#i had a different idea i wanted to do that was SO MUCH SILLIER but alas. drawing kissing is hard
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an old fashioned woo-ing for the mumscarian aggie :D
and a crunchy fwhimmy for the teeny tiny general mcyt ship corner - always be on that propaganda grind guys
#hermitshipping#scarian#nondescript art#i had a different idea i wanted to do that was SO MUCH SILLIER but alas. drawing kissing is hard#and drawing mumbo....also not my skill set. so sad.#BUT i think what i did is sooooo cute :]
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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫
When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k
cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet
˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚
You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping.
I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered.
You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely.
When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap.
You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in.
It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them.
Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him.
You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you.
Your phone rings a moment later.
You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too.
“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“How come?” You sit up with a little start.
“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further.
“Are you okay?”
“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.”
“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man.
“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?”
“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.”
“And you want me to fix that?”
“You always fix my neck.”
“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that.
“I have bad posture.”
“You have perfect posture.”
“No, it’s quite bad.”
He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.”
He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.”
“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.”
“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.”
“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.”
“What did I lose?”
You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.
“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.”
“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.”
“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.”
“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says.
“Or I could make us both some?”
“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”
You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected.
Cruel overpass, you think.
Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek.
The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later.
You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back.
Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—
A sudden chill.
The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard.
Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain.
You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor.
All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth.
A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.
Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath.
He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something.
Your phone rings on the counter.
“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.
You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins.
—
There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.
What will he make of my handiwork?
You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.
The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.”
“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.”
“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot.
“Honey?” a voice asks.
“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays.
Honey, are you in here?
—
The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder.
Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off.
Jack squirms closer, no room left between them.
“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says.
Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead.
“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.”
Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.”
“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.”
Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile.
“I look tired,” he says.
“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it.
“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.”
Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile.
“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.”
Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.”
“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?”
Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.”
“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.”
Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea.
Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you.
“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?”
“You said I can give her a hug.”
“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.”
“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says.
Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.”
Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs.
“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”
“Yeah.”
Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room.
You’re sleeping.
Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing.
He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze.
The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown.
Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic.
“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly.
Jack stays sitting.
He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt.
You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown.
“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says.
“When can she come home?”
“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you.
“Why is she sleeping all day?”
Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.”
“Should we go?”
Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.”
“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.
“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees.
If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give.
You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap.
Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly.
“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession.
“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat.
He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face.
You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms.
“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open.
Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again.
Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk.
The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”
“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.”
A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?”
“Excuse me?”
Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need.
He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively.
Aaron lets out a breath.
“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.”
“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.
His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some.
Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone.
“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.”
“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.”
“I know.”
“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.”
“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.”
A tear rolls down your cheek.
“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.”
“Is that what you want? You want a hug?”
“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder.
You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper.
Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down.
Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying.
“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently.
“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears.
“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic.
“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow.
He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow.
Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand.
—
Is she breathing? Can she talk?
I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from.
Where’s the worst of the blood?
It’s everywhere.
Abdominal? Chest?
I can’t tell. I can’t tell.
Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?
Yes. Yes, but–
Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions.
Honey, can you hear me?
Your name said clearly.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” you murmur.
“If you need a minute, that’s okay.”
You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass.
Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface.
“Maybe we should start from the beginning.”
There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.
“Okay.”
Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you.
You close your eyes.
“What stuck out?”
“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.”
“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?”
“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.”
Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.”
“I never got that far.”
“What did you do?”
“I filled the kettle.”
“What kettle?”
You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.”
“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?”
“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.”
“When?”
“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”
“And then–”
“Then he grabbed me.”
“Yeah,” Emily says softly.
You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.”
“Like he was quick on his feet?”
“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.”
“How big did he feel?”
Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big.
Where’s the worst of the blood?
“He said he was going to hide,” you remember.
“He said that? He said ‘hide’?
“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.”
“When was this?”
It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers.
“That was at the end,” you say.
“After he stabbed you?”
You wince. “Yes. After.”
“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.”
“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.”
“When Hotch found you?”
“No, before.”
“Before?” she asks.
You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move.
You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?
“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room.
“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.”
You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose.
“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly.
“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?”
So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much.
You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room.
You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron.
You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood.
“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees.
That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay.
He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear.
“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur.
He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread.
You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again.
“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say.
“Yes, I do.”
“Please don’t let me get hurt again.”
Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.”
You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep.
Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one. He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you.
He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water.
“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.”
You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters.
“I’m gonna be sick,” you say.
“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Please.”
“Did Emily tell you about my interview?”
He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?”
“I don’t want to say it again.”
“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.”
You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?”
“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.”
You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread.
“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern.
“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.”
“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?”
You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop.
Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again.
It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative.
“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says.
“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world.
“…This is my fault.”
“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep.
Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.”
“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly.
“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.
“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.”
You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless.
“I love you,” he says again.
“I know.”
“No, I love you.”
He’s saying sorry.
“I love you,” you mumble back.
“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?”
Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.”
“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.”
You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound.
His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both.
You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours.
“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says.
You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek.
—
Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises.
“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters.
“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.”
The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved.
I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone.
It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them.
I won’t.
He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will.
Foyet didn’t need much more than that.
He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either.
Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid.
One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.
Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner.
Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries.
He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you
Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this.
He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again.
He rubs his brow.
“You okay?” Emily asks.
When he looks up, JJ is gone.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not.”
He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says.
It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day.
He can’t fail you, too.
“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks.
Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?”
“Being in love.”
He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.”
She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.”
Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks.
He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger.
It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt.
“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says.
He shakes his head.
She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.”
But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety.
“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.”
Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.”
He turns his attention back to the board without another word.
—
When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest.
Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him.
He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks.
He goes home satisfied.
“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in.
“Honey?” Aaron calls.
“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits.
Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!”
“Hi, junior g-man, what are you doing?”
“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.”
“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.
“You got him?” you ask.
He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.”
“How did you find him?”
He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.”
You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?”
“Brave.”
“I’m a coward.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.”
All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby.
Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless.
“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.”
“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.”
“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.”
“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue.
“But it keeps happening.”
His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead.
“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?”
“I remember,” he says, practically mouths.
“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–”
You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands.
“I didn’t want this for you,” he says.
“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?”
He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.”
You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.”
He looks at you in silence.
“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.”
He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?”
Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag.
You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed.
But not everything.
“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head.
He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly.
You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered.
He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Was Jack good?”
“Jack’s always good.”
“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?”
“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.”
“I can get those.”
“I know, I knew you would.”
He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek.
“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely.
“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip.
“My present?”
He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.”
In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks.
“Thank you,” you say.
Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him.
He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.”
He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch.
˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚
thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic
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hiii i literally am in love with your work.
What do you think: I've been curios since König is an oldie bear, that how much female anatomy does he actually know? Like growing up with opinions on masculinity such of father's, yk. Or just the menstrual cycle or a women's body and mind in general, how much does he know about?
Is he curious or been curious about this stuff eversince you arrived in his life? He wants to take care!
Sometimes he mistakes one hole for another, wait, I can't write him like this, too much of a loser. Wait a second, please.
Konig...knows what he is doing, most of the time. He is anxious, yes, not very social, and didn't have a lady hanging on his hand for most of his life, but he is okay-ish in bed. Less experienced in women's body and different regards, but he is trying his best and is willing to pull up a Wikipedia article for you. More under the cut!
Mostly because of his age and rank, he had a few instances of very drunk sex and fraternization with women from different units, but it was never a normal relationship. Maybe a few flings, yes, but he never had to buy her pads and chocolate, so to say.
He doesn't have ridiculously stupid beliefs about women's bodies, but mostly because he kinda has no idea how everything works in your organism. He can make you cum, yes, but he doesn't understand how, for example, your boobs can hurt while you're menstruating, it's two completely different parts of your body! Not even your tummy!!! He also held a really annoying belief that a woman can cum just from the dick in her, because of the porn he was watching - so yeah, he fully believed that penetration was enough. He grew out of this sentiment later in life, when he had more partners, but you still need to guide him through your pleasure.
Konig is often too rough and too cocky, and his traditional upbringing left him feeling very weak and helpless in terms of helping you with menstruation, for example. He also has a habit of making you weaker and sillier, thinking of you sometimes like a silly dumb-dumb, like most of the civilians, so you need his help and protection. The problem is...his help isn't really helping, so to speak. He tries to learn, he is willing to do everything for you - buttt he needs time and practice.
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Hey can you write about Luxiem having a crush on the reader who is also a nijisanji vtuber? I just can imagine how cute that will be
Of course I can dear requester (requestee?). Here you go!
Luxiem with a Vtuber S/O
An: I had my own idea for a vtuber wave that I’m gonna use for this but feel free to use your imagination
You and your genmates are part of the royalty themed wave: REGALIA
Luca Kaneshiro
You were the bright and cheery royal of your wave. The stereotypical royal that brought a smile to everyone's face, was a friend to everyone, and shined bright like the sun just like our boss.
You and Luca are always goofing off during collabs. You guys usually play Minecraft and team up to prank the other members (and sometimes each other).
Luca also uses your collabs as an excuse to use his pickup lines on you so he can play them off as jokes as to not be embarrassed for being so cheesy.
You guys inevitably end up working on a cover together. Whether you work on the art, the animation, the mixing, or do vocals with him it ends up being a huge hit. Breaking 1 million views in less than 24 hours.
In group collabs you two proceed to be absolute menaces. No one is safe from your relentless trolling. Whether it's crab game, among us, Mario cart, or goose goose duck you'll have half of the branch in a fit of rage by the end. Truly a terrifying duo.
Shu Yamino
You were the mysterious royal of your wave. Your aura exuded power and beauty as well as danger.
You and Shu mainly play fighter games or fps games together. If you're good at these types of games then you make a formidable team that guarantees victory, but if not, Shu doesn't mind teaching you. He's just glad to have someone to share his favorite games with.
He also likes to play silly games with you like that bunny game. You guys are in perfect sync, and even when you're not you have so much fun laughing and talking that it doesn't matter if you beat the level or not.
I feel like you guys would have a Lego building handcam stream. No real reason it just seems right. You guys build the most intricate structure that it's honestly intimidating.
It's noticeable to everyone how much Shu loves streaming with you, because he laughs so much more. He's sillier goofier and more unhinged and having fun and the chat can feel the chemistry and positive energy a mile away.
Ike Eveland
You were the quiet, smart, and bookish royal. Always a book in hand with elegance and grace.
You and Ike partner up to play story games. If there is no in game voice acting, you two will take turns voicing different characters and putting on a whole performance for chat.
You guys also do covers together. If you don't feel confident about your singing ability, then Ike will coach you and help you build up your confidence. Man really wants to hear your voice.
You guys will also do watch a long streams of your favorite films or anime. Gushing about your favorite characters and scenes. He thinks it's it really cute when you're excited about your favorite character (and maybe just a little jealous).
At first Ike is more quiet and polite whenever you guys' stream together, but as time goes on, he becomes more mischievous and teasing. He won't admit it, but he thinks your reactions are cute (just like the rest of you) and it makes him want to tease you more.
Mysta Rias
You were the rowdy and rebellious royal. Always stirring up mischief and not letting anyone tell you what to do.
You are Mysta's emotional support when it comes to scary games. This can go one of two ways. Either you're good with horror games and you're actually helpful, or you're also bad with horror games and you're both screaming your heads off. At the end of the day though you both had fun either way (even if you can't sleep that night).
You're the voice of reason during cooking streams. Even if you're not a great cook you can't be bad as him. At the very least you manage to save yourselves from food poisoning.
You two also play silly co-op games like keep talking and nobody explodes. It's funnier when you both share a braincell and have to figure out how to work together to beat the game.
Mysta may not collab often, but you're his favorite person to collab with. You have plenty of misadventures in off collabs too.
Vox Akuma
You were the warrior royal. Always protecting others and standing up for what you believe in.
You and Vox would have cooking streams together. Whether you're good at cooking or absolute shit, you two will have fun goofing off in the kitchen and still make a meal that's at least edible.
You guys also have film discussion podcast like streams where you talk about the latest films. You discuss your thoughts and opinions about the film, but also deep things like symbolism and what the directors and actors were thinking.
You know how Vox is when it comes to Ike. Well, he's like that, but times 10 when it comes to you. Flirting with you at every chance and gushing about you every time you achieve something significant in your streaming career.
Sometimes his chat will make jokes about who he loves more you or Ike? He will answer cheekily "Why choose I have two hands~", but he always makes sure you know that he of course loves you more.
#multi fandom blog#multifandom account#multifandom#multifandom writer#multi fandoms posts#multifandom fanfiction#multifandom x reader#multifandom imagines#nijisanji en#luxiem x reader#luxiem imagines#luxiem#luca kaneshiro#luca kaneshiro x reader#shu yamino#shu yamino x reader#ike eveland#ike eveland x reader#mysta rias#mysta rias x reader#vox akuma#vox akuma x reader
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anon! I see you! same for the other anon I got 3 weeks ago and left on read — I was trying to decide how to phrase this.
I'm not publishing these in full because I'd rather talk about cool fandom theories I like instead of singling out specific takes I don't agree with.
The one thing I really feel like saying publicly re: TLT fandom discourse is that I think we could all benefit from, like, taking a step back from invoking Tamsyn when it comes to discussing theories or interpretations. I think the tone of the discourse and the fandom as a whole would be a lot healthier if we just agreed that we're getting a lil' bit silly with it, which is 100% what Tamsyn wanted when she started writing, anyway.
There are many fandom posts that EYE would find very compelling if they were presented as "This is a cool idea I had and the lenses through which I choose to engage with this story and these characters..." but often take the tone of "This is CLEARLY what the author means to do, listen up..." — with the implications that people who see things differently are getting a bad grade in lockedtomb reading, and then it stops being fun and it starts getting pretty hostile pretty quick.
I think a lot about Tamsyn's quote "I am writing for my younger self and it would be disgusting of me to try to teach her anything." That's the spirit in which I think it's most fun to engage with her writing. She's an excellent author and her books have a lot going on and many angles you can look at... but they aren't flawless, and she can't have accounted for all the theories the fandom is coming up with. I think we should stop trying to look at these books as though they are That Serious, and give ourselves more credit that maybe we're coming up with stuff the creator never considered, and that doesn't mean your stuff is less valid, but it does mean you shouldn't flex on other fans because you see it and they don't. From everything we know about Tamsyn, she'd probably be the first to say "It's not that deep, unless you want it to be."
For comparison, I've been in ASOIAF fandom for 15 years and we haven't had new material for almost as long and silly theories and renewed interpretations are flourishing every month, and nobody gives a fig about what GRRM was really trying to say because maybe the author's intention isn't the ultimate value of a work, and the author is dead anyway.
IDK. I think we should all get a little sillier with it. I've been guilty of some Not Silly in the past, though hopefully not much, but ultimately I'm here to have fun and so are most people. Especially since TLT is still ongoing, and many interpretations WILL get debunked, we're probably just better off now putting less stock on authorial backing to avoid disappointment later on, and to have more fun as a fandom during the #alectopause.
ANYWAY my askbox is always open specifically to get silly with it. I haven't hornyposted about lyctor sex in a while
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Sav's Author Highlight: Lenipez
For the entire week of @trigunfanfic appreciation week, I’m going to highlight my favorite authors and friends whose writing I adore and why. Now it's @madnessmadness's turn >:3
Oh man. I gotta start first with the fic series that low-key changed my life, Becoming Eden.
Rating: mostly M (main series), some T or E (side stories) | Ship: Gen, +/- Mashwood if you squint, previous VashMilly | Genre: Sci Fi, Drama, Very House of Leaves, Psychological.... horror? fuckery? | Trigun Soup (all three characterizations in a blender)
Last summer I started this fic on a whim and had no idea that I was in for the wildest, most interesting fic I'd ever read. I have to chew on every word so slowly, sucking as much meaning as I can out of every metaphor, trying to figure out what the POV character is saying versus what they mean vs what is true. The prose is unlike anything I had ever read before, and the formatting is so unique and interesting. I was sending screenshots of this fic to my irl friends who haven't watched Trigun, that's how intensely this fic had me in a chokehold.
Becoming Eden is always reminding me that I can write weirder, I can write sillier, I can do whatever I want. It's a masterclass in sci fi weirdness, diving into different character POVs, unreliable narration, and using unusual formatting to help tell the story. It's a visual experience as much as it is a verbal one. Even with a huge cast of characters getting POVs, there is such an interesting difference in each one of them, and they all feel so unique and rich. And the imagery and metaphors! Damn!! This series has in turn inspired some of my own writing, particularly a one shot I wrote about Rem and plants.
Also, Waterloo is my new on repeat anthem. It calms me down, okay?
I also highly highly recommend Leni's other works, particularly their other interesting poetry if you like what BE has to offer, a Pacific Rim AU, their Millyknives if you're into that, and their fairy AU. ALSO! Their smut! Their smut is so delicious that I actually want to highlight some of it on its own.
First Rodeo - Mashwood, E. 11K of Meryl weaponizing her rope tying skills into the longest slow burn oh my god. Makes me insane just thinking about it. Everyone is pitiful in this and the tension is insane. This is one of my favorite smut fics of all time, and I read a lot of smut.
Jar of Marbles series - Vashmeryl, Vashwood. E. Weird alien xenobiology. I can never look at an ultrasound the same way. I love the implications in this fic, both funny and not. Wolfwood's weak little "Oh yeah?" makes me die laughing.
White Lie - Vashmeryl, E. But in the fun stupid way that is catnip to me.
Hog Tied - Stryfewood, E. You want stupid bickering Stryfewood? You got it!!
ANYWAY. I'm not sure how else to describe Leni's writing style other than that it's vivid, wonderfully metaphorical, and has a stream-of-consciousness flow that is so interesting and sucks you right in. It's really just something you're going to have to experience on your own. It's inspired some of my own writing too, and it's a really fun style. Leni's biggest advice is that fic is always for fun, and you can just tell how much fun they have writing their fic. And I want to sit down and dissect every little bit of Becoming Eden. I want a bound copy. I want a full college course and a dissertation on the themes. Makes me crazy in the best way, and to really just add the icing on the cake, Leni is a wonderful, kind human through and through.
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“F’ik?”
“Yeah?” He looked down at her. She was biting her lower lip, obviously in thought.
“Why do I got a stinger? Why don’t you? Or anybody else? Why’s Atta not got one? Atta’s a pri’sess too.” She was looking up at him with that intense curiosity only young children can achieve, but he could see the sadness still hiding behind it. It was a fair question.
And one that he had no idea how to answer. Well, he’d start with what he knew.
“Well…” He thought about what to say. “You do know you’re not from Amberhive, right? You are a… different kind of ant.”
She nodded. She knew. He knew she knew. He was just delaying, and she knew it.
“Was it real?” She leaned in closer, her little face almost touching his. “Was… was the glass real? And… and the people. And the- The… spider?”
Well now he REALLY didn’t know how to answer. He knew Atta and the Queen hadn’t told Dot all the gruesome details of her arrival, not wanting to scare her.
But it was too late now. Even if he said ‘no’, he knew Dot was smart enough to see through the obvious lie. She knew the truth, she just wanted to hear it. Hear it from someone she trusted.
“Yeah, sweetpea. It’s all true. I was…”
He was what? There were so many things he longed to tell her, but couldn't. Wouldn't.
“I was the one who heard you crying.”
“I was the one who spotted the spider carrying you off.”
“I was the one who came up with the plan to distract it.”
“I was the one who caught you when it ran off, dropping you from its pedipalps.”
“I was the one who carried you back into Amberhive.”
And… The one thing he wanted to tell her above all else. The one thing he could never tell her.
“I was almost your daddy. I was almost yours, sweetpea. I could have taken you in, adopted you for myself, raised you as my own… But the queen said ‘no’, and took you. All because of your wings.”
He swallowed. No. No, he could never tell her that. Not after telling her to never wish to be someone else. He wouldn't deny her the life she had been given just for his own wants, even in his wishes. There really was only one thing he could - and would - tell her.
“I was… there.”
It felt so hollow. But it was true.
And to her, it was the most important truth. He was there. He had been there right from the start. Anything else was just set dressing.
He was there. For her.
And she just now was finding that out.
“You was?”
He smiled at her grammar, and nodded.
“I was. You're a lucky little ant, sweetpea. And we're luckier still to have you.”
And for just a brief moment, his world turned bright..
He saw her smile.
But it quickly faded. Something was still troubling her.
“If the story's all real, then… am I-”
“No.”
He cut her off. He wasn't going to let her go down that path again. He wouldn't let her do that to herself.
“No, sweetpea. You're an ant. You're not a wasp, or a spider, or a scorpion, or whatever else those little… little creeps, said you were. You're an ant. Just like your mom, just like Atta, just like anybody else here.”
“Just like you?”
“Just like me.” he nodded, “but sillier.” And he gave her nose a light boop.
And again, he was rewarded with just the smallest giggle. Much better.
“Even if you were any of those things, it wouldn't matter one tiny bit, sweetpea, because you know why?”
“Why?” she asked with a tilt of her head.
“Because you'd still be you, and that's what matters.”
He adjusted his grip on her, letting her sit up and face him. He finally had an answer to her question.
“Dot… I don’t know why you have a stinger. I don’t know why some ants have one, and some don’t. I don’t know why we’re not all just the same, just all one way or the other… But I know this.”
He held out his hands, and she took them, letting him hold them in a gentle grip.
“We don’t get to choose who we are in this life. We don’t get to pick out what we are, or what we’re like, or what we have. But we do get to choose what we do with all that stuff, alright? Just because you’ve got a stinger doesn’t mean you have to hurt anybody, sweetpea. That’s all up to you, and I think I know what you’ll choose.”
#a bugs life#anthro#au#princess dot#dot#flik#fanart#pixar#I fricken love Dot and Flik's relationship#It's so sweet#i need more of it#just a steady dripfeed#fanfic#fanfiction
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For the saw ask!! 5, 11, 14 <3
5) A character you wish could have lived
there are many characters I wish I could watch an AU where they lived, but am generally not torn up that they had to die to move the plot forward because I thought the final story was compelling. but there is one character I really did not like seeing die for many reasons, and that was Jill :(
11) Thoughts on Saw VII
Saw 3D they cant make me hate you.
i dont often dislike movies at all, actually. in most films, even widely hated ones, i like trying to find the positive. i can usually list at least one aspect i enjoyed & Saw 3D was no different.
I know theres some argument about how in-character some people were, but i dont like getting into that sort of thing. I dont want to dig into writers and script n shit that much, that reminds me too much of how I used to fandom. ugh, barf. thats taking things way too seriously for my taste now. Going into it, I had no idea about any of that, I was just thinking about how things progressed from the last film, right?
so whatever characters do, thats canon now. i just gotta deal w it and adapt my characterization accordingly whether i like it or not
so I explain things like Hoffman and Lawrence's behavior as simply losing what little humanity they had left. Listen. Like, the guys have been though an absolute hell of an experience in different ways, and spent a significant amount of time drinking John's kool-aid. He had a way with words and was a master manipulator.
Hoffman just spent the last four movies slowly spiraling further down and down into the hole he was digging himself in, i had no problem with him going full terminator in the end. He was off the deep end and his penchant for revenge reared its ugly head once again, and he couldn't be stopped. he was blinded by his own bad decisions and nobody could stop him- he killed them all. He was drunk with power and behaved at times like a cornered animal that snapped.
his slasher rampage made me fall in love with him, after all. it opened my eyes to him being more than just "boring cop jigsaw" (though my tune was starting to change by Saw VI)
Lawrence was recruited during likely another vulnerable position in his life, recovering from the trauma of the trap, likely also dealing with a divorce and more. Him returning to be an apprentice was fanfiction, but what can I say? I dont hate fanfiction movies. I like what apprentice!Lawrence has brought to the table in the grand scheme.
i also enjoy some of the campier sillier moments. Horsepower trap, my beloved
i dont love all of it. but idk. im forgiving w "bad films". very few are completely without any intriguing moments
14) Favorite trap
oh god this is so unbelievably hard to answer
the Horsepower trap has an absurdity to it that makes me laugh a lot. The Glass Coffin had my favorite characters & ship fodder.
I also really like the Nerve Gas House & Fatal Five but maybe more as like, a vibe and plotline? I guess those are "games" more than individual traps right?
maybe the Glass Coffin. i did make this, after all
#oh these asks r letting my sawtism rambling run wild#jennilargh#jenna answers#ask games ahoy#saw#coffinshipping
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blind!joffrey au he and daeron fight for some reason (maybe a misunderstanding and lack of communication) but they make up at night :)
It turned out sillier than I expected, but I hope it’s still cute.
The most frustrating thing of being blind was that sometimes people acted as if you didn’t even exist. Joffrey knew this too well. He was right there, sitting in his favorite armchair and enjoying the warm sun on his skin, but the two chamber maids were gossiping to each other as if Joffrey was as deaf as he was blind.
Normally, he didn’t mind it too much. Some of the court gossips were entertaining, and Joffrey could use them to start a conversation with his husband during dinner. The thought of Daeron put a smile on his face. Joffrey brushed his fingertip against his wedding ring, feeling the cool metal band and the large gemstone in the middle. Daeron told him the gemstone was called opal, a soft brown gem that was the same shade of brown as Joffrey’s eyes. Joffrey had no idea what opal or the color brown was, but he appreciated Daeron’s gesture.
“Do you know Prince Daeron’s new hobby?” One of the chamber maids said in a hushed tone.
“What can interest the prince except for swords training and dragon riding?” The other maid chuckled, “I have never seen him pay attention to anything other than these two things.”
“Well, you are in for a surprise then.” The first maid paused, “I saw his grace with Lady Farman in the garden three days in a row!”
“Lady Farman? From Fair Isle?”
“The one and only. It is said that maidens from the Fair Isle all live up to their names. Let me tell you, Lady Farman surely does! She’s so pretty! Especially her brown eyes. Like melting chocolate.”
“But,” the second maid paused, “Prince Daeron is married to Prince Joffrey?”
“Oh, come on,” Her companion scoffed, “it’s a political union! How could someone as handsome as Prince Daeron be willing to marry a blind man? It’s to unite the two factions. Surely his grace wants someone who can actually keep him company.”
Joffrey bit his lip and tried his best to stay silent. What good would it do, if he reminded them that he had been listening to the conversation all along? That he was only blind, not deaf? That it was his husband they were talking about?
No. Joffrey didn’t think it would make any difference. Their words were not wrong. Joffrey had only taken on a stroll with Daeron in the garden once. He remembered that he clung to his husband the entire time, and Daeron had to keep telling him to mind his steps. It was a hilarious experience for them, and Joffrey had never suspected otherwise. But now, he wasn’t so sure. What if Daeron didn’t find it hilarious at all? What if Daeron found him annoying? What if Daeron was lying when he said he had loved Joffrey for years? What if Daeron realized that Joffrey’s unfocused brown eyes were not gems, and decided to find a pair of better ones? Such as Lady Farman’s pretty brown eyes that looked like melting chocolate?
The more Joffrey thought about that, the more he was convinced that Daeron had lied to him from the beginning. The maids had already moved on to other topics, leaving Joffrey to dwell on his thoughts alone. Joffrey tried his best to ignore the tug on his heart, the disappointment, the anger, the pain of being played like a fool.
When Daeron returned to his quarters, Joffrey was not there. Strange. Joffrey always welcomed him with a kiss and a bright smile. Where could Joffrey go? It was already dark.
Daeron put the gift he got for Joffrey down on the table before leaving the room again. He didn’t need to search for long, for Joffrey was seldom seen without him, the Keep’s servants were quick to tell him that Prince Joffrey had gone to the Dragon Pit.
What could Joffrey possibly do in the Dragon Pit after dark? He couldn’t fly, and today was not his scheduled day to see Tyraxes.
Daeron met Joffrey outside the Dragon Pit, the brunette trying to mount his black dragon but to no avail.
“Watch out!” Daeron rushed to Joffrey’s side, just in time to catch the boy falling off from Tyraxes, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Joffrey didn’t reply, only struggled to get free from Daeron.
“Joffrey!” Daeron’s voice hardened instinctively. His heart almost stopped when he saw Joffrey failed to grab the slick black scale. Tyraxes was young dragon, but it was still tall. Several meters fall was no joke.
“Let me go.” Joffrey hissed, keeping his head down.
“No. Unless you promise me not to do anything stupid again.” Daeron tightened his grip of Joffrey’s wrist, his heart still pounding in his chest, hard enough to hurt.
“It’s not stupid!” Joffrey struggled again, “I want to ride my dragon! I am entitled to do this!”
“You can’t ride a dragon, Joffrey! You are blind!”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Daeron knew he had pushed too far. Joffrey hated to be called blind to his face. Daeron knew that Joffrey’s biggest regret of being blind was that he could not ride his dragon. Joffrey loved Tyraxes, and he felt guilty of robbing the black drake of the right to fly. Daeron had really hit a sore point.
“Is that what I am to you?” Joffrey said after a long pause, his voice cold as stone, “A blind man?”
“No, Joff, you know I didn’t mean it-”
“Fuck off.” Joffrey bit Daeron’s hand, and took the opportunity to run. He had no idea where he was heading, of course, but he had to leave. He couldn’t be with Daeron right now. How dare his husband say that word to his face? How dare Daeron dismiss his desire to ride Tyraxes?
If only. If only he was not blind, Joffrey could have flown away on Tyraxes by now. He wouldn’t stumble on some damn rock and fall to the ground like a sack.
Shit.
Joffrey groaned as he tried to get back to his feet, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist and picked him up, the familiar scent unmistakably belonging to Daeron.
“Stop fighting, please.” Daeron said softly to Joffrey, “You will hurt yourself.”
“None of your business.” Joffrey murmured, too tired to struggle. He would never admit that he missed Daeron’s scent and his husband’s warm embrace.
“You are my husband, Joffrey. You are my business.” Daeron pressed Joffrey’s face to his own chest and began to walk back, “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said the word.”
Joffrey sniffed, but remained silent.
By the time they arrived at their quarters, dinner had already gone cold. Daeron put Joffrey down on the bed and ordered the maids to bring something light and warm.
“And some candied almonds and honey cakes, please.”
Joffrey deliberately ignored the fact that Daeron had just ordered his favorite dessert. If Daeron wanted to sooth Joffrey’s anger with desserts, he thought wrong.
“Can I see your hand, Joff? I want to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“No,” Joffrey hid his hand behind his back, “I can take care of myself. I don’t need your pity.”
Daeron sighed heavily. On one hand, he was pleased that Joffrey acted so difficult around him. Don’t get him wrong. It was not easy to be on the receiving end of Joffrey’s temper, but Daeron was glad that Joffrey felt comfortable enough to act so free around him. But on the other hand, he didn’t know what had gotten to Joffrey this time, which made it more difficult to sooth his husband’s anger.
“I am not pitying you.” Daeron said gently and sat down on the bed as well, “I worry about you, Joff. You almost scared me to death when you fell from Tyraxes.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? If I die, you can finally get rid of me.” Joffrey said through clenched teeth, “You can be with someone else who is not blind.”
“What makes you think of such nonsense?” Daeron’s patience was wearing thin right now. He couldn’t stand someone belittling his love for Joffrey. not even Joffrey himself.
“You.” Joffrey said flatly, “Do you enjoy your time with Lady Farman, husband? Is she nice? Pretty? Pleasant? I bet she’s a delight to be with.”
Oh.
Oh. Daeron finally figured out where did Joffrey’s anger come from. Was Joffrey jealous?
“Are you jealous?” Daeron chuckled, kicking off his shoes and climbing to the bed. He settled next to Joffrey and trapped the brunette in his arms.
“What’s there to be jealous of?” Joffrey tried to get away, but the king-sized bed could not hold off his husband for long. He found himself surrounded by Daeron’s warmth before he even realized what was happening.
“There is nothing wrong to feel jealous.” Daeron tightened his arms, kissing the top of Joffrey’s head, “I think you are rather cute when you are jealous.”
“I am not-” Joffrey wasn’t sure which claim he wanted to deny, jealous or cute?
Fortunately, Joffrey didn’t have to choose because Daeron sealed their lips together in a tender kiss. Joffrey melted immediately, much to his chagrin, but he had yearned for Daeron’s touch whole day, now he couldn’t resist wanting for more. Joffrey moaned into the kiss, his hands finding their way into Daeron’s silver curls.
“Though I love seeing you jealous, you really don’t need to be.” Daeron whispered against Joffrey’s lips, “I am not attracted to Lady Farman and I will never be.”
“But you took her on a stroll.” Joffrey said, embarrassed by how ridiculous he sounded.
“That’s because I wanted to consult her something and keep it a secret.”
“You have a secret with her?” Joffrey’s unsaid words couldn’t be more clearer. With her? Not me?
“No, silly.” Daeron stroked Joffrey’s cheek before planting a small kiss on the brunette’s lips, “Here, have this.”
Something was pushed into his hands. It was a long, cylinder thing, smooth to the touch, with several holes on one end.
“A flute?”
“You said you wanted one, and Lady Farman happens to have a profound knowledge of this instrument.” Daeron helped Joffrey to put his fingers on each hole, “She also offered to teach you, but I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like the idea of you spending time alone with her.”
“Are you jealous, husband?” Joffrey asked, a phantom smile on his lips.
“Maybe.” Daeron pushed Joffrey to the bed and covered the brunette’s body with his own.
The gossip of Prince Daeron taking a liking for Lady Farman soon died down, replaced by a juicy tale of how Prince Daeron almost bent Prince Joffrey in half and pounded into the blind prince with abandon.
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My goals for this blog in 2024
'Tis the season of overanalyzing everything about your life! So naturally I've been thinking a lot about the different spaces I occupy, such as this one, and decided I need to be a bit more intentional with how I spend my time online and offline. I'm trying not to overdo it though. Sometimes you also just have to exist.
Be transparent when I want attention. This makes it sound as if we're in a relationship LMAO, but honestly, a lot of the time I will pop in here with a random post, or a request for prompts, and it will be more a cry for attention than the actual need for prompts (although not always). Prompt + filling of prompt = validation and love and attention. But usually that won't be enough because I'm not always in the mood to write, or I'll write something short and not very good, and then I won't get the attention I was craving and I will get sad. Also not every fic will be a hit anyway. It's a fickle thing to base my emotions around. SO. Solution for this is to just tell you when I want attention, because that way I won't feel annoying and bad about myself afterward. Obviously this might not result in attention whatsoever, and also why is it your job to give it to me anyway, but that way I won't feel as desperate as much as I will at the very least feel authentic about my neediness. I am human. Sometimes I need things and have no idea who to turn to. I often turn to social media. It happens. I just want to be more honest about it next year. Maybe as a sort of therapy.
Kind of related. I want to be a bit more intentional with the fics I post. I've gotten better at leaving fics be if they're not working, rather than trying to finish every single project, but I want to let them take their time and not post fics just to post them if I'm not happy with them. That doesn't mean I can't post shorter, sillier fics I had fun working on even if they're not masterpieces. My enjoyment is just as important as the final product.
I'd also like to write more long, intricate fics, kind of like my Criminal Minds case fics. It's fun to challenge myself, as longer fanfic writing isn't my forte.
Figure out if I want prompts to mostly be open or not. I keep opening and closing them, mostly because I sometimes get in the opposite mood of wanting attention and get overwhelmed and don't want people to "demand" things from me (I know they're not demands, but you know how your brain sometimes gets). But I feel like the best prompts are the ones people will send really randomly because they suddenly got an idea. But maybe, if I stop making those "send me prompts!!!" type of posts I won't get overwhelmed by the amount of them. Does anyone have any input on this?
Stop thinking I need to do certain things to be a part of the community. I keep thinking that I should maybe interact with other people's fics more, or try to be a part of the community in ways I used to when I was younger, but the truth is that I'm not a fanfiction reader at this stage of my life, and rather than lamenting that I need to just accept it. Maybe that makes me a hypocrit, but I don't believe in forcing things like that. Maybe once I stop pressuring myself it will come naturally instead, but if not I need to just be okay with the fact that I'm mostly here for my own fics. Maybe that's selfish, but it's the truth. I have enough problems in my real life to create new ones for myself here.
Stop trying to restore the old blog. It's gone. I was the one to delete it, and with that a lot of followers who never returned, and everything I did on there. It's fun getting to give advice, but people don't turn to me for them like they did back in the day and that's okay. I'm not who I was back then. I don't have the same amount of time. Instead of trying to bring back traces of the old blog I just want to focus on what I want to do with this one, in the moment and in the future. This community has changed anyway. It's time I accept that. (this does not include my Throwback Project, which I will be doing as a way to honor the past rather than try to bring it back)
Do you have any goals? Did any of this make sense? Am I overanalyzing things TOO much? Let me know your thoughts if you have any!
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Return to origin Band together chapter 5 Breaking point
The group is ready to rescue Floyd. We'll nostly they still need to be in harmony and all that. So they decided to practice while they headed to Mount Rageous.
They were all geared up in their old outfits some fit.....some don't. They were singing a song when Jd just stops it entirely not liking how it was done.
"Stop. Stop. Timeout. Let’s do it again from the top. Spruce, I want some smolder in those eyes
Clay, you’re being too stiff. We need some sillier robot. Bitty B, maybe a smaller diaper"Jd says going over what he thinks needs to be changed.
"If this diaper was any smaller, I could taste it" Branch grits out annoyed his tail giving a irritated flick. It was hard enough putting it on without the tail but trying to fit it through was a nightmare. "That’s why I don’t wear one of those. It’s a hard fit to pull off" Tiny Diamond says from the drivers seat.
"Really great note, John Dory. Super helpful. Thanks,thanks. Now I have a creative note for you. Stop being bossy!"Ckay says annoyed. This is just like what happened 20 years ago! Did JD not change at all?! He is litterally doing it all over again!
"What? I’m not being bossy. I’m helping us be better" JD tries to explain himself. He really doesn't want to be bossy. To be the thing that got them to break up in the first place but it seems old habits die hard even after 20 years.
"No,no, dude.You’re forcing us to be perfect,
just like you always have,so we can hit the perfect family harmony" Clay says his temper rising. He is normally a pretty collected troll but JD always had managed to get on his nerves whether intentionally or unintentionally.
"Yeah I'm doing this so we can rescue Floyd" JD explains to the group. "Is it? Or is this all just so you can tell people what to do again?" Bruce asks his eyes narrowing. "What?" Jd asks shocked that Spruce would even say such a thing. He doesn't want to tell others what to do again. He wants to put that part of him behind him,lock it away and throw away the key.
"Guys, guys.This isn’t helpful right now. Let’s all maybe take five, huh?" Poppy asks as she can tell its getting really tense in the room and it's going to explode if this argument isn't stopped. She can also tell that Branch isn't liking this one bit,judging by his lowered ears and quivering tail.
'No no no this is just like what happened 20 years ago. Please just stop,please' Branch mentally begs them. It was happening all over again! He begins to take some deep breaths to try and calm down and to not have a panic attack right now as that's the last thing he needs.
"This isn’t gonna work if you keep on being the same old John Dory" Bruce says wanting to get it through his brothers thick skull that things are different now. They weren't teenagers anymore,they were adults with lives now.
"Yeah. We’ve all changed.Bruce settled down.
Branch is slightly taller, with zero glasses,fluffier and has a tail.And I’m a licensed CPA. Put some respect on my name, fool!" Clay exclaims his temper rising even more it's taking alot in him to not sock JD in the face right now.
"Well, I’m not allowed to change. I’m the oldest. I had to be the leader" Jd says,his brothers had no idea what it was like to be the oldest,the leader, just how much pressure and stress he was under even as a teenager.
"You love bossing us around. Just admit it"Bruce scoffs while rolling his eyes. JD was floored. He loved to boss them around?! Glitter no! He hated doing it back then and even now! "Why do you think I moved to the middle of nowhere? So I didn’t have to be in charge of anyone. Four little brothers is a lot of responsibility! You had no idea what stress i was under at that age! But I still took care of you guys because your my brothers!" JD exclaims angry.
"Why do you think I left? So no one would treat me like you did! I had body image issues for months! It took Brandi who knows how long to get me to relax and enjoy myself and not worry abou my image!" Bruce tells JD. He really needed to know just how much his perfect shtick messed him up mentally for so long.
JD's ears lower in sadness,he had no idea just how badly he messed up and now the consequences of his actions are now showing themselves. "You know what, Spruce-" JD starts before realizing his mistake. "Its Bruce!" Clay corrects him. "Thank you Clay!" Bruce says finally someone corrects Jd on his new name. He knows it's going to take a while for some people to get used to a new name,but still!
"Guys. We can’t forget about Floyd" Branch says hoping this will cease the argument. "Look, Branch is right. We’re here for Floyd.
Let’s just get this done and we can go our separate ways." JD says and the others agree.
"Wait what?" Branchs asks as his ears lower. His brothers are just going to leave him again? After all this they are just going to up and leave? AGAIN?!
"What? The mission’s the mission.You didn’t think we’d all live together when this was all over, did you? Singing songs and roasting marshmallows?" JD says. He knows he shouldn't be saying this but he just can't trust himself to be around his brothers again. He is already hurting them again after only being with them for less than 24 hours,it's best to let them go their separate ways to save them from the pain.
"Oh, I’m sorry. Is that funny to you? That I might want us to actually be a family again?"Branch growls out much to his brothers and Poppys surprise. He has never growled before. He knew it was just wishful thinking. Of course they wouldn't want to be a family again. OF COURSE THEY WANTED TO LEAVE HIM ALONE AGAIN!
"Tiny Diamond, pull over. Now." He growls out his tail lashing in anger and the little glitter troll does so not wanting to anger him anymore than he is.
"Branch-" Bruce says wanting to calm down Branch but he is interrupted. "You’re mad at him, but you guys do the exact same thing to me. You all still treat me like the baby of the family. But guess what? I stopped being a baby the day you guys walked out on me,’cause I had to. Then Grandma got eaten, and there was no one else to take care of me. I nearly got eaten by a bergen! I got turned into a rock zombie! Then I got turned into this monster! And guess what? Nobody but Poppy was there for me! This time I'm walking out on you!" Branch yells out his anger of 20 years finally coming to light. His fangs bared ears pinned back and tail lashing,his pupils have shrunk giving him a more feral look. He takes a look at the old hideout plans when he made when he was only 2,back when they were still a family and crumples it up and tosses it on the ground.
The door opens and he takes off running on all fours not caring who saw him at the moment. He needed to get away from them.
The group stares at his retreating figure in sadness before Poppy takes the paper that Branch crumpled up and fixes it. She take a look at it along with the others. It looked like a little hideout. It had all five of them living together underground.
"This is Branch’s bunker. He built this for you guys" Poppy says sad as she realizes that all those extra rooms she saw when she was staying in his bunker was for his brothers. "I.....I didn't know" Jd says shocked as it seems his colors start to become semi more muted as his ears lower. "Guess you never asksed" Poppy simply says before putting the paper in her hair and takes off after Branch on all fours as well.
"Wait a minute,grandma got eaten?" Ckay asks as his brothers look at each other in realization. If grandma got eaten.....
How old was Branch when this happened?
Sorry for this being super short I just really needed to post this as I wanted to write this scene asap
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I’m so in the mood to talk about jjk men as daddies but what about satusugu as step dads omg
Hear me out- what if Suguru never defected but instead just adopted mimiko and nanako thennn gojo goes and adopts megumi and his step sister — I just feel like they’d have the funnest day outs and sleepovers together and mimiko and nanako would totally have the biggest crush on megumi 🤭 And sometimes satusugu would literally just dump the whole bunch on shoko or nanami lmao
Ok!! Tysm for requesting this, I love the idea!!(I don’t write character x character because I know that ships can get pretty heated easily and that’s not something I want, so I’m going to avoid it, anyways not that this was a romantic intended request anyways!! This fic I decided to do Geto x reader because Geto is so pretty!!
When Gojo had nervously told you and Geto about how he had a meeting so early the next morning, you’d agreed with Geto that it was best to let Megumi and Tsumiki sleep over.
Of course both of the girls were so excited when they’d heard about them coming over.
At the time, they’d watched Twilight in theaters, you’d told them to ask their dad because you weren’t to sure how well he’d like his eight year olds to watch a film about vampires. And after they begged him for a week, he caved. He went with them to the theaters and when he came back he was horrified, the girls hadn’t stopped talking about twilight one bit and now that Megumi and Tsumiki were coming over, of course the girls had pulled out the nice blankets as they helped Geto to prepare the palate on the floor for them to sleep on, it was practically a ritual when they would come over at this point.
Mimiko runs off to her bedroom Geto can hear the way her little feet hit the wooden stairs of their bunk bed.
He watches as she appears from the room arms full of stuffed animals giving him a nervous smile. He pushes a few of the pillows over making room for her stuffed animals. He steps back letting the girls work in tandem to place the stuffed animals around the pallet strategically so it seems. Mimiko’s favorite doll is right beside where she’s going to lay, two soft plushies lay beside the pillows Tsumiki and Megumi always use and Nanako’s favorite lays beside Mimiko’s doll as well.
What Geto doesn’t think is going to happen is that the girls will try and play twilight, much less that you’ll let them.
He walks into the living room to see Bella swans face plastered across the tv bowl of popcorn in his hand as he gives you a playful glare.
“You put this on?” He asks and you let out a little giggle.
“Come on Suguru it isn’t so bad” you tell him but by the third time they ask you to replay the movie you feel the same as Geto.
“I don’t like this movie” Megumi whines as he mutters about how silly vampires are and making a movie about them is even sillier since they don’t exist!
“Alright no more twilight” you tell them as the credits play standing to get the cd from the player as you place it into the case, “why don’t you guys pick a different movie”
“What do we have” Nanako asks sitting beside you on her heels so she can look at the case.
Even though she picks out another one of their favorite movies she still along with the other three kids is asleep before they even get a half hour into the movie.
Anywho!! Pls let me know if you guys want to see anything else because jjk!dads is so fun to write!!
#anons#requests#reader insert#x reader#mom!reader#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk Geto#dad!geto#Geto x reader#geto suguru#Geto Suguru x reader#dad!Geto x reader
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FFXIVWrite 2023 #28: Blunt
(A/n: This prompt actually had me and a friend go down a whole different rabbit hole of an idea that interested me in a way that I want to write it, but it wouldn't have worked today. So another time perhaps. The more reasonable idea I did write was instead another Yuri piece, since I do write her as very blunt and straightforward.
Introducing her to another Scion, and he gets a sense for that straight edged style of hers, especially when she's not really charmed by charasmatic rogues. Plus a small gag to end because Urianger hasn't been to the East in game or we'd definitely see someone baffle at what he's saying even with the game's handwave about everyone knowing a lot of common.
Word count: 962)
“Oh, perfect timing Yuri, I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Krile said upon Yuri’s entry into the main hall, a box in hand that was large enough that she had to peek around to even see the smaller woman. She hadn’t yet seen this “someone” due to the box as well.
She wasn’t particularly fussed about meeting anyone to be honest. She had plenty of work to do - Krile having recently given her the responsibility of supervising incoming reports from outbound researchers, and that pile somehow grew by 5 new reports every time she got through just one.
Was this “someone” even going to be here long? Someone she would be spending enough time with to justify getting to know them and committing their name to memory? Well, she had to trust Krile on that since many faces had passed through the Annex in Yuri’s time there without a proper introduction - names learned instead just bumping into each other in the hall or passing food or papers between each other - so maybe this one was significant?
Like Fhara, who had gone off on her own errand, said to be gone for at least a week or so, but otherwise had spent a lot of time with Yuri. She drove the conversation mostly on her own, but she managed to drag enough out of Yuri for all her reticence that Yuri had found herself growing comfortable in her presence. Mostly.
She finally put the box down on the table, turning back around to take in the guest - a hyuran man with silvery hair wearing a heavy white jacket, and a roguish smile already on his face. Yuri already wished she’d just insisted on her work.
“Thancred,” he said with a small bow, “I ran into Fhara on her own little excursion and she told me much about you.” Oh, she’d certainly heard his name before. Unfortunately, the image conjured in Yuri’s head from Fhara’s tales still kept her watchful of the man, but nonetheless she matched his bow with her own.
“Yuri. Fhara also told me about you,” she said. His eyes rolled and Krile already seemed to be wearing a sly smirk.
“Only good things I should hope,” he sighed, to which Krile chuckled, “With you? Nothing but the finest.”
“Do you feel misrepresented in her stories?” Yuri dared to ask.
“Well, that would depend on what she’s told you exactly.” He looked somewhat hopeful.
“Mostly that you’re an amorous type with trails of broken hearts in your wake, and the one time you didn’t, you were distinctly not yourself.” She didn’t quite deliver the message with the same coyness Fhara had when she was telling the tales. And it was a sillier topic, about some of the Scions little faux pas to ease Yuri’s own spirits. But as it was, she knew so little about him other than those stories.
Indeed, his face dropped into a stunned dismay.
“Really? That’s all she’s had to say of me?” Krile had a hand to stifle her giggles, but it was evident enough by her shaking shoulders.
“Nothing about our courageous escape from Ul’dah, chased down and treated as criminals?,” he continued, though Yuri couldn’t be certain if he was genuinely upset and trying to salvage her character or if it was theatrics by how he gestured with his hands and shook his head, “Or my daring rescue of everyone against the Warriors of Darkness? Or was our time spent charging Mt Gulg at the van together not worth mention at all?”
“Oh they probably were, but they’ve only known each other for a short while now,” Krile said to placate him, mirthful in tone, “And you know what she’s like, certain others probably had more mention than most.”
“Ah yes, her adoration for those two would trump presenting me in a good light,” Thancred huffed, though the small smile he wore finally told Yuri he was at least good humoured about it.
“We haven’t spoken much about you or some others supposedly also in the Scions. That is all I know for now,” Yuri said.
“Well, that is to be expected with Fhara. Though I must say, you certainly aren’t tactful with your words,” he sighed, “Do me a favour, next time you meet, and ask her about some of our more dangerous or thrilling adventures please? I could do a better showing there.”
“I’ll try if I can get a word in with her. She normally does most of the talking, and I’ve been rather happy to let her,” Yuri admitted, “Though given your response here, I’m sure you’d be quite the storyteller. Why not tell me yourself now?”
“Y’know, I would, but unfortunately, I’m just passing through. Came to update Krile on matters and see how she was doing, and she insisted I hold so I could meet you,” Thancred replied, “And well met indeed. That’s quite the first impression you have of me, and I certainly won’t forget yours.” Yuri simply tilted her head, not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“As it is, I’m just waiting for my companion to arrive and we’ll probably head off again. Give you a quick introduction, but no time to chat. And probably for the best given how he goes on and on-”
A knock on the door interrupted him, and a taller elezen man walked in, dressed in a long black robe. Thancred shot a glance between the ladies, a knowing look in his eye. The elezen himself cast a brief glance at Yuri in acknowledgment of her presence, and a nod at Krile, but then focused on Thancred as he said– wait. What?
Oh kami help her, what kind of Eorzean was this man speaking?!
#ffxivwrite#ffxivwrite2023#thancred waters#krile mayer baldesion#fufu's writing#yuri sakuraba#raen au ra
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Commentary for [Name Redacted]
(That's the actual name of the fic. Nothing's getting redacted here!)
I haven’t done one of these in a while! Even if you haven’t read the fic this is for, there’s a free headcanon for you in this post!
I’ve had this headcanon for a long time. Like, before I even started publishing Splatoon fics. The idea is that in the Splatlands, people are given names by different groups instead of having a single name that they introduce themselves by. The name can be many different things depending on the group. For example, your family would give you a more name-sounding name, while your school might give you a name based on what you’re studying. The closest thing they have to “standard” names are names based on notable skills or physical features.
This style of naming is very common in the Splatland deserts, but pretty uncommon in the city of Splatsville (though common enough that government forms and such try to have more concrete ways of determining identity.) It’s not a big deal to reveal your other names to a unit, but it’s weird and a bit invasive to use those other names for someone. In the desert, only wealthy and important people are given names at birth* that are used throughout their lives, regardless of unit. These are known as “common names,” as mentioned in the fic. Neo, in this fic, is pretty ignorant of city culture, and he assumes everyone uses the naming conventions he’s familiar with.
*In that one line, when Neo says he doesn’t have a common name, I really wanted to make a minor change, but decided it would mess up the flow a bit too much. I wanted to say “as soon as they hatch” instead of “as soon as they’re born,” but I couldn’t. Since the fic is already about cultural differences, I wanted the familiar parts to stay familiar. It’s less accurate, but saying “born” is more natural and familiar to the (presumably) human readers.
I tried some different characterization for Captain and Neo here. The most obvious part is that Captain is mute. I actually wanted to do that with my consistent series of fics, but I didn’t for some reason, and it would be quite the retcon to change it now. There was no reason to mention it in the fic, but they became mute after the events of Octo Expansion, which is why they haven’t learned much sign language yet. I gave them a sillier personality than I usually would, partly to be the opposite of Neo’s personality. Speaking of, I made Neo blunt and borderline rude, but kind of in the way you’d expect a fourteen year old to be (no offense to any fourteen year olds reading this—it’s a rough age to be.) He tries his best to be polite, but he happens to spend most of the fic being pissed off, so we get more of his rudeness showing.
Going back to Captain, I treated their lack of speaking the same way I treat dialogue. My personal writing style is to keep dialogue tags and actions to a maximum of one sentence per line of dialogue, and with no period at the end, unless it’s leading to more dialogue. That may sound confusing written down. Just re-read the first two lines of dialogue, then Neo’s first line in the fic and it should hopefully be clear. Anyways, since Captain didn’t have words in their dialogue, I only used dialogue tags. This was very intentional; just because there are no words doesn’t mean it isn’t dialogue in some way. I typically don’t do that for silent communication—at least not on purpose—but it seemed appropriate for a mute character.
This is one of my favorite and most well-developed Splatoon headcanons. Unfortunately, I don’t tend to add in-depth headcanons like this to my fics. It’s difficult to seamlessly explain a headcanon without it becoming the focus of the fic for at least a few lines. However, I did consider it when thinking of a non-agent name for Neo in my consistent series (which I haven’t revealed yet!)
Also, if anyone feels particularly inspired by this headcanon, you’re absolutely free to use it! Not sure if that needs to be said about a headcanon at all, especially if I’m explaining it in depth like this, but I just want to be clear. If you want to know more about this headcanon, I'd be happy to make something up on the spot give you a well thought out answer.
#alchemically posts#alchem fics#splatoon#splatoon headcanon#agent 3#new agent 3#neo agent 3#<- i still don't know which tag to use for this character
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saw the ask game you reblogged. I got excited and picked 3 (they all looked so cool😩). asking about ur ship with giyuu but if u wanna talk about any other ships that's fine too.
feel free to do as many as you want (one, all or even none! no pressure)
⚔️ - au time! pick an au of your ship that you have thoughts for and talk about it. if you can't decide, pick it randomly.
⏳ - do you have several timelines in your selfship? if so, describe them. alternatively, do you imagine your selfship in different stages of the relationship?
💌 - any major changes in your selfship lore over time? if so, compare how it used to be with how it's now.
FROTHING AT THE MOUTH TO TALK ABOUT GIYUU MORE TYSMMM FIOASASIOD!!!
⚔️ - au time! pick an au of your ship that you have thoughts for and talk about it. if you can’t decide, pick it randomly.
I love my modern AU with Giyuu!! I think about it probably just as much as our mainline canon. It's just so so sweet and domestic where nothing tragic happens and he and I can just be a happy and have our little family all together <3 And he gets to be a lot sillier (unintentionally, autism moment) than he does in mainline. He's a gym teacher, he loves raisin bread, he's kind of a nerd too! In my mind, he likes little collectibles from his childhood that he never got to have too many of, so now he very passively collects things like trading cards and smaller figurines! He also took up cooking a lot more in my modern AU! He likes reading books about cooking, the history behind different cultures and their cuisine, and practicing making new dishes and teaching me how to as well! It's all just very nice to exist in, and I love coming up with more things to think about with it!
⏳ - do you have several timelines in your selfship? if so, describe them. alternatively, do you imagine your selfship in different stages of the relationship?
I imagine a timeline rather often of me and Giyuu having a child of our own! (Outside of Zenitsu of course, this will always be a situation of giving my son a baby sibling.) I have a name picked out and everything, how he'd look, his personality too! I'm just never sure if I'm gonna canonize it or not. I love the thought of Zenitsu having a baby brother to grow up with for the rest of his teen years, and Giyuu and I getting to experience new parenthood, just getting to grow our family a bit! I'm always torn about it though, because I don't always like having kids in my self ships. Zenitsu is a rare case in that he's never gonna not be my kid in any canon, but he's also a teenager, so it's very much different! I do love Giyuu and I's semi-canonical child though very much, so maybe I'll just have to play around with the idea! And perhaps introduce the little guy to y'all!
And I do imagine my selfships in different stages very often! It's always fun to reflect/relive scenarios no matter what period of time the story is taking place or even if I'm making up more that's ongoing/current!
💌 - any major changes in your selfship lore over time? if so, compare how it used to be with how it's now.
In mainline I was so hesitant to be with Giyuu previously! Every early piece of lore was just riddled with uncertainty and insecurity, the not knowing, the second guessing, the avoiding. What really changed it was the comfort factor, at some point it just hit me that Giyuu feels so comfortable, like I've known him and have been with him forever. That sort of love and safety and comfort that you get when you're decades into a relationship. I am still insecure, but that's a me problem. I know he'll always be there for me, but starting out when I f/o'd him, there was just so much insecurity and uncertainty. I was so scared that maybe he wouldn't want to be with someone who had adopted a teenager, especially one that actively feared him OTL (sorry Zenitsu, I know Giyuu can be a bit intimidating sometimes!), or that maybe I wasn't the right person for him because we're rather different. But I realized we compliment each other, and his devotion and love is silent, yet so powerful. We both were insecure little babies at the start, but now we're just so utterly comfortable and in love unabashedly. It's nice!
Thank you so much again!! I appreciate the ask!!
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@storyshark2005 prompted me:
Noel encounters one of Liam's kids during Christmas.
The idea was, get away for Christmas, somewhere warm. It was Nat's idea actually. And why not? It was dead romantic. Plus, she had two new swimsuits, she could come back with a tan. Mum was all for it, she loved Nat. There was a little frisson in her voice when she told Molly to go ahead and join him in Jamaica, like she was expecting a proposal or something.
"I mean, think about it, Darling, it scans, doesn't it? He's invited you away for the holidays, he's crazy about you…"
"It's only been seven months, officially," Molly had said, rolling her eyes. "It's far too early. Not gonna happen."
Lisa had shrugged. "We'll see, won't we?"
The truth of the matter was, she was probably relieved Molly wasn't going to spend Christmas with her father. She'd accepted Molly's relationship with Liam and her half brothers somewhat reluctantly. She understood it was what Molly wanted and that Liam was making an effort at long last. Molly was just glad to finally be in touch with him at last. He was different than she'd imagined him all these years. Different than Mum said he was. And certainly not much like the man Noel and Sara described to her. The real Liam was louder and sillier and completely hopelessly loveable.
Of course she'd be invited to spend Christmas with Liam and his clan but it was her first Christmas with Nat. It was only right it should be something special.
So here Molly was at Heathrow on the 24th of December. She'd had an unfortunately photo shoot that couldn't be rescheduled the night before and was only able to fly out that morning. Nat had a game against Man City on Thursday and had left yesterday to make Christmas arrangements as he put it.
"Engagement arrangements," Mum had said in her dry, off-hand way.
Molly had pointedly ignored her but packed her new favourite dress, Christmas red silk, strappy and form-fitting anyway. Just in case.
She'd just checked her bags in and was enjoying an overpriced coffee drink and scrolling through Instagram when she heard the distinct sound of someone complaining in a Mancunian accent. Molly's first thought was that it was her dad but that was impossible. The similarity was uncanny, however. That really left only one option.
"What do you mean, there's a frost?" he said. "It's barely cold out. Don't they have solutions for this sort of thing? They can't just shut the whole fucking country down when the temperature drops!"
He hadn't changed a bit. Well, he was a little older. His hair more thoroughly threaded with white, he seemed somehow smaller than the last time she'd seen him and simultaneously larger than life. It really had only been about three years since she was in the same room with him. But then for years her uncle had been more God-like than human to her. The closest she could come to knowing her father.
Molly slouched down in her chair like it was a Hollywood comedy and pulled her hair over her face. Maybe he wouldn't notice her. She wasn't ready to face him. Or worse yet, to be ignored by him. She was just too angry.
"My fucking children are in Jamaica. My wife is in Jamaica. Figure out how to get me there today. Or you'll fucking regret it."
#so here it is merry Christmas#preview#i got really busy before i could finish this#gallagher fanfiction#to be continued#molly and noel
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