#I will not be elaborating further but I welcome anyone who wishes to do so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nat-20s · 3 years

Text

Part 5 of Wonderful! Au. *boyband voice* banter’s back alright!

Also on AO3

~*~

Jon: Hello everyone, and welcome back to our regular format. If my husband being horribly soppy-

Martin:-hey!-

Jon: -turned you off the how, this should be a refreshing return to formula, though I can’t guarantee there won’t be further horrible soppiness-

Martin, performatively under his breath: -most people thought it was charming-

Jon: -as that tends to happen when one is recording with the love of their life. If last week’s episode is the only one that you like, too bad, I’m back in full form, and should be at least through the rest of the season.

Martin: This show doesn’t have seasons? Due to the whole lack of a narrative thing?

Jon: I was referring to spring.

Martin: Oh, right.

[A beat passes.]

Martin, flatly: Oh. Great goof hon.

Jon, smug: Thank you.

Jon, sincere: Also, before we get properly started, I did want to actually thank everyone who sent well wishes.

M artin: Yes! We got positively inundated with lovely messages, it definitely brightened both of our days. I would even say it was wonderful.

[Jon groans.]

Jon: I am..not proud of the energy we’ve created for this episode so far, and we haven’t even hit the small wonders. Speaking of, do you have a small wonder this week?

Martin: Mine’s bad action movies.

Jon: Really? I had no idea you even liked them, let alone consider them wonderful.

Martin: Okay, so, saying I like them is a bit of a misnomer? It’s more that I like what they can do more than the movies themselves?

Jon: Elaborate?

Martin: It probably comes as a surprise to no one that I’ve tried my hand at a fair amount of mindfulness and mediation techniques. I’ve found poetry and journaling have been helpful for actually processing life events and whatnot, but when it comes to giving your brain a hard wipe and reset, nothing is half as quick and effective as a shitty shoot-em-up. Somethings about 2 hours of cartoonish, pg-13 violence held together with the absolute loosest of plots brings me to a state of mental blankness that would make a monk jealous.

Jon: How have I never witnessed you doing this? When are you sneaking off to go see Micheal Tarantino or who ever films?

M artin: That’s definitely not the right name.

Jon: Martin, dear, I don’t care. And you’re dodging the question.

Martin, fond: I’m not dodging anything. Since apparently we’re getting into it, you haven’t caught me cavorting with a movie involving more explosions than character development lately because I haven’t been. Haven’t needed it, in recent years. Turns out when you’re not crushingly lonely and working a literal nightmare of job, there’s less of a drive to try and escape your own thoughts. Shocker, I know. Still, to anyone out there that feels like their brain is on fire, go try watching a fast and furious. Any of ‘em, it doesn’t matter. Or even better, Chronicles of Riddick. I can’t remember a single goddamn detail of that movie, which makes it perfect for what I’m talking about.

Jon: I have the strong feeling that th is is a “mileage may vary” scenario.

Martin: Well, yeah, that’s this whole podcast. Plus, I imagine that movies like this would cause more stress to someone who cares about, say, world-building or rules consistency.

Jon: I wonder who you could possibly be referring to.

Martin: It’s a purely hypothetical person, love, don’t worry about it. Any small wonders?

Jon: Yes! Particularly relevant to the last week, my small wonder is stripping the sheets from your bed when it’s been too long between washes.

Martin: How very specific. M ost people would just say ‘clean sheets’.

Jon: Well, for one, I’m fairly certain that we’ve already covered clean sheets-

Martin: Shit, have we? Thank god other people keep track of this, otherwise this show would be unbearably repetitive.

Jon: Christ, yes. I typically check the website a good three times while prepping, and every about one out of those three times I find I’m trying to do an topic we did 30 episodes again. Anyway, um, it’s just nice, I think. When you’ve been too busy or sick or away for awhile, tossing the sheets in the wash makes a room instantly seem nicer. Of all the chores out there, this one, at least for me, has the highest reward to effort ratio.

Martin: Hard agree. Especially when the y have that slight funk of having been around to long, getting rid of that is such a relief. Speaking of, we need to change our sheets soon.

Jon: We can do it after the episode. Who goes first this week?

Martin: Considering last week was only me talking, I’m gonna say it’s you.

Jon: Alright, then. My first thing this week is Martin K. Blackwood.

Martin: Absolutely not!

Jon: Oh, you can do a whole episode on me, but I can’t do one little segment on my husband, whom I love very dearly?

Martin: Not while I’m sat here, no!

Jon: So you’re saying you don’t want me to tell the internet that your resolve to be kind even in the face of indescribable cruelty is one of the mot breathtaking things I’ve ever witnessed, or how I find it incredibly endearing when you get so emotional that your voice comes out as a squeak, or even that, on a more base level, you’re very physically attractive, and I could lose entire days thinking about your arms alone?

Martin, audibly blushing, voice the aforementioned squeak: Oh my god, Jon!

Jon, laughing: Then it’s probably for the best that my actual first thing is best friends.

Martin, peaking the audio levels: Oh you absolute bastard! Do you enjoy this? Do you get some sort of perverse sense of entertainment from riling me up?

Jon: Oh, don’t you start. As if you’re not as bad as I am. Maybe even worse.

Martin: That’s not…

Jon: Yes?

Martin: Okay. Maybe it’s slightly true. Really, what is romance for if not flustering your partner with compliments?

Jon, teasing: I certainly can’t think of anything.

Martin: Hush, you.

Jon: No, I don’t think I will.

Martin: Fine. I suppose you can tell our delightful audience about the power of friendship or whatever.

Jon: I would’ve assumed more enthusiasm, considering this segment is still, indirectly, about you.

Martin: In what way?

Jon: In the way that, to the shock of all, you’re my best friend.

Martin, pleased: Oh, is that what I am?

Jon, exasperated: Yes, dearest husband, I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. Though, upon reflection, I knew you were my best friend before I knew I held romantic feelings for you.

Martin: When was that?

Jon, letting out a breath that vibrates his lips: God it was...2016? I think it might’ve literally been the day after you told me about your CV.

Martin: That early? Huh. I wonder if that’s what people were picking up when they said they we were close.

Jon: What people?

Martin: I don’t know specifically, that’s just what Daisy told me.

Jon: Daisy? When the hell-?

Martin: It...was when she was interrogating me? And, because sometimes I have to be a parody of myself, pretty much my only take away from that interrogation was “people think me and Jon are close”.

Jon: Well then. It’s not like they were wrong.

Martin, smug: No, no they weren’t.

Martin, sincere: And you’re my best friend, too.

Jon: I was certainly hoping that you’re in this relationship for more than my good looks and incredible fortune, both in the monetary and luck sense.

Martin: You say that as if you aren’t good looking, which we all know is patently untrue.

Jon: You’re biased. You’d say I was good looking if I were nothing more than some primordial ooze with thoughts about its station.

Martin: I’m being completely objective. If you were primordial ooze with thoughts above its station, you’d be the cutest ooze of them all. That’s just scientific fact.

Jon: I’m starting to think we might be insufferable.

Martin: Starting to? Might be?

Jon:…

[Jon clears his throat]

Jon: What I find wonderful about the concept of best friends is, to me, they’re the closest thing real life has to soulmates. I don’t personally believe that there’s some..grand mystic force that drives people to be tied together in the manner that narrative typical soulmates are, and if there was I don’t think it would necessarily be the kind of emotional, heartfelt bond one would hope for, but I do believe that there’s individuals that get to know one another, and because of that knowledge, they chose to stick with one another. It doesn’t have to be a romantic, which is why I say best friend rather than specifically ‘spouse’, but I would argue that the basis of a strong romance like you and I have, is very much rooted in that connection. A true best friendship is an equal partnership, and there’s a sense of..matched sensibilities and understanding that can be utterly incandescent when it happens.

I also think that having one or more best friends makes living life on a day to day basis both better and just flat easier. The dark times aren’t as dark, and the bright times shine even more. I know from my own personal experience there are events that I..that I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you. Hell, last week my..recovery period would’ve taken much longer if you hadn’t been there.

It’s an amazing thing to have someone to share things with, both triumphs and burdens. Um, also, according to Dictionary.com, the term best friends in English has been around since the 1200s. Something about that delights me, like, yes, we’ve had this casual way of referring to a Favorite Person for roughly 800 years. That makes it a hold-out from early Middle English. I dunno, it’s one of those things that make me feel overall very charmed by humanity.

Martin, audibly smiling: No, yeah, hard agree.

Jon: What’s that look for?

Martin: Nothing. Just. I love you a whole lot, you know that?

Jon, voice soft: I may have heard you say that once or twice. Per hour.

Martin: Only that often? I really need to be more diligent about that.

[There’s a bet of silence, presumably where they’re making doe eyes at each other.]

Jon: What’s your first thing?

Martin: Oh, um, right. Rats!

Jon: The expression or the animal?

Martin: Jon, have you ever once heard me say “rats” as an expression? Obviously I’m referring to the animal.

Jon: Ah. Should’ve known, considering that what, a third?, of all your segments have been on animals.

Martin: Yeah? And? You got a problem with critters? With creatures? With lil guys?

Jon, laughing: No, no, it’s very sweet. I’m just surprised you never became a vet.

Martin: Oh believe me, I wanted to. But then I learned that it was not, in fact, a job composed entirely of getting paid to play with other people’s pets.

Jon: You had that job, though, didn’t you? I thought I remembered you mentioning a month long stint at a doggie day care.

Martin, sighing dreamily: Best job I ever had. Too bad that place was shut down after it was revealed to be a money laundering front.

Jon: Good lord.

Jon: Martin did you...did you know it was a money laundering front at the time?

Martin:

Martin: Would it make you feel better if I said no?

Jon: Martin!

Martin: I figured it out like a week in, but, like, who cares? The pay was decent and the floor was super easy to clean, which is very much a plus for even a front of a doggie day care.

Jon: That’s...rather a lot. How about instead of getting into that any further, you tell me about rodents.

Martin: I would love to. But first, we have a shoutout!

Jon: Ooo, a shoutout. Does it specify who should read?

Martin: Let me check. It...does...not…..

...

Jon: Martin?

[A beat.]

Martin: Right! Sorry, um. This week’s shoutout is from Tim, to Danny. It says, “Danny! My favorite person who shares genetic material with me! I wanted to say thank you for your podcast obsession from 4 months ago, and specifically for telling me about these marrieds. They’ve gotten me through many a dull hour at the publishing house. Also, with this shoutout, I’ve officially gotten ahead on the Superior [Last Name Redacted] Brother scoreboard, so suck it. Love you lots, and looking forward to your visit next month, Tim.”

Jon: Oh.

Jon: Um. That’s very..sweet? I think? Mostly?

Martin: Yeah, I’d say so. Uh. We have to take a quick break because, uh, someone is..at our front door! Be back with you all in, from your side of things, just a moment.

#wonderful! au #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #>:3 #shoutouts are their versions of jumbotrons btw

196 notes · View notes

cycat4077 · 3 years

Text

Proposing Permission

Summary: You and Sonny have been together for a year but your idea of celebrating is slightly different than his. Set during S18 - roughly November 2016. Pairing: Sonny x Reader Warnings: None, except fluff...and maybe suggestive hints here and there ;) Words: 2479 AO3 here

Technically part 13 in the Changes verse, but can act as a stand-alone, too!

“Mom!” you exclaim as soon as you hear her ‘hello?’ on the end of the line. “You'll never guess what just happened! – Wait, how'd you know? – He did? Of course, he did!” you laugh happily, flashing a bright smile up at Sonny who sits beside you on the sofa.

Sonny would give you the abridged version of the events that led up to this moment later, but at the time, things went a little like this:

-x-

“Uh, Carisi? Where are we going? The turn-off for the I-87 South, is that-a-way…” Amanda turns her body towards the traffic junction that passes by. She then whips back around to stare at her partner in the diver’s seat, a disgruntled look on her face.

“I need ta make a detour,” he states, eyes never leaving the highway.

“But we’re on a case!” she protests, growing irritated.

“Yeah, but we did what we came upstate to do. Got some answers, relayed them to Lieu. Technically, we’re off duty right now.” Sonny taps the wheel with his thumbs, trying to avoid his partner's gaze.

But Amanda Rollins is not one to concede so easily. “Tell me where we’re going, Dominick,” she drops her voice to a stern tone, eyes boring into the side of Sonny’s head.

Sonny lets out a nervous breath and says your name. “Remember how her parents live upstate? Well…” he reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, producing a velvet box. Amanda gasps and nabs it from his grasp. She flips the little box open, finding a ring. “I wanna propose,” admits Sonny, “but I wanna ask her folks first.”

Dragging her eyes away from the box, Rollins frowns. “It’s twenty-sixteen, Sonny…you don’t need parental permission anymore.”

“I know, I know,” dismisses Sonny. “But that’s how my pa did it, and, she’s really close with her parents. It seems right to ask ‘em first.”

Amanda smiles in spite of herself. The gesture is very much a ‘Sonny Carisi’ thing to do. So, she cracks a joke instead. “What’re you gonna do? Salute her dad and say: ‘Requesting permission to marry your daughter, sir!’”

“Rawllins,” he groans, trying to act annoyed while keeping his eyes on the road.

“Do what you gotta do, partner,” she winks before turning her attention back to the box. “This ring is gorgeous!”

-x-

The drive was absolutely beautiful. Being October, the further away from concrete Sonny and Amanda drove, the denser the colourful forests became. It was picture perfect and Sonny’s only wish was that you could have been along to see it too.

Pulling up to your childhood home, Sonny leaves Amanda in the passenger’s seat. Afterall, this detour had to be relatively quick to prevent Lieu from breathing down his neck about it.

As Sonny makes his way to the door, his legs are a little wobbly and his pulse is racing. He has met your parents before and they adore him, yet, as he waits for his knock to be answered, his nerves get the better of him. This is a huge step and he hopes that they believe him worthy of it.

Then the door clicks open to reveal your mother. “Sonny!” she exclaims happily, but immediately her face falls. “Is everything okay?” In hindsight, an unannounced, unaccompanied visit does seem a little concerning.

Clueing in, Sonny immediate puts your mother at ease. “Yeah, yeah!” he reassures with a smile. “Work brought me upstate and I, uh, I wanted ta ask y’both somethin’ while I was up here.”

“Of course, of course!” Your mother ushers Sonny into the house before giving him a giant hug. Just as she releases him your father walks into the room, coming over with a large smile and firm handshake.

“Sir,” greets Sonny with a nod.

The three of them then take a seat at the dining room table; your mother unsurprisingly offers Sonny everything in her fridge. Once satisfied that he’s not lying about not being hungry, she continues. “So, son, what’s on your mind?”

The Italian swallows nervously. He looks to his fingers, thrumming them on the table top while his right knee bounces anxiously. Finally, he begins to speak: “Well, as you know, your daughter and I have been together for a while now and, we love each other very much. I love her very much.” A grin begins to break out on your mom’s face, her intuition giving her a good idea of where the conversation is headed. “And I, uh,” continues Sonny, “well, it seemed only right for me ta ask the two of you first. I w-wanna ask her ta marry me.”

Suspicions confirmed, your mother squeals with delight, grabbing onto your father’s arm and giving it a loving squeeze.

“I got a ring already and everything, if ya wanna see it,” Sonny adds quickly as if it will reenforce how committed he is to you. He pulls out the box once more and hands it over to your mom.

“Oh, Sonny,” she sighs looking up to your boyfriend. “She’s going to absolutely love it.”

“So, I, uh, have both your blessings then?” His blue eyes dart nervously back and forth between your parents.

Finally, your dad chimes in. “Of course!” he exclaims happily, his voice choking up ever so slightly. “You’re a good man and I couldn’t imagine my girl with anyone else.”

Sonny’s stomach does a somersault as he is immediately flooded with relief. “Thank ya!” he leaps to his feet. Your parents stand with him, both delivering their future son-in-law a squeezing hug. Parting, Sonny reluctantly explains that he can’t stay and that he must be getting back to the city.

“Alright, hon,” your mother coos. “Let us know what happens. Your secret is safe with us for now, but we’ll be waiting anxiously by the phone for the happy news!”

“Will do,” beams Sonny before he heads back to the squad car. Your parents wave him goodbye until he’s out of sight.

-x-

It’s your anniversary! One complete year of you and Sonny (finally) getting together! But…the universe really didn’t care about that. Nope! Because a faculty meeting was called on the one day where you didn’t have classes to teach. It ran from midday and into the evening and there was no possible way of getting out of it either. You loved your job, you really did, but today was supposed to be for you and Sonny. Nothing fancy, of course, but you had planned a lazy morning, followed up with cooking together and turning it into a romantic evening celebration.

“Uhhggghhh!” you groan, hanging your head and slouching your shoulders.

Sonny places his warm hands on your arms, grinning. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” You can feel those blue eyes shining down on you and, the next thing you know, a finger is gingerly tilting your chin up towards his. “I ain’t mad at all, okay? Shit happens. Jeez, how many times have I hadta cancel a date with you ‘cause I got called in or hadta work late?”

You bunch your mouth at the corner, frustrated. “I know, but it’s our anniversary and I was looking forward to spending all day with you!”

“So was I, but we can still make the most of it.” He kisses you on the nose. “I’ll go ahead ‘n make dinner and then when ya get home we can celebrate.”

“You sure? It was supposed to be a team effort. I can just grab some takeout on the way home –”

“Nonsense,” Sonny grins. “Besides, my cookin’ is way better than any takeout in the city.” His words make you laugh. “There’s that beautiful smile,” he beams, sweeping the hair back from your eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, doll. Now, go on before you’re late ‘n try not ta fall asleep.”

You give Sonny a sweet kiss and make your way to the door. Before exiting, you flash a sultry look over your shoulder at your smiling boyfriend. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later, babe. It’s just a shame you have to wait so long to see what’s underneath this dress.” You slip out the door before you’re able to see the sign of the cross Sonny makes in attempt to absolve himself of his sinful thoughts.

-x-

The journey back home never felt so exhausting. Maybe it was the fact that the meeting seemed to drag on forever, especially when all you could think about was curling up next to Sonny. Your feet ached in your pumps and you cursed your wardrobe choice. Though, you were still new at the college and thus wanted to make a professional impression.

Once you finally reach your floor, a distinct cooking aroma floats down the hallway. Your stomach grumbles, knowing exactly which apartment is the origin and eager to taste what smells so delicious.

Opening your door, you are greeted by your wonderful boyfriend and his smiling eyes. He’s dressed up in a crisp shirt and slacks. “Welcome home, sweetheart and happy anniversary!”

You smile up at him and step into his outstretched arms. His attire seemed a bit formal, but you weren’t complaining. The way button up shirts hugged his arms and torso always made your face flush and heart beat a little faster. Those same arms also fit perfectly around you when he held you close.

As you begin to withdraw from his embrace however, you notice just how much Sonny is perspiring. “Babe, you alright?” Your brow knits with concern. “You’re sweating a bunch…”

Sonny quickly averts his gaze and turns towards the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he gives a dismissive wave. “The oven’s been on all day.”

You know him well enough to tell that something is not quite right and his half-hearted answer gives you reason to follow him and press the issue. But as you round the corner, you’re stopped dead in your tracks by an elaborate display.

Sonny has gone all out. A hearty meal sits steaming on a table set for two, a single rose in a crystal vase resides at the center, and he’s even arranged some of your candles to provide low lighting. The sight of it all leaves you feeling as though your heart will flutter right out of your chest.

"Sonny," you whisper, hand over your heart. "You didn't have to do all this." You then peer up at him with glassy eyes.

"I wanted tonight to be special. Just you ‘n me celebrating a whole magical year of being together.”

Closing the distance, you lean up and place your lips tenderly to his. Sonny bends forward, deepening the kiss. You run a hand tenderly up the front of his shirt feeling the contours of his muscles beneath your fingers. Sonny reaches to cover your hand with his, grasping it carefully and reluctantly pulling it away. Breaking apart, he smiles, "Food's gonna get cold, doll."

The two of you sit down to a quiet, romantic dinner, clinking glasses in a toast to your relationship. But Sonny still has beads of sweat forming along his brow. "Babe, are you sure you're alright?" you point to his forehead. "It's not that hot in here..."

He swallows thickly, looking away. "Yeah...I'm just a little nervous is all." Sonny then focuses on you with big, blue eyes.

Yours narrow in confusion. Nervous? Why would he be nervous? It just us here...

Sonny flashes you shy smile before reaching across the table to take your hand in his. He stares at it in contemplation as he runs his thumb lovingly over your knuckles.

Biting his lip, he shifts those gorgeous eyes back to yours. "We've been through a lot in a year, doll," he begins. "And last summer I never knew how my life would change when you walked through that squad room door. I never knew that I could love someone so completely until I fell in love with you. My whole heart is yours and -"

"Sonny!" you release a sweet laugh. "You don't owe me a speech! I know how much you love me, silly! And I hope you know how much I love you too."

Suddenly, Sonny seems a little terrified. Had he rehearsed this or something?

"Just hear me out, ‘kay?" he implores following a shaky breath.

You smile softly and squeeze his hand signaling for him to continue.

"Believe me, doll, I've never felt more loved by anyone but you. I love waking up with ya in the mornin' and fallin' asleep together at night. My heart skips a beat thinkin' about a future with you. So, I guess that's why I'm sweatin'."

All of a sudden the warmth of Sonny's hand disappears. He shifts to get up from the table, slipping his fingers into his pocket. Then you realize that he's getting down on one knee. Your heart begins to thunder in your chest and a gasp catches in your throat.

Sonny's eyes lock onto yours as he produces a velvet box and opens it. There sits a white gold ring topped by a dainty solitaire diamond. Your eyes immediately rim with tears as you hear Sonny softly speak your name. "Will you marry me?"

A large smile erupts upon your face and you instantly blurt out a "yes!"

Sonny's expression changes to one of pure love. He delicately slips the ring on your finger and quickly rises to capture your lips in a kiss.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he effortlessly scoops you up. "I'm so happy," you speak against his lips, eliciting a tight squeeze from your fiancé.

Fiancé! Sonny Carisi is your fiancé! The man you love with your whole heart. You've always believed that it isn’t the ring on their finger that make two people married – that’s at least how committed you feel towards Sonny – Yet now, you couldn’t be happier to make what you share official.

"I'm so happy too, doll! I love you! I love you! I love you!" Sonny reciprocates in between swift kisses to your cheeks, nose and lips. Then his eyes darken and he bows his head towards your neck, nibbling and suckling at the sensitive skin that resides there.

You sigh, a tingling sensation spreading throughout your body. God, is he good at this! But then, your mind comes back to reality and you gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” you chant, tapping your hands lightly on his chest.

Sonny pulls back but his eyes still hungrily flicker to where his lips were focused mere moments before.

“I have to go call my mom! She’d kill me if she knew I didn’t tell her right away.” You watch as Sonny smirks. “But then I promise we’ll celebrate properly…after all, you still haven’t seen what’s underneath this dress.”

-x-

Fluffy enough for ya? Heehee

Tag list? @barbasbodaciousbeard @teamsladsandgents @adarafaelbarba @caracalwithchips @averyhotchner (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

#Sonny Carisi #sonny carisi x reader #Sonny Carisi x You #sonnyshine of my life #law and order svu #SVU fanfiction #the Changes Verse #my fanfic #changes #SVU s18

87 notes · View notes

aurabird · 3 years

Text

Tainted Blood

Joel doesn’t believe in the demon, going as far as to ignore him entirely. But the Mezalean King’s defiance isn’t what draws Xornoth to him...but something dark and violent, a thirst for blood that cannot be quenched.

What use could a desire so strong be when mixed with corruption?

Tw: I think just blood/violence and corruption for this one.

Also on Ao3

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

Joel struggled against the chains binding him with a frustrated growl. It was obvious that he was in a dungeon of some sort as a prisoner given the way he was being restrained; arms above his head and his legs to the floor. Who would possibly have the audacity to capture him like this?

“Very funny guys. I’m not laughing, you can come out now and free me.” he shouted to no one in particular.

That is when he heard footsteps, his attention being drawn to the sound in time to see Sausage enter the room. The Mythland king wore attire in various grey shades, a black cape fastened around his shoulders by a ruby trailed behind him as he walked with calculated strides.

The outfit change wasn’t the only new thing Joel noticed about the king, black veins webbed across the man’s visible flesh in vine-like patterns, a faint crimson glow pulsating from them. Sausage turned to look at him, piercing red eyes only made more sinister by the same black veins on his face.

“Joel, good to see you’ve finally awoken!” he said with a grin that was far too sharp and a tone of voice that was only slightly off in normalcy.

“Sausage, what is this? I don’t have time for your silly games right now!”

“Games? Joel you wound me. If anyone has been playing games it has been you taunting Lord Xornoth.”

“That’s what this is about? As far as I am concerned the demon doesn’t exist, just some big elaborate prank someone is playing on all of us that we are falling for.”

Suddenly, Sausage was directly in front of him, the sharp grin still crossing their face “Ah, that’s right, he mentioned how you have been ignoring and irritating him.” the Mythland king took a few steps back before continuing, “But that’s why you’re here, he’s going to make sure you can’t ignore him anymore.”

Joel felt a shiver go down his spine at how calm and deathly serious those words were said. “He doesn’t scare me, Sausage, and neither do you.”

“We’ll see about that, King Joel. Yes we will.” came a distorted voice from everywhere in the room at once, the speaker soon materializing before the Mezalean king in a puff of smoke. Their skin was ebony in color, veins very similar to those on Sausage’s own skin covered every inch of their body and the sinister horns growing from their head were constantly pulsating purple and crimson underneath the shadows that slithered around them. A wicked grin stretched across their face, mouth not moving despite saying words.

“Leave us, Champion.” the entity that was definitely not a demon in any way ordered, dismissing the Mythland king with a wave of a clawed hand.

“Of course my lord.” he replied with a bow before taking his leave, the sound of stone grinding against stone was heard as a door closed behind him, leaving Joel alone with the entity.

“So, Xornoth right? Sausage claims you’re going to keep me from ignoring you.” Joel began with a bored, condescending tone in his voice.

“While that is true, your defiance isn’t what perked my interest in you, there is something else...something dark inside your soul that I am quite curious about. I believe you call it bloodlust?”

“What about it?”

“I find it something worth studying further.”

The chains binding Joel unlocked with unspoken command, causing him to slump to the ground where crimson tendrils were quick to coil around his limbs, preventing any struggle or movement as they held him against the cold floor.

The sound of a sword being dragged across stone drew his attention, Xornoth holding the blade in his hand, “What triggers it I wonder? Is it the sight of blood or the lack thereof?” Joel didn’t get to reply as the demon cut into his left arm, allowing crimson to poor freely from the wound.

He ran through the forest, the wolves at his heels howling as they bayed for the blood of their prey, Joel giving a wicked grin as the desire to kill urged him forwards. He could hear them in the distance, the King and his Hand fleeing for their lives.

“THE RED KING DIES TONIGHT FELLAS!” he cackled with sadistic glee, a look of madness in his red eyes as they entered the war-torn remains of a desert.

The scene faded as quickly as it began, Joel’s body shaking like a leaf in fear at what he’d just seen. He’d witnessed that moment countless times over in his nightmares, but never whilst awake.

Xornoth’s smile grew at the sight of the man’s fear, “Guess you aren’t as fearless as you like to believe.” he said.

Joel snarled, “Sh-Shut up. You know nothing about me!”

“I know you deny my existence and infuriate me with your defiance. I know of your bond with the Ocean Queen and the Codfather...”

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on either of them!”

His threat was ignored as the demon chuckled “Oh, I won’t. But you will.”

Agony coursed through Joel’s body at those words, a cry tearing from his throat as his skin burned where the crimson tendrils made contact with it.

His foot nicked the fiery liquid pouring from above, an ember quickly setting his pants ablaze and causing him to panic. He scrambled as fast as he could to get over the stone brick wall and into the swamp water he knew lay beyond it.

In his act of desperation he got caught up in a lava stream which trapped his legs in sheer agony as it wasted no time incinerating flesh, his vision going black from the pain, a mercy from one of the most painful deaths.

Green eyes bore into his brown ones as the girl glared at him with a satisfied grin, the flames licking the walls of his house out of revenge casting a shadow on her decaying body and torn clothes.

The flames danced around him as he panicked to try and put them out, but to no avail, once more his body was consumed by an inferno.

Joel’s eyes snapped open as he was brought back to reality, his gaze quickly locking onto the black webs slowly creeping up his arms from where they came in contact with the crimson tendrils.

Everything burned as the corruption spread through him, taking control of his motor functions and causing him to cease his struggling.

The demon's maniac laughter echoed throughout the room almost taunting him. Anger flared in his chest and the sight of blood staining stone from where he’d been sliced with a sword fueled a desire to kill.

His vision turned red as a haze began to wrap around his mind, but Joel didn’t fight it, the bloodlust was familiar and welcoming to him...but why there was also something different about it this time?

He had no time to question it as soon, Joel’s thoughts were no longer his own and the pain faded. The Mezalean King’s now-red eyes burned brightly as he looked up to meet those of his master, a twisted smile curving on his lips before he spoke.

“What do you wish me to do to them, Lord Xornoth?”

#empires smp #empiressmp #empiresblr #smallishbeans #xornoth #My writing #no idea where this came from #but have some joel angst #since something like red-life bloodlust #is bound to have some implications #when mixed with corruption

41 notes · View notes

bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Pretty Girl

Pairing - Flip Zimmerman X Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, swearing, smoking, crime, (eventual) smut, racism (no slurs), sexism, general views/language of the time.

A/N: Well, here’s the prologue to the multi-chapter fic I’m working on! I hope you enjoy, feedback welcome and appreciated, especially if you notice any over-description of the reader! This is a female reader based fic.

Flip Zimmerman sauntered into the Colorado Springs police department early Monday morning, his black hair in need of a trim, a bit of a shadow darkening his unshaven face. He’d had the previous week off, after wrapping up the Klan investigation with Jimmy and Ron. The chief had insisted they each take some time, and Flip ended up taking the whole week, though he knew his partner opted to simply take a day, and Ron only a few more than that.

But Flip had needed the break-the case had exhausted him. It had drained him mentally to pretend to be one of the Klan, to agree with their views and utter slurs as if they rolled naturally off of his tongue. No, he had felt each moment with them chip away a little at his soul. So he took the time off; went fishing, watched television, did some work on his home, and spent some time with his family, who rarely got to see him. He didn’t live far from his parents, but with the hours he took on, it had been hard to visit often. They understood, but Flip knew his mother wished he would settle down, start a family of his own. She hated that he came home to an empty house, with no warm meal ready and waiting. Flip didn’t mind it so much, he was too busy at work to notice the void.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Flip wasn’t at his desk for more than twenty minutes before Jimmy came in, all smiles for Flip’s reappearance.

“Flip, welcome back kid.” Clapping his shoulder, Jimmy sank into his chair and fixed Flip with a knowing stare from across their desks. Flip frowned, wondering what had his friend in a chipper mood early on a Monday morning.

“Jimmy, the fuck are you staring at?” Flip grumbled though the threat in his voice was laced with affection for the man he’d called 'partner' for years now.

More detectives and office workers began to filter in, coffees in hand, all greeting Flip with casual ease before they settled in and began their workdays.

Jimmy shook his head, “Nothing, just glad to see your miserable face back, it’s been an interesting week.” The mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Flip didn’t look up at Jimmy’s words, merely smirking in response. He noticed then a neat stack of files on the left-hand side of his desk. When he grabbed the first, curious, he saw it was a case file of his, only it had been organized, and some of the sections of the report had been filled out for him. He stared a moment, shocked, before glancing up at Jimmy-whole was, annoyingly, still watching Flip.

He held up the file, “You do this, Jimmy?”

But he was shaking his head before Flip finished speaking, “Nah don’t like you enough.” He didn’t elaborate and Flip was too stubborn to press the issue. Whatever.

Flip glanced at the other files and saw they were the same. Someone had taken his paperwork, organized it and fill in the sections that were mostly clerical information, before returning them to his desk for him to finalize and submit. He had come in early specifically to finish off these files, and now his two-hour backlog was reduced to maybe thirty minutes of work. Impressed, and grateful, he began to work through the stack with his notes. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but the gesture-wherever it came from-was more than welcome. Paperwork was the least appealing part of this job.

At nine, the station was buzzing with activity normal for weekdays. Ron had greeted Flip warmly when he came in, advising him that Sergeant Trapp wanted to see them in his office in an hour, before moving to his desk and checking his messages. And while it felt like any other day in Colorado Springs, Flip, ever the detective, noticed the moment the atmosphere in the bullpen shifted. Every man in the room seemed far too damn chipper.

He glanced up from proofreading his work to find many of his colleagues glancing toward the glass wall and doorway that led to the hallway, beyond which and out of sight, was the front lobby and administration desk.

After a few moments, Flip turned his chair to face Ron, whose desk was behind his own, only to see his friend doing the same thing. He frowned, “The hell is everyone in a tizzy for, Rookie?”

Ron grinned, “Chief hired a new secretary for the front desk-“

“What, Donna finally got herself a helper?” Flip cut in, referring to the homely but overworked secretary that had been asking for a second in command for years, during which team the operation of the division had nearly doubled.

“Yep,” Ron nodded, “And Donna already looks like it’s made a world of difference for her, but wait until you meet, she’s incredible. Nicest lady I’ve ever met.”

Flip rolled his eyes at this proclamation and spun back around, stacking his files together. He was glad to hear Donna had the help she needed now, it was a long time coming and would certainly make a difference for the entire station. Donna was like the mother hen, taking care of everything from coffee to endless paperwork, dealing with the public that came in, and everything else they could throw at her. She never complained, but always made the point of saying things would happen quicker if she were two people. He wondered what it would be like to have another Donna type woman in the office, but intended on giving it no further thought.

That is until he heard the distinct click of heels coming down the hallway, and glanced up, half interested, at the sound.

He did a double-take when he saw her and felt himself freeze. Stunned into stillness, Flip immediately felt that Ron using the term ‘incredible’ to describe the new secretary was entirely understating this woman. Everyone’s heads in the room turned her way, and it wasn’t just anyone who could unknowingly conjure up that kind of reaction.

Dressed in a fashionably smart secretary dress, which was a shade of dark blue that perfectly accentuated her skin, the woman was breathtaking. Curvy, with long (Y/H/C) spilling down her back in soft waves, she wore kitten heels that gave her a small amount of extra height, yet she was still short. She walked with an air of peaceful grace, carrying a large basket in her arms. But it was her smile, dazzling and genuine, that captured his attention.

Flip had to shake his head slightly, dragging his eyes away from the beautiful creature dancing into the bullpen. He refocused on his files, hoping to look busy, all the while straining his ears to hear her speak.

“Happy Monday, boys.” She sang, and a chorus of good mornings and hello’s filled the air, “I hope you like banana bread because I’ve got two fresh loaves here, one plain and one with chocolate chips-Jimmy, I made that for you.” And Flip looked up in surprise in time to see her wink at Jimmy, who gave an appreciative laugh, then thanked her.

She had set the basket down next to the water station, where there was a small foldout table set up. Sure enough, she pulled out two loaves of bread, already cut and laid out in smaller basket trays for them. She made quick work of setting out the loaves, plates and napkins before reaching into the basket, pulling something out she had wrapped in sandwich paper, and spinning around toward Flip.

He dropped his gaze before she noticed him, now making work of organizing his desk-why the hell was he suddenly so nervous? From behind him, Flip heard Ron give a small groan, “Tell me you didn’t.” But he sounded delighted.

“Ron, of course I did, don’t be so silly, it’s nothing.” This captured Flip’s attention entirely, and he gave up the pretence of tidying his desk to turn around and see what she had passed him. Inside the wrap was a slice of pineapple upside-down cake. Ron pinched a piece off with his fingers and tried it, giving an appreciative nod.

“That’s just like I remember, thank you.” He noticed Flip watching with a frown and grinned, “Oh, now, you two haven’t met yet, Flip’s just come back from vacation.” He clapped his hands together.

Flip looked away from Ron and met the (y/e/c) eyes of the young woman standing a few feet away, who wasn’t much taller standing than Flip was seated. She reacted first, though Flip did notice her eyes widen slightly before she stepped forward, all smiles.

“Detective Zimmerman, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m (Y/F/N).” She stuck her hand out. Flip automatically grasped it, noticing how entirely tiny her hand was in his own.

He tried to smile, “It’s nice to meet you, miss. Please, call me Flip.” She smiled at his words and Flip suddenly felt like his brain might be needing a jump start, as it was the prettiest smile he’d ever had directed at him. He felt warm and craved a cigarette. Or a cold shower.

“Well, Flip, only if you call me (y/n).”

Ron had watched the entire exchange with a shit-eating grin on his face, “(Y/N) here is an amazing baker, in addition to her many other skills that Donna can’t stop raving about, so before you know it, Zimmerman, you’ll be sporting a few extra pounds.”

(Y/N) giggled. Truly giggled, and Flip found himself surveying her, trying to decide how old she was. She carried herself with a confidence and ease that seemed mature, yet she did appear youthful in many ways. “It’s what I’m known for, leaving heavyset men behind me everywhere I go.” She held up her hands, as if in defence of herself.

Flip snorted, “And you take special requests?” He asked, nodding at the cake on Rons' desk.

“Oh, well that was actually what I baked for Sunday supper for my sister and me,” She leaned against Ron’s desk, her hands neatly folded in front of her, “And when I told Ron here what I was planning, he asked for a slice because I make it like his aunt used to.” She shrugged, giving Ron a friendly smile.

“It tastes exactly like hers, (Y/N), you’re the best.”

“You two seem awfully, uh, close.” Flip remarked, and while Ron seemed unfazed and unbothered by the comment, he noticed that (Y/N) seemed to flinch slightly at the words, her smile disappearing.

Flip knew he was a gruff, grumpy son of a bitch, but he was also always like that, and no one ever seemed to care. Now though, the tone and accusation that she might have assumed from his observation seemed to hit a nerve, and her demeanour shifted, embarrassed.

“Oh, yes, well Ron’s been a gem, being pretty new here himself. He’s helped show me the ropes,” She murmured, “I should get back to it-nice to meet you, Detective.” And she hurried away, still taking time to greet those she passed, before disappearing down the hall.

“Man, Zimmerman, you have a way with the ladies.” Ron deadpanned, shaking his head at Flip, who was staring toward the hallway feeling both annoyed and guilty. He glared at Ron, who was shaking his head, a hand clapped dramatically to his face, “A real Romeo.”

“Fuck off, Rookie,” He growled. A thought jumped at him then, “Wait, is she the one who did all this-‘ He gestured at his files ‘While I was off?”

Ron rolled his eyes now, “Of course she did-she helps everyone stay on top of paperwork. When I told her you were off last week, she made a point of getting you all caught up.” Again, Flip stared down the hall, his mind working.

He just wasn’t very good at socializing, or making friends. He was gruff and sarcastic and his sheer size usually kept others at a distance. He had a hard time knowing the right thing to say, especially to someone as pretty and kind as (Y/N). He hadn’t thought his words would come out the way they did, sounding accusatory, and he wished he could take them back.

Over an hour later, Flip was still replaying the interaction in his mind, over and over. When he, Ron and Jimmy re-emerged from Sarge’s office, new assignments in hand, he had come to a decision. He had never been one to simply leave something unaddressed, not if it bothered him. And while he was certainly terrible at socializing, he would never stand for himself to be ungentlemanly. First impressions were important, and he intended to correct this one.

While Ron and Jimmy continued toward the bullpen, Flip turned right and stomped down the hallway, entirely missing his friends exchange a knowing look behind his back. As he approached the front desk, his eyes peeled looking for her (y/h/c) hair, he was surprised to notice how tidy and welcoming it now looked.

(Y/N) had made quick work of reorganizing and decorating, which was probably why Donna was nowhere to be found, no doubt in the files room making work of the backlog she’d been complaining about for years. Flip figured she must be in the best mood of her life.

The reception was empty, however, and Flip wondered where (Y/N) must be. He continued to march forward, considering if he should look around for her, or wait at the desk, when a door on his left, which led to the bathrooms, opened. Before Flip could stop, she was suddenly hurrying out of the doorway and slammed directly into his side, gasping in surprise.

Flip had just managed to turn his body slightly toward her before they collided, allowing his arms to shoot out and large hands to grab her shoulders as she bounced off of him and fell backwards. Steadying her, he peered, “Damn it, darling, I’m sorry-are you alright?”

She was wide-eyed, her head tilted back to meet his eyes. He released her, taking a polite half step back. “I’m fine, goodness, I should apologize, I ran out of there like a bat out of hell.” Her hands moved to her waist, where her dress tie sat, and began to redo the knot absentmindedly.

Flip raised a brow, “Something scare ya?” When her face flushed at his words, his eyes drank in the sight, heart rate speeding somewhat. He watching her curiously.

“I, um,” She sighed, her eyes closing briefly as if attempting to find the strength to speak, “It’s silly, I was washing my hands and noticed a big spider and I really, really hate spiders-I live alone and I can never kill them easily, I always get the broom so I can stay far back, so I thought I’d run out here and find a broom-“ Abruptly, she stopped speaking when Flip began to laugh, and after a moment of uncertainty, a smile spread across her face-dazzling white teeth on display.

“I can kill it for ya’, no need to resort to desperate measures,” He joked, happy to see his words cause her to giggle slightly, “But do me a favour?” He added, his expression becoming serious.

(Y/N) glanced up at him curiously, “What’s that, detective?”

Flip took a breath, “Accept my apology, for earlier,” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’m a grumpy S-O-B and my words came out harsher than I intended, I only meant to tease. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously as he spoke.

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, crossing her arms across her chest, a small smile on her pretty lips. Flip kept his eyes on her face, not wanting to be disrespectful by ogling her, but it was impossible not to notice the way her bust pressed out when her arms wrapped under them. He needed a cigarette. And probably a proper smack around the head.

“Of course I accept, detective,” (Y/N) was smiling properly now, “Jimmy warned me you were a mean lumberjack-his word, not mine. I just-“ She paused, “Worried I’d given the wrong impression, is all. I’ve got a good work ethic and don’t want anyone thinking I’m silly or chatty over hardworking.”

Flip was surprised at how serious her tone turned, her words heavy with concern. “You organized all my files for me, while I was off?”

“Yes-why?”

Flip laughed, “Darling, that knocked two hours of painful catch-up off my plate and we hadn’t even met before, I can already tell you’re impressive, so if anyone here ever tries to question that, you send them to me.” He huffed, glancing at the bathroom door, “I’ll go kill that monster in there for you.”

She had flushed again at his words, something that sent a jolt of electricity through his core. Flip realized he was well and truly fucked for this woman, and he’d only known her an hour.

“Wait,” He paused at the door to the bathrooms, glancing back. She was giving him her best little grin now, “Thank you, Flip.”

He merely nodded, before stepping through the doorway to kill the damned spider.

Although, he thought, maybe he should thank it instead.

Chapter 1

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#flip zimmerman x reader #reader insert #adam driver x reader #adam driver #fanfic #smut #multichapter #flip x you #Zimmerman x reader #fluff #friends to lovers #best friend #feedback appreciated #Fem reader #prologue

330 notes · View notes

starswornoaths · 3 years

Text

Wild Rose

Not long before the formation of the Crystal Braves, Minfilia bequeathed a special set of armor unto one of the Warriors of Light.

It was just a surprise that it wasn’t her favorite one.

Or:

I love Minfilia, and the Wild Rose Cuirass, and Firion, and none of them get a fair shake, and they all deserve better. Also, I fawn over @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, but what else is new :p

Word count: 2,558

~*~

When Minfilia asked for Serella to hold back a moment, at the conclusion of their mission report, she couldn’t hide her surprise; there had been others in attendance— several others had been in attendance— Hyana among them, and it had been a mundane enough operation, what would merit being spoken to alone with the Antecedent? And why Serella, specifically?

Even Hyana had a look of mild surprise, and had hung back, bouncing in place on the momentum of her abandoned mid-step to turn back, before she could stop herself, and the two Warriors of Light passed that expression between one another for a moment.

Before Serella could even think to reassure her, Hyana had retrained her features into immense disinterest. Rather than words, she reciprocated Serella’s silent nod of reassurance, a quiet we’ll catch up later, shared between adventurers, and within the next moment, Hyana had wound her spindly, scaled tail round the door handle to shut it behind her, on her way out.

And then it was just Minfilia, and her most stalwart companion, just as she had asked.

“Is aught amiss?” Serella asked, once she had properly faced the Antecedent.

There was nothing but peace radiating off of Minfilia, as she shook her head. When she spoke, her words were sweet, but not sweetened; though she charmed as she spoke, her charmspeak was nowhere to be found.

With a radiance found only in the warmest sunrise, Minfilia reassured her, “Naught more than we’re already working on! I wished only to speak to you, regarding a matter close to both of our hearts, I should think.”

Curiosity piqued, Serella canted her head in a quiet show of interest, to avoid interrupting. It was obvious that Minfilia was nervous: even without her Echo’s sensitivity to emotions, from the tick of Minfilia’s fingers tapping at the pommel of the dagger, ever slung close to her hip.

When it was clear that Serella was waiting for her to elaborate, Minfilia steadied her hand by laying it over her heart. Her smile eased into something softer, as she said, “I felt it high time to bequeath to you a fitting reward, for all that you have done for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“How formal of you, Antecedent!” Serella laughed brightly, and mirrored her Antecedent’s motion, to tap a hand over her chest in momentary salute. “That’s not necessary, though. You know that.”

“I do. But it’s necessary to me.”

When Minfilia smiled at her again, it more resembled a wince. “Grant me this one trespass, my friend?”

Serella wanted to snort indignantly: Minfilia should know better by now. Still, she reminded her, “You can’t trespass where you’re welcome, Minfilia.”

It seemed she had, in fact, been in need of a reminder; her smile widened around a startled, delighted gasp.

“For all my ability with charmspeak, you seem to always know just what to say!” Minfilia beamed at her. “Thank you. Pray, grant me a moment to find the right words to explain, while we walk.”

With another nod from Serella, they made their way out of the Antecedent’s chambers without further delay. As they rounded the bend to walk past the bar counter, Serella turned and happened to catch Hyana watching them hawkishly. There was a burning curiosity in those garnet eyes that watched them; Serella hoped the smile she threw back at her was reassuring enough. Judging by the way Hyana squinted in response, she figured she had failed. Ah well.

The armory itself was as well stocked as it was unremarkable; Serella had been in here more times than she could care to keep track of, in the time since they had moved to the Rising Stones. She could only imagine how many more times Minfilia has had to come in here, for routine inspections, and scheduled maintenance.

Rather than keep to the main room that Serella had grown familiar with, Minfilia instead guided them over to a door in the far corner of the room, one that Serella had noticed before, but had never had the clearance to inspect— or at least, had no merit to ask, at least.

A key wrought in iron cleared the way for them, and Minfilia ushered her inside. It was dark, but there was no smell of must that hung in the air; this room still had consistent use, even with its limited access. Save for the singular slice of light that had carved a misshapen streak in the floor, Serella’s eyes could only make out the outlines of several suits of armor, and several miscellaneous weapons, all carefully hung on racks.

Holding the door open with one hand, Minfilia brought the other up in front of her, as she leaned toward the lantern hung on the wall. She scattered her breath over her palm, as though she were gently blowing away the fluff on a dandelion. The air from her lungs ignited in petal-like sparks, that drifted, intently, to the wick on the lantern. Immediately, the mageflame flickered to life, clinging to the wick on the lantern, without burning it.

Dancing leaves of light fluttered in the air over her palm, as she then swept her arm out, as though she were presenting the room. Those fractals of light scattered, striking the other lanterns in the room in streaks of brilliance, like comets across the night sky.

As it always did, Minfilia’s radiance filled the room with warmth, light, and life. The details became much clearer, and Serella made a noise in the back of her throat, as her brain caught up with what she was looking at.

The suits of armor draped so carefully, the weapons mounted so meticulously, became obvious in the light: this was the reliquary, from the Waking Sands, wherein they had enshrined the arms and armor of heroes past, recovered and restored.

Serella had wondered whether they would make the move to the Rising Stones, alongside them, but then, she supposed that she needn’t have bothered; some of the pieces here belonged to Minfilia’s father, according to F'lhaminn. It only made sense that they would be here, then.

With another wordless motion, Minfilia beckoned her deeper. Obeisant, Serella followed gamely, curiosity mounting with every step. Worming through the boxes that had yet to be unpacked, the yet barren racks, and the odd armor rack with only some of its set unboxed, they eventually came up to a particularly intriguing set, tucked away in the corner.

Serella had certainly seen other sets that had been designed in the same vein; an understated darksteel set, tasteful embellishments here and there, draped with fine fabric that looked as though it were spun from lilacs. The detailing on the fabric was more bold, patterned, and pinned with a labradorite brooch, at its shield-shoulder.

Combing through her oldest memories, Serella would almost swear she had seen this specific like elsewhere. As if in the fairytale book, read to her as a child, as she had dreamt of a brighter future than this.

Minfilia seemed content to let Serella ruminate on this, as she gathered her thoughts. After a breath, she explained, “It feels as though it were a whole other lifetime ago, the last time I gifted one of my best suits of armor. But the time felt right again— though I must ask that you forgive me, as it comes with a personal request.”

Serella couldn’t hide her surprise for anything today, it seemed; she recalled how Arenvald had been so proud to wear the armor that Minfilia had gifted to him, when they had only known the Waking Sands, and the Waking Sands had only ever known peace. Before those halls were so filled with ghosts, that the living all but vacated.

As Minfilia said: a lifetime ago.

Were it almost anyone else, Serella would have to fight the urge to roll her eyes at being asked a personal favor. But this was Minfilia; if anyone understood what, precisely, she was asking of Serella, it would be her.

Thus, her response was as swift and decisive as her sword strokes, when she said, “You need only ask; if it’s in my power, it will be done.”

It seemed both the right and wrong thing to say; Minfilia was graceful enough that it was only the ripple of hesitation in her aether, that betrayed her lingering uncertainty.

“I would bequeath to you this armor— it is among the oldest of our recovered arms and armor.”

Though Serella got the impression that Minfilia was stalling, to try and find the right words, for the heart of the issue. Thus, she entertained listening to Minfilia recall a tale of a Warrior of Light, not unlike Serella herself. “His friends called him Firion,” the Antecedent supplied. “By all accounts, he was a good man, who defended all against the darkness— those who fought alongside him, included. I thought the tale sounded familiar!”

The playful twinkle in Minfilia’s eyes was only answered with a wry twist of scarred lips, though only for a moment, before they both dissolved into delighted giggling.

“Go on,” Minfilia said, once they had gotten their breath back, with a gesture toward the display. “Try it on, won’t you? It’s been fitted.”

With a sigh and a smile, Serella stepped up to the rack, and settled for being grateful that she had dressed down from her armor, upon return to the Rising Stones; it made donning the mantle simpler.

Despite being told that it had been refitted, it still surprised Serella, how well the armor settled on her shoulders. How the cloak draped elegantly around her neck, over her shoulders, how the layers of fabric that lined the belts were made of the supple, soft purple fabric. It hung on her form, as though it had been hammered for her from the first. As if it had always been made for her.

Rowena must have overworked poor Gerolt again. That, or Uthen took on a more personal commission, this time around. Serella could think of no other hand to guide a hammer to making such an impeccable craft, save for either of them.

When she turned to present herself to Minfilia, the Antecedent gave a gasp, as she clapped her hands together, once, in delight.

“Why, it looks just right on you!” She declared, with a giddy bounce on the balls of her feet.

Serella believed it, unquestioningly, because Minfilia always told her the truth. She was one of the few people that Serella could trust, to do so.

“You honor me, Antece—”

“Stop.” Minfilia said, though it sounded like a plea, and shattered her voice on impact, like a brick through a church window, ruining something blessed.

It sounded wrong. Serella snapped her jaw shut with a click more audible than the rattle of her new mail, when she flinched bodily.

A motion Minfilia mirrored, though she flinched outward— even in her own upset, she could only think to reach out to comfort.

“I— I’m not asking, as your Antecedent, that you take this armor.” She said, and slowly curled her arm back into her own chest, as if to self soothe. “Please. I’m asking, as your friend, to accept this gift.”

Softening her shoulders, Serella swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Alright, Minfie,” she said softly, and held her hands up in reassurance. “I’ll put it to good use.”

The relief that she felt, when Minfilia’s posture melted into joy again, was indescribable. It felt like benediction, and dispelled the tremor in her heart.

Thus settled, she peered around, curious, and searching for a set that would be more befitting one more beloved to them both. When no such mail was forthcoming upon cursory view, she couldn’t hold back the question that formed on her tongue, following that observation.

“What of Hyana?” She asked, looking back at Minfilia.

The Antecedent seemed surprised at the question. “What do you mean?” She asked, tone touched with a hint of caution.

“If I may speak as a friend?” Serella asked. At Minfilia’s nod, she answered plainly, “You love her.”

The comment didn’t bother Minfilia. It had no reason to. Nonetheless, she fiddled with her hands in front of her, and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, as she contemplated her choice of words.

“That I do. But we both know her: she would never accept it, as a point of pride, and, in part, in reluctance to have something so claiming, upon her person.” After a moment of further hesitation, Minfilia stepped close enough to flatten her palm across the spot over Serella’s heart.

She focused her gaze on the back of her hand, pressed there over the breastplate, as she cautiously spoke again, “And...you love her, too. I know, in giving you this armor, that she will be safer.” After another moment, she lifted her gaze, to meet Serella’s. “I have little choice, in sending the both of you out there, to face such horrors as the Ascians may inflict upon us. But I can give you the best chance, of bringing her back to me.”

There was a peculiar ache, in the space where Serella’s heart was meant to be. Not quite raw, not nearly a wound, but still something tender and pointedly ignored. Where Minfilia might have, however unknowingly, pierced something too close to the truth and most certainly unrequited, Serella chose to fill that hole with pride, with joy.

And why would she not? She was a trusted friend to both of them. Trusted enough, by Minfilia, to be sent into battle with armor she could never hope to properly deserve. Trusted enough, by Hyana, to fight alongside her.

Was that not, in itself, a sort of love? What had she to mourn?

“As you say, my friend.” Serella said, on a soft exhale, and laid a hand atop Minfilia’s. “On all counts. I pray I will be worthy of such trust.”

“You already are, my friend!” Minfilia insisted.

When her eyes glimmered peculiarly in the lamp light, the two of them embraced tightly, and took a few more moments to be human. Not long enough to form the habit, but long enough to be reminded of the feeling.

By the time they stepped back out of the armory, and Minfilia locked up behind them, none were the wiser, that such a conversation had happened at all.

Hyana had most certainly noticed, however, the new armor that gleamed to an almost headache-inducing shine, in the light of the Rising Stones. Her eyebrows met her hairline, as she watched Serella approach.

“The hell'd you do, to earn that?” She snorted into her drink, and poorly feigned disinterest.

The truth settled heavier upon Serella’s shoulders, than the mantle she now wore. How could she profess to love Hyana, if she were to inflict such a thing upon her.

“My fucking paperwork, Geriel!” She instead half-lied, with a playful elbow to the Dragoon’s side.

A half truth was still true enough to slip by, undetected, it seemed, as Hyana rolled her eyes, and grew immediately bored with the conversation. As was her wont.

Serella took no offense; how could she, when Hyana then pressed a flagon into her hands, with a half-restrained smile. How could she, when that was, in itself, a little act of love, too?

And wasn’t that enough, for her? Wasn’t this, enough?

#ffxiv #Minfilia Warde #Serella Arcbane #Hyana Geriel #vague 2.0 spoilers #Two Woman Wolf Pack #they're fine and everyone is fine and I don't actually mean that in a sarcastic way #like sure. Serella would love to be loved by Hyana. possibly even Minfilia.#but she doesn't have to be loved romantically by either of them to still be loved #so like. it's bittersweet #but it's not bad. and it's not a loss.

31 notes · View notes

mochegato · 3 years

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 29 – Truth Will Out

Chapter 1 Chapter 28

Marinette slowly, carefully closed the bedroom door. She waited next to the door with her hand on the knob for a few seconds just to make sure Rob really had fallen asleep and wouldn’t start crying again. Hearing no noise for a full minute, she let out the breath she had been holding in case the sound from her breath woke him up.

She gently removed her hand from the knob and silently padded toward the library, which had quickly become their regrouping center, much to Jason’s annoyance. However it was right across the hall from the room their family was staying in while at the manor and it had almost immediately been annexed as a place where she and Dick could relax and talk to people while still being close enough to hear the twins when they woke up. For quick naps and showers while the twins were sleeping, they used Dick’s room, which was just a little further down the hall. But the library offered a place that was more open to the whole family.

“And thank you two for not meowing or trying to sneak past me,” she cooed at Kismet and Alfred as she walked. All of the animals in the house had taken a liking to the twins and more often than not, Marinette or Dick were woken up by one of them scratching at the door to get into the bedroom so they could curl up with one of the twins or lay down at the base of one of the cribs.

As long as they were quiet about it and didn’t wake up the twins, Marinette thought it was absolutely adorable. However, those rare times when their scratching or barks or meows woke up the twins, Marinette would send them a glare that had the dogs running with their tails between their legs and the cats… well, not really reacting at all until Marinette got the water bottle.

“He sleeping?” Dick asked looking up as she came in and chuckling at the line of animals trailing behind her.

“Welcome home. And yes. We have a little bit of time before they wake up again,” she smiled at him, slumping onto the couch next to him.

He hugged her into his unbandaged side, chuckling into her hair. “You want to take a nap?”

Marinette made a vaguely groan sounding noise and pushed away from him just enough to angle her head up to look at him with a sleepy smile. “I’ll do that during their next nap. I think I should eat during this one.”

“Do you want me to talk to Alfred?” he offered, half getting up as he spoke.

“I can make something for her,” Adrien offered, waving him down. “Or let Alfred know so he can. You can rest if you want.”

“Thanks, Adrien,” Dick gave him a grateful smile. “Actually, I think I’m going to shower. Get the Academy off of me.”

Marinette pulled her shirt away from her body and eyed it suspiciously. “Yeah, I’m not sure when the last time I took one was. Maybe I should do that during the next nap time instead.”

Dick chuckled and pulled her closer. “You know, you could always take a shower with me…” he whispered into her hair.

Marinette blushed deeply and pushed his face away. “Yeah, not there yet. Food, sleep, nap, shower. Those are my priorities right now. And I’m extremely negotiable on the shower part.”

“Two of those were the same thing, Bug,” Adrien shook his head.

She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him as if challenging him. “All four can be the same thing if I try hard enough.”

Dick rolled his eyes but laughed in spite of himself. “You’ve been hanging out with Stephanie too much.”

Marinette scoffed. “If anything that’s Alya’s influence…” her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh God. They can never meet.”

Adrien scoffed this time. “Alya got that from you, not the other way around. You and Steph are the danger duo. Although you, Steph, Cass, and Alya… I’d be afraid for Gotham.”

Dick shuddered at the thought. The sheer chaos of it. “Just make sure I’m not on duty that night, please.”

Marinette giggled and rested her head on his shoulder. “How was the first day, Cadet Grayson?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Boring. Introductory stuff. Not that I’m expecting it to get better. I’ve known more about police procedure than most officers since I was eight. I can already pick out some of the cadets who joined as a power play. I also recognized a few people I bus…” he looked over to Adrien with a grimace, “…who I know I’ve seen on the news after the bats busted them. Which means either the person in charge of vetting entrants didn’t do their job, ignored the records, or someone on the force expunged their records. I already let Gordon know,” he gave out a tired sigh.

“You sound like you need a nap,” Marinette poked him in the cheek.

He hummed noncommittally as he caught her hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss, causing Marinette to blush again and bury her head in his shoulder. If he kept doing little things like that, she didn’t know how much longer her resolve was going to last. But it had to last. They had to wait until they figured out their issues. They couldn’t rush it.

“Shower first, then we’ll see what the twins allow for,” he smiled at her.

“How long will Clover and Hood sleep?” Adrien asked too innocently for his comment to not be intended to get a reaction.

“I hate you,” Marinette grumbled into Dick’s shoulder, but made sure it was loud enough for Adrien to hear. Adrien laughed hard at her reaction but immediately tamed it down after the glare Marinette shot him. If he woke up the twins, she really would hate him.

“Clover and Hood?” Dick asked unsure, looking back and forth between Adrien and Marinette.

“Lucy, Lucky, Four Leaf Clover, Clover. Robert, Rob, Robin, Robin Hood, Hood.” Marinette elaborated into his chest.

Dick stared at her for a few seconds, letting the logic train sink in. He glanced over to Adrien in time to catch his smug grin. He leaned down to whisper in Marinette’s ear. “We can’t let him call him after Jason.”

Marinette gave him a flat look. “You explain it without telling him who you are,” she whispered back, working hard to keep the smirk off her face. She knew Adrien knew who Dick was, but Dick didn’t know and was still trying hard to keep it a secret. Adrien knew that too, which is why he was having so much fun pushing his buttons.

“You can’t call my son ‘Hood’. You can’t go around yelling ‘Hood’ at a kid. People are going to think he’s a thief or that you saw Red Hood,” Dick finally reasoned. Marinette pouted at how he handled it. It was entirely too quick and well thought out. She was hoping for something more dramatic.

Adrien pouted at him. “Fine. That makes sense. I’ll come up with something else.”

“Good. That was subpar effort, K…” she suddenly woke up slightly and blinked a few times. “Uh… sorry. That was a terrible effort, Adrien.” Adrien gasped dramatically, pulling his hand to his chest in mock offense.

Dick laughed. “Okay, I’m getting up. You’re going to have to find another warm pillow.” Marinette mumbled something that might have been an objection, but made no move to stop him. He scooted out from under her, kissing her on the head as he left.

Adrien was trying to get Marinette to tell him what she wanted to eat and keep her awake as he was leaving. Dick shook his head and wished him good luck with that. When Marinette crashed, it was hard, a bit like Tim after a bender on a case. A tuba couldn’t wake her up. And yet, the slightest whimper from one of the twins would. He shook his head. Must be a hormonal thing.

He let out a deep sigh as he made his way to his bedroom to take a shower. He wished they were going to take a shower together, or a nap together… or something more, but they weren’t there yet, and he knew that. They were still figuring out some lingering trust issues. Marinette trusted him, but not when it came to not lying about something he thought was important, which was fair, because that was something he needed to settle with himself.

He was so used to deceiving people to cover his vigilante work and to do what needed to be done, he was having a hard time remembering he didn’t have to do that with Marinette. It had been ingrained in him that he was the leader and therefore took the brunt of the decision and all the worst of the consequences, so he forgot he was supposed to be sharing responsibility and decisions with Marinette for the rest of his life. The things he was doing were the way Batman would do them and he wasn’t Batman. He didn’t want to be Batman. That wasn’t his dream. His dream was having a loving family, preferably the one he had already started. He wanted to be Lucy and Robert’s father. He wanted to be Marinette’s husband, someday. He had to change how he thought to make his dreams come true. He had to retrain his brain and it was taking time.

He turned on the shower and started to undress before remembering he left his shower things in the bathroom off the family bedroom. He groaned, dreading the idea of going back into that room while the twins were sleeping. Lucy was like her mom, she could sleep through most things, except the animals making noise. Robert however inherited his father’s tendency to wake up at the slightest sound.

He anxiously looked around for something else to use, but there wasn’t anything in his bedroom or bathroom. He groaned again, turned off the shower, and padded back to the family bedroom. He paused outside the room to prepare himself and plan how he could be as quiet as humanly, or possibly even more than humanly, possible. His whole body went rigid when he heard talking in the room. Nobody was supposed to be in the room. Marinette had left it with just the twins. She would never have left so calmly if anyone else were in it, even a family member.

“Come on, Sugar Cube. This is offensive. Look at this long nosed monstrosity. It should be a cat. I should accidentally destroy…”

Dick stopped listening at the word ‘destroy’. He tensed for a fight and burst into the room with a yell. The two figures hovering over the cribs squeaked in surprise and the elephant stuffie Marinette had made, which seconds before had been in the black one’s hands… paws? In the black one’s grip suddenly evaporated in a stream of dust and ash. Dick froze in surprise unable to make sense of the image in front of him.

Marinette and Adrien rammed into Dick in their rush to check out what was happening. The push broke Dick of his paralysis. He moved between the floating figures and the twins. “Who are you? What do you want?” He quickly picked up Robert when he started fussing at the sudden noise.

“Plagg… Why is there a pile of ash on the floor?” Marinette glared at him.

“Pla… you know what these creatures are?” Dick whipped around to stare at her.

“Yes,” Marinette admitted with an annoyed glare at Plagg. “Let’s get Robert back to sleep and talk in your room.”

Dick looked at her incredulously. The red figure obediently flew through the wall into the next room, but the black one stared at him as if challenging him. Adrien silently moved over to it and grabbed it by the tail to fling it out the door with a huff. Dick slowly turned to Marinette, staring at her questioningly. She gave him a strained smile and gently took Robert out of his arms. She laid him in the crib, gently rocking him in his swaddle in the crib and turned on the mobile above his bed. It took a few more minutes, but Robert was soon sleeping again. She motioned out of the room with a comforting smile.

Dick glared at her, but followed her to his room as requested. She carefully closed the door behind them. As soon as she got to his room she glared at the black figure. “Plagg, what the hell just happened?”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! Pompous circus boy was supposed to be in the shower in his room. Instead he’s sneaking around like a fox and scared me.” He flew toward Dick but Adrien grabbed his tail again to stop him. “Talk to the annoyance, not me,” he grumbled crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am talking to the annoyance,” Marinette gritted out.

“That hurts, Bug,” he responded in a mock hurt voice.

“Not as much as it’s going to. No camembert for a month,” she growled.

“A month!” His eyes suddenly were as large as the rest of him.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she exclaimed loudly. “You’re objecting to a month? You’re lucky it isn’t six!”

“Bug, have mercy on a poor, innocent, protective cat,” he bent his knees and brought together his hands as though he were praying in front of her.

“It was my nursery! And my pompous circus boy you just exposed yourself to,” she threw her hands up in the air in frustration.

“Hey! I have no idea what’s going on here, but I’m fairly confident I’m justified in objecting to that,” Dick interjected.

Marinette looked over to him as if just remembering he was in the room. She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It would have been so much better if this happened after a nap. I…” she collapsed on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know where to start.”

“You knew those things were here.” It was a statement not a question.

“Yes,” she confirmed with a short nod.

“And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” he questioned, skepticism lacing his voice. This wasn’t some small thing, some small secret. These were magic, probably, creatures roaming around his kids and his home. Creatures Marinette knew about and never discussed with him. Creatures Marinette exposed his children to and never discussed with him.

“You didn’t think your nightly activities were worth mentioning when you were missing half the pregnancy?” Marinette raised her eyebrow with a pointed look.

Dick grimaced slightly. “Okay, point taken. But I remember getting yelled at for keeping it from you. I remember you breaking up with me for keeping it from you and you were keeping something just as big from me.”

“No, you got yelled at for lying. We broke up because I couldn’t trust you after all the lies. I was asking you questions and you were lying in response. We were still finding out about each other, figuring each other out, deciding how much to trust one another. I told you before, you were and are allowed to have secrets and that I had some too. This is one of them.”

“Okay fine. I don’t know that I agree with that logic, but okay. Let’s shelve that to come back and bite us later. But can someone explain…” he motioned toward the floating figures.

“Well you see…” Adrien started, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think he means me,” Marinette interrupted. The exhaustion seeping out of her voice and listless posture.

Adrien looked between the two of them. “Oh, right. Why don’t I…” he looked around uncertainly. “Why don’t I leave you to it then?” He turned to look at Marinette sincerely. “Unless you want me to stay around, just in case.” He eyed Dick suspiciously.

“I’ll be okay, Kitty,” she assured him. “We were going to have this conversation soon anyway. This just pushed it forward by a few weeks.”

“I’ll stay, just in case,” Plagg insisted, floating up in front of Dick’s face with a malicious grin.

“No, you won’t. Not if you’re going to threaten my babies’ father,” Marinette chastised sternly.

“Fine! No threatening him. I’ll just stay… and keep Tikki company,” Plagg offered petulantly.

“No. I don’t want either of you here,” Dick objected. Plagg looked affronted but Tikki gave him a look of understanding and started tugging him toward Adrien. “I don’t want creatures with unknown powers, actively destroying things, to be around my children.”

“Why don’t I take them both tonight? You guys should be pretty safe here in the manor. If you need us, we’re just a phone call away,” Adrien assured her. He opened his pocket for the kwami. Tikki zipped over to him but Plagg held his position, attempting to stare down Dick. He was fuming from the suggestion that he would ever hurt the twins. He’d been with the twins more than Dick had and yet Dick was kicking him out! The unmitigated gall!

“Thank you, Adrien,” Marinette answered quietly. “Plagg,” she spoke up. He kept facing Dick but his ears twitched indicating he had heard her. “Plagg, thank you for everything you’ve done. Let me speak to Dick alone please.”

Plagg huffed at her. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know,” Marinette moved over to him and scratched between his ears. “But, Adrien’s right. We’ll be safe tonight. You’ve been on babysitting duty for seven months straight. You can take a break for one night.”

Plagg huffed at her again, still refusing to move. Tikki flew out of Adrien’s pocket to tug on him. “Come on, Stinky Sock. Let them have some time alone.”

Plagg finally acquiesced, but sent a final glare to Dick. “Fine. But if he hurts her…”

Tikki pushed him again. “He won’t hurt her. Come on protective cat. You’re causing more damage than good.”

Adrien let out a relieved sigh and nodded to them. Just before leaving the room he turned and gave a pointed look to Marinette before shifting his eyes down to his ring with a nod. Marinette smiled at him with an understanding nod at his wordless permission to divulge his identity.

She slowly turned back to Dick. She shifted anxiously from foot to foot, her entire body tense. This was not the way she wanted to tell him, but then again Dick hadn’t gotten to dictate the terms of either of his reveals either. Neither of them got to prepare for the deep, meaningful conversations. But, even if timing might be against them, she had faith they could do this. They had always been able to communicate, excepting the lying portion, they had always been able to talk through their concerns and worries. She just had to breathe and be honest. They could do this.

Dick studied her carefully trying to read the situation from her body language. She was nervous, but not at all about the creatures. She was completely at ease with them despite the stuffie incident. And Marinette was one to catastrophize. She was more likely to anticipate the worst than just blithely accept it. Which meant she is thoroughly familiar with them and their powers. She was completely confident they did not pose a threat to their children. No, that wasn’t what she was nervous about. She was nervous about him and how he was going to react to the situation. He sighed and leaned against the desk. Their lives were a complicated mess. “Let’s start slow. What did you mean he’s been on babysitting duty for the last seven months?” Dick finally asked.

“Plagg has been with me constantly since the pharmacy incident,” Marinette answered quietly. “That incident scared Adrien and the kwami a lot. They wanted Plagg to be with me too in case something else happened. I wouldn’t transformed while pregnant, especially not with Plagg, but he could do other things, like let Adrien know where I was if I got kidnapped and lead him to me.”

Dick stared at the door Adrien had left through, the clues slowly starting to click into place. “Because Adrien is Chat Noir. That’s why Chat is so protective of you, because he’s Adrien.” Dick’s mind was racing through all the implications, missing the way Marinette winced in response to his wrong assumption. He looked over to her as something else clicked into place. “When Chat said he had you bugged, he meant that thing. That that thing…”

“A kwami named Plagg,” she supplied.

“That… Plagg was with you,” he finished. She nodded. “And that creature… Plagg, how dangerous is he?”

“Depends,” she bobbed her head to the side in a wishy-washy motion. “Kwami are the physical embodiment of concepts. Tikki is the embodiment of creation and good luck. Plagg is the embodiment of destruction and bad luck, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I haven’t discussed it with Adrien, but I’m pretty sure the destruction of the Court of Owl base where they were holding me, was Plagg. I don’t think Adrien could have done it that completely. It had to have been Plagg. They are linked to physical objects that a person can wield, when transformed their power is a lot more controlled by the wielder. But Plagg has control too.”

“He accidentally destroyed a stuffie,” he gave her a pointed look.

She waved off his concern as she rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t accidental.”

“You can’t know that,” he said cautiously. She may be comfortable with having a creature like this around his children, but he definitely wasn’t.

“If it was accidental, there would have been a whole lot more damage and no ash trail. The destruction would have been complete. When he accidentally destroys things, entire cities disappear. Entire orders of animals become extinct. That was a controlled, focused use of his power. Likely because Robert was showing a bit too much attention to that stuffie rather than the black cat stuffie.”

“Okay…” He eyed her suspiciously, not entirely convinced.

“Also, I should warn you. Intentional use of his power to punish can result in destroying a cult’s stronghold or… sinking a city,” she gave him an overly wide, tense smile.

“Like Atlantis,” he nodded in realization.

“Like Atlantis,” she confirmed. “Apparently he still holds a grudge too. Your friend Garth, he’s Aqualad, right? He has to be. Plagg was acting up all night when I met your friends. Every time Garth came near me, Plagg was pitching a fit. I couldn’t figure out why and he wouldn’t tell me.”

“That’s what that noise was!” Dick gasped. He had thought something was going on. Some emergency at the office because her purse had been buzzing constantly. “I thought your phone just kept going off.”

“No, just Plagg being overprotective and not wanting him near me. I had to keep hitting my bag. I’m surprised your friends didn’t think I had muscle spasm problems,” her eyes widened in embarrassment remembering that part of the night.

“Okay… so that’s why you had Plagg, because Adrien asked you to keep him. Is it the same for the other one Teachi? Did her wielder ask you to keep her too?” He cocked his head to the side, a slight furrow marring his brow as he tried to force the pieces together.

“Tikki. No.” She looked away nervously and ran her hands up and down her arms to try to calm herself down. She knew there was no reason to be nervous. Dick wouldn’t reject her or be mad at her for having been a hero. But he was the first person outside of her team to know. The first new person who would find out and she could never take it back and that was terrifying. She had to be absolutely sure of him.

But she was. She was sure about him. She wasn’t sure if they would end up together. She wasn’t sure if they would get married and have more kids, but she was absolutely sure she could trust him, at least with this much. And she was absolutely sure she didn’t want to keep it from him any longer. “Tikki is with me because she’s my kwami.”

“Your…” he stared at her. His eyes suddenly widened in surprise. “You’re Ladybug!”

“I was. That’s why Adrien was so protective. We were partners. When I said we were always together during attacks, that’s why we were. When I said we died for each other… that’s why we did,” she finished quietly.

“You were a hero,” he breathed out, barely above a whisper.

“I was,” she confirmed again with a slight laugh. He had the most adorable gob smacked expression on his face like it was the last thing he would have ever thought, which, with the magic glamour, might be the truth.

“Oh my God!” He slapped his forehead and fell onto the bed next to her. “I was wearing a Ladybug shirt when we first met. You were wearing a Nightwing shirt!”

“Yeah,” she giggled. “You’re where I was a few weeks ago.”

“That’s why Adrien and that… Plagg kept calling you bug. I thought it was because you are so small.” Marinette scowled at him but he was so caught up in the revelations and puzzle pieces finally coming together. “But that didn’t make sense that Plagg would call you that until now.”

He turned to her, a glint of awe in his eyes. “I remember seeing video of you in action. I checked out Ladybug and Chat Noir after you mentioned them when we first started dating. You were amazing.”

“Thank you,” she bowed her head graciously.

“I mean you still are. I didn’t think I could think you were any more amazing than I already did, but you were so impressive in action. Your moves and your confidence, your compassion and your creativity.” He looked away to process the new information and come to grips with his newfound admiration. He thought through some of the fights he’d seen footage of, some of the moves he remembered. She had been absolutely amazing. Everything he admired about Marinette but amplified because of the extreme situations. He shook his head at the fights he remembered until one of them caught in his head. One incredulous, ridiculous, asinine move. “You jumped into a dinosaur’s mouth!”

“I… did,” she grimaced at the reminder. Not her best moment, but it worked.

“Oh God. No wonder you and Jason hit it off so well.” He shook his head at the thought of the two of them fighting together. Jumping into a situation relying on luck and determination to get them through. They would fit far too easily together in a fight. “Oh my God, the rest of the family is going to go insane when they find out. Wait,” he looked over to her with a questioning look, “were you planning on telling them?”

“I… hadn’t decided yet, but I don’t think so. I thought I might eventually tell them about being Multimouse or the dragon, but not about Ladybug.” Dick frowned slightly. If anyone could understand being a hero and weighing normal life with that life, it was them. They could understand her in a way few others could. “It isn’t that I don’t love them and trust them it’s just… you know our villain, Hawkmoth? He wanted our miraculous because combined, it gave him a wish. One wish that could rewrite reality. Could destroy a continent, or a planet, could bring perpetual wealth, or health, could make one immortal or bring someone back from the dead, but at a cosmic price. I just… I don’t know. If your brothers knew of that power. If your brothers lost someone and knew all they had to do to get them back was take the jewels and make a wish, but if they did there would be a price. Do you think they would restrain themselves? Or do you think they would find a way to sneak them away from me and Adrien to make the wish, whatever the consequences?”

Dick stared at her, a concerned frown on his face. She was right. He knew she was. If they lost Bruce again, he had no doubt Damian would do anything to bring him back. If Tim ever lost Kon… If any of them had a child that was lost… He massaged his forehead trying to ward off the migraine he knew wanted to start with all this new information bombarding his brain.

“That’s why I took so long to tell you. There’s so much damage that can be done. I’ve never… we’ve never… neither of us has ever told anyone else. The core members of our team know, but nobody else. There’s six people in the universe who know who we are… now seven.” She looked at him gravely.

He took a few deep breaths and eyed her apprehensively, letting the seriousness of the situation settle over him. Finally he nodded in agreement. “So we don’t tell the family. Is there more I should know?”

“If we’re going to stay together, yes. But I don’t know if I’m ready to go there yet. Things only Chat… Adrien knows.” She studied him carefully for a moment before one side of her mouth quirked up a bit. “I’ve had it drilled so thoroughly into my head that I can’t let anyone know, it feels strange to be able to be honest with someone else. I’m glad you know.”

“I’m glad I know too.” He moved closer to her and cupped her face, gently stroking her cheek. “I can’t wait until we both know all of each other’s secrets,” he whispered, slowly leaning toward her.

Marinette smiled. “You have more secrets to tell,” she whispered back with a teasing smile.

“So many.” He nodded, his eyes focused entirely on her lips as he leaned closer still. “I’ll make some up if I have to.” He smirked at her eye roll. He was close enough now that he could feel her breath fanning out across his face and she wasn’t backing away. She wasn’t pushing him for space and that fact alone was making his heart soar.

He was just about to close the gap when she quirked her head to the side and sighed. “That sounds like Lucy, which means Rob will be up too.” She gave him an apologetic smile and moved to go nurse them.

Dick let out an exaggerated sigh and fell back on the bed. He suddenly shot up as a thought occurred to him. “He knew I was Nightwing and Jason is Hood when he suggested the nickname for Rob.”

Marinette laughed at the offended look on his face. “Oh, definitely.”

“That bastard. I’ll show him. I’ll introduce him to Wally as a punishment. He’ll never be able to get another word in again. Hey, wait up.” He jumped up and rushed over to her, slinging his arm around her waist and planting a kiss on her temple. “I’ll change their diapers for you.”

Chapter 30

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123 @lady-bee-fechin @thewitchwhowaited @redscarlet95 @jayjayspixiepop @alessialeone6997

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - powers

124 notes · View notes

whiterosebrian · 3 years

Text

Letter To Democrats

I felt the need to do something besides raising awareness of environmental, indigenous, and socio-economic issues. I’ve decided to compose and then mail multiple printed copies of a letter to multiple politicians across the USA. I did wonder if I should copy-and-paste the letter to social media profiles like I did for the one that I wrote to President Biden. Ultimately, I decided that posting the letter would serve two purposes. First, I wanted to let indigenous activists know that they have another willing accomplice. Second, this could provide a decent template for anyone who also feels a need to write to political leaders and put pressure on them to take much-needed action. Without any further ado…

Greetings,

I am writing a generic letter to send to assorted politicians across the United States. For reasons that I will articulate over the course of this letter, I felt a serious need to address as many members of the American political leadership as possible. I do not intend to call you out personally. If you do take it as a personal callout, please consider why you feel that way.

The reports of wildfires, heat waves, and floods have filled many, many observers with existential terror. Some have even expressed utter despair over whether the world will be inhabitable by any form of life. At times I have been tempted to join the despair, to give up hope of ever leaving a beautiful legacy for future generations. For the sake of all the people of the world, I must fight that temptation. I need to do my part to fight for the future.

There are a large number of activists trying to protect the environment. However, they need help from people who have the power to make really concrete changes. That is why I am writing to you and other Democratic politicians. That does sound very partisan, but the sad fact is that the Republican party is almost a lost cause at this point. I wish to be proven wrong about that. The fact is that it already engaged in brutal obstruction during the Obama administration. A sinister side to the base already started emerging during that time as well. With the rise of Donald Trump, the much of its leadership and nearly all of its electoral base have become increasingly unwilling to offer the kind of compromise needed for a functional democracy.

The Democratic party as a whole has been criticized as very weak in opposing the radicalizing Republican Party. The current President has spoken of a desire for restoring national unity. That desire is certainly laudable in itself when Trump blatantly stoked resentment and division. Again, however, the Republican party and its core supporters have shown a complete unwillingness to work with any opponents in any way. They view their opponents as subversive enemies that need to be crushed underfoot. The Republican party has inched towards neo-fascism at a time when neo-fascism is mainstreaming around the world. The Republican party has also already been beholden to the selfish interests of major corporations for decades. It even seeks to magnify the already dire influence of corporations chiefly responsible for pollution. Its propaganda outlets outright deny pollution and mislead millions of people.

Some Democratic politicians have also been criticized as going along with corporate interests and watering down legislation meant to oppose corporate influence. By now it has become clear that corporate elites do not have the safety of the world and its human and nonhuman denizens in mind. By now it has become clear that they must be reined in for the greater good. The only language that major corporations even comprehend is money. Here I arrive at the first main point of this letter: I urge you to work with other Democratic leaders to divest from major corporations and their executives, especially those most directly responsible for polluting the Earth. I’ve also seen proposals that corporations be forced to contribute to removing as much pollution as possible. Quickening the transition away from fossil fuels is crucial.

However, alternate energy sources are not enough. Switching from gas-powered cars to electric cars is not enough. Building solar or wind farms in place of coal-burning power plants is not enough. Extraction and consumption cause their own serious problems. The problem of environmental degradation has roots that are far too deep and complicated to address here, though I will touch upon one later. Going hand-in-hand with corporate influence are the bad social and urban infrastructures that do not encourage sustainable lifestyles. I barely even know where to begin in this regard. Cities are too often built for cars and not people. Most people have to drive carbon-spewing cars to work at jobs that are not well-suited to their needs in order to pay their bills and feed their families. Too many people are left in poverty or near-poverty, some people are more-or-less isolated in suburbs, and a tiny handful are virtually untouchable in their wealth and privilege. Healthy food is not always accessible, and even when it is, it often has to be shipped very far from the source.

My second main point is this: in addition to transitioning to cleaner energy, the very infrastructure of our society needs to reformed. Local communities need to be lifted up so that they can better care for themselves without the need for distant figures constantly having to provide for them through convoluted supply chains. It’s true that right-wingers speak of “small government” with the unspoken agenda of leaving corporate oligarchs and ultra-conservative clergy to rule over ordinary human beings. Nonetheless, I believe that, at this point, government needs to assist in rebuilding communities so that they can eventually leave denizens to stand on their feet and care for each other. The pandemic, along with the poor responses of many local officials, has shown the need for communities to engage in mutual care.

I will confess that this exhortation is the vaguest one in this letter. I lack in-depth education on such matters. I bring it up in order to further nudge you in a direction that would be far better for the Earth and its people. I can offer one example of what must be done that is slightly clearer: helping communities establish gardens and small-scale farms to better feed themselves.

On a very important side note, this nation needs to divest from the military as well. The largest and most powerful military in history is known to be among the largest polluters on earth. Too many politicians seem to ignore how massive the military already is an insist on subsidizing it at the cost of actually building a peaceful and prosperous society.

I further wish to discuss the need to center indigenous peoples in renewing our society. No, I am no indigenous myself. I simply wish to point to their wisdom. Yes, the sagely magical Indian who is one with Mother Earth is a crude stereotype, and I have no intention of reinforcing it. With that said, I follow a number of indigenous writers, activists, spiritualists, and influencers on social media. I learned about how many indigenous people are attempting to reconnect to previously outlawed and hidden heritages. The stereotype could be rooted in reality.

In most cases, those heritages include animistic spiritualities, in which aspects of the natural world, from plants to animals to waters to stones, are seen as having spirits. Furthermore, these aspects of the natural world are seen as relatives to humans. I should note how some well-meaning white people, wishing to bond with the earth instead of submitting to organized religion, appropriate these indigenous spiritualties and associated practices. Indigenous writers will encourage such people to instead delve into their own pre-Christian heritages, which have similar animistic philosophies, however obscured by time they may be. I have actually been doing just that—though I won’t elaborate because I don’t want to center myself.

You may be asking, what is the relevance said common thread of the spiritualities of indigenous peoples? That animism seems to go hand-in-hand with methods of land care that developed over generations of trial and error, along with the principles behind those methods. With the subjugation and expulsion (and worse) of the land’s original caretakers, though, these practices fell into obscurity. The most dramatic example, perhaps, is the suppression of controlled burnings on the western coastline leading to the wildfires that we have seen in recent years. Indeed, the different lands of different indigenous nations need their own subtly distinct approaches, based on ecosystems, geographies, local histories, and general senses of place. Indigenous activists and figureheads are calling upon governments to heed their words on not only conservation but also regeneration.

One of the main demands that indigenous activists make is for the return of their lands, full sovereignty over them, and the facilitation of cultural revival. Yes, that is a very simple manner of justice and righting a historic wrong. It has become evident that their wisdom is a crucial piece of the puzzle of solving environmental problems as well. Simple “colorblind” or “globalized” liberalism won’t suffice when working for social or environmental justice. Indigenous activists argue that colonialism is at the root of so many of our world’s problems. Many of them even outright state that the “colonial state” in itself is a problem. I can see how colonialism has promoted the rise of an all-devouring capitalism and perpetuated it. The grim historical fact of how the enslavement of Black people and the elimination of indigenous peoples contributed to building this nation remains a grim historical fact.

I myself am figuring out the world and learning many truths, but I am sympathetic to people who have borne the brunt of colonialism. I welcome the humanistic achievements of modernity and utterly oppose fundamentalism and fascism, I assure you, but I’ve come to accept that the modern world is broken. Simple progress won’t heal the world. “Big government” certainly has a role to play in mobilizing the needed social changes, such as what I’ve alluded to above, but the “colonial state” needs to ultimately divest its own power.

I’ll try to summarize my points now. Major corporations and economic elites need to be drastically reined in and disempowered (along with the military). The transition to renewable energies needs to be quickened—but also needs to be accompanied by drastic changes to infrastructures and supply chains so as to result in less extraction and consumption. Localized communities need to be empowered so they can better care for themselves without much out faraway aid. Indigenous peoples need to be given their lands back, be elevated to leadership roles in caring for and regenerating said lands, and be empowered so they can rebuild their cultures. Settlers should learn from them as well. In the end, the state and the socio-economic system that it has upheld need to recede—not for billionaires or grand inquisitors or dictators, but for ordinary people and the earth. In truth, humans are meant to be a part of nature, and the generational challenge is for humanity to reconcile with the rest of nature.

This all may sound idealistic or radical. This past summer has shown us that we shouldn’t settle for anything less than radical social change. This nation, which has been a major world power for over a century, needs to be radically reimagined. This all may sound vague as well. I have little education in politics and governance apart from what I’ve tried to learn for myself across the internet. That is all the more reason for people like you—people with more real-world power than I—to push along radical social change. This letter is meant to raise awareness of your duty as a leader. A leader is meant to be a guide, not a dominator. There’s a chance that you could be recorded in history as a leader who did what was necessary to make the world’s healing and renewal possible.

Thank you.

You may call me Brian Solomon Whiterose.

#environment #environmentalism #indigenous rights #indigenous people #us politics #social justice #social reform #colonialism #capitalism #long text

51 notes · View notes

alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years

Text

if this was a dream, then at least i’ve got memories for when morning comes pt.1

COI spoilers! new fic instead of pt 2 to the one i already started! yes it is a thomastair amnesia fic inspired by the zukka fic feels like we only go backwards by oldpotatoe. i don’t think there’s any content warnings for this one so far, besides like canon-typical injury, which is new for me. the title is from “welcome to wonderland” by anson seabra!

Fanfiction Masterlist | AO3

Alastair could swear that he could hear his heart thumping in his chest. Cordelia’s voice was drowned out by a dull ringing, his sister undoubtedly elaborating on the news she’d just delivered: Thomas had been very badly injured on patrol earlier that night.

It wasn’t fair. Thomas was not allowed to die on him. It had taken them so long to get to this place. From school to Paris to London to the entire mess that was last fall, and finally to the past two months. It had been about that long since the sanctuary and about a month since Rostam was born.

They’d had a rocky start, as was expected when he started seeing someone who had hated him just a few months prior, as well as being someone who’d been repeatedly taught that love and trust were dangerous risks, not even considering the mess they’d needed to deal with between Cordelia and her ties to Lilith, Lucie bringing Jesse Blackthorn back from the dead, and the whole disaster that was Cordelia and Matthew’s trip to Paris.

Finally, finally, Thomas and Alastair were in a good place. They were moving forward, they were happy, mostly, as messy as that was. Each day, Alastair could feel himself loving Thomas more and more. Not only that, but he hated himself less and less, too. He was finally in a good place. For the first time in a long time, he felt as if there might be a day when he would be completely free of the weight of his father and all else that had happened. It wasn’t only him, either: Thomas seemed more himself than he had in a while, complete with a newfound confidence that he’d always dreamed of but could never touch.

Thus, Thomas simply could not die, because this was only the beginning of their story, not the end. There were too many things they still needed to do, too many places to travel to, too many directions for them to grow. He couldn’t die.

“Alastair? Are you alright?” Cordelia must have finished explaining what happened, not that he heard any of it.

He considered trying to speak but settled for a nod.

“I’ll stay here with Mâmân and Rostam, alright? Take the carriage.” She gave him a sympathetic look and cupped his face in her hands, tilting his head down just far enough to kiss him on the forehead. “It’ll be okay.” Her eyes weren’t so certain.

* * *

He hadn’t left the Institute in three days. Cordelia had stopped by a few times, just to convince him to sleep for a few hours in one of the empty rooms and to remind him to eat. She said that their mother and the baby were doing well, that they missed him and loved him and that she would stay with them until he was able to come home.

Physically, Thomas was okay. He’d pulled through. However, he’d taken a somewhat serious head injury, and to that, they said that they would simply need to wait for when Thomas woke. If he woke.

Him, Thomas’ parents, and Eugenia had survived on occasional naps the first few days, but this was the third night, fourth if you counted the night of the attack, and they’d finally agreed to sleep in shifts, each of them sitting with him for two hours before switching off with the next person and going off to sleep themselves. Somehow, Alastair had wound up with the final shift of a thus far uneventful night.

Truthfully, he was glad to have a bit of time alone with Thomas. He felt like he’d spent the past few days hovering around the edges of the room, unable to bring himself to leave but feeling slightly guilty at the same time for implying that he was of the same importance as Thomas’ actual family. Not that anyone had said anything nor had Sophie and Gideon ever questioned his presence, but the thought still crossed his mind.

Now he sat at Thomas’ side, holding his hand, singing softly to him from a book of Persian poems that Thomas liked. Feeling the weariness of the past few days tugging at him, he closed the book and set it on the bedside table, lying his head down beside Thomas at an angle so that he could continue watching him.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Thomas began to stir. Alastair shot up in his seat. “Thomas?”

“Hm?” He mumbled as he opened his eyes. Seeing Alastair, he flinched and pulled his hand away. “What-”

“It’s alright, you were injured on patrol-”

“What are you doing here, Carstairs? In Raziel’s name, I told you to leave me alone!” Thomas’ eyes were filled with rage.

“What-” Alastair started but couldn’t finish, hoping that Thomas couldn’t hear his voice drop.

“Do you wish to swim in the Thames that badly? Or do you not think I’m serious? You’re a monster, Alastair, and a liar. I believed you were different, but clearly I was just naive. You’re every bit as terrible as every other boy from school. No, you’re worse.”

“I don’t- I don’t understand-” Why would he say that? Knowing all that he’d shared with him? Alastair could feel his walls flying up far faster than they’d come down.

“Are you really that daft? You need a repeat of last week’s engagement party?”

The engagement party. Of course. Alastair stood up quickly. “I- I should wake your parents.” He ran away before Thomas could say anything further.

Last week’s engagement party.

The door to the room Sophie and Gideon were occupying was cracked open. He could see Sophie pacing inside. He pushed the door slightly. “He’s awake.”

Sophie’s eyes lit up, and for a moment, Alastair allowed himself to feel relief. Thomas was awake. He was alive, and he was awake, even if he hated him. Even if he was now missing memories Alastair suspected he would never be able to forget. As she moved to wake Gideon, he continued to Genie’s room.

She’d actually been sleeping, but when she came out of her disoriented state, she met him with the same excitement that her mother had. She pulled him into a tight hug. Alastair was not usually comfortable with physical affection from anyone but his mother, Cordelia, and Thomas, but he’d spent an non-insignificant number of hours holding her as she cried over the past few days, and her him, so he supposed they’d moved past that.

She started back towards the infirmary, but he did not follow. She realized that he was not behind her about halfway down the hallway. “Aren’t you coming?”

He bit the insides of his cheeks, throwing his walls up, like a drawbridge snapping shut. “I shouldn’t. He… He seems to have lost his memory of the past six months. Best if I stay away for now.”

A look of worry flashed across Eugenia’s face.

“Go, Genie. He’s waiting for you. I’m… I’ll see if anyone else is awake, to tell them the good news.” Before she could respond, he turned and began to walk away, his head hanging low.

taglist (lmk to be added/removed): @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @littlx-songbxrd @doitforthecarstairs @dianasarrow

Part 2

#coi spoilers #chain of iron spoilers #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #fanfiction #chain of iron #coi #the last hours #tlh #if this was a dream fic

85 notes · View notes

likeiwishiknew · 3 years

Text

Azriel x Gwyn - Small Fires

Read on AO3

They had agreed to meet at Rhys and Feyre’s house by the river.

It was easier to have Lucien meet them there than to have him winnow part way to the House of Wind.

Azriel would admit he was in no rush to see the firey male. However, this wasn’t about what he wanted. But rather what Gwyn needed.

He’d truthfully never seen her angry before. Frustrated, stubborn, fierce, he’d seen that. Her anger at Devlon’s inaction, on the other hand, had been another story entirely. At first, Azriel had thought he'd imagined it. The shimmer to her skin, the spark just under the surface. Until he’d felt the heat rolling off of her and caught sight of fire flaring to life in her hands. Only then had he been certain it wasn’t his imagination.

He knew in that instant that he had needed to get her the hell out of that camp. The Illyrians had hardly been welcoming, but they’d be even less so if they further learned Gwyn's origins. They'd already considered her an outsider. The last thing anyone needed was for the Illyrians to deem her a threat.

Azriel did not fear them, not in the slightest. But he also wasn’t stuck living among them. Emerie was. And if Gwyn had done this for anyone it was Emerie. To see all her efforts de-railed by the blood that ran through her veins, something she had no say in, he refused to let that happen.

When they’d arrived at the house Lucien had been standing silently / sitting silently observing Elain with a thoughtful look on his face.

Elain appeared to be ignoring him as usual, though, as always, she did not send him away. She never did. Azriel had never noted so before, but now it was plain to see. Although an undercurrent of unease sat between them, neither of them ever fled the other’s presence.

Strangely enough, neither the realization did not bother him.

Instead, it was the fact that as soon Gwyn stepped into the room Lucien’s head turned her direction. The other male’s awareness of Gwyn, that bothered him.

What’s more, as soon as Lucien’s eyes landed on her he smiled.

Lucien stood up from where he sat and approached them. Elain did not move from her seat, but Azriel did not miss the brief flicker of her eyes toward Lucien’s back as he moved away from her.

Gwyn stepped forward to meet the male halfway.

She smiled at him fondly, earnestly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And Azriel found himself disliking the other male more than ever.

- - -

Gwyn was surprised when Azriel had been the one to suggest bringing Lucien to meet her. She had a distinct impression that the two did not get along and that the feeling was entirely mutual. Which was a shame, because she quite liked both their company.

“Is everything alright Little Red?” Lucien asked as soon as he was close, “Rhysand was rather vague in his request that I come and see you.”

“I’m okay,” she assured him, “But there is something I think you should see.”

Lucien’s face grew concerned but he remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. Rather than say anything, Gwyn decided it best to try and show him.

Exhaling, she focused on her hands, tried to summon the flames and ignite her palms as she had in Devlon’s presence.

But nothing happened.

Maybe focus was not enough.

Gwyn thought about what she’d been feeling when the incident had happened. Her anger, her frustration, her desperation to not feel helpless. She attempted to recapture those feelings as she tried harder to call upon the fire.

Gwyn glanced down at her hands as she began to feel the tiniest kiss of heat.

No flames lit, but her skin had begun to glow a faint orange and she could sense the heat further building beneath her skin. Thus, she doubled down on the negative feelings she’d felt back at the camp and soon enough the tiniest flames flickered to life at her fingertips.

Looking up, she saw those very flames reflected in Lucien’s eyes. A slight smirk graced his lips.

“I suppose you truly do have fire in your blood, Little One.”

She could tell from his smile that he was remembering their previous conversation, and so Gwyn found herself smiling back. Far easier than they’d come, the flames faded. But she could still feel the warmth sitting just under her skin.

Lucien must’ve sensed it as well because he reached for her, but before he grasped her wrist he looked to her for permission. She gave him a single nod. And so, Lucien took her wrist in one hand and ran a finger along her veins. Likely getting a feel for her power.

“You’ll need training, to control it properly,” he commented.

She nodded again.

She’d had the same thought. Fire was a beautiful but equally destructive element. Gwyn knew well enough that she could not afford to lose control of it.

Like any skill, she would need to work on it, hone it. That was surely why Azriel had asked for Lucien to be brought to her in the first place, and she was grateful he’d had the foresight to know that she’d want to learn.

They were the same in that regard, she and Azriel. Both of them were always eager to learn, to acquire more knowledge.

She’d learned that back when they’d first grown close. It was one of the reasons Gwyn had known she could trust him.

Those willing to learn, who sought knowledge, were rarely if ever, bad people.

Gwyn would certainly have her work cut out for her though, with all the revelations this week.

She had hoped to learn more about her heritage and wound up discovering new abilities she knew next to nothing about. At least, they were new to her.

But the sooner she could get some grasp on them the better.

Lucien’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Come stay with me, I will train you.”

- - -

Lucien wanted to take her away. That was the last thing he caught of their conversation.

His shadows cried out their objection, to which Azriel agreed. He all but glowered at the male standing not so far from him. Not that Lucien noticed or even cared.

Before he could speak up in objection, Nesta beat him to it.

“Not a chance on hell, Vanserra,” the eldest Archeron sister spat, probably with more venom than was necessary.

He could always count on Nesta to speak her mind. Though at times it was to her detriment.

“Nesta,” Gwyn chastised, looking back over her shoulder at her friend, “Should it not be my choice?”

From the shock, upon Nesta’s face, it was clear the female had not been anticipating her friend’s response. Azriel had certainly not.

“You wish to leave the Night Court?” Nesta asked, her surprise evident in her voice.

“I did not say that, but I should like to have the chance to think about it,” Gwyn replied, turning back Lucien who'd kept his eyes focused on her the entire time.

“May I?” she asked the male.

Lucien nodded, “Of course.”

No one else in the room spoke up in favor or against the idea.

Elain was silent but her hand stilled on her flower arrangement she'd been working on the moment Lucien had made the suggestion. Nesta was clearly not excited about the prospect. Feyre, of course, eyed her sister worriedly, no doubt fearing Nesta would say something damaging she couldn’t take back. And naturally, his two brother’s moods were reflective of their mates. Cassian ready to step in should he need to, and Rhysand no doubt communicating silently with Feyre through their bond.

While Gwyn didn’t see Lucien as anything other than potential family, Azriel wasn’t so sure about the other male. Gwyn may very well belong to the Autumn Court, but that did not necessarily mean they were actually related.

And while Lucien might be mated to Elain, perhaps the other male might finally be considering abandoning the effort. It had been years now, and not all males were as foolish as himself. Content to wait around years in the hopes that something might change. It was quite possible, Lucien might entertain the idea of walking away.

Hearing Gwyn’s words to Nesta, that she would consider going off with Lucien to stay with his band of misfits left Azriel feeling cold. As though, if she went, Azriel would again find himself losing to the Autumn Prince. But as soon as he had the thought, he chased it away. Gwyn was not some prize to be won or lost. He knew that.

It took a moment, but Lucien finally seemed to read the tension in the room.

“If the idea of leaving makes you uneasy I have no issue with coming here to see you,” he offered, then, seeming to give it some further thought, looked to Feyre and Rhys, “Assuming I’m welcome move about the Night Court freely?”

Rhys appeared to consider this, whereas Feyre answered almost immediately.

“Of course you can,” his High Lady spoke with a smile.

Once upon a time, Lucien had been her first and only friend in the realm of Fae. Though Feyre never admitted it, he knew the rift in their relationship saddened her. Rhys knew it too. But there was nothing that could be done to fix it. Too much had happened, too much time had passed. One day they might find their way back to each other, but it would be no easy task.

Personally, he did much like the idea of seeing more of the Autumn Princeling. But if it was for Gwyn’s sake he’d learn to deal with it.

It was far better than the alternative.

- - -

Sometime after dinner, as talk again returned to a discussion over Gywn’s situation, along with that of the remaining mortal queens, Elain had managed to wander off.

As Gwyn was busy speaking with Nesta and Lucien, Azriel took it upon himself to check on the middle Archeron sister.

Unsurprisingly, he found her in the garden with her rose bush. The gloves Lucien had gifted her all those years protecting her delicate hands. She’d never thanked the other male for the gift, but Azriel had noted countless times how often she’d used them.

“How are you feeling about Lucien being here more often?” he asked.

She said nothing at first, only halting briefly in her pruning.

“He won’t exactly be here, will he?” Elain responded. Her tone sounding odd.

No, he supposed she was right. He wouldn’t be visiting the river house, but rather the House of Wind. But who was to say, given free reign, that he would not try and come to see his mate. Then again, as much as he disliked Lucien, the male was never one to appear uninvited.

“Have you ever thought about how much easier things might have been if you and I were mates?” she questioned softly.

Azriel blinked once, surprised by the turn-in conversation. But he knew the answer well enough.

He had.

But the cauldron had not seen it fit to bless him with a mate.

However, he had once coveted the beauty before him. Their attraction mutual, as far as he could tell.

“Yes,” he found himself admitting, “I have.”

- - -

Gwyn wound up in the small library of Rhysand and Feyre’s home. Though to call it small might’ve been a bit of an insult. It simply wasn’t as large as the once housed in the House of Wind. But it was nice, tidy, private. And she needed that bit of privacy right about now.

Gwyn dropped into one of the chairs by the window.

Azriel had wanted Elain for a mate.

The very idea broke her heart. A new crack forming among the many scars that already ran across it.

A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away almost as quickly as it came. Which was just as well, because not a moment later she heard a knock.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lucien standing in the doorway. Normally, she’d have no issue detecting him. But clearly, her heightened emotions had her distracted.

It took a mere second for him to take in her face. His mood immediately shifted as he approached her. His long strides closing the distance between them with ease. Lucien sat down in the seat opposite her and placed a gentle hand on her knee.

“Little One, what’s wrong?” he voiced, concerned.

Gwyn pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply she forced herself to push the feelings down and keep the tears at bay.

“I’m an idiot,” she confessed.

Lucien straightened at that, “What?”

Her foolishness did not require explaining. It was Elain. It’d always been her. The necklace, everything...

Why had she done this to herself? Why had she gone and allowed her hopes to flourish again?

Gwyn shook her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

From the look on his face, Lucien obviously did not want to let it go at that. But he conceded to her all the same.

“Alright,” he let out reluctantly.

The male stared at her with thoughtful eyes.

“My offer to take you away from this place still stands,” Lucien spoke softly, as though fearing someone might hear, “Clearly, something here has upset you. I will take you away from it, should you wish.”

She appreciated his willingness to help her by any means. In truth, Gwyn hardly knew anything about Lucien. Only second-hand stories she’d heard from Nesta and the others. But she found something about him inherently trustworthy. Her gut insisted that he would not hurt her, and she was inclined to believe it.

She’d been honest when she’d said she would consider his offer. The idea of leaving the comfort and security of the library, the Night Court, left her feeling a tad apprehensive. But in recent months Gwyn had started to learn to push past that feeling.

Lucien’s idea made sense from a practical standpoint. It would get her out of her comfort zone, and she’d have a teacher readily available. She knew she’d be safe. After all, if Emerie could manage to live among men she loathed. Gwyn could certainly learn to live with Lucien.

Yet despite knowing that, she still felt uneasy.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave,” she admitted.

She’d miss everyone, Nesta, Cassian, her fellow priestess’...Azriel.

Lucien said nothing in response, only sat there quietly, ready to listen.

“I know it sounds silly. It’s not as though I’m leaving to never return again. It’s just, the idea of being away...it feels strange. For years now, this place, this court has been my life. My home.”

But then Gwyn was struck with the realization that she hadn’t this way when she’d wound up staying at the Illyrian camp. She hadn’t felt as though she’d left home at all.

Because Azriel been there with her.

Her throat ached at the thought.

He wanted someone else. Had always wanted someone else, despite the fact that the female already had a mate. A mate who happened to be sitting right in front of Gwyn now. She wondered if Lucien knew. Though she supposed, he had to.

He might not have been as old as three males of the Inner Circle, but he’d certainly been around long enough to learn how to read other’s intentions.

And yet he did nothing. He did not pressure Elain, nor did he seem to hold any resentment toward her for entertaining the company of another male. He also never returned her coldness toward him. Lucien was only ever the patient mate, waiting on the sidelines for the female the Cauldron destined for him to make her decision.

Gwyn wondered how long he’d be willing to wait.

She found herself almost envious of the other female. She wondered what that must be like, to be wanted, to be adored. Until she remembered something her mother had always said. That envy was one of the worst sins. It could twist even the purest hearts into wicked things.

She refused to go down that path.

Gwyn had plenty in her life to be thankful for. She would not ask nor demand more.

She was content. Gwyn had friends who were like family. A possible family that she might one day reunite with. Every day she grew stronger and more skilled in combat, more capable of fighting for herself and those she loved should war descend upon them.

If she could gain mastery over her fire, she would prove stronger still.

“A home will always be a home, if it is where you are meant to be you’ll always find a way back,” Lucien said, his voice close to a whisper.

She stared up at him, to find him watching her.

“I will never force you to do anything you do not want to or are not comfortable with. I only want you to understand that you will always have options and that in your life the only one with the right decide what you do is yourself.”

The way he spoke, she could tell his words were as much a reminder for him as they were for her.

“I know first-hand what it feels like to believe you have no other choice. It leads one to make mistakes one can never take back.”

Gwyn eyed him with concern, “Have you done something you regret Lucien?”

His eyes saddened, “Far too many things.”

She wanted to reach out to him, hug him, and tell him that she believed in his goodness. That his mistakes alone surely did not define him. But Gwyn wasn’t sure that was what he wanted, and so she held back.

Lucien rubbed her head and gave her a small, almost bittersweet, smile as he rose from his seat.

"Let me know what you decide, Little Red,” he said briefly before departing without another word.

With him gone, she was once again left alone in the library with her thoughts. And what a great many she had.

- - -

They’d returned to the House of Wind rather late that night, after having had dinner at the river house.

Cassian and Nesta had gone off together almost immediately upon their return. In the months since their mating, their hunger for each other had yet to subside. Though, if they were anything like Rhys and Feyre, it was likely it never would.

He was happy for his brothers, even if it left him feeling a bit green with envy at every reminder.

Gwyn had not said much to him on the way back. But he’d overheard her telling Nesta that she intended to work out in the training ring despite the late hour. Something about needing that time to think.

And so, after he’d gotten his own affairs in order, Azriel headed up to the ring to find her.

As he neared Azriel could sense his shadows begin to dance. They moved as though in time with a song he himself could not quite hear.

Reaching the archway, he caught sight of Gwyn. Her movements were rhythmic and fluid, the sword she was wielding a perfect extension of her arm.

She must’ve sensed him because she stopped what she was doing and turned his way.

Their eyes met, but her expression did not change. It remained perfectly neutral. A practiced look that he all too easily recognized, because it was one he enacted almost every day of his life. The sight of it on her face fed his growing concern.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

It took her a moment, but she nodded, “I have a lot to think about.”

In that regard, he agreed with her. The last few days had no doubt proven life-changing for her. She’d awoken abilities she’d never even known she had. But something in her tone, in her voice, in her steady effort to keep her neutral expression in place gave her away to him.

“You’re honestly considering leaving with him.”

Neither of them needed to clarify who it was Azriel spoke of. They both knew.

Yet for some reason, Gwyn appeared surprised at his directness. Her beautiful eyes widening a fraction in response. But she did not speak up in denial. They stared at each other a moment longer before she managed an answer.

“Perhaps,” she admitted.

Azriel found himself stepping into the ring, closing the distance between them.

“Why?” he found his voice rising, “Lucien has already offered to teach you here.”

And he’d come to terms with that, but the idea of Gwyn leaving? He had not prepared himself for that.

She inhaled, before answering, “I know.”

Then why were they having this discussion?

“But it might do me some good to see what lies beyond the borders of the Night Court.”

Azriel did not want to trap her here. He would never dream of it. He had always been supportive of her broadening her horizons, seeing the world. She deserved a chance to learn, to live.

Yet something had him fearing her leaving in this current state. As though, if she left now she might not come back. He could not explain why he thought this, but he felt the certainty of it in his very bones.

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” he attempted to say, only to realize that wasn’t what they'd agreed on.

“When did I say that?” she naturally responded.

He corrected his wording, “You said you wouldn’t run from me.”

- - -

His words struck her, leaving her unsure as to what to say.

She wasn’t running from him. Was she?

“I’m not running from you, Azriel,” Gwyn found herself insisting, “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, how I feel.”

She wasn’t lying about that, not exactly. Gwyn had tried to put her growing feelings for Azriel aside to protect their friendship, but the more time they spent together the harder that was proving to be.

Gwyn had believed she’d been successful right up until their time in the Illyrian camp. When she’d come face to face with the prospect of Azriel with another. The sight had left her with an ache in her chest, and though he’d run after her to assure her there was nothing going on between him and the female it did not mean that he wouldn’t have a relationship with someone else in the future.

That someone might be Elain or it might not. All that mattered was she could not behave the way she had at camp. Little by little she had to learn to let these feelings go. Because locking them away clearly wasn’t working.

Distance might help save what was between them.

“You’re lying,” Azriel insisted, “I’m not sure why but there’s something you aren’t being honest about. I can feel it.”

His observation left her feeling angry.

“Stop that,” she shouted, “Stop trying to see into my head, my heart. You have no right.”

For the briefest of moments, Gwyn found herself blaming him for her inability to let go. He was the one sending her mixed signals, acting as though he might want something more with her only to turn around and admit to wanting another female as his mate.

Her feelings were to mostly blame, but he was not faultless. How could she let him go when he seemed to not want her to?

“Gwyn,” he said almost pleadingly.

But she could not do this. Not now when her emotions were running high, clouding her judgment.

“I need to go. Try to get some rest. I’m sure I have a lot to catch up on with Merrill in the morning.”

His face shuttered.

“I see.”

He said nothing else.

And so she moved past him, leaving him standing there in the ring alone.

- - -

It had been days and still nothing.

After her discussion with Lucien in the library, Rhysand had found her there.

When she’d started to apologize for wandering off, he’d brushed it off and reassured her he did not mind her presence in the library.

Instead, he’d asked her a favor. The High Lord had explained to her his suspicions about the book she and Azriel had encountered in the library. Both he and his second in command, Amren, believe that the book was related to one of two things. True witches or the true immortals. Both of which would prove dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.

When she’d questioned the High Lord about owning the book he admitted that he’d never come across such a thing, had not even known it existed amongst the vast collection of books he’d inherited.

Rhysand had tasked her with finding the book, by any means necessary. Gwyn had been trying for the last week or so and still she had nothing to show for it. She’d tried asking the House. She’d checked the library archives for any mention of such an ancient tome, and she’d all but searched every single shelf on the floor she and Azriel had been on when it appeared.

Wherever the book was, she felt rather certain it was content to remain hidden there.

The hours she’d spent had not been a complete waste though. It gave her a distraction.

Busy as she was, she almost forgot about the argument she’d had with Azriel. If it could be called an argument.

But he needed to understand that if she chose to leave it would be because it was what was best for her, not because she was running away from anything. She knew better than anyone that there were two things in life you could never outrun, the past and your own feelings.

So for now, she would remain in the Night Court. Not for Azriel, but for herself. Because she felt there was something she was meant to do here, and she had a strong inclination it had something to do with the book she'd been tasked with finding.

And she would find it, one way or another.

- - -

He sat with Nesta and Elain in the living room of Rhys and Feyre’s home.

Elain held Nyx within her arms, the little rascal giggling wildly as she played peekaboo with him.

Azriel himself wasn’t particularly familiar with the game, but both Nesta and Feyre had assured him and the others that it was a common practice in the mortal realm. Along with pretending to steal a child’s nose, which, personally, made no sense to him.

Then again, many mortal traditions did not.

Cassian was speaking with Rhys and Feyre. Nesta had intended to join them, but Azriel had asked to speak to her first. It was something that had seemed to surprise all of them.

In fact, Cassian had made some joke about it. Not that he’d paid much attention to it.

No, he’d kept quiet until he and Nesta were alone. Well, aside from Elain and Nyx.

The four of them sat under the warm afternoon sun in the garden that Elain tended to.

“Gwyn wouldn’t be avoiding you over nothing,” Nesta remarked.

He knew that of course. But days had passed since he’d last seen her and he was no closer to figuring out what it was that had caused the sudden shift in her attitude toward him. She still hadn’t chosen to take Lucien up on his offer to spirit her away from the Night Court.

According to Nesta, the other male had agreed to come once a week to meet with Gwyn. And so he was due for a visit soon. Azriel needed to fix the rift between him and Gwyn before then.

“Do you think she could’ve overheard our conversation in the garden that day?” Elain spoke up, as she lifted Nyx off the ground to spin him around.

Nesta eyed Azriel, “What conversation?”

He gave it some thought and realized Elain might be right.

Usually, his shadows alerted him when anyone approached, but that often wasn’t true when it came to Gwyn. And the timeline made perfect sense. They’d been fine when they’d left the Illyrian camp and when they’d first arrived at the river house. It hadn’t been until after dinner when they were getting ready to return to the House of Wind that Azriel had noted the strangeness in her mood.

If that was the case he could easily understand how his words might’ve been misconstrued.

Azriel had admitted to once wishing that Elain was his mate. It stood to reason Gwyn might think he still felt that way.

But, if so, why hadn’t she said anything to him about it?

He considered this a mere second before the answer grew obvious.

What reason had he given her too?

Closing his eyes, Azriel took a deep breath.

He knew now what he needed to do.

~ ~ ~

Notes: Sorry this one is coming to you a little late. I’ve been a bit of a mini rut this week between writing this fanfic and working on my own original story. I also haven’t been reading much these past few weeks, my free mostly spent watching baking shows, so I’ve been a bit short on inspiration. And I do not like putting anything out that I do not enjoy reading myself. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the end product of my toil.

As always, any feedback is appreciated =)

~ ~ ~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium @toolazymyguy @inkdrinkershadowsinger @itswrongsong @dealingdifferentdevils @rhysmoira

@brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @princessofmerchants-reads @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x

@my-fan-side @spookylightkidranch @velaaaris @keramzinskies @itswrongsong @mirubyjane

@lovelywordsandwine @ladygwynriel @parisakamali @mirubyai

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acosf #sarah j maas #gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #azwyn #love #otp #fanfiction #read on ao3 #ao3 update #friendship #romance #nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara

39 notes · View notes

potteresque-ire · 3 years

Note

Hi! I have been reading your posts and responses to anonymous and I am inclined to comment on your broadly realistic views and detailed analystic answers and let us not forget your ability to be warm in putting forward your opinions. I am truly a huge fan. Thank you for being a station for various answer seekers.

If you have time and patience, please elaborate on the situation GG is still facing post 227. Recently I read various comments insinuating GG copied DD for Douyin night which is absurd but the implication that only one party is still being targeted unnecessarily raise hackles of a lot of solo fans. And I, under any circumstances, DO NOT believe the involvement of the other party. Firm believer of BJYXSZD.

My point is what is being done to stop these antis from targeting GG. Since one of the motive to target GG is to severe the relationship of GG and DD, IMO at least. Does constant attack (external stimulus) on GG (belittling him by comparing him to DD) may have the possibility to effect their relationship (internal reaction)? Objectively yes, but given your perception of their relationship, what is your opinion in this matter, however subjective it may be?

Moreover, how much extreme and sometimes irrational analysis done by bjyx community can lead to harm to both of them especially GG?

Also, I have seen DD being the captain of BJYX in various circumstances but also throwing off people from their old predicted/maintened theories especially in case of Kadians. I am not sure how much to trust these 'candies' since he has a reputation of not giving a f*** of others opinion. So why would he post GG related or non-related content with same kadians. I mean if he posts private content with GG related kadian then why post promotional content with GG related kadian. Does it imply that kadians are related to GG or not or he doesn't care and we are thinking too much. I am not sure what I am writing now, maybe multitude of thoughts poring out here. I am extremely sorry for that.

I do not know whether people believe or not but 1st post by GG yesterday had initials YB in the circle. Not at all explicit, and depends on believers but I felt like he was just trolling BJYX, it may be good naturedly but after his promotional brand picture of shrimp in bunny's hand. I do not know I just felt, dissappointed/bitter/unsure about all of this. I think it is normal to feel this way from time to time even for SZD because along with emotional investment we have rational perspective which is necessary to scrutinize evidence(maybe) from time to time.

I whole heartedly apologize for writing an essay length ask, this is the reason I wanted your patience 😅.

If any other blogger wants to add or comment on this please feel free to do so. Your suggestions are highly welcomed. 🙏

Hello Anon!

I take it that your questions about safety are concerned about the behaviour of c-solos and c-turtles? International fans aren’t likely to put Gg and Dd at any risk. That said, however, frequent fighting among i-fans would likely drain Gg and Dd’s international fanbase, as many fans do not enjoy being a combative atmosphere (I, for one, will run away as quickly as a turtle can run!). Lost i-fans can’t be easily replenished, whether they’re turtles or solos ~ The Untamed, as a foreign language show so beloved that fans are willing to scale tall language and cultural barriers to understand it, isn’t something that comes around often. (stanning Gg and/or Dd does take a lot of work!)

About the arguments. I probably only know about a fraction of them since I do not interact directly with fans outside Tumblr . As far as I can tell, however, recent arguments among c-solos and c-turtles have been ordinary fights, and also, fairly “bi-directional” between the solos (ie. I don’t think Gg or Dd has been relatively exempt from attacks compared to each other).

These arguments can be heated and some of the attacks may sound vicious, but there’s nothing much to worry about from a safety angle, as they haven’t caught the attention of those outside the fan circles.

The theorising by turtles are also not inherently dangerous. c-turtles have mostly been careful about keeping their discussions among themselves. The only risk it may lead to in the future, that I can think of right now, is the associated YiZhan content on China-based websites (ex. Bilibili, Douyin), which has become fairly plentiful. YiZhan candies used to be relatively obscure given the guidelines of CP fans to keep them among themselves (they call this practice 圈地自萌, literally, drawing a circle on the ground and have fun in it by oneself). These days, however, anyone who’s curious can get a good sense of YiZhan’s story by browsing Bilibili.

This probably contributes to the continued growth of the turtle population; however, some of this content is created by non-turtles who seek viewership and have little concern over Gg and Dd’s safety. They are the ones who re-upload the BTS, for example, despite the repeated pleas and warnings by the “站姐”s—the superfans who take/purchase these videos—as well as the turtles to not do that. If these content creators go overboard, there’s a possibility that YiZhan content may get caught in the government’s “Eradicating Pornography and Illegal Publications”（掃黃打非) movement. The movement originated in the mid 2000s, and its recent waves have been used as pretext to remove LGBT+ and BL content on line (I will eventually set up a post re: those events). Just last month (2020 Dec), Bilibili has been explicitly named by the government for hosting questionable materials, which means it’s already under scrutiny. Sweeps performed on an entire website are usually broad-based enough that no specific individuals are targeted; however, the government also encourages, with financial incentives, the reporting of specific content and has set up a dedicated website for doing so. While all YiZhan content has no direct relation to Gg and Dd, removal of such content may cause an over-reaction from fans, which can, in turn, lead to accusations of poor fan management by Gg and Dd. Most people will also assume the YiZhan content to be created by turtles.

(Another example of how an alleged turtle mis-step can get the YiZhan fandoms and Gg and Dd tied to the 掃黃打非 movement: a few days ago, a Weibo post showed a photo of a hardcover version of an explicit BJYX fanfic, reportedly sold for profit, and GG haters were calling for an arrest for “illegal publication.” So far, there’s minimal noise on the issue, so it isn’t something to worry about. It can also be fake news, which is so bountiful on the platform and on every aspect of daily life that most die a very peaceful, very well-deserved death.).

Whether fan arguments / theories may affect Gg and Dd’s relationship (assuming they’re in a relationship) … my guess is, not much. Gg and Dd are busy people, unlikely to closely follow their fans’ discussions. Again, I expect effects to be felt only if the arguments get out of hand ~ as in, if they begin to involve the public and/or the government.

As for the question about what is being done to stop Gg being targeted: fan wars are incredibly common in China (as in everywhere else), and Gg and Dd’s aren’t special in that sense ~ it’s just that as turtles, we know about those surrounding Gg and Dd and they feel significant to us. No individuals can stop a fan war ~ all we can do is to not join these wars ourselves.

Personally, I think the international fan base of Gg and Dd, as solos and cpfs, have more chance to achieve peace than its Chinese counterparts — if they choose to want that. Popularity in China is not only quantified (which is likely true everywhere, by marketing departments), but very visibly so. Sales numbers, votes, traffic attributed to each idol are frequently released to the public, possibly to foster competition among fans and drive these numbers further upward. c-turtles’ demonstrated strong performance in pushing these metrics has made them a target to those who wish to have usurp their consumer power. They, therefore, have good reasons to be wary of anyone who try to sway them from their “turtle-ship”, whether to turn them into solos or to lure them into an entirely different fandom. The swaying messages are also not always obvious, not always a direct “your cp suck”. They can be subtle, many even come from netizens who appear to be fellow turtles, who may say “oh, maybe we (turtles) are wrong” or “we have to be realistic; Gg and Dd will never look at each other publicly again”—messages that cast doubt and sink morale in a fandom that’s already running an uphill battle. Remember: traditionally, CP fandoms are not expected or welcomed to last, and solos have been happy to (correctly) point out that the BTS, the origin of the most solid “evidences” of BJYXSZD, are getting older by the day. c-turtles can’t expect anyone else to help defend their ship if something happens, given CP fandoms’ lack of respectability, given YiZhan being a real person M/M pairing that is often frowned upon. So it’s understandable, to me at least, why c-turtles are on guard, and occasionally, clash with those who they feel may be trying to take away what they love.

i-turtles, I feel, don’t have that many reasons to fight. We don’t really have other fandoms (for example, the up and coming danmeis—the adapted BL dramas) vying for our attention (and wallets). No one can put an expiration date on the YiZhan communities except ourselves.

Another way to see this is: we—as in, the combined Gg + Dd international fanbase, the solos + CPFs—are lucky in a way the fans in Gg and Dd’s home country are not. Collectively, we’re much further removed from the pressure to perform as fans, which is immense in China with their fan circle culture and fan economy. i-shrimps and i-motorcycles ~ some of you are reading this, I think? (hello!) ~ here are my humble thoughts: the solo/turtle ratio of Gg and Dd’s international fans doesn’t make much of an impact on Gg and Dd’s star status, on the popularity metrics that matter. Our spending power is limited outside China’s borders, and while Gg and Dd likely love us equally as fans, our adoration for them doesn’t really matter much, if at all, to the production/media/commercial companies that control the trajectories of their careers.

Along this line, the turtles’ “double loyalty” doesn’t have much of an ill effect, because there are few popularity contests here that mean much; few times (if any) when the turtles must face the dilemma of whether to vote for Gg or Dd because only a single vote is allowed; few situations where they have only x amount of dollars and must split it equally between Gg or Dd’s endorsements. There’s also much less cause to worry that i-turtles may draw the attention, or ire of the Chinese government ~ the whole international fanbase is too far away, too spread out to destabilise the regime in any way.

What the turtles do have in common with you, the solos, is their knowledge, their love for Gg/Dd. Knowledge, in particular. The people who know about Gg/Dd are still far and in between—at where I am, at least, and my guess is, it’s likely true for many of you too. Think of the turtles as people who you can talk to about your favourite star in places where few people know about him, can help promote The Untamed far and wide—many people still haven’t heard of the show, and they deserve to.

For the turtles ~ no one can take away our turtle-ship identity, as long as we don’t give it away. No one can report on the our communities to the government and get them dissolved. Our votes, our spending habits are no one else’s business but ours here.

So, Anon, here’s what I think, and these are all very personal opinions, very personal decisions on how to navigate fandom …

I truly hope that we, as the international fanbase, can try to use this luck that we have. Make our communities not mere copies of their (combative) Chinese counterparts but something different, something with our own flavour, something with more peace and less fighting.

Specifically, I see little cause to try to persuade/dissuade anyone to be a solo/turtle. I find them… not the best use of time. Why? Because frankly, neither solos nor turtles have a better grasp of who Gg and Dd are. Neither solos nor turtles have a truly good grasp of who Gg and Dd are. These discussions are therefore bound to end up with more ill will than conclusions, since both sides are short of facts.

We’re all short of facts as audiences, who’ve all only seen a tiny sliver of who Gg and Dd are as human beings.

I don’t mean Gg and Dd’s star image is fake ~ it’s just that, their star image is their “work face”, and even I, a lowly turtle, must act somewhat differently in my own office. It’s part of being professional.

Gg and Dd’s star image are their professional face, and no professionals worth a salt truly ignore other’s opinions, especially when the profession is being an entertainer whose job is to face and hold the attention of the public.

This is true for Gg; this is true for Dd.

Social media accounts are also part of Gg and Dd’s professional face ~ whatever is posted on there will be scrutinised by millions of fans, and they know that. The posts do provide some insights about Gg an Dd’s personalities, but they can’t be expected to show a complete picture. No parts of these posts, therefore, whether it’s the content or the kadians, are sufficient evidences for / against any aspect of their personal lives (especially as private an aspect as their romantic lives). Anon, you mentioned promotional marketing materials, and here’s my understanding of them ~ ambassadors such as Gg and Dd have minimal control over their design. The shrimp-holding bunny you’re referring to, for example, is very likely provided by the company.

However, may I also add this? Please try to not think of the shrimps / motorcycles as enemies of the turtles. Millions of people are behind each of these labels, and true for any group of this size, a fraction of its members are bound to be annoying. A small fraction may be awful, even. But they don’t represent the entire group. The shrimps are not only Gg’s fans, many of them have supported him longer than any turtle (since turtle-ship can’t be older than 2018); they’re also the reasons why Gg is in the industry ~ they voted for him in X-Fire. Likewise, a subset of motorcycles have been with Dd since UNIQ; they were there when the Korean ban effectively dissolved his group; they stuck with him when he was attacked for taking on the role of LWJ.

We’re all Gg and Dd’s fans, if you ask people outside the fandom. Remember: few outside China understand why heated arguments can occur between a bunch of shrimps, turtles and motorbikes. (It sounds a bit kafkaesque, just typing it out.)

It’s important not to lose sight too, that Gg and Dd’s social media accounts, where many new candies are found, primarily function as bridges of communication between them and their fans. These accounts do have different degrees of “professionalism” ~ Weibo and the official accounts being more formal, and Oasis, Douyin being more laid back and intimate; still, they all serve similar purposes. They’re not candy generators, or a script Gg and Dd have an obligation to follow to confirm / refute BJYXSZD.

Also: these accounts are accessible and watched by the public, not all of whom are friendly to Gg and Dd.

Re: Gg’s drawing on Oasis. He used the account as it’s intended for—to interact with his fans (the caption of the first draft was an unspoken invitation to shower him with ideas) and maybe, to show off a little (it was a very nice piece of artwork ~ a comment that I, sadly, haven’t seen much of). I doubt he posted his drawing because he wanted fans to carpet-search for traces of Dd in it (even though he probably expected that would happen); I very much doubt he posted his drawing because he wanted his fans to fight over scratch marks or black dots.

If these fights keep happening, I can imagine a possible outcome. He’ll stop showing us his drawings. His social media accounts will become less and less personal, as they already have.

I’ll share with you my thoughts about candies too, while I’m at it. These are probably not-so-popular opinions, so please take them all with a grain of salt.(Salted caramels? 😊 )

I haven’t looked at why candies are called candies, but I find the name appropriate for how I think of them ~ candies are 1) neither evidences or truth, 2) sweet, 3) treats (non-essential, not like the main course).

The first point is, perhaps, the one I try the hardest to keep in mind. There are posts out there claiming the candies as made-beliefs—generated from edited pictures or videos, exaggerated translations, and their interpretations forced by “guidances” in the annotations/narration. There are also posts claiming that turtles are deceivers, or have been deceived by brainwashers who maliciously created these make-beliefs. A turtle may assume these posts are all lies, all made by antis.

But, speaking turtle-to-turtle, I’d venture to say this … there’s some truth in the *first* statement. Many candies do, indeed, taste different if their taster returns to the original source—not necessarily unsweet, but less sweet. Candies, remember, are generated by fans like you and I. Same for c-candies ~ they aren’t endorsed by Gg and Dd, aren’t necessarily closer to the truth just because of the relative proximity of their birthplaces to their leads.

Candy generation is The Tradition of CP fandoms. It’s a celebrated skill, and who doesn’t want to generate a candy that will be talked about, that will be part of the BJYX canon, for as long as the fandom lasts? Some fans are, therefore, also more … efficient in the “marketing” of the candies they generated — in persuading others that their candies are evidences, the truth. “Guidance” photos and videos (which pinpoint the place to watch, sometimes with appropriate sound effects for emphasis) have come about that way, and because they’re easy to digest—especially where language barriers exist—they end up spreading to i-fandoms.

These photos and videos may look more professional / trustworthy, but they often have an additional layer of subjectivity ~ on top of the already subjective opinion of what makes a candy. Translations (of BTS, fake rumours house content etc) also introduce a subjective element. Word choices can significant modify the tone of a conversation; speakers of different Chinese dialects may also have different interpretations of the same phrases. Example: I, as a non Chongqing/Sichuanese speaker, can guess the literal meaning of the “puppy” term Gg used for Dd — 狗崽崽 (gou zai zai) — but I also had to rely on others to tell me how endearing the term is; me being a Chinese speaker actually doesn’t make my interpretation any more valid, or authoritative, in this scenario, because my dialect doesn’t use this term at all.

It doesn’t mean the people who’ve put in the work have any less-than-good intent; the vast majority of them come from a place of deep love. It’s just that we all carry our own perspectives, and as fans, our strong emotions in our fanworks.

This is why candies are often insufficient as good “points” for arguments, why they fail to convince non-believers, sometimes to the disappointment of some turtles. As evidences, they aren’t objective enough; they’re also often touch upon the assumption that’s mark the fundamental difference between solo and cp fans — the assumption that Gg and Dd are (not) together. Take, for example, this segment from a (polite) ask I got from an anon solo:

All the matching clothes, jewelry, shoes etc. Stopped being valid candy when I realized that the brands have popular stars "endorse" their products. The lightning pendant? Other actors have also worn it. Does that mean they are in a 3-way with (Gg) and (Dd)? Probs not.

Solo anon was correct! Brands have star endorsers, and other entertainers have, indeed, worn the same lightning pendant. The implied argument is also valid: people who don’t care about, don’t even know about each other can wear the same things. Most of us do that on a daily basis with our mass-produced garments.

However, a counterargument can also be made to the statement above, and easily: even the most precious, most beautiful wedding rings (say, from Tiffany!) are not exclusive to the first RL couple who bought them. It doesn’t mean the first RL couple is sleeping with all the couples who bought the same rings afterwards, doesn’t mean those rings aren’t significant to every one of these couples as romantic mementos. More often than not, couples wear matching things not because these things are exclusive to them—because how often can one find things that only exist as a single pair in this world? They wear matching things because they want to see something on themselves that remind them of their significant other and so, as long as the things aren’t so prevalent that everyone is wearing them, they can already serve their purpose.

But you see, Anon, that arguing over this would’ve been a waste of time? Because the solo came in with the assumption that Gg and Dd were not a couple, and the counterargument was made with the assumption that they were. The pendants alone are insufficient to prove either side correct or wrong. No one knows why those pendants ended up on Gg and Dd’s necks, except Gg and Dd and their teams. If I were to argue with anon solo, we can go on and on and on until we’re both left with bitter tastes in our mouths and WWX-red in our eyes, and forget the one thing that really matters: we’re both Gg’s fans.

(We could’ve spent the time talking about how that scene in The Wolf with Ji Chong throwing Zai Xing in the water is ❤️.) (I can’t believe the script waited 30+ episodes to do it. 😂)

This leads to my second point, Anon. Candies are meant to be sweet, and they’re meant to be sweet for you. In Chinese, a term for an expert candy person is a 嗑學家 (the candy-eating in CP fandoms is called 嗑糖 (ketang) ～ with 嗑 ke denoting a specific form of eating that requires breaking something open first with teeth—such as watermelon seeds; a 嗑學家 is a 嗑 (ke)-ologist). A 嗑學家 isn’t someone who can recall the longest list of candies, or spread the most candies around, or convince the most people that the CP behind the candies is real; they are those who can find their own candies in a source material, and be overjoyed by the sweetness of their discoveries without outside help. To me, at least, this term encapsulates the subjective nature of candies ~ what’s right for you may not be right for me and vice versa, and that’s perfectly all right. In other words, there are many candies out there but you’re not required to believe in all of them; instead, you’re free to choose candies to your own liking, compose your own version of the BJYX canon that you love, that you find sweet.

Wait, but you may say. Doesn’t that make my canon fantasy? Yes and no, because candies are based on real events. They’re interpretations, which sit somewhere between reality and fantasy. They’re like … opinion shows on news channels.

But what if I need to convince people of my canon —

Your “opposition”’s canon is as fantastical, and as real as yours — maybe it isn’t, but neither of you have a way to prove it one way or another.

Wouldn’t solos call me delulu, or clowns?

Maybe. But one step outside the fandom, and all of us fans—solo and cpfs—are delulu, clowns.

(That’s why while I’ve used the cpn label, I haven’t called myself delulu, or a clown. Anyone who thinks I have the truth about the love story about a pair of idol I haven’t met from thousands of miles away … the joke’s probably on them, don’t you think?)

Of course and again, Anon, this is only my take! I like candies precisely because I like to watch the real-time generation of candies, which ones different people claim as their own, which candies fall away and which stick around in the fandom over time. As a fic writer, this ship has gifted me with a treasure trove of information ~ what do people think of as romantic gestures, as give-away signs of love? The fun/amazing part of BJYX is that candies are available for so many different answers to these questions. Some people think of longing gazes and sweet smiles; some think of touches that can’t be helped (the many, many, many “fights”); some think of service (buying foods, designing clothes); some think of caring about the other’s well-being (throat candies and dumplings + noodles + crackers); some think of being The Other’s One and Only Exception (Dd being so talkative around Gg, Gg being so … fussy around Dd); some think of expressions through the arts (songs, drawings, dances); some think of grand gestures (the wave heart in the ocean); some think of matching clothes and symbolic accessories (rings); some think of birthdays and anniversaries (314, 622, the first snow); some think of sharing life’s hassles and small tidbits (fake rumour house); some think of … just looking VERY good together. Etc etc.

Some think of a subset of these, some think of all of these…

(Personally, I’m a very picky candy eater. I know about many of them, but only a small fraction impresses on me.)

(Still, I love watching candies. I love watching the joy of people sweetened by them ~ or, when c-turtles exclaim kswl! — the short form of ke si wo le! 嗑死我了! I “ke”ed so much I’m dying!)

This gets to 3), Anon, and I apologise to you too, for answering your not-essay-at-all with an essay! Candies are, to me, treats, and I don’t expect them to come at any frequencies higher than treats do. The reason isn’t because I don’t like candies ~ I enjoy watching them, as I said, even if I don’t eat many of them; the reason is because I don’t expect anyone’s romantic love to leave a trace in everything they do. For example, if I truly find myself in a SZD/SJD discussion re: Gg’s drawing, I’d say the lack of Dd in Gg’s self-portrait doesn’t really mean much. Even if Gg and Dd were head-over-heels in love with one another, Gg doesn’t have to put Dd in everything he touches. Likewise, Dd doesn’t have to present a consistent, or decipherable story with his kadians. This is true for the real-life couples around us too, isn’t it? They don’t perform every single act in life leaving a noticeable trace of their significant other. And the misunderstanding that couples do that — that their romantic lives take over who they are as individuals — IMO, partially explains why people who choose to not to date or marry, people who’re aro-aces, often have a difficult time convincing others that they’re complete humans. Romantic love is, of course, very, very important and can be life altering, but it also isn’t everything about a person ~ especially not if a person who has a career as exciting as Gg’s and Dd’s. Gg and Dd who also have friends, family, (many) talents and interests …

(And lots of ugly icons on their cell phones. Yes, I’m talking about you, Gg. That long-armed Pepe from your 2018 snowless Beijing post will give me nightmares…)

#pie metas #pie answers #yizhan #BJYX

82 notes · View notes

jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty | Ooo (Part 1 of 2)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Chapter Title: Before the Clock Strikes Midnight

• • •

Knock-knock.

However common, the sound makes you jolt. You stop everything you're doing to check on your schedule, needing to consult with it first to better establish yourself into reality. It takes a few pages and some seconds of reading for you to determine you don't expect any visitors today.

Knock-knock.

"One moment," you shout; stress spikes as you fail to wrap things up quicker, having to bring the stew into a boil before turning it off.

You're not sure what to anticipate from the one waiting at the door, nor why it's worrying your thoughts as much as it is. A knock was nothing to be afraid of, as wasn't receiving a surprise visit if you were to consider how tidy your home was and how up-to-date you were with your responsibilities. Regardless, the sound of the door opening sends all meditating techniques aside and panic replaces your search for serenity and reasoning. You rush off to the living room and get ready to face whoever's there, though not without letting that alert state show through your posture and the way you hold on tight to the knife you used for cutting the vegetables.

"Who's-"

Warmth leaves your body the second you see who the person is; the knife almost falls, yet the visitor rescues it by its handle and gives it back to you afterwards. Your offensive stance vanishes and you find yourself incapable of storing the weapon away without making yourself seem like an anxious mess. The man stares at you throughout -- making matters worse, no doubt.

"G- God, I'm sorry!" you blurt out, frowning. "I thought you were-"

"I've had worse welcomes into strangers' homes," Bubbles says, remaining unfazed. "Though that still doesn't excuse the… oddity of your actions." He greets Frisk -- now closing the door of the living room -- with a nod and a smile. He then takes a small step forward and closer to you, cornering you in place without doing much about it. "Is there something wrong, (L/N)? You appear different from the first time we met."

You gulp tension away and attempt a smile.

"It's been a rough couple of months, so I've grown... worried about bad things happening," you reply, taking a breath. "N- Not even those two months without Frisk were as scary as these new changes. Back then, I had little to lose -- I'd already lost my own child; there wasn't much left around for me to keep living for. No reason for it. Frisk wasn't with me anymore, and… And I destroyed all my other relationships, so -- in the end -- I was alone and I didn't have anywhere to go." You huff and follow it up with a shudder. "But now… Now I've got plenty to lose and barely any ideas on how to prevent that from happening. I don't want to lose the progress I've made until now, and I… I don't want to keep screwing up so much, either."

"You should seek some sort of counseling, if so."

He takes a step back and sits on the couch when Frisk offers him to.

You copy the man's actions, choosing the recliner opposite to his seat to maintain eye contact with him.

"There's a fine line between fear and paranoia, and I believe you're crossing the latter now," he adds, frowning. "Or do you consider it normal to come running all the way from the kitchen to the living room, pointing a knife at me -- and looking as on-edge as you were just a moment ago?" He stops for a minute. "I understand you're being cautious, and that you're worried over Frisk opening the door to anyone who knocks on it, but your reaction just now was much different from the first day we met -- in a few ways positive, but in most ways not."

"I… I'll try to find some help, then," you reply, sighing. You then bring a hand to your forehead and rub at your temples, brow creasing in the process. "But... May I ask what's the reason for your visit? I thought our next meeting would be by the end of the year," you stop yourself at the feeling of being impolite, "...Not that I mind you visiting! I just… I thought I had more time to research more about monsters."

He keeps quiet for what feels like an eternity, heightened by the loud ticktock of the clock hanging nearby. "I can answer, but only if you promise me you'll be true to your word, and if you provide thorough evidence the next occasion we meet -- both with your counseling and research."

"I already have some on my research," you say, smiling. "Could I show it to you?"

"You should," he replies, impassive.

"E- Excuse me for a moment, then."

He nods.

Nodding back, you walk off to your room and clear your throat on the way there in an attempt at gaining some strength. You can feel your resolve debilitating with each second, likely product of the surprise visit, but undoubtedly influenced by factors beyond it. The bunny notepad gifted to you was still a work in progress. You'd barely just managed to cover half of the ten main people Frisk was associated with. Toriel, Papyrus, and Sans were the three you'd learned most about, while Undyne and Alphys had been left behind with the whirlwind you'd been pulled into since the monsters arrived at the Surface. It's difficult to admit you'd rather go back to how things were before Frisk ended up at the Underground, yet -- at the same time -- there's plenty of things that outweigh that desire, varying from the help and friendship both Toriel and Papyrus offered you, to the 'friends with benefits' sort of relationship you shared with the latter's older brother.

You brush those thoughts aside when picking up the notepad; priorities are rearranged as you step out and make way back to the living room.

No matter what, you weren't about to lose your child simply for allowing them to keep spending time with a group known to have hurt them first. Something had to be done, even if it involved you becoming an antagonist. As lovely as the monsters were and are, there are some sacrifices you're not quite ready to make yet -- however selfish some of these make you feel.

The routine of breathing in and out is kept in mind as you arrive at the living room, where -- true to his word -- Bubbles is still at. He's still sitting on the couch, but at a different spot as he leaves space for Frisk, who's showing him the hundred-piece puzzle they're more than halfway through finishing. A smile can be seen on his face, and he doesn't have his sunglasses on anymore, making him appear much more approachable now. That -- however nice of a sight to see -- changes when he looks up from the puzzle and stares down at you, smile changing to a firm line and eyes narrowing when meeting yours.

"Is that all your evidence?" he asks, gaze going further down to stare at the bunny notepad in hand. "Forgive me for saying this, but I'm afraid that doesn't seem like much, at first glance."

It isn't.

Bile forms in your throat and you're urged to squeeze the notepad tight, too anxious to let your muscles relax and too nauseous not to grow irate. "It's possible it might not be much," you confess, frowning. You then bite on your lower lip to prevent your voice from lowering. "I've had a tough time deciding, and…" You sigh and loosen your shoulders afterwards. "And then other things got in the way, but... Judging by the situation, I should wait until you ask me what these things are, shouldn't I?

"That would be preferable," he replies, gaze and mouth softening. "Care to place that notebook on the table? I'll only need a few minutes to look through it."

"Of course."

With that final agreement, you approach the coffee table and set the evidence down. An instinct to flee from the scene while he reads overcomes your senses, though you remind yourself of the severity of the situation and what lies ahead. You sit back down on the recliner and tap your foot as you wait for him, an action you can't bring control over with how shaky your entire body is. Even so much as keeping yourself in one place feels like a challenge you're not exactly ready to overcome presently. Regardless, you comply and distract yourself by looking at Frisk, who's still finishing with their puzzle.

"It's been months, and yet this is the only information you've found?" Bubbles asks, fixing the sunglasses now resting on his head as he brings the notebook closer to him. "There's hardly ten people on this list, (L/N)," he adds, face scrunching as he reads through the list again. "Just what have you been up to this entire time?"

A combined sense of guilt and embarrassment take over, causing an overall inability to stare at him, already hard to do with the intensity of his gaze. "I've been touring the Underground," you begin, bracing yourself with a breath. "I was also hospitalized for a while, and then there was some... personal trouble with my ex-husband the day after I, well…" Your face burns at the thought. "Spent the night at a hotel with, uh… monster number three."

Bubbles eyes the list again and stops immediately.

"Serif?" he asks, showing you the notebook and pointing at his name. He then looks back to it and skips through a few pages. A subtle curve shows up on his mouth, almost making him appear as if he's smiling. "I assumed as much, judging by how much there's written about him." Sighing, he closes the notepad and stares at you again. "But spent the night in a literal sense, or-"

"Literal!" you exclaim, too stressed to bear listening until the end. "We're not dating, but…"

"You wish you were?"

"Uh… Kinda?"

His neutral expression changes to a subtle frown. "That doesn't answer my question, unfortunately."

"I'm not sure," you elaborate, huffing as you furrow your brow and grimace, headache returning. "We've… We've called each other nicknames a couple of times, and we almost kissed once, but, well…"

"Wasn't he the one troubling you the most?" he asks, frown growing more prominent. "While I do not wish to question you over who you befriend, this is the same man you informed me about a few months ago, who -- quote: 'threatened Frisk with death and did very little to help them out in the Underground'." He stops to breathe in deep, huffing just as loud after. "Can you sincerely admit to me you've developed a crush on him ever since then -- cross your heart?" he adds, forehead wrinkling and hands folding over the notebook. "Has he shown any repentance over his actions for you to be forgiving him so easily?"

"That's exactly why ren's not dating him officially yet!" Frisk intervenes, standing up from their seat like a lawyer would do when defending their client. "They-"

"Please, do not interrupt us. It's for your own good, Frisk (L/N)."

"But it's true," they state, persisting. "I-"

"It's been roughly three months since I last gave this home a visit, and yet I've seen little progress made with the only task I assigned to you, (L/N)," he says, standing up straight. "You were meant to determine and establish which monsters are safe to have around Frisk, and which ones aren't, but -- so far -- the only information you've given me's going stagnant with how long it's taken you to make a decision."

You're the one to stand up next, against letting yourself feel weaker.

"That's what I've been doing, even if it looks like I haven't made any progress," you reply, fists clenching. Your heart races faster with each moment that passes, making you seek some calm through the reminder of how fragile your current physical state is. "I- I've toured half of the Underground with that same man, I've settled an agreement with Toriel as to how much time she's allowed to spend with Frisk, and I'm... I'm trying to understand number three's intentions by-"

"By dating him."

"Please, let me finish."

Bubbles chuckles and crosses his arms, staring down at you afterwards. "Alright." He sighs and loosens up as he massages the bridge of his nose. "Then, would you be kind enough to explain to me what you've learned about him so far? And just why haven't you made a decision yet, if you happen to know him that well?"

"He's, uh…" You hesitate with a frown. "He's difficult to understand, but he... He means well, and I trust his intentions better these days."

"This is the same man you were accusing of being a hypocrite the first day you met him."

"And now it's been months, sir." You harrumph when noticing the sudden rise in your tone. "I've learned enough now to know he doesn't mean any harm."

"And to what extent would you say your trust towards him goes?" he asks, uncrossing his arms and softening his gaze. "Is it enough for you to accept his and Toriel's offer of having you and your child in that new school? Or enough to still hesitate when asked about the nature of your relationship with him?" His stern mouth turns to a frown, revealing whole-hearted concern. "How can you trust him enough for one thing, but not the other -- if one is much more weighted than the other?"

You take a second to think and calm down some more. His questions make rounds about your mind as you weigh the pros and cons of not only your relationship with monster number three, but with everyone else, as well. Finding an answer proves difficult the more you stay quiet to reflect on the heaviness of both sides. Either way, consequences would soon follow, and you were required to act fast -- judging by Bubble's words. If you wanted to let Frisk keep their relationship with the monsters and for you to maintain your own, you needed to speed things up more than you would want to, given how much willpower you have left.

"Because even then, they're still different things," you speak up, breaking the silence. "Accepting that job offer and letting Frisk go to Toriel's school isn't the same as opening my heart out to someone new, when I screwed up big time seven years ago with a different guy."

Bubbles takes the notepad and gives it back to you. Then, he fixes his attire and looks at the time. His expression is hard to read with how serious his eyes and mouth have become, though his calm tone reveals he's neutral over the situation when he replies with, "Who you date is none of my concern, so long as it is done with another consenting adult, and so long as it doesn't bring any harm upon Frisk. The same goes for your friendships, but time's running out, and I need you to start making decisions soon." He stops to slip his sunglasses back on, masking his gaze, smoothened by sympathy for what seems like a split second -- if not less. "It's either that, or I'll have to make them for you." He sighs. "And as I'm sure you know, these aren't the best for you or your child. It's what the department requires for the safety of Frisk, above anything else."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Stay tuned for a Pride Month related notice after the next update is out.

As always, take care, stay safe...

...And Happy Pride! 🌈😄

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

23 notes · View notes

winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

mean it. (sfw)

a/n: welcome to the sfw version! it has been modified to cover all of the character development that happens while these two chatty cathies are gettin down ‘n dirty with it. this has been my favorite ajf fic so far, and will conclude the berry hill section of the story. we’ll have two more fics that take place in 2011 following this one, but they won't be so explicitly part of this arc - just fun little early-relationship ‘we’re still keeping this from the team’ moments. i am SO excited to share this with you. (here’s the nsfw version, for our friends who are grown ups!)

words: 7k warnings: implied smut, some making out on the couch, language, light drinking/alcohol use summary: the levy breaks.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You brush past him into the apartment, turning on him when you reach the middle of the living room. He closes the door and faces you, looking drawn and exhausted. You know Jack’s gone - staying with Jessica until tomorrow afternoon, so this is your only opportunity to lay into him the way you want to.

“When did you know?”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. Your name leaves his mouth in a tired sigh.

You know he flew back in an uncomfortable supply transport for close to fifteen hours. You know he hasn’t slept in close to three days. You know this is the last thing he needs, but there’s too much anger and hurt and exhaustion in your chest to not pick a fight about something, anything. “Stop. Answer me.”

“Last week. I knew last week.”

You cross your arms. “So when you called to check in four days ago you couldn’t have, I dunno, shared that with us?”

He lets out a dissatisfied chuff, unable to answer.

“We spent months without you, Aaron. Months.” And what horrible months they were. “It was so hard, and I missed you so much.” Your voice breaks, and you take a shaky breath, your hurt overriding your caution. “I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe.”

His eyes meet yours with a hurt and fire that mirrors your own. All you can do is grab his face and kiss him.

He gasps as he pulls you toward him, his hands tight on your hips. You know you’ll have bruises later and the thought only drives you further. The kiss is brutal - you bite at his lips, your tongue laving over his with an aggression you hardly recognize in yourself. Your tears mix in with the taste of him - bitter coffee and something achingly familiar. His beard is rough against your hands and cheeks and neck as he moves from your mouth, giving you room to breathe as he explores your overheated skin. The beard is an element of this you weren’t expecting, and it’s not unwelcome in the slightest.

Almost all of you wishes these were different circumstances, that your first kiss would be gentle and soft and full of laughter.

When has anything with him been typical? When has anything ever been the way you wanted?

Then, God, he’s good at this.

Bastard.

When he reaches your pulse point, you raise your hands and yank on his hair. He lets out a loud groan, and you attack his mouth again. His hands roughly crawl up your back, fingers digging into the skin of your shoulders and ribs. Aaron is everywhere - the only thing you can feel, the only thing you can hear.

“I can’t stand you,” you whisper against his mouth.

(You don’t mean it.)

Aaron huffs, and it's almost a laugh. He kisses you roughly. “I know.”

(He knows.)

You pull back from him and shove, and he tumbles back onto his couch. His pupils are blown, his lips red and swollen, hair a mess. You know you don’t look much better, likely with blossoming hickies on your neck, not to mention the beard burn.

There’s a flintiness in Aaron’s eyes when you meet them again, like he’s daring you to make your next move.

The breath leaving you is heavy and hot. You’ve never been angrier in your life, and yet you’ve never wanted him more. You just want to be close to him - to feel him. He was away for so long and you hate to admit it, but you missed him like you’d miss a limb. The beard also inspires something in you that’s almost embarrassing in its intensity. You shelve the thought for the time being.

You pounce into his lap, straddling him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, like he already knows the answer, his mouth at your collarbone.

Unexpectedly, the tears start up again, and your breath catches in a sob. “I want you. I can barely look at you right now, but I still want you. I always have.”

He softens for a moment, his eyes melting as they meet yours. He cups your face in his hand, brushing your tears away with his thumb. You lean into his touch and your eyes flutter shut. The wind has been knocked almost entirely out of your sails, but he’s always had that effect on you.

His lips brush against yours. “While I’d much rather we do this when you’re not considering homicide,” his words make your mouth twitch up into a small smile, “I want you so badly.” He kisses you again, and you melt into him, pressing your chest to his. “Years,” he punctuates every assertion with kisses, “years, years, and years of wanting you.”

You tip your head back, looking him in the eye again. “I’m not any less mad at you.”

“I know.” He nods, and kisses the underside of your jaw. “Will you let me show you how sorry I am? For everything?”

A sigh leaves you and with it comes a breathless, “Yes.”

Holding you close, he stands and you link your ankles around his back. He never once lifts his lips from your skin as he carries you to the bedroom. You’ve always known he was strong, but the ease with which he carries you sends a shot of heat through your belly.

You rest your cheek on his temple as he paints kisses all over your neck and collarbone. You can feel the apology in them. With a little bit of a start, you realize you can feel the love in them, too.

He reaches the bedroom, and lays you down on his gray linen duvet without acknowledging anything in the room that isn’t you.

+++

After, there’s a reverence to the way he cleans you up. He’s gentle with you in a way you knew he would be, but never expected. Even the sting of the water against the developing beard-burn is soothed with warm hands and kisses.

He stretches out on the bed beside you when you’re both clean and refreshed. The scene is almost identical to one ten months prior, back at Berry Hill.

You tuck your arm under your head and turn to face him. Your eyes are heavy, but you know he has more to say, more to share with you.

He stares at the ceiling as he speaks. “There was only one way to keep Emily safe, and it was for all of us to believe she was dead. If JJ and I had shared the truth with anyone,” he looks over at you and slips his hand into yours before turning his gaze back to the ceiling, “even you, there was a great chance she could have been killed before she completed her mission.”

You nod. “I understand.”

“I know that it doesn’t make it any easier. I hated every second.” He rolls to his side, and tips his forehead to yours. “I hated knowing I had the power to make your hurt go away, but couldn’t use it. I’m so sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m so sorry.” His eyes close, and you wrap around him.

You know that there was no way to go about protecting Emily without this lie. It made all the sense in the world. You couldn’t be angry with him for that - not for saving Emily like he did. In fact, you admired it. The very thought of lying to him like that was a Herculean feat. You had no idea how he managed it.

Pakistan. That’s how he managed it.

Right.

A few more tears escape your eyes, but Aaron can’t see them with your head tucked under his chin. He does, however, feel them against the bare skin of his chest. He can only guess at what you’re thinking. Shame slogs through his whole body and tears fall out of his eyes too, landing on the pillow underneath his head. He takes a shuddering breath, and your arms wind tighter around him.

He’s sure your position can’t be comfortable, one arm and one leg trapped under his body, your head at an odd angle. He rolls onto his back, taking you with him. You tuck your arms into yourself and your legs tangle together as you curl up against him with your head on his chest.

Eventually, and you’re not sure how exactly, you both end up under the covers. Despite the difficult day, despite the tears, despite the inevitable nightmare waiting for you at the bureau tomorrow, you sleep.

+++

When you wake up in the morning, you’re wrapped in his arms. He’s awake, tracing patterns on your hip with his fingers. Your bodies are flush together - legs tangled, his chest against your back, your hips slotted together.

“Good morning,” he says.

He loosens his hold on you just enough for you to turn in his arms, and you tuck yourself back into him, throwing a leg over his hip to maintain proximity. It elicits a small laugh from him. “Good morning.”

“Breakfast?”

Your brow pulls. “Don’t we have to go in?”

He sighs deeply. “Check your email.”

Uh oh.

You throw an arm out, finding your phone on the table beside you, charging.

When on Earth did he do that?

The man is a magician.

Scrolling through your email, you find the one he’s talking about, sent at 6am sharp this morning.

FROM: Erin Strauss SUBJECT: Suspension - Effective Immediately Pending Senate Investigation

You tip your head back in frustration before reading through it, but the subject (albeit long) pretty much sums it up. “Goddamn it.” You turn back to Aaron. “Can’t we go one month without some kind of forced unpaid vacation?”

He huffs a laugh and shrugs. “Guess not. On the bright side...breakfast?”

+++

You twist back and forth on the barstool, your chin in your hands. You’re wearing one of his shirts and a pair of Haley’s pajama pants (it’s surprisingly less weird than you thought), watching him put together an elaborate breakfast spread of fruit, bagels, eggs, and turkey sausage.

At your first questioning glance, he informed you that Jess had stocked the fridge the day prior upon notification of his return.

Very considerate. But then again, it's Jess.

You, of course, expected nothing less from her and look forward to seeing her later this afternoon. You’d grown close in Aaron’s absence, as Jack asked for you often and you were, of course, happy to oblige his requests. There was more than one happy side-effect from Aaron’s task force assignment, and a new-found friend in Jess is one of them.

Aaron places a plate in front of you, and rounds the island with his own. You thank him and dig in. Apparently, your outburst really took it out of you last night in addition to certain...other activities that required significant sums of energy.

When you’re done, he turns toward you and takes your hands in his. “This may be a bad time, but do you want to talk about us at all?” The little emphasis on us sends a shot of something warm through you, but panic follows on its heels.

“Can we just...be? Right now? I want to make sure we can keep our heads screwed on straight and settle back into normal before we say anything to the others.”

He nods with a solemn finality. There’s no hurt in his eyes, only disappointment. You have a strong suspicion it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. “I understand.”

You swallow and look down at your hands. “I just - I just need some time.”

“Okay.” He gently tugs you forward and you stand between his knees. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here. And I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you if I have to.”

“I know.” The corner of your mouth pulls up in a smile.

He kisses your knuckles and his breath washes over them. “This may go without saying, but...” he pauses, meeting your eyes. “I love you.”

A little huff of laughter leaves you, and something eases a little in your chest. “I love you, too.” With a little tip of your head, you concede, “I promise, no matter how much I hate you, I love you more.”

He smiles. “That’s good to know.”

You release his hands and wrap your arms around his neck, tucking your face into his shoulder. His hands cover a broad swath of your back, holding you to him with an even pressure that all-but alleviates your remaining anxiety.

“I missed you.”

He kisses your shoulder. “I missed you too. Every day. All the time.”

No matter what, he loves you.

He loves you.

+++

You end up going to the office before Jack gets home to pick up any random items you’ll need in the weeks of suspension to come. You don’t think too hard about it, grabbing your extra set of clothes from your go bag and jumping into Aaron’s car.

Aaron hops up the stairs to his office while you gather your necessaries from your desk in the bullpen. You feel someone approach from behind you, and you smile when you find Emily.

“Hey,” she says, as if she’s not sure how she’ll be received.

You gather her up in your arms, and she relaxes into you. “Hi.”

She pulls back, her eyes narrow. “Where were you last night?”

“What?” Your brow furrows, and you realize with only a little alarm that you haven’t showered.

Her squint deepens. “You don’t smell like yourself. You smell like…” she pauses, thinking, “...sex and a handsome man. Who is he?” An eyebrow raises, questioning and playful.

“I worked out this morning and didn’t shower - I didn’t think I’d run into anyone today, seeing as we’re all suspended.” You reach around her for a stack of files, tucking them in your arms.

She refuses to give it up, acting your shadow as you go to the kitchen for your favorite mug. “Oh, nuh uh. You’re not about to use my own excuse on me.”

Shit. That is her excuse, isn’t it?

Yep.

“Emily, I’m not seeing anyone.” And it’s the truth. Hotch almost walks out of his office, but lingers by the door. He’s already overheard a little bit of Emily’s interrogation and figures the opportunity is too good to pass up. Already suppressing a smile, he settles in for the show.

“Oh, please! You totally got laid last night. Who is he?” She’s basically chasing you around the bullpen at this point as you fabricate tasks to keep her off your tail. “You know I’ll find out!”

“Emily -”

“Wait, who got some last night?” Penelope pokes her head around the corner as she passes, carrying a box of comfy-cozies from her dungeon.

You look up at the ceiling. Maybe a benevolent deity will smite you where you stand.

This is hell. This is what hell is. Nothing could be worse.

Emily throws her thumb at you, and Penelope’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “You’re joking. Who?” She almost squeals, and you shush them both.

“Would either of you at least attempt to keep your voices down?” You grab your things from your desk and attempt to leave the bullpen, but your best friends bar you in. “I am not seeing anyone.”

“Oh yeah? Then why do you reek of sex?”

Hotch, leaning just out of sight in the doorway, covers his mouth with his fingers to hide his smile. You haven’t lied to Emily yet, at least not outright.

You roll your eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You do!” Emily barks a laugh. “Come on. I’ve been dead for the last ten months, the least you can do is tell me who you’ve been fucking since then.”

You tut at her. “Don’t be crass.”

“Oh, please. You’ve heard worse.”

Your last name rings out across the bullpen, and you simultaneously thank and curse Hotch for leaving you out to dry like this and then coming to your rescue. With one last glare to both Penelope and Emily, you trot up the stairs and into Aaron’s office, leaving the door open behind you.

“You’re an asshole.”

His mouth twitches as he sits down.

“Was that fun? Did you enjoy that?”

The amusement drops out of his face, and you’d be a little more intimidated except for the fact he’s still wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “Immensely.” He looks down and jots a few notes on a case file.

“So did you just call me up here to save me or did you actually have something for me, sir.”

He looks at you from under his brows, his eyes dark. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, darling.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. Between his tone and the beard, you find yourself almost uncomfortably warm.

Duly noted.

“Though, I did have this for you,” he hands you a file, and you flip through it. “When we get back, we’ll have to circle back with that coroner - his report is incomplete and we need the rest to officially close the case.”

You shut it and set it on the corner of his desk. “I’ll make sure that’s on my list if and when we get our jobs back.”

He huffs a laugh down his nose. “We’ll get our jobs back. We always do.”

“Yeah, you, maybe.”

He stands, offering you some space in the box on his desk for your things. You throw your case files in there, and follow him, empty-handed to Strauss’s office.

He knocks twice and waits for her permission before pushing the door open. “Ma’am?”

“Good morning, you two.” She rises, her hand extended palm-up. He pulls his credentials out of his pocket, and you follow suit, stacking them neatly in her hand. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch regarding the Senate Affairs Committee hearing in the coming weeks. In the meantime,” she sighs, “try to enjoy your time off. Get some rest.”

Aaron nods. “Thank you, ma’am. I can make myself available to assist in anything you may need between now and then.”

She dips her chin, and you’re dismissed.

It’s not unusual for you and Aaron to leave together, and for that you’re grateful. You stop back at his office for your things, and you walk down the stairs together.

Emily’s in the kitchen, emptying the coffee pot, and she calls to you without looking. “I’m gonna figure out who’s been getting it in, don’t you worry.”

Aaron snorts, and she turns on her heel. “Oh my God, Hotch. I didn’t realize -”

She meets your gaze, and you don’t look anything but tired. You take Hotch’s elbow and steer him out, throwing Emily the finger on your way out the door.

When you finally close yourselves into the car, you both laugh so hard you can’t breathe. You can almost trick yourself into thinking everything is normal. The thought sobers you a little bit, and you quiet, looking out of the windshield, staring at nothing.

His hand crosses the center console, and you take it in both of your own.

“Hey.”

You look over at him. “Yeah?”

“All the time in the world, remember?” The corner of his mouth pulls, and you lean over the console to kiss him.

“Thank you.” He’s gentle with you. His thumb and forefinger capture your chin, and he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and chaste.

+++

The first order of business when you arrive back at the apartment is a shower. You scrub yourself down twice - Emily made you jumpy in the extreme.

You step out in a fresh shirt of Aaron’s, planting yourself on the couch. He passes you a cup of coffee when he returns from the kitchen and sits beside you. As soon as he’s settled, you scoot into his side and tuck under his arm.

“So,” you say. He looks down at you. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to change the routine we had before you left for Pakistan.”

He hums, taking a sip of his coffee. “I agree. It would be hard on Jack.”

“I’d miss you. And I already missed you and I’m sick of it.” Your voice is small, and you’re almost embarrassed, but he presses a kiss to your head.

“I’m sick of missing you, too.” He nuzzles into your temple. “And I am not done with you yet.” His fingers, one at a time, gently tap over the bruises on your hip from last night.

You shiver. “That’s convenient. I’m not done with you, either.”

He sets his coffee down and tips your chin up with his finger. He hovers a hair's breadth away from your lips, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I love you.” Before you can respond, his lips are on yours.

Keys rattle in the door, and you lean away from him. He chases your lips, unwilling to part from you until the last second. He stands just in time for Jack to bust through the door and into his arms.

“Dad!”

Aaron lifts Jack into his arms and swings him around. Jack’s arms are tight around his neck, and soon they stop moving. They cling to each other for a moment, father and son.

Jessica embraces you when you rise from the couch. “Hey!”

“Hey, Jess.”

You keep your arms around each other as you watch your boys. Jack leans away from Aaron and puts his hands on his father’s cheeks.

“Your beard is scratchy.”

Indeed it is, Jack.

Aaron laughs, and nuzzles into Jack’s cheek until he’s laughing. “Do you like it?”

Jack’s face crinkles up, and that’s answer enough. A split second later, he registers your presence and wiggles out of his father's arms and throws himself into yours.

“Hey, bud.”

He tucks into you, and he looks over his shoulder at Aaron. “Dad’s beard makes him look funny.”

You suppress a smile and lean in conspiratorially. “He doesn’t really look like himself, does he?”

Jack shakes his head with a giggle, while Aaron looks completely betrayed. You kiss Jack’s head and set him back on his feet, stepping into the kitchen with the nearly-empty coffee mugs to give the Brooks-Hotchners some much-needed time together.

You sneak back into the master bedroom, stretching out against the headboard with your laptop. Suspension means no work to submit, but nobody said you can’t draft emails and consolidate the veritable mountain of work that will inevitably find you upon your return.

After about twenty minutes, the front door opens and closes, and Jack’s little feet patter past you, headed toward his bedroom. Aaron swings into the bedroom and quickly crosses to you, stretching across the bed to reach you. Taking your face in his hand, he presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

“We’ve got LEGOs in Jack's room when you’re done in here.”

You hum, and wind your fingers in the hair on the side of his head. “Oh, while you’re here,” you say his lips, “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Oh?”

“Shave the beard to appease your son, but keep the hair.” Your fingers wander to the back of his head and pull once, sharply.

His breath leaves him in a huff. “What did I say about starting things you can’t finish?”

You plant one more filthy kiss on him before shoving him away from you. “To not to?”

He rolls his eyes and leaves you to your work. You don’t miss the way he adjusts himself in his jeans on the way out the door.

+++

By the end of the evening, you all have a fairly impressive collection of LEGO vehicles. You lean against Jack’s bed frame, your bare feet stretched out in front of you. To anyone watching, it looks like a typical Saturday.

Aaron conceded to an easy dinner of sandwiches and veggies in Jack’s bedroom. You figure he’ll be a pushover for another few days as he makes up for his long absence, if tonight is anything to go on.

“Alright, bud. Time for bed.” Aaron stands and takes all the plates into the kitchen while you help Jack with the LEGOs.

The finished pieces go on his bookshelf, of course, while the loose pieces go back into the bin that lives under his bed. It’s safe to say have the lay of the land after nearly five months without Aaron. Jess needed a break just as much as the rest of you, and you were more than happy to take Jack for a weekend here or there, sleeping on the couch or in Aaron’s bed, or having a slumber party on the living room floor of your house.

Aaron returns a few minutes later, wearing a soft white shirt and sweatpants. He lingers in the doorway, watching you tidy up with Jack. The way you are with him is easy. You toss a set of pj’s out of the drawer, and Jack catches them.

“Get those on, little bug. Dad will be back in to read you a chapter of one of your books, okay?”

Jack snags your hand, and you kneel so you’re eye-level with him. “Are you sleeping over?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure.” You glance up at Aaron with a smile just for him. “I think we should ask Dad if that’s alright.”

He turns promptly, leaning into you. You hook your chin over his shoulder and wrap your arms around him. “Daddy, can we have a sleepover?” Jack’s request is very polite and pulls a smile from you.

Aaron’s lips pull into a fond smile, unable to say no to two of his favorite faces looking up at him. “Yeah, we can have a sleepover.”

“Yes!” Jack breaks your grip and runs down the hall to his bathroom, where he will inevitably brush his teeth too fast and change into his pajamas.

You stand, and cross to Aaron, who’s waiting for you with a place in his arms. “Sleepover?”

“Mhmm.” He presses a kiss to your temple and you lean into him.

Jack comes running back down the hall and you slip out of Aaron’s arms and crouch, letting Jack’s tiny body knock into you full force. You pepper his cheeks in kisses before holding him to your chest, his head tucked under your chin. He wraps his legs around your waist and you haul him up as you stand, passing Aaron in the doorway.

He scuttles under the covers and you tuck him in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. I love you.”

You smile at him. “I love you, too.” With a final kiss to his forehead, you straighten and make your way to the master bedroom, getting plenty comfortable as you wait for Aaron to return.

Aaron settles in at his son’s side, propped against the headboard with his ankles crossed. He realizes just how much he’s missed in that moment - the book in his hands is a new one. They must have finished the other one while he was in Pakistan.

Jack tucks into his side, and he starts to read.

With both doors open, you can hear the low murmur of Aaron’s voice from down the hall. You curl up under the covers, letting your eyes close. A light in the hallway turns off, and you hear Aaron tell Jack that since “the grown-ups don’t have work in the morning, we’re all gonna sleep in.”

Sleep in. Right.

For someone as big as he is, Aaron is surprisingly quiet. With your eyes closed, you only realize he’s back when the door clicks shut. The lights turn off, and he slips into bed beside you.

“Aaron?”

He reaches for you in the darkness, and you take his hand. “Yeah?”

“I still don’t like it, but I understand it.”

He knows you’re talking about Emily, and your admission comes with a bit of relief. There’s no need to defend himself, but he feels compelled to assure you of one more thing. “You know I would never lie to you if I had any other option, right?”

You huff a laugh, and scoot closer to him. He wraps you in his arms, and a little piece of the ache in your chest quiets. “Yeah, I know.”

“You also know there will be some things I can’t share with you.” He presses his forehead against yours, and you nod. “And while I may have to keep things from you, I promise I will never fabricate a reality outside of the truth ever again. If you ask me a question I can’t answer, I will tell you as much. If you ask me if what I communicated is all the information I have, I will tell you that, too.” He huffs something that’s almost a laugh. “I will be as forthcoming as possible about the things I cannot be forthcoming about.”

You cup his jaw in your hand. “Thank you.”

Aaron’s lips meet yours, and it’s like coming home.

The kiss turns heated quickly, and you break apart after a moment. You’re both breathless and wanting. It’s torture.

Aaron closes his eyes and kisses the corner of your mouth. It feels like a promise. “What do you want?” The question is loaded. He drops down to your throat, kissing the skin under your jaw.

“You.”

+++

Jack, ever the gift, sleeps late the next morning, so you and Aaron have more time together than you expected.

Aaron drew you into his lap when you first woke, leaning against the headboard with your head against his shoulder.

“Can I tell you something?”

You smile, your finger tracing his bare chest. “Of course.”

“I can’t believe you’re not more upset with me over Emily.”

You laugh a little. “I just understand it, you know? You explained yourself rather elegantly, and now I’m over the initial shock of it, I’m fine. It’s the goddamn Pakistan bullshit that got to me.”

“Yeah.” He kisses your temple. “I still don’t feel great about that.”

You burrow into his neck, your nose under his jaw. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

He sighs, and you know he’s actually thinking about his answer. “There wasn��t a good time to tell you when I found out about the assignment, and then I kept putting it off and putting it off. The longer I waited, the more difficult it became.” You can feel his jaw tighten, and you flatten your hand against his chest. “It was selfish of me. I couldn’t face telling you, especially when I didn’t know how long I would be gone.”

“Promise me you won’t run from us again?”

He pulls you close to him, and you can feel his breath in your hair. “I don’t have a reason to, anymore.”

+++

It breaks your heart, but the time finally comes to shave the beard. You find him in the bathroom with shaving cream and a razor. He’s already got half of his face lathered up when you walk in.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He looks over at you. “Shaving? As requested?” It’s definitely a question.

You shake your head and hold up a finger. Jogging to your go bag, you pull out the shaving kit you keep in there, just in case. In it, the tool you’re looking for. You walk back to the bathroom with the little cloth bag in your hand, hopping up on the counter to sit. The marble is cold on your skin, covered only by his shirt and a pair of sleep shorts.

He watches you, a curious look on his face. You unzip it and pull out a classic single-blade straight-razor.

“May I?”

Wary eyes glance at the blade, and his breath picks up. “Do you have to use that one?”

“Do you trust me?” You take him gently by the arm and pull him between your knees.

“Of course,” he answers quickly. “It’s just...I just -”

“Knife shit. I know.” Your casual, understanding tone doesn’t reveal the flash of panic you feel in your chest. The memory of his broken body in that hospital bed, stabbed half to death by Foyet, is never far from the forefront of your mind.

As days go, that was one of the scariest.

He nods and swallows.

You set the blade down and put your hands on his cheeks, shaving cream be damned. “He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s gone and you’re here with me.” You press a soft kiss to his lips, and he lifts his thumb to wipe at the foam on your cheek. “Can I do this for you?”

Another shaky breath leaves him. “Yes.”

“If you need to stop, just put your hand on my waist okay?” There’s nothing but love in your eyes as you watch his gaze flicker across your face. “We can stop anytime and I can leave you alone and you can shave this beautiful thing off your face yourself and rob me of my grieving process.”

His lips pull up in a smile. “Okay.”

You start the hot water in the sink beside you and wet your hands a little to finish lathering him up with the shaving cream. His nose crinkles when you pop a dot of it on his forehead.

“Really?”

You shrug with a little smile and wash your hands, drying them on the towel hanging over the edge of the sink. Picking up the blade, you raise it slowly. He still flinches a little, nostrils flaring as he controls his breath.

You gently shush him. “It’s just me.” You press your fingers into his chin, gently tipping his head to the right. His eyes flutter shut as you take your first pass against his cheek, but he opens them soon enough. You move slowly, deliberately, and carefully, narrating every single touch of the blade against his skin. You’re so proud of him for his stillness and restraint and trust. He watches you, and you meet his eyes every once in a while - just checking in.

Shave, rinse, dry, repeat. You fall into a rhythm, and he relaxes further and further into your touch each time.

His hands rests on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing back and forth on your bare skin. You caress and gently pull and press wherever you need to for a close shave, and he lets you.

The real challenge comes when it's time to do his neck. His breath picks up again as you tip his chin up. You place your hand on the back of his neck, supporting his head and playing with his hair. “You’re okay, Aaron. Just me, remember?”

“It’s harder when I can’t see you.”

You wrap your legs around the back of his thighs, pulling his hips flush to yours on the edge of the counter. Pressing a kiss underneath his ear, you whisper. “Does that help?”

He can’t bite back his smile. “Yeah, that works.” His hands wander to your hips, and you try to keep yourself from wiggling against him.

“Hold still.” You tip his chin up again and run the blade up his neck, over his Adam’s apple, under his jaw, past his carotid artery. To combat the rising panic he’s no doubt experiencing, you press a kiss to every patch of freshly-shaven skin.

Soon, you’re finished. You take one final section underneath his jaw, rinse, dry, and fold the blade back into its case. Snagging one of the washcloths nearby, you soak it in the warm water and wring it out, bringing it to Aaron’s face.

He watches your eyes as you wipe the remaining shaving cream from his skin with a heartbreaking tenderness. The warmth is divine, and all his panic melts away at your touch. A profound feeling of safety washes over him. With a little bit of a start, he realizes there’s not a nick or cut on him at all.

That’s talent.

When you bring the towel down again, your Aaron stares back at you. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” His hands play with the edge of your shirt, and your heel sneaks up the back of his leg. “Jack will be home soon.” The warning is weak at best, and you check the clock.

“Henry’s soccer game doesn’t end for another twenty minutes, and you know Will will take them for ice cream after.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully, pretending to think. He cants his head and studies you, his eyes narrow.

“What?” You ask through a little laugh.

“I’m just trying to figure out why I can’t get enough of you.” His hands reach your back and pull your chest flush against his, and you let out a little unintentional whine from the back of your throat.

“Aaron…” You tip your head back against the wall as his lips wander from the corner of your mouth to your neck and collarbones, his hands sweeping over your skin.

He returns to your lips, and you wrap your arms around his neck. “You know,” he says against your lips, “we haven’t christened anywhere except the bed, yet.”

You pull back, and find a wicked glint in his eye. “Aaron Hotchner, are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“I’m not suggesting anything.”

+++

After, he holds you to him, and you stay there for what feels like hours, just resting against each other.

+++

Emily is relentless - three drinks in and she’s still badgering you about your sex life. “I’m serious, and I’m just drunk enough to ask the good questions.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and bumps you with her shoulder.

It's the third week of your suspension, and the committee has subpoenaed you all starting next Tuesday. Tonight, the team drinks to a possible future of unemployment.

You laugh, taking a sip of your water. You’re playing designated driver tonight, along with Hotch. You figure it’s easier to sneak around when the rest of the team is drunk. “Yeah, and I’m sober enough to not answer them.”

“Oh come on, at least give us something,” Penelope whines.

Against your better judgement, you relent a little. “Alright. You get five vague questions - no names, no identifying details. Five.”

“Each?” Garcia’s eyebrows raise, but immediately fall into a scowl when you reply -

“Total.”

Emily downs the rest of her drink. “Alright. I’ll go first. Size?”

Your lips twitch. “Impressive.”

“Stamina?” Penelope chirps.

“Exceedingly impressive.”

“What’s exceedingly impressive?” Derek comes up behind Emily and kisses her on the cheek. She preens a little before answering.

“Well, someone,” she points at you, “is sleeping with someone, and we have been granted five vague answers to five vague questions.”

Aaron rounds the other side of Penelope, where his singular beer awaits him. He takes a sip to hide his smile. From here, you’re the only one who can see his face straight-on.

Clever bastard.

Derek offers you a fist, and you tap his knuckles with your own. “Yes, sweetness! You know you gettin’ it!” You laugh.

“Shut up, Derek.”

He winks at you.

Penelope reviews the previous two questions, rapid fire. “We only have size and stamina so far - impressive and exceedingly impressive, respectively.”

You do your best to avoid a pair of watchful and amused brown eyes. “Alright, three more.”

Emily ponders for a minute. “Record?”

“For?”

“How many times have you gotten off in one night?”

You pretend to think for a moment. “Do you actually mean one night, or just in one round.”

Penelope’s jaw drops, and you try not to laugh out loud.

“Um…” Emily’s caught off guard a little. “One night - wait, are you sure you’re dating a man-person?”

A laugh escapes you. “Yes, I’m sure he’s a man person, I’m not dating him, and to answer your first question, I would conservatively estimate six, but I’m... honestly not sure.”

Derek’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. “Where did you meet this guy?”

“I refuse to answer on the grounds of specificity.”

“Alright, fine.” He amends. “Rank?”

“As in, how does he numerically compare to other men I may or may not have slept with?” Derek nods, and you tip your chin rather arrogantly, still avoiding Aaron’s eyes across the table. “One. Ten out of ten. Five stars.”

You take a sip of your water and finally glance in Aaron’s direction, throwing a wink at him. The corner of his mouth quirks, but he recovers quickly.

“Hotch, do you have a question?”

He waves her off, taking another sip of his beer. “Don’t indict me.”

“Okay, then I’ll take last one. It’s gotta be good and I’m really gonna put you on the spot.” Emily points at you, and you push a water glass toward her. That’s invitation enough. “Do you think he’s it for you, then? If he’s the best? Do you know him well enough that you could say he’s The One - not that I believe in that sort of garbage or that sex is the be and and end all, of course - but, yeah. You’re definitely into him. I can tell. So spill.”

You take a deep breath.

Decisions, decisions.

A small smile stretches across your lips. “I think he’s got a really decent shot, if he plays his cards right.”

And we all know how good Aaron is at poker.

Derek tips his head. “I’ll drink to that.” He raises his glass. “To one lucky motherfucker, wherever he may be.”

You take a sip of your water and chance a glance across the table again. A silent conversation begins, taking place over the course of a split second.

His eyebrows raise, just a touch for just a moment. You mean it?

You suppress a smile.

He sighs, nodding to himself just a little. Gotta play my cards right, then, I guess.

Guess so.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @lilsiswinchester @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @mrshotchnerrossimulder21 @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss@songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @forgottenword @swiftiesparkles @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild@cevanswhre @colbyskoalas @qvid-pro-qvo @joanofarkansass @jeor @spencers-hoodrat

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

237 notes · View notes