped smile.

“She is… really something,” Morgan laughs and nudges Hotch, “Hotch look.”

Hotch turns and sees what he’s dreading. He sees you, drunk out of your mind. Your skimpy dress is somehow simultaneously riding low on top and riding up on the bottom. You have a small cut lip and a little bit of blood on your dress. His brows furrow deeply. “Oh god,” he mutters under his breath.

“These cops are supposed to stay in the bars and clubs for protection. Why are they wasting time on drunk girls?” Rossi finally chimes in.

The cops finally get you settled into a chair and you kick your feet like a child. “Call the FBI! I know them.”

“Oh does she now. You guys know her?” JJ rolls her eyes and laughs, “I am so glad I never got arrested when I was in college. My parents would’ve killed me.”

“College? Girls do not look like that in college,” Morgan smirks.

“We have to focus on the case,” Hotch's jaw tightens as he sees Morgan look over your body. It’s not something new for Morgan but when he’s making those eyes at you specifically, Hotch feels that surge of jealousy again.

“Call them! Call Agent Aaron Hotchner.” You lean back and try to cross your arms, but your right hand is yanked back by the cuffs.

The team all turns to Hotch with wide eyes. “You know her?” Rossi smirks.

“Where exactly do you know her from?” Emily fights the grin growing on her lips as she looks over her stone-faced boss.

“I’m sorry what?” The cop glances down at you.

“Aaron Hotchner with the Behavioral Unit Analysis Science thing or something like that he’s in the FBI he’s unit chief. I know him.” You roll your eyes at the cop who is speechless, “Oh god. Are you that thick? A-A-R-O-N H-O-T-C-H…” you trail off the alcohol inhibiting your spelling capabilities, “N-E-R. Aaron Hotchner! Call him and he’ll tell you to let me go.”.

The cop glances at some of his coworkers before looking at the conference room. You follow his gaze and see Aaron with a large group of other well-dressed agents. “Oh fuck,” you mutter. Aaron opens the glass doors and steps out of them walking towards you.

“So how does he know this girl?” Prentiss tries her best to hide her spying on you and Aaron.

“I got money on babysitter,” Morgan nods.

“No way, she’d be with Jack right now. I’d say she met him at work." JJ leans against the desk, watching Hotch as he looks down at you, crossing his arms.

“Then we’d all have seen her before. Plus she wouldn’t be telling them she knows the FBI. She would technically be part of the FBI. Why not use that?” Rossi rubs a hand over his goatee.

“He’s sleeping with her,” Reid states simply before turning back to his geographical profile on the board.

“What?” Multiple members of the team turn in shock, not only at the statement but at the fact that Reid is the one making it.

“No way. She’s… at most 27 years old.” Morgan shakes his head, “She is not Hotch’s type.”

“Are you jealous that Hotch has more game than you?” Reid teases without turning away from his work.

“When was your last date, pretty boy? Huh?” Morgan hits him on the back of the head playfully.

“Officer.” Aaron steps in between you and the officer. Good thing, because two more minutes with that guy and you would be charged with a lot more than resisting arrest and public disturbance.

“Aaron!” you squeak, “I didn’t know you were here!”

“Well, she’s definitely not a coworker. She called him Aaron.” Rossi nods at the rest of the team still in the conference room. For a team of profilers, their attempts to hide the spying are weak at best.

“I’ll take care of her.” He doesn’t bother looking at you, but he gives the officer his best unit-chief glare.

“Sir we have a process to go through here. We’re still processing her arrest,” the officer attempts to argue with Hotch but you can see the discomfort clearly in the officer. He struggles to meet Hotch’s eyes.

“Please officer, we have much more to deal with here. I want to find this guy before another body drops. We need you out there patrolling the bars for the guys, not the drunk girls the creeps hit on.” Aaron takes on a stern voice.

“Yes agent.” The cop is visibly annoyed but isn’t willing to get into a fight with a federal agent all over your stupid drunk ass.

“Are you injured? You’re bleeding.” He grabs your chin in his calloused fingers, turning your face from side to side to assess the small cuts. You almost moan into his touch but remember the current location.

“No, no it’s someone else’s.” You turn out of his grip, trying to push his hands off.

“Someone else’s? What did you do?” Fuck. Aaron is furious with you. His arms are crossed against his chest and you can see the veins in his neck standing out. The tone he takes with you is harsh and you’re not used to him speaking with you like that… at least not used to it outside the bedroom.

“It’s not my fault okay!”

Aaron holds the bridge of his nose frustratedly, “Y/N. I have a serial killer to profile, catch, and stop from murdering innocent women. Can I just get the truth?”

“This creepy guy kept sending me and my friends drinks all night so when I went to the bar to get us another round he came over. Things got messy.” You shrug your shoulders. “Can you take off these cuffs now?” You hold out your wrists, pouting out your bottom lip. You can physically see him soften at that.

As Aaron reaches for the key and undoes the cuffs, he shakes his head at the stench of alcohol seeping out of you, “You’re gonna have to do better than things got messy.”

“I just…” You pause, knowing the details of the story are going to make him upset but he wants the truth, “I knew he was a little off. Weird and creepy and pushy, you know?” You rub your irritated wrists, “So he starts talking to me, offering me some drink. I know better than to accept a drink from a stranger so I turned him down. That's when he grabbed my arm and well… tried to cop a feel.”

“Cop a feel?” Aaron’s jaw has tightened and his hands are clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles are pale.

“He slid his hands under my dress.” Your hand ghosts over the sore spot on your bottom where the man dug his fingers into your flesh, “He grabbed my legs and then my ass and then… and then he tried to get his hands in my underwear.” You show Aaron the red marks on your inner thigh. You’re not sure what you expect from him, but his face remains hardened. The only emotion readable on him is anger.

“The blood is from self-defense,” Aaron begins to understand.

You nod, confirming his statement, “I grabbed the first thing I could and smashed him on the head. I think I sliced his eyebrow. By the time the cops came, he was gone and I was in cuffs.”

Aaron looks back at his team in the conference room. In a poor attempt to hide their spying, they all rapidly turn their eyes to their work. He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes looking over the red bruising on your cheek. He fights every urge to reach out and touch you, stroke your face softly and kiss your lips, “Did he hurt you? We should get a medic to check you out or–”

He doesn’t have a second to finish that thought. “Hotch, another body just dropped,” Morgan and Prentiss come rushing out of the conference room, “We’re going to the crime scene now.”

Aaron nods at his team members, “Call me if anything stands out.” The team nods and Aaron reaches for your arm, walking you towards the rest of the team, “I don’t want you alone right now. You’re going to sit here and keep quiet, understand?”

You bite your lip and look around at the team, still pretending as if they’re not listening in, “Jeez way to embarrass me, Aaron,” you mumble under your breath as you drop down into a chair with a loud sigh like a child.

JJ can’t help but come over to talk to you, “I’m Jennifer." You give her your name, "It's so nice to meet you Y/N, how do you and Hotch know each other?”

“Hotch?” you let out before quickly realizing the nickname for Aaron. You shake her hand, “Oh Agent Hotchner and I are just fuc–“

“Friends,” Aaron cuts in, “Y/N and I are friends. We have a case to get back to,” Aaron frantically changes the topic of conversation but your little comment doesn’t go unnoticed by the team members. Even Reid is smiling slightly at your comment.

You sit back in your chair and take in the sight of Agent Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU. The confident and commanding energy he exudes is immensely attractive. It’s not long before the agents that left for the crime scene, Morgan and Prentiss return with news for Aaron.

“Sir we found something weird at the crime scene,” Morgan steps back into the room.

“Weird?” Hotch cocks his head slightly to the side.

“There were droplets of blood over the victim’s dress but it wasn’t her own,” Morgan shakes his head.

“But you called and said she had no defensive wounds, he drugged her like the others. How could he have been injured?” Hotch turns back to the other case files.

“We’re not sure,” Emily shakes her head, “It’s possible it’s unrelated but maybe he might have been hospitalized for something recently?”

“What about any witnesses?” Hotch nods, “Any people at Churchkey bar see anything unusual? A man that was a little too forceful with women?”

You snort slightly at that, “I wouldn’t say that’s unusual for a bar.”

Hotch shoots you a hard glare that shuts you up for good, while Prentiss lets a smile shine through.

“The bar was mostly cleared out. Apparently the bar was packed earlier tonight but it cleared out after a bar fight broke out.” Morgan informs the team.

You bite your lip harshly. Aaron told you no talking but… this is more important, right? “Wait, Churchkey bar?” You finally speak up and all the agents turn their attention to you.

“What about it?”

“That’s the bar I was at tonight.” You trail off at the end of your sentence.

“You remember someone or something off?” Rossi looks over your body language.

“I think I talked to the unsub. I think... I’m the one who injured him." You unconsciously wrap your arms tightly around your body.

“You think you could walk me through the night? Tell me about him, it could really help us,” Morgan moves to sit on the edge of the desk to face you. "We could do a cognitive interview." He nods at Hotch.

"A cognitive?" You look between the two men.

"It's a memory recall exercise. We would walk you through the night and you tell us as much as you can," Morgan explains gently.

"And it could help you find him?" You ask, unsure how much you remember about him.

"You might not realize the type of details that help us form the profile." Morgan places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Aaron clears his throat. “She’s not sober enough for a cognitive." You can tell that the fact that his personal life is bleeding into his work is driving him crazy.

“If I can help catch this creep, I want to help. I’m fine.” You touch your finger to your nose a few times in an attempt to demonstrate your sobriety.

“Then you should drink some coffee before we start,” Aaron dismissively addresses you before turning to leave, “And I’m going to want the whole truth.” He stalks off towards the interrogation room.

Rossi runs to catch up with Aaron, pulling him off to the side. “Aaron, you cannot conduct this cognitive.”

“Excuse me?” Aaron snaps, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Take a step back, pretend she’s not someone you clearly care about,” Aaron rolls his eyes at Rossi’s comment but plays along as he continues.

“She’s a young girl… just how young is she?” Rossi raises a brow at Aaron, losing his train of thought.

“Dave.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.

Rossi holds his hands up in defense, “Fine, okay. She’s a young girl, she’s a little drunk, and she’s been sexually harassed in a bar by our unsub. Who do you send in to talk to her?”

“The least intimidating figures to her,” Aaron nods.

“So definitely not the angry boyfriend who wants to kill anyone who touches her,” Rossi clarifies.

“I’ll send in JJ and Prentiss,” Hotch sighs and turns before pausing, “And I’m not her boyfriend.”

Rossi simply smiles and pats Aaron’s back, “Ok boss.”

You sit up in your chair tiredly as Emily and JJ walk into the interrogation room.

“Hi Y/N, I’m Agent Prentiss and you’ve already met Agent Jareau,” Emily sits across from you.

“He can hear us, right?” You bite your lip and look towards the glass.

“Who can hear us?” JJ takes a seat and places a file in front of you.

“Aaron.” You search the glass, knowing that you won’t be able to see him but that he definitely can see you.

“Oh uh-” Emily pauses, unsure what to say in response.

“Do you want more privacy? I can ask the agents to leave.” JJ starts to stand.

“Hearing this would help them figure who the killer is?” You’re gnawing your lip hard enough to draw blood, a nervous habit Aaron never hesitates to point out to you.

“Yes,” JJ sits back down.

“Then it’s fine.” You look over one last time, “Just make sure Aar— Agent Hotchner,” you correct yourself, “Make sure Agent Hotchner doesn’t lose his shit.”

“No promises,” Prentiss smirks and lets out a small breath, “We’re going to walk you through the night. If it gets to be too much you let us know and we’ll take a break, okay?”

Well, now you’re really nervous. You let out a small breath, “Okay.” You close your eyes as Agent Prentiss starts.

“You’re in the bar. It’s crowded…”

“Y/N I think he really likes you,” your friend Sarah laughs. “Come on go talk to him.”

“No, I really shouldn’t.” You feel dizzy and light on your feet from the alcohol the man has been plying you and your friends with.

“Why?” Another friend chimes in, “Big strong Agent Hotchner going to punish you for talking to another guy?” Your friends taunt you playfully.

You smile widely at them, “Yes, yes he will.”

“You naughty, naughty girl!” Sarah laughs. You feel eyes on you and look back to the man at the bar. He’s hunched over in his stool. He looks nervous, but he smiles sheepishly at you and waves. It’s not long before he’s calling the bartender over again and pointing at you animatedly.

“Next round is on me,” you say softly to your friends, keeping your eyes on the man’s face, memorizing every detail you can. His face is young but worn and tired. The wrinkles on his forehead tell you he frowns a lot. They’re lines that appear on Aaron’s face too. You think about how you tease Aaron about smiling more. God, you miss Aaron right now. You wish he was here to make you feel safe. As you walk up to the bar, your presence causes the man to stand up and move closer.

“I was going to order you and your friends more drinks. I ordered you a vodka soda. It’s what you’ve been drinking all night, right?” He stutters slightly as he talks to you. He slides a glass over to you, but you know better. Strange man... drink that you didn’t see the bartender actually make... no way.

“I was actually going to order a beer,” you try to reject the glass, “You take the vodka soda though. You’ll see why they’ve been my go-to all night. He’s been making them very strong.” You look at the bartender, ordering a beer. You pray that the young bartender senses your discomfort.

“Come on it’s a harmless drink.” The strange man moves into you, pushing the glass closer. “You have the drink, we’ll get to know each other better… you’ll like it. I can make you like it.”

Thinking about his words sends chills down your spine. You have to take a moment to let out a shaky breath.

“Are you sure you want to continue listening to this?” Rossi eyes Hotch. Hotch’s face is contorted so harshly into a mixture of anger, disgust, and sadness. His neck muscles tense, his arms are tightly crossed against his body. He doesn’t even acknowledge Rossi.

“Can you keep going?” JJ eyes your face. You nod.

“No thank you, and no more drinks for my friends and I. We can get our own drinks.” You turn to grab your beer but soon the man stops you. He grabs your wrist tightly, placing his other hand behind your back. He pulls you flush against him. His rough, calloused fingertips grab and scratch up your thighs, under the dress. He grabs your ass so hard you want to scream out. He continues to trail his fingers up, hooking around your panties and—

A sickening shattering noise and cracking erupt as you swing the beer bottle at his head. The man screams. “You bitch!” He slaps your face. You stumble back, falling on the floor, cutting your hands on the broken glass from the bottle. Your skin is sticky with alcohol and you glance down at the blood on your dress. The bar grows louder. The commotion intensifies. You feel a friend’s hands wrap around your arms pulling you up off the ground.

“Wait he—!” You look around for the man but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Not long after that I was being shoved into a cop car and escorted here.” You finally open your eyes and look at the two agents.

“I can make you like it?” Emily asks you to clarify. She speaks slowly clearly enunciating her words but you can hear the disgusted tone in her voice.

“That’s exactly what he said.” You wrap your arms around yourself, “Does that all help?”

“Yes, yes it does,” JJ reaches out to touch your hand gently. Your eyes flick back to the one-way glass. You can’t see Aaron but you can tell he’s probably fuming. He probably has that signature scowl on his face.

“Am I—” You clear your throat and try to adjust your dress for more modesty, “Can I go?” Prentiss gives you a sad, pity-filled smile and nods. You stand up quickly and exit the room in a rush, colliding with Aaron’s strong chest as you do. You look up into his eyes and you see something in his face you’ve never seen in all the times you've been with him: sadness. You bury your face into his chest and his arms wrap tightly around you. “I was scared,” You choke out as his large, warm hands rub circles into your back, “I needed you.” You ball up his shirt in your fists. You’re not one to cry easily, but your body shakes as you breathe heavily.

“I know,” his voice cracks as he rests his chin on top of your head. He runs one hand over your hair softly, shushing you gently, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You pull away from his chest and frantically pull his lips down to yours. A strong hand goes to your back, holding you close to him. You hear the interrogation room door open behind you, the two agents stepping out, but neither you nor Aaron break the kiss. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” Aaron breathes against your lips, pulling you back into a tight hug. “You’re safe here with me now.”

———

You lift the heavy metal knocker and let it slam down twice, waiting for the door to open. When it does, Rossi envelops you in his arms, a wide smile spreading across his lips. He grabs your face tightly, kissing each cheek joyfully. “Bellissimo! I’m so glad you could make it.” Rossi places a gentle hand on your back and leads you inside.

You walk into the crowded kitchen and the members of the BAU all turn and smile back at you. Aaron moves towards you and quickly gives you a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m so happy you’re here."

“I’m so glad you’re finally home.” You pull away from Aaron to make the rounds hugging the people who are like family to you at this point.

Morgan wraps a friendly arm around your shoulder and can’t help but tease Aaron, “Hotch, you couldn’t be bothered to pick up your girl?” He turns to smile at you while Aaron shakes his head.

“I had to stop by the research lab so I just had my classmate Tyler drop me off after we finished up." You shrug.

“Tyler, huh?” Rossi grins, hoping to rile up Aaron a little.

“Is he cute?” JJ chimes in with a laugh.

Aaron quickly clears his throat, hoping to change topics. He raises his brows at you, “So do you want to share the news or should I do it for you?”

“Oh my god, you’re totally preggers!” Garcia squeals and runs to hug you again. You glance at Aaron and can only laugh.

“No, no.” You smile as she pulls away and you look at the shocked faces of everyone in the kitchen, even Aaron looks a little rattled. You playfully nudge his arm, “See what you did? Always causing trouble.”

“Me? If I recall correctly you’re the one who got arrested for being drunk off your ass and trying to fight a serial killer.” His comment elicits a series of small laughs from everyone.

"Yeah and it helped you catch him, so really you all should thank me for being drunk." You playfully argue with Aaron. "Anyway, the actual news. No, I'm not pregnant." You point at Penelope as she opens her mouth to say something else.

“You’re looking at the proud new owner of a Ph.D. in physics!” You do a small cheesy spin as the rest of the team congratulates you, “Handed in my final thesis paper today.” Aaron smiles proudly as you move back to his side.

“Yeah that’s great and all but you’re still two Ph.D.s behind me.” Spencer can’t help but tease you. In the past year, he’s become one of your closest friends, especially since Aaron can’t even seem to begin to understand your thesis research.

“All right cool it kid.” You joke with him.

“Kid? I’m older than you.” Spencer laughs. Aaron comes closer to wrap his arm around your waist. The gesture is comforting and just this touch sends waves of pleasure through your body.

“Reid might have two more Ph.D.s than you but he’s got nothing on your good looks.” Prentiss winks at you.

“She’s got that right,” Aaron smirks as he kisses your cheek gently.

“Ok, ok, enough small talk.” You feel your face flush, “I came here to learn some cooking from chef Rossi, not talk about how hot I am.” You see Aaron roll his eyes with a smile and you pull him close as Rossi starts the demonstration.

“I love you so much, you know that?” Aaron has his arms wrapped around you from behind. He speaks softly so only you can hear.

“I know,” You smile, happiness flooding through your body, “I love you too.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #smut #ao3 #read on ao3

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darthspideys · 4 years

Text

antithesis // four

din djarin x jedi! reader

summary: You expected to find another of yoda’s species, much less under the protection of a particularly stubborn mandalorian. Little do you know its that discovery that will change life as you know it, and put all three of you in danger you never saw coming.

words: ~2k

a/n: so I had to repost this because I deleted the orginal version which prevents you from reading any of the other versions I relogged.. I’m an idiot

disclaimer: I h8 baby yoda and it

You really don’t know whether to be offended by him calling you a hurricane or not. Very easily you could push him onto the ground, put your foot on his chest for the third time today and show him who’s boss, show him that he shouldn’t doubt you or mess with you just like you do everyone else. Only you don’t, you let it breeze past you, and you don’t overthink it. You can’t quite explain why but you think it has something to do with the fact that you might be getting through that thick helmet finally.

He doesn’t know what he means by it either. As he looks at you, really takes a good look for the first time in the whirlwind of a day, he doesn’t know what to make of you. It’s a new feeling since he is very good at judging people at least he thinks, or at the very least he forms opinions on people within seconds of meeting them and it usually stays that way. It hasn’t stayed that way with you, he thought something about you that he doesn’t want to repeat at the beginning of the day but it’s been changing ever since then. You’ve gone from enemy, to menace, to women who took out twenty stormtroopers single handedly, who can cut through anything with that lightsaber who might just be a real life jedi, to know when you're something else entirely.

When he looks at you, you're closer to earth. You’re grounded as you stand in front of him, like you’ve settled down the dust is beginning to clear and he thinks that maybe the real you is shining through. For the first time he wants to know you, really know you, you're a mystery that he’s desperate to solve and that scares him a little. Not as much as you scare him, because you’ve had him on the ground unable to move twice today which is more than anyone else has.

“You’re staring,” You say, trying to cut through the silence.

“I’m not,” He shoots back, “Just happened to be looking in your direction, you don’t know what I was looking at.”

“Whatever you say, Mando,” You start to think about leaving but you don’t. Something makes you want to stay put, you just want to sit there and be next to him for as long as you can which is something that you don’t want to get into. “Can I ask where we’re going, then?”

“No,” He says.

You cross your arms, “This feels a bit like kidnapping then.”

He sighs, so verbally that you can hear it through the helmet, “Not if you willingly got into the ship.”

“When I did it was because I didn’t want to be captured by the empire,” You narrow your eyes, “Maybe not kidnapping but definitely entrapment.”

“Do you always talk this much?”

“Yes,” You don’t miss a beat. “Is it annoying? Do you think I’m MirchiKyramud?” You tease, hoping to maybe annoy him into submission. “There’s a very easy solution, just drop me off with the child and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He turns to you, “You think you’re so smart don’t you?”

“I know I am, but thank you for the compliment.”

“It’s not a-” He stops, realizing that it's a battle he’s not going to win.��

You tap your fingers against the console, half to break the tension filled silence and half because you're trying to think of what to do. The adrenaline of fighting off about twenty stormtroopers and not dying when presented with the darksaber has yet to wear off, and your brain is running at a speed where it's hard to comprehend anything. There are other people, people you know who would be able to come up with a plan in this situation and execute the plan to perfection. You on the other hand are scuffed around the edges and your first instinct is to fight your way out of it, which is impossible here because the cockpit is very small. That and the kind of fighting you want to do would destroy the console, which would most likely end in all three of your deaths which would defeat the purpose.

That’s the conundrum.

A conundrum which is compounded by the fact that the Mandalorian is staring at you again.

“Yes?” You ask, “You look like you have a question.”

“I don’t look like anything,” He shoots back.

You take a deep breath, “Just ask me, whatever it is.”

“You understood what I said when I-”

“Insulted me?”

“It’s not an insult,” He says, like he’s already got his answer.

You sigh, “It’s insulting to me for you to act surprised that I’m still alive when you left me to the empire.” He’s surprised at that, you can tell. “But you're wondering how I know that, and the answer is it’s none of your business seeing as I’m not even supposed to be here.”

He grumbles something under his breath, something that you can’t hear this time and you sigh in reply. Suddenly a planet comes into view, “What is that?”

“Nevarro,” He replies.

“Why would you go there?”

“To meet with some friends.”

“That is unnecessarily ominous.”

Nevarro isn’t any better than Tatooine. It’s still dry, sandy which reminds you that there’s still sand in your hair. The wind blows through the city square you walk through, and you cross your arms over your chest huffing out a frustrated breath. The mandalorian shut down all of the other questions you asked him once you got into orbit leaving you mildly confused. You follow him anyway because he’s your only way off this dust bowl and you still need the child he’s so very protective of. Though you're beginning to wonder if the little thing is more trouble than he’s worth.

You trudge close behind the Mandalorian through the sand, trying to keep yourself from accidentally making eye contact with anyone else. You would never admit it, but you’re a little out of your element. You’ve never been someone who’s used to being in the city even after the war you still feel removed from places like this, like a fish out of water.

The Mandalorian is on edge just like you are. You can tell from his body language, and from the way he’s been carrying himself since your time in the cockpit. For someone whose face is concealed he gives off a lot of hints about his feelings in his body language. The run in with the empire has rattled him more than he wants anyone to know, and he’s scared of the dark saber more than he wants you to know.

“Can I ask why you would meet with known associates with the empire on your tail? I didn’t kill all of the stormtroopers, I killed some of them but I definitely didn’t kill Gideon and if he’s come after you twice he’s going to go for lucky number three.” He quickens his pace and you keep up with ease. “Seems like you're walking into a trap, unless you want another confrontation with them?”

“I want to warn them,” He stops and turns to you, “The empire is after them too.”

“You care about them enough to put yourself at risk,” You narrow your eyes, “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” He repeats like a question. He wonders what you're trying to get at, but you don’t say anything else so he just keeps walking.

You meet his friends for all of five minutes before you’ve got your lightsaber at the throat of someone outside the crowded Cantina. People pass by but they don’t notice, which makes your skin crawl. You turn your attention back to the man in front of you, “How did you find him?” You growl.

He smiles a sick smile, “We have eyes everywhere.”

“Do you?” Suddenly you feel the Mandalorians presence behind your back, but you don’t pay him any attention. “In case you weren’t aware, you lost the war. The empire is dead.”

“You think you won Jedi? You're more of a fool than I thought. The empire can’t be destroyed, we’ll always be there in the shadows, waiting until your republic is weak.” You can’t quite explain why but that shakes you to your core.

You drop him to the ground and he runs off. You turn back to the Mandalorian, unsure. He grabs your hand, “We have to go.”

But when you turn around you see that the crowds that had been walking through the market have cleared, and standing in the middle of the plaza is a woman with a jet black cloak covering everything but her face. Not a good sign. The Mandalorian steps forward, but you hold out your hand against his chest and stop him from moving forward. “Hukaat'kama,” You say and he nods.

The figure stands in the middle of the plaza, and when you step forward she pulls down her hood to reveal her face. She pulls down the hood to reveal her brown skin, and dark black hair braided back in small braids she undoes the cloak all together and lets it fly off in the wind. You recognise her, and you freeze.

Seeing her sends you back into a memory you thought that you would be able to forget. You can smell the smoke from the village, and see the fire overtaking the homes, and her standing in the middle of all of it, reveling in the destruction she inflicted. There’s someone else too, standing off to the side out of sight. He stands and surveys the wreckage with a look on his face that you can’t forget.

The Mandalorian calls out your name from behind you which shakes you back into the present. This is a different town, with the same woman, only you're here now and you can protect it.You take an offensive stance, and unsheath your own lightsaber, ready to strike if she moves towards you. In response, she unsheathes her own and ignites it, the red blade sticking out against the yellow of the sun and the landscape. You were right on that one too. It’s the second time in less than a day that you’re going to have to do lightsaber combat which is more than you’ve done in a long time. But you’ve convinced yourself that you're ready for this, and you have people to protect so there’s no room for error.

She lunges at your first, which doesn’t surprise you and you jump back and she misses the strike at you. At first, it doesn’t look like she has an abundance of skills, and you’re trying to gauge how good she is with the hopes of knowing who she is and where she comes from. You try not to panic at the possibility of more sith hiding in the shadows and focus on winning this battle. You go on the offensive, moving forward and swinging at her rapidly but controlled so that she can’t think of a counter offensive.

She pushes back on you, aiming at your head which you block and then going lower which you also block. You take a couple of steps back and break into a run, pushing her back using a combination of physical strength and the force, which sends her flying back through the air about ten feet. You think it’s over, but soon enough she comes back into the plaza, a light film of debris covering her upper body. So she doesn’t give up easily, you note that.

Before you can even think of something she comes at you at a speed you’ve never seen and pins you up against the wall surrounding the plaza. She holds the lightsaber to your neck dangerously close to slitting your throat. She looks at you with not an ounce of feeling in her eyes, she just looks in disgust. “Jedi,” She sneers, “You’ve become stronger than the last time I saw you.”

“Strong enough to kill you,” You respond.

Then she smiles, “You’re father thought the same, and where did that leave him?”

Suddenly you kick her right in the stomach, sending her back clutching it. “It left you with an enemy,” You kick again and her lightsaber falls out of her hands as she stumbles back. Then you punch, knowing that she won’t be able to block all of them and put the lightsaber to the side as you use your normal combat skills. You take your own lightsaber and point it at her throat, as you throw hers through the nearest wall so she can’t use it.

“Now-“ You start, “Where’s the empire?”

She spits, “I don’t work for them.”

“Liar,” You reply, “Scum like you are always working for one master or another. Who is it?”

Suddenly something slices over your head, and her lightsaber is in her hands, but instead of facing off against you, she runs. You don’t even think about following because you're a little out of breath, and the idea of facing off against her again is not appealing. You fall to the ground and try not to let the tears pricking your eyes fall onto your face. If you weren’t in the middle of a public place, you’d probably let out a deep guttural scream.

The Mandalorian appears at your side. “What the hell just happened?”

You don’t even register what he says, you don’t even look at him. “I thought I killed her.” You don’t even notice him there, you're too consumed with your own failure. “I was supposed to kill her!” You say loudly, and the stones of the town square crack at the force of your anger.

taglist:

@mjlok // @abysshaven // @itsafreakingtouque // @carrietrekkie

#posting scheudle?? idk her honestly #I post when I want #antithesis series #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x you #din dijarin x y/n #din djarin series #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine

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heyifyouseekae · 3 years

Text

Oh, you were a good dream.

Madalas talaga risky ang mga message na matatanggap mo kapag 2am na. Sabi nga ni Ted Mosby, nothing good happens after 2am. But last night was an exception because it was from someone na minahal ko ng sobra noon. Dating bestfriend na minahal at naging simula ng pattern ko sa lovelife. :D That thread gave me so much feeling to remember and it gave us both freedom. It was YOU. The cards were right. There’s a person who’s trying to reach out to me for a very long time but pinipigilan sya ng mga sarili nyang force. I was totally thinking of a different person, but it was you, Em. I’m glad that it’s you.

Ang daming revelation from you tonight & you’ve been keeping those things for 8...9..10 years? Habang sinusulat ko ‘to pinapakinggan ko yung Lifetime ng Ben&Ben. Tangina, alam mo bang ibang tao ang inalayan ko ng kantang ‘yan only to realize that it suits us more?

“I was scared to lose you then But secrets turn into regrets Buried feelings grow Oh, you were a good dream Was there a lifetime waiting for us In a world where I was yours? Was it the wrong time, what if we tried Giving in a little more? To the warmth we had before

Tangled with another's eyes Never mind, you were never mine Glimpse of me and you”

Tonight, you finally told me that you did love me when we were younger. That all this time you kept me there with the love and hate. Grabe ‘no? I was focused sa heartbreak na naranasan ko dahil sa friendzoned moment ko with you but look at you telling me the same thing. Hahaha! Nakakatawa talaga ang tadhana, puta. Ang tagal mong tinago ‘yan, tangina. Namamangha ako sa totoo lang. Akala ko talaga one-sided yung relationship/friendship na ‘yon, ang selfish ko pala all those times? Oh well, I guess I really live by my principle na don’t assume unless stated. Kasi naman! You kept on reminding me na bawal tayo mainlove sa isa’t-isa and all those bff bullshit rules, hahahaha! Clown ka rin pala. But you made me happy, alam mo ba ‘yon? Even in 2019 when you greeted me on my birthday kahit HBD lang ‘yon, I remembered writing something here to express how happy I was that moment. And tonight, you told me...you’ve always remembered.

Nilet go talaga kita nung nagkaboyfriend ako, but I guess I took some parts of you all these years. It gave me realization why I want to date engineers and why I want smart guys and how I easily get attached when a guy sings to me, I guess those attributes came from you and they remind me of you. Kraaazzyy! Now, you are letting go of me. I’m so happy for that.

The questions I buried a long time ago got their justice tonight and so was the pain that you were feeling all those times, finally laid to rest. The pain that I was so clueless about, those feelings you kept in for a very long time had their way out tonight and I couldn’t be happier to read these things. One of the reasons I’m keeping it here is to remind me of how I should view myself in the eyes of those people showing what they really feel towards me but can’t verbalize them. I want these screenshots to remind me that I, too, can cause pain to others and I need to be ready for those moments.

You brought back the memories I kept hidden for a decade. I didn’t realize that they will be dug out tonight. Happy Halloween, indeed! Hahaha. Bwisit na ‘to. But I’m so happy to know all these things now & how we can’t do anything about it anymore since you’re already settled & I have my own life too now. I’m happy that you and Odyz ended up together, I truly am.

Finally, you can look at me when we see each other on the street and you can smile back at me without pretending you didn’t see me. I’m sorry for causing you that pain, thank you for all the memories and influence you gave in my life after all these years, and I will always treasure the good and the bad that we had. Cheers to the frustrations we had tonight and to setting ourselves free! I will see you soon. Magkakape tayo kahit saan mo gusto. Namiss din kita! ☺️

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a-mellowtea · 4 years

Text

Divergence

n. A point of separation; where routes split and go in a different direction.

She knows they can’t stay together.

She’s sure he knows it too, though he won’t be the one to say it. He doesn’t say much of anything, anymore. The weeks that have passed since they left Berelith have been filled with strained silence, heavy and cold and, as much as she hates it, she understands. He’s still grieving. They both are. She wonders if they’ll ever really stop.

She wonders about a lot of things, now. She tries not to - it won’t do her any good - but the reality of it all seeps in anyways. The Force is quiet too, frayed and dark and bloodstained at the edges. She’s afraid to reach for it; afraid of the raw emptiness that she knows is waiting in the places her friends and fellow Jedi used to be. She wonders how they died; if they were afraid, and in pain, or if it was quick. Had they been shown mercy? Had they even had a moment to realize what was happening?

She thinks, sometimes, on the nights without dreams, that she can still feel some of them. She never knows who. Maybe it’s someone familiar, like Master Kenobi or Master Plo. Maybe it’s a Jedi she’s never met, searching the Force for survivors, for some reassurance that they’re not alone. Some nights, she almost reaches back.

But then she remembers. They are alone. The Order is gone. Their home, the Temple, is gone. And Anakin - the bright warmth at the other end of their bond - is gone. For all she knows, they’re just echoes, and she can’t afford to lose herself in chasing them.

The Jedi are all but extinct. And the galaxy is a much scarier place without them.

They’ve only stopped a few times. First, to go to ground. A Y-Wing would attract too much attention, and there was already chatter about the new Empire’s plans to phase out the older ship models. So, she had risked everything, one more time, and had gone back to Trace and Rafa Martez. The gamble had paid off. The sisters had given them a place to stay, and it had been them - not her and Rex - to sell the Y-Wing for scrap. A few days later, and they had a new ship; shaky, but serviceable. She’d almost gotten Rex to smile when she’d suggested they name it the “Twilight”.

Trace had asked her if it was true; if the Jedi really had betrayed the Republic. She hadn’t had an answer - not one she was confident in, anyways - but she’d given one. Even if they had, even if she truly believed that the Council would have ever gone that far and done the things Sidious claimed, they hadn’t deserved to be slaughtered. Not so dispassionately, not so indiscriminately, and not by the Clones - the men - they had stood and fought beside for so long. Men they’d trusted. Men who hadn’t been given a choice.

She had been glad to leave Coruscant behind.

She wonders about them, too. The rest of the 501st, and the 212th, and the 104th. She can’t bear to do it for long, otherwise she finds herself back there: on Berelith, standing before row upon row of graves filled with the bodies of good men. She wonders if anyone else would have bothered to bury them. She wonders how many they left, corpses twisted and trapped in the wreckage where nothing and no one will ever reach. And sometimes, she wonders if she had had any right to leave her lightsaber there amongst them: men she had not wanted to hurt, but who had died anyways. She likes to think, maybe, they would have allowed her that privilege; to lay herself, and everything she had been, to rest alongside the fellow soldiers who had given her so much.

Ahsoka Tano is, for all intents and purposes, dead. So is Commander Rex. Two more names added to a list: the ten thousand that died, and the six million that died with them.

Which is part of what makes this so hard.

She doesn’t want to leave; to lose what little stability they have left in the turbulence of a changing galaxy. She fought to keep him by her side. He fought to do the very same in return. But if they stay together, that’s what it will be forever: a fight. They’re both soldiers, but he deserves better than that. His war is over. Hers will never be.

The night they reach Adarlon, she decides it’s time. The Minos Cluster is as good a place to disappear as any in the Outer Rim. Without her lightsabers, without her gear, no one will pay her any mind. Looking out over the bustling market from the wall of the spaceport, she imagines herself as one of them, just a face in the crowd, and almost convinces herself it could be her new normal.

Footsteps hit the durasteel ladder. She closes her eyes. It will hurt, for both of them, but it is the right thing to do. The certainty gives her courage.

“Supplies are onboard. Ready to get going?”

Ahsoka takes a breath. Lets it out slowly.

“I’m not coming with you, Rex,” she says. He sighs, so heavily it sounds painful, and sits next to her. She thinks for a moment he might try to dissuade her, but all he does is put a hand on her shoulder. The grounding gesture and the warmth - the acceptance - that radiates from it is somehow worse.

“I know,” he says, and squeezes lightly before drawing away. They’re both silent, but this time, it’s like it used to be. The kind of silence they had learned to read where words didn’t cut it.

“What are you going to do?” He asks, finally.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Not yet. But I think...” She stops and considers how to put it. “I think it would be best to get lost, for a while.”

“You tried that before.”

Ahsoka stiffens at his dry tone, but when she glances at him, the anger she expects isn’t there. He’s smirking. She relaxes on a huff of laughter. The snark is new from him, but welcome.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m not very good at it.” Another gentle quiet, where the sounds of the city and the crowds below wash over them both. She raps her knuckles on the duracrete and grimaces. “I wish I was.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. Ahsoka smiles; small, and tired, but real. It fades quickly.

“I’ll get you in too much trouble if I stick around. They’ll be looking for those that are left.”

“You could let me help.”

It’s not quite an accusation, but she hears one anyways, and just barely fights back a wince. It is his choice. She would never dream of taking that away from him; especially not now, after everything. But she has to make him understand that she’s making hers. So, she straightens a little and nods and finally faces him. Her voice is deceptively even.

“I know. I could also end up getting you killed.” It’s true, and she knows he knows it. He frowns, but she continues before he can protest, tone dipping with the weight of the weeks they’ve spent running and the years of it she knows will be ahead. “I need to know someone’s made it out of this, Rex. That someone lived.”

“So do I.”

“And I did,” she says. It’s not a lie, but it’s also not entirely the truth either, so she amends it a heartbeat later. “I will.”

He looks away. She watches him struggle; turn his own thoughts over and over in his mind, a private war raging behind eyes that have seen far too much yet so little. There are places she wants to tell him to go, things she’s read about in books at the Temple. The galaxy, even under the Empire, has things to offer him, but she’s not sure he wants them to begin with.

As if reading her mind, he shakes his head. “I was bred for war, Ahsoka,” he says, so softly it’s almost lost to the din of the spaceport. “Without it... I don’t know what I am.”

“Then go find out.” She can’t keep the sharpness out of her tone, but it’s one that borders on a plea. Rex sighs again, trembling somewhere just shy of a sob. She finally gives in and reaches out, fingers brushing the stubble lining his jaw.

“Live a life you choose to, Rex. If not for me, then for all of the people who can’t anymore.”

It’s maybe not a fair request, and it sits aching in her chest even as she says it. She’s not trying to be fair, though, because she knows he’d stay, if she asked him to. Watch her back, like he always has. He’d follow her anywhere. He’s also the only bright spot she can see in all the encroaching darkness and, even if by this she dims it, she cannot - she will not - be the reason that light dies.

He meets her gaze. “But not one that keeps me with you.”

It’s not a question. “No,” she replies. “I’m sorry.”

He falls silent. A breeze caresses her face. For one desperate moment, Ahsoka hesitates, and nearly changes her mind. Then, Rex nods, and reaches for the bag slung over his shoulder. He takes her hand and stands, pulling her with him, and then presses something into her palm. She blinks at the device glinting up at her for a long minute before realizing what it is.

“Keep it on you,” he says, gesturing to the comlink. For a second, she recognizes him - the Captain of the 501st, unwavering in his determination - and how much she’ll miss him threatens to overwhelm her. “If you ever need anything... I’ll find you.”

There’s a promise in those words, and Ahsoka smiles again. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She steps forward, movements sure, and wraps her arms around him. She feels him tense, but the next moment, the embrace is returned, strong and warm and safe, and she revels in it one last time.

“We’ll see each other again,” she whispers. “Believe that.” His hold tightens. He says nothing; makes no sound as damp seeps into the fabric at her shoulder. Her own eyes grow watery, and she swallows past the lump in her throat.

She can’t call herself a Jedi anymore, but it takes the will of one to finally, slowly, let go.

She steps away, a hand sliding to his shoulder, then back to her side. “Good luck.”

He smiles, and her heart clenches. It doesn’t ease as they climb back down to the platform, nor as she watches him walk up the ramp into the ship. She takes one more look at him, then turns and heads for the doors that will lead her into the market.

“Ahsoka.”

She stops, and looks back. His hand is raised in farewell. “May the Force be with you.”

She waits and watches until the ship has lifted off, and the crackle of the engine has faded, and she can just barely track the glittering speck careening off to join the stars. The words tumble from her lips softly, carried off into the night with the last reminder of a life she had once called home.

“May the Force be with you.”

#star wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #ahsoka tano #captain rex #swtcw #edelwrites #this is uh...#well basically my love letter to the show #just a little continuation #i couldn't decide on an ending so #went with something simple #i still honestly cannot believe it's actually over

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

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The Gloaming Hour - Alex Hogh Andersen

Title: The Gloaming Hour

Characters: Alex Hogh Andersen x ambiguous fem

Warning: No real warnings. Just angst and feelings!

Note: In honour of @flowers-in-your-hayr birthday, I wrote a little imagine inspired by one of her wonderful moodboards! Thank you @maggiescarborough for organizing this fun event and asking me to take part <3

The concept of this piece isn’t based on the moodboard directly, rather an idea that popped into my head from the collection of images. Hope you like it! Kisses!

Excitement drained from Alex's face ounce by ounce, leaving his jovial smile deflated, his bright eyes a lifeless blue. As the curator flipped through his collection of portraits, scrutiny notched a wrinkle between his eyebrows that deepened with each turn of the page. Though a facetious mustache hid the curator's top lip, Alex recognized a grimace and the discontent infiltrating the air between them.

The older man closed the portfolio and sighed. He took off his glasses, polished the lenses on the lapel of his jacket and replaced them on his nose to better assess Alex's mood.

"Alexander..."

"Please, just Alex," the photographer insisted.

"Alex. It... It just—it breaks my heart to see your passion shrivelling."

Struck as though the curator had set his work on fire before him on the desk, Alex took a half-step back to prepare for harsher evaluations. "Shrivelling? I'd have to disagree."

"This isn't up to par with what you've brought to me in recent times. There's no trace of emotion. At least, nothing genuine. They're good photos, Alex, but they're stock photos at best. Destined for a watermark."

Alex gestured at the portfolio. "They're not the worst. I made do with what I had. There's only so many angles of Copenhagen I can give you before it looks postcard-ish. I took these at the height of the panic, while the entire world held its breath waiting for answers. I feel I reflect this in my work. Did you see the one of the little girl on the swing?"

The curator pushed the folder across the desk, a final swing of the axe. "I can't put these in the show, Alex. It's not my reputation I'm worried about, it's yours. I don't want to be the rope that ties your young career to the stake. My patrons wouldn't piss on these if they were on fire. Now, your winter series... If you brought me something like that, then I'd sing a different tune. Those were raw. Unfettered by trivial surface emotions. These are rather college-level, just-got-my-hands-on-my-first-DSLR quality. We've seen much better from you."

"What about the photo of the old woman?" Alex gave one last push.

"I'm looking for a coherent series. Something that tells an ongoing story. One diamond in a bed of zirconias just won't cut it, Alex," said the curator. "But we like you here. I want you to be part of the show."

Alex nodded in agreement. "So do I."

"You have five days to put together something that will wow me. I need to be awe-struck. Do you think inspiration will strike in that amount of time?"

"If I knew when inspiration planned a visit, I'd do nothing but schedule my time around it, trust me," Alex said.

"Five days, Alex, you have less than a week to put something stirring on my desk. I believe in you. Now, I must ask that we get a move on. I have another appointment."

Alex took his portfolio, tucked it under his arm, nodded at the curator and left the gallery. It wasn't until he stepped onto the street the numbness in his face gave way to the severe weight of rejection. He remembered walking into the studio but fifteen minutes prior, brimming with confidence, but that zeal had melted, leaving Alex dispirited and ready to give up his dreams. How could he capture a full series in a few short days? No great work of art had ever been executed in such a minimal amount of time. Alex sighed, lit a cigarette, and walked in no particular direction.

His camera hung around his neck as it nearly always did, but it only served to remind him of his shortcomings. When he passed over a canal of rushing water, Alex thought of ridding himself of the padded noose and chucking the device into the river below. Yet he clutched the camera's zoom lens, running his fingertips over the rubber grip for comfort.

Sequestered in grey daydreams, Alex's feet took him to the walking trails before his head caught up. He left the din of the city behind, and when he snapped from his ruminations, budding birch trees and new foliage surrounded him. Alex had walked the trails many times before, but that day a golden hue drenched the atmosphere and had him appreciating the landscape with eyes afresh. He wandered this way and that, losing himself in the thicket on purpose as he watched for rare birds above.

He came to the river's bend where an arcing walking bridge connected one side to the other. A woman was standing on the apex, looking out over the water with her back turned to Alex. She paid no attention to anything but the rapids below as the gentle wind carried pieces of her hair, abandoning the strands to float about her pate like a strange halo. From afar, Alex studied the slopes of her profile, but without his glasses, he couldn't make out the subtleties that made her eye-catching. The woman didn't notice him step onto the walking bridge.

The closer Alex came to the woman, the stronger his urge to photograph her became. He uncapped the camera lens, turned on the device and adjusted the settings to compliment the evening glow. From a distance, Alex relied on the power of the lens to bring her closer. He snapped some photos, then approached another four steps, fixed his frame, and captured a few more.

Alex cycled through the newest photos and noticed something about the woman's face he hadn't before: she was crying. Below her left cheek, a small stream glimmered, the setting sun illuminating a teardrop hanging off her jaw. This discovery made Alex's heart sink. He went a little closer, snapped another picture with his proximity taken into consideration, then studied the image. Her sadness tainted the entire frame, a beacon of black and grey on a gilded backdrop.

The woman turned just as Alex clicked the shutter again, and her melancholy transformed into indignation. She swiped at her incriminating tears in hopes the stranger wouldn't see them, but it was far too late. Alex already had evidence of her mournful spell.

"Excuse me! Just what do you think you're doing taking photos of me?" The woman yelled, approaching swiftly. "Did I give you permission to take my picture?"

The photographer took a step back, abandoning his camera near his chest to display open palms. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother. You just looked so... I'm sorry. I'll delete them, I promise."

Redness swallowed the whites of her eyes. Now that she was within slapping distance of Alex's face, it was clear the woman had been suffering there on the bridge for a long while. Though all traces of her dreary expression fled, he got the sense something terrible had happened to her, and he had taken advantage of her private moment for his benefit.

"Why would you do that? Take pictures of people without them knowing?" She demanded to know.

"I'm a photographer. I swear, I'm not some creepy guy that goes around taking photos of women."

"Pfft," she hissed. "I bet you have loads of disgusting pictures on that thing because you're a man, and all men are absolutely disgusting!"

Taken aback by her accosting, Alex realized her hurt ran deep and fresh. Her tears dried up, leaving behind nothing but scorn and red, puffy cheeks. Whatever internal wound she bore still bled, and he apologized again in hopes the woman might forgive him.

"Honestly, I'm just a photographer. Not a weirdo. Here, I'll even show you what I have on my camera roll. It's nothing but portraits and pictures of trees, I swear on my life. I was just walking and saw you on the bridge, and you looked... Um."

Her anger lessened, curiosity taking its place at least in her eyes. "I looked what? What did I look like?"

Alex chewed his bottom lip and toed a plank of the walking bridge. She met his silence with another step forward.

"You looked so sad... And beautiful," whispered Alex.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as a sarcastic laugh punched the air. "You're so full of shit."

"I'm not lying!" Alex defended himself. "Look for yourself."

The photographer turned his camera around, but the woman stepped back. Alex sighed, waited for her to build up enough trust to approach him, and let her come to his side when she was sure he wouldn't lunge. She looked at the display and the photo he'd captured of her hanging her head, one lone teardrop on her face alight with the diminishing aura of day.

"Well... It's not terrible, I guess," she said.

"I'll still delete them," assured Alex

The woman shook her head. "You're a real photographer? Like a real, professional one?"

Alex fetched a business card from his pocket and passed it to her. She scanned the piece of cardstock and then his face.

"I've had my work displayed in art galleries if that helps."

"I guess it does."

A silence leavened the tension between them. The warbling water below clashed with bird calls above, and the sun slipped away, leaving them in deepening twilight. After five long minutes of quietude, the woman finally sighed.

"You don't have to delete them. They're good. You're obviously talented, and who am I to stifle your art?"

Surprised by her revelation, Alex chuckled nervously. "You sure? I don't have a problem getting rid of them."

"No," she shook her head. "You somehow made the shittiest day of my life look... Beautiful."

There was something about the woman's change of mind that told of understanding and kindness. Alex suddenly wanted to comfort her further. He slipped his camera behind him and spread his arms open. She flinched at this but realized what he meant to do.

"Would you like a hug? You look like you could use a good hug," offered Alex.

She bit the inside of her cheek as a bubble of a sob fought to escape her throat. Nodding while her eyes brimmed with another crop of tears, she stepped into his embrace and crushed her face into the collar of his denim coat. Surprised by the strength in which she clung to his torso, Alex matched it and held the girl tight until her tears dried up once more.

#alex hogh andersen imagine #alex hogh andersen fanfiction

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phoenixrisesoncemore · 4 years

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The Feast of the Annunciation at 35,000 ft

March 25th, Tolkien, and the X-Men

[Content Warning for discussion of Panic Attack Disorder and Anxiety Disorders as well as Dissociation]

Panic attack disorder really messes with you.

It stops you from doing the things you really want to do. It prevents you from enjoying life. And because—intellectually—you know the fear it generates is irrational, it not only steals life from you, but leaves you feeling guilty for letting it.

“If only I could have been brave,” you think. If only you could have stared down the beast.

You never feel so much like an animal as when you are having a panic attack; the urge to escape is all-encompassing. Your heart is pumping blood faster than it ever has before. Every second is elongated. Whatever you didn’t smell before is suddenly suffocating you. Whatever you didn’t see before is suddenly ballooning across your visual field and, oh, was that color always so bright? Noises are all so loud, touch is all so much. You must get away, your body tells you, your cells tell you, your bile tells you—get away or you’ll die! But where do you go? You start to disassociate. You sink into feelings of surreality. Is this you? Whose are these eyes you’re seeing out of? There’s an extra step between the thought and the movement of the hands. The part of your mind that is not ruled by the clump of cells that kept your distant ancestors safe from Things With Jaws is perfectly aware there is nothing to be afraid of. There are no jaws. There is no predator. There is no cause for fear. But there is still fear.

Gripping, penetrating, chemical, animal fear.

Against the wash of hormones, the cerebral cortex holds no power, it can only watch you, watch itself, detached and analytical. It realizes—quite quickly, really, and in parallel—two things. One: that the thing you need to escape from is yourself, and Two: that, therefore, there is no escape. Be reasonable, it asks you. But who can escape their own mind?

No matter. The urge is still there, and it’s so hard to suppress.

Now extrapolate the fear of having a panic attack to the enclosed cabin of an airplane at 35,000 ft.

You see the problem, I’m sure. And yet...

A year ago today, after a lifetime in fear of flying, I got on a plane for the very first time. How? The Maker of Middle-earth exhibit came to New York.

I’d been drawn back into my Tolkien Obsession about 4 years before, digging deeper than I had in over a decade into notes and reference books. I was remembering what Middle-earth had meant to me—what it had given me—when I was a teen. In light of all that, could I miss what might be the only chance in my entire life to see some of these things in person?

But it was a long drive, I didn’t want to go alone, and we only had so many free days during my husband’s spring break. And it was New York! I’d never been to New York. Think of all the other things we could see while we were there! Did we want to spend that time driving instead? I tied myself in knots for days while ticket prices rose, until a scant week remained before we’d have to leave.

Watching the turmoil practically radiate from me, my husband turned to me and said, “If you go, and you see it, will you cry?”

I didn’t even have to think: “Yes.”

He smiled, though he had already known the answer. “Then you should go. Do you want me to order the tickets now?”

I swallowed, then froze.

This was a trip about Tolkien, about my greatest love, the primary lease-holder of my brain.

So why am I peppering this with comic panels?(1)

In 1976 Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum decided to shake things up in a comic called The Uncanny X-Men. They wanted to add a cosmically powerful character, and they wanted this character to be a woman—a first for parent company, Marvel.

Marvel hadn’t had the most progressive run with their female leads. X-Men in particular had started out with only a single woman on the team: the kind telekinetic Jean Grey, whose primary characterization seemed to be her gender. She had experienced some changes in the 13 years since the first issue of X-Men was published, the revelation that she was also a telepath among them. We’d later learn that her powers developed too early when she telepathically linked, in desperation, with her best friend, Annie, as Annie lay dying, allowing Jean to feel what it was to die without dying herself, causing her to grow into the fundamentally compassionate human being we knew so well. But back in the mid 70s, compared to the more diverse and exciting cast that Claremont had devised just a scant year prior, Jean seemed rather dull, and not long after Claremont took over, her character decided to leave superhero life behind.

Or so it seemed.

Pulled out of retirement on a space mission gone wrong, Jean finds herself trapped with her former teammates on a space shuttle. The shuttle is on a re-entry course, but must pass through a massive solar flare. Sealing her teammates, many against their will, in the shuttle’s only shielded chamber, Jean does the most quintessentially Jean thing: she decides to sacrifice herself for her friends. She telepathically absorbs the flight training of the only pilot on board, locks herself in the cockpit, and prays she can use her telekinetic shield to keep herself alive long enough to land the shuttle.

We do not get to see what happens to her, and nor do her friends, as the shuttle crashes into Jamaica Bay.

But we know. This time Jean did die: either her flesh was burned to ash by the sun’s fury, or her body was crushed in the crash, or was she drowned in the depths of the bay.

She is truly gone.

But Phoenix Rises in her place.

Claremont took the woman perceived as both the kindest and the weakest of the X-Men and made her Marvel’s first cosmic female hero, a being that has “the power to cut and re-grow any part of the universe, as well as destroy it entirely, which is part of the Phoenix's purpose: ‘The Judgment of the Phoenix’, to burn away what doesn’t work.” The Phoenix Force is described as being “the embodiment of the very passion of Creation—the spark that gave life to the Universe, the flame that will ultimately consume it.” And the first thing she destroys and remakes is herself.

Not many issues hence, she’ll do the same for the whole of Creation. Claremont even goes so far with his purple prose to dip into Kabbalah. Phoenix becomes Tiphareth(2), the Sephiroth at the center of the Tree of Life, “the force that integrates the Sefira of Chesed ("compassion") and Gevurah ("Strength, or Judgment (din)"). These two forces are, respectively, expansive (giving) and restrictive (receiving).”

If you search for info on Phoenix you’ll inevitably be inundated with articles about the span of Uncanny X-Men issues known as The Dark Phoenix Saga, and with good reason: The Dark Phoenix Saga—the events that follow Jean’s transformation and quest to save Creation—is still considered one of the greatest of all comics stories. In it Jean-Phoenix—under the influence of a powerful, manipulative telepath who wants to use her limitless power—is twisted into something fundamentally without compassion, a threat to the whole of the universe. Understanding this, she chooses to die again, to save the world and the people she loves from what she has become.

The intricacies(3) and implications of this transformation and the devolution that followed it are a post for another time. Suffice it to say that any human, even a supremely compassionate one, struggles to adjust to godhood; the ability to care, empathetically, and so deeply, about all of life made the Jean-Phoenix capable of rebuilding a dying universe, but it also made everything in that universe lose all meaning.

But Tolkien. This was about Tolkien. And airplanes. And New York. And the Feast of the Annunciation.

Before I knew Frodo, even before I knew Taran and Eilonwy, I knew Jean; I knew the gentle, compassionate woman who died twice for those she loved--once to save them from the burning heat of re-entry and once to save them from herself--and in between looked the universe in the eye, and understood it was good, and gave it another chance.

Before Tolkien codified in me a kind of personal mythology, gave me a vocabulary for my spiritual relationship to the world, I had Phoenix and her birth from the ashes of what had been Jean Grey.

Now, sitting there with my husband waiting for an answer, I opened up my iPad and pulled up flight dates and our potential flight path on Google (because I deal with fear through research). And I laughed.

We’d be there on March 25th, and we’d have to pass over Jamaica Bay as we came in to land.

“Buy it,” I said. And I, a 38 year old woman, dyed my hair red, threaded my film reproduction One Ring onto a silver chain around my neck(4), and boarded a plane for the first time.

Fortified by love, Xanax, and a personalized mythology, I saw clouds from the top side. Imagine how many tens of thousands of years humans existed when not one of them could have said that(5).

I saw dinosaurs, I saw Madame X(6), I saw an amazing view for three nights from our hotel room.

And I saw Maker of Middle-earth.

Today is March 25th, The Feast of the Annunciation and, not coincidentally, the day the One Ring falls into the fires of Orodruin.

It’s the day I flew over Jamaica Bay and burned away the part of me that didn’t work. It’s a day of promise. Of expectation. Of new life. The promise of redemption, and the power of compassion—and pity—to change the world.

And that is what stories can do. That is why we tell them. That is why we read them. That is how we live in times that are good and in times that are bad. That is why, when there were only stars in the night to give light, those stars became things with stories—people, animals, gods—and like lanterns they illuminated the dark of both the sky and the soul, mapping out meaning, obliterating the shadows where the Things With Jaws dwelt.

Notes

Comic panels are taken from The Uncanny X-Men issues #100, #101, and #108.

“A new pattern forms—shaped like the mystic Tree of Life—with Xavier its lofty crown and Colossus its base. Each X-man has a place, each a purpose greater than himself or herself. And the heart of the Tree, the catalyst that binds these wayward souls together, is Phoenix, Tiphareth, Child of the Sun, Child of Life, the vision of the harmony of things.”

There is very little in the Marvel universe as intricate as Jean and Phoenix.

The Ring is treacherous. As we were sitting down to dinner just before we left the Ring somehow caught on the underside of the table, broke the chain, and forced me to wear it on my finger for the rest of the trip.

I realize it is entirely possible to climb high enough to be above certain types of clouds without the need for aircraft, and that clouds can form quite low to the ground, but I’m speaking both more abstractly about the nature of fantastic experiences and in the specific about cirrus clouds.

I also saw the Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, but I talked about that here.

#tolkien #phoenix #namesake #stories #xmen #x-men #new york #lord of the rings #the one ring #maker of middle-earth #the feast of the annunciation #march 25th #fear of flying #cw: anxiety #cw: panic attack #cw: dissociation #cw: fear of flying #dark phoenix #jean grey

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youreghanamissme · 6 years

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2018, Eat My Harmattan Dust!

We did it! We survived 2017! Hoo-Boy, was it a tough year. It's been a positively transformative experience, but there were chunks of time where I felt like I was drowning in a lasagna of my own anxiety, trauma, and depression. But y'know what? It's a new year, and I have plenty to look forward to. I'm probably the happiest and most content now than I've been in the last two to three years, so Cheers!/ Mabuhay!/ La Chaim! to that!!

I'm off to my COS (Close of Service) conference in a few days, and in a few months, I'll be leaving Ghana. You'll read it across the plethora of PCV blogs that exist on the internet: “two years has flown by.” It sounds a little contrived, but it's one of the truisms of service. Most folks, myself being one of them, don't really hit their stride until the one year mark, and then you're just rollin' rollin' rollin' trying to be as productive as possible while still maintaining your sanity and taking in the beauty of everything—all the cultural nuances, the environmental overhaul, the punchline in the joke—happening around you. Sometimes I feel like I just got off the plane last month. It's hard to accept that this journey is almost finished.

I was re-reading some of my old blog entries, and I was struck at how doe-eyed I was! And how many of the circumstances that perplexed me no longer seem as big of a deal. Here are some of the changes I have witnessed for myself over the past two years:

1. Time. Time is a social construct. We give it value in America. Punctuality is a virtue to possess after all. But in Ghana, time is just time. Things will figure themselves out eventually, so why rush? It's a big deal when I need to catch a tro out of my community or when it's call to prayer, but otherwise, I don't pay much attention to it. I go by the heat of the day or the movement of the sun. That being said, I do feel like my life has been on pause while I've been here. I'm a little uneasy to go back to America where I feel like I'm behind the times culturally and professionally, but things will figure themselves out somehow ;)

2. Little pleasures. Reveling in a smile. A greeting. A goodbye. The sunset. The feel of the ocean against my legs. The kiss of the equatorial sun on my face. A productive day with my community members. The excitement of students. An old friend. A new friend. The breeze. The rain. The smell of wet earth. The buzz from a drink. The euphoria of good company. A platonic “I love you.”

3. Noise. I had a hard time adjusting to the perpetual din in the background (or, sometimes, assaulting me in the face). Much like waiting hours for your tro (bus) to fill, you'll never get completely used to the bangarang, but the rooster crowing at odd hours, the 4:30am call to prayer, someone's repetitive chanting to sell something, etc... they get drowned out a little after a while. Especially if there is a much louder noise accosting you, i.e. honking of a horn around every corner, the vibrating boom of Ghanaian high-life music, or the heart-jolting shot of a musket across the village.

4. Jogging-ish. I mentioned my somehow-running journey a few times in previous posts, but that's because it's had a pretty big impact on my sense of self. Before I came to Ghana, I detested running. Absolutely hated it with vitriol. I still don't love it, but I've learned to enjoy it somehow. It has less to do with weight loss (because I haven't lost any) and more to do with transformation. I presented myself with a challenge, and I succeeded on my own terms. I ran a race in Ghana, and I've adopted a healthy habit. That makes me happy; I'm proud of myself.

5. Wholesome eating. I eat beans, maize, and a way too much oil almost every day in Ghana. And while I gorge on processed candy and biscuits whenever I can, I also crave spinach, cheeses, fresh vegetables and fruits. I'm anticipating the day when I don't have to pay a premium to eat olives or butter! The variety in Ghana is seasonal, and I'd like to maintain that commitment to support local farmers in America. I'm considering joining a CSA and am honestly gleeful at the thought of cooking and prepping most of my meals myself when I go home (but also... Hot Cheetos. They are a non-issue).

6. Friendship. The best kind of ‘ships. Without my friends I wouldn't have made it this far. Some have left the country prematurely, finished up and having a hoot at home, or got lucky and transferred to a bigger community for work, but many are still here, striving and thriving. This year I vow to commit more of myself and my time investing in my friendships. I've realized that my time is the most important and valuable artifact I can offer. If I haven't been a good friend, I'm sorry. I'll do better, be better. But know that I cherish each and every one of you, even if the last time we talked was yesterday or twelve months ago.

7. Adventure-seeking. Traveling the world is a privilege. I know there are many articles on the internet that tout “You Can Easily Travel If You Do These 10 Tips” or something along those lines. That's a load of tone-deaf shit. Not everyone can afford to travel, even if they try to put away a fraction of their paycheck for a year. Some people have responsibilities/ barriers / circumstances that prevent them from taking even a week off to see the world, to feed their soul, and amaze their wonder. Life is hard, and the economy and political climate isn't helping. But life is short, and I want to make it a priority of mine to try to see and experience as much as I can. Ghana isn't the first country I've visited, but it certainly has had a profound impact on my wanderlust. I plan to do a solo COS-trip. I'm a little scared to do it alone, but it's also part of the thrill.

8. Reading. We all read a lot, but I didn't read as many books as I did articles or op-ed's until I came to Ghana and committed to the idea of finishing a book (and then some). I've read many that affected me on more levels than I can articulate; have altered my perception of seeming truths; have educated me; made me laugh, cry, cringe; given me book hangovers. I've rekindled (:P) my love for books, the printed book industry hasn't died, and I can't wait to get my hands on some Ta-Nehisi Coates.

9. Self-understanding. I've alluded to a lot of emo, angsty shit that went down this past year. Yeeeah, I'm not going to deep dive into that on this blog. That being said, life wasn't great for a good while. I was pretty lost and acted out a lot, and I needed a lot of extra emotional support because I couldn't bear all weight on my own. I relied heavily on my friends (My undying gratitude. You lovely humans know who you are) and introspection to climb out of the pit. Sometimes I trip and fall back in, but y'know, that's gonna happen. Since then, I've gotten to know myself a lot better. I've been growing into a fuller version of my best self all the while discovering my wants, goals, bad habits, and how far I can extend beyond what I believed was a limitation. I think this is what the young people call, a “glow up”!

10. Appreciation for this Earth, My Life. I've developed a greater appreciation for our natural resources and my personal circumstances so much more. Clean drinking water, access to education and health services, the beauty in the landscape. I hope to continue reducing my waste and creating positive change in the world. And also call my parents. I'm lucky to have been born and raised in America. They're refugees and naturalized American citizens, but life for them wasn't as peachy-keen. I forget that when I'm all wrapped up in my own life, neglecting that my life is an echo of their life too.

TBT to A little nugget at the nutrition IST

There were moments in service where I contemplated extending, especially if I landed a position that worked with girls empowerment and youth development... but there were also moments where I screamed to myself, “I need to GTFO of here!” And then I ruminate on the goings on in America: FCC votes against net neutrality (I hope that it gets overturned), the tax reform that will decimate the middle class, the increasing rent and crippling job market in the Bay Area, California, and I wonder: Should I extend? Should I attempt WOOF'ing across South America? Can I just be a vagabond until 2020? The next step is daunting AF.

I'm trying to embrace the strong probability of moving back in with my parents which is utterly—complete and without qualification—soul crushing. When I moved out of the house at seventeen, I never settled back in. I would visit, but I always maintained my own living arrangements, even when I was preparing to move to Ghana. Committing the ultimate millennial move is not beneath me. They're lovely people. We just can't cohabitate. But the one truth is: I'm excited to go back and start some semblance of a career, a decision that will give my mum some relief.

I've somehow committed to the idea of finally applying to nursing school, something I've grappled with for the last three to four years. I'm going to take the plunge... I think! I'm frightened, but that kind of fear is overrated. I'm also excited to...

Do cool things! Like enroll in a class for cooking, Spanish, drawing/painting, pottery, car mechanics, yoga, boxing (I still have those gloves...). It all sounds really expensive, but I want to invest in myself more.

Clear the physical detritus of my life. I have a lot of junk. A good ½ of it was donated to Good Will when I came back for my sister's wedding, but I think I can downsize some more (coughthoseboxingglovescough ??). I'm eager to live minimally.

Move. Living with my ma and pa is a real contender for practicality's sake, but I'm anxious to see more of America. Maybe the east coast? California is a marvelous, endearing, magical bubble filled with the chillest people, the best food, and the diversity and creativity that I need and crave... and that's why I need to leave to thrive (at least for a little bit)

Hike. So many sights to see! I want to be stunned—become weak in the knees, physically and figuratively!—by the natural beauty that I often neglect by living in a city for as long as I have.

Learn how to swim. Because it's a life skill... and because all my friends are hanging over there, in the deep end of the pool :(

Live my best life! That includes continuing to grow, eating good food, reading, learning, hanging out with my favorite people, trying new things, meeting new people, and so much more!

It’s my last Harmattan, hurray!

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