#this is definitely not accurate.. but this is the story i have in my head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cometkenji · 5 days

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killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises.

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly.

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint.

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?”

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.”

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?”

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new.

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick.

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

–

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you.

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up.

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision.

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

–

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him.

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day.

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up.

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it.

“I can watch him.”

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you.

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day.

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.”

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless.

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from.

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back.

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.”

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless.

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.”

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

–

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it.

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks.

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in.

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine.

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal.

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you.

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.”

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure.

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?”

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.”

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself. You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road.

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much.

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm.

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

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janitorhutcherson · 5 months

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i'm totally NOT touch starved so IM TOTALLY NOT asking for peeta mellark and touch starved reader... totally NOT. (i love your writing sm ☺️)

i am FINALLY giving the people what they want!! i know this isn't a whole fic/imagine but instead headcanons, BUT! it is finally peeta. i promise there will be more peeta content in the future. im working my way through the movies again and im about to reread the books, i want to be accurate about his portrayal so y'all feel like its more realistic, but here is a lil taste of what is to come! i rly hope you enjoy <3 btw!! this takes place after EVERYTHING in the books. ur basically katiness.

• Peeta is a huge softy, he's cuddly, loving, affectionate, and definitely touch starved himself. He's the type of guy to mostly have his own contact with you in some way. Sometimes he will grip onto your arm, he'll have his arm around your shoulder or your waist, or even just grip onto your shirt. When you're sitting on the couch, he opts to sit hip to hip even when the entirety of the couch is empty. When you're not cuddling in bed, you're facing opposite sides, sleeping butt-to-butt. Even with that being said, sometimes Peeta needed some space, his own bubble. You, however, did not love that.

• This is exactly why it was somewhat difficult for Peeta to understand touchstarved!reader. Regardless of how close you were, you needed more. Anytime you're walking in the district, rather it's to pick up some ingredients for the bakery or simply a leisurely walk, if he opted not to hold on to you in some way, you'd freak a little. You'd grip onto his hand, either squeezing it in yours or holding onto his larger fingers.

• Whenever dishes were being done or chores were tended to, you would wrap your arms around his waist from behind or follow him at the heel. You were desperate for his attention, his affection, his touch. Without it, you felt cold and disconnected. His touch pleased the ache that prickled against your skin from years of desperately wanting to be held.

• At night, you'd squeeze up under his arm. Your head would be tucked into his armpit, your arms wrapped around him as you tugged him close, closing your eyes and taking in his smell. When you'd fall asleep facing away from each other, Peeta wouldn't even notice you flip over to face him once he was fast asleep, curling up against him, squeezing him tightly like your life depended on it.

• In all honesty? It felt like your life did depend on it. You were a tribute alongside with Peeta, you'd both been through hell and back together. You had nightmares and he was the only one that could ground them. Part of your touch starved desperation came from the times you were alone, afraid, for yourself, for your lover. It was difficult.

• A lot of nights Peeta would ensure he'd hold you close, all too aware that he was the cure to your nightly insanity. This made you feel better, softer, warmer. On days when you were simply cuddling in bed together, you felt like you couldn't get enough. Your legs would be tangled with his, your foreheads touching, arms wrapped around one another. But nothing felt good enough. In instances like these, you would climb into his shirt, sticking your head through the hole for his own head, one that was stretched out from the many times you'd done this, one he specifically designated as his lounge shirt for this reason. Other times you would both strip your clothes off, cuddling skin to skin while Peeta would stroke your hair, pressing soft kisses to your forehead.

• All in all, Peeta is a gentle and caring lover, understanding of your needs. He'd do his best to meet them, even when it meant staying glued to your hip. He loved you, the history you two had, the stuff you'd been through, and he'd do anything to ensure your happiness and your safety. After all, you were who saved him, who kept him grounded as well, the love of his life... but, his thoughts are for another story.

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bgyuus · 1 month

Text

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡° we can't be friends

he was important to you

this isn't accurately based of his lore (his story will be dropping in 2.1) nor even based of the 2.0 storyline BUT ariana grande's new song and album had me on a chokehold sm i just had to write it about aventurine, although i can see this song fitting perfectly with sae itoshi from blue lock too :> (not proofread btw)

"kakavasha!"

you smiled, running up to him with a small piece of bread in your fingers. having to live under poverty because of the 'bad guys' that were attacking your hometown was becoming even harder to find food yet alone shelter.

the boy with with blonde hair and purple eyes- that you swore you could look into them everyday and never got bored, turned to you with a wide smile on his face. "this is great! we finally have something to eat!"

the both of you shared the bread together under a rundown hut somewhere on the outskirts of sigonia-IV, looking over their homes.

the boy handed out a small bracelet, clipping it around her hand as he bashfully rubs the back of his head. "It's not much but.. at least this'll remind you of me."

"kakavasha.." she whispers softly, looking at him with tears in her eyes. the boy's face instantly turned pale as he nods to let you continue.

"promise me you'll stay with me, even if we get to leave this place, i want us to stay together. promise?"

the boy nods at your words, making a pinkie swear to seal their promise. little that you know that such promises were never bound to be true anyway.

time skips to current penacony

"y/n! check out the view!"

march 7th said as they all step down the express, looking over the reverie. the receptionist greeted them with a warm smile while himeko dealt with the room reservations.

"having problems with checking in?"

a voice that sounded so smug made them all turned their heads, facing a blonde man wearing a exclusive suit that was surely expensive.

"i beg your pardon, mr..?" welt asks, stepping in front of the girls. for some reason, you kept staring at the blonde man. something about him was giving off familiarity. "those eyes-"

"you like my eyes? why thank you, friend."

the blonde said in tone which definitely made you feel like slapping him. he sounded so cocky yet you can't help but feel like you know him from somewhere.

"kakavasha..?" you quietly spoke, making the blonde glaring daggers towards you. "Y-you're.. you're alive?" your hand reaches out to touch his cheek but the blonde stepped back. "the name's aventurine. i have no idea who you're talking about." he snapped, crossing his arms.

dismissing you, he went over to welt and himeko to discuss about the room reservations, leaving you, march and stelle alone. "you know the guy?" stelle asked with a disgusted look on her face. "yeah y/n, he was rude to you," march added. you brought out the bracelet that was wrapped around your wrist nearly as you walked up to the blonde who's name was aventurine.

"mr aventurine, sorry to disturb you but do you remember this?"

you showed him the bracelet, in hopes that this was the kakavasha she once cherished. aventurine flinches when his eyes lays on the bracelet but he shook his head a no. "no idea where you got that piece of art from," he replied bluntly. "you're from sigonia-IV! your eyes explains it! i'm y/n, one of the remaining sigonia-IV survivors-"

"i don't know you."

this made you stop dead as you blinked at him. "w-what do you-" "you heard me."

you lowered your head in shame as the commotion was already attracting other hotel guests in the lobby. stelle quickly steps in front of you as march tries to console you as the tears went down your cheeks unnoticeable.

"fine, we'll have it your way then." himeko glares at him, sealing their deal about the room reservations as aventurine lets out a chuckle. "spot on, astral express friends. enjoy your stay." and with that he walked passed you, sending you an annoyed look before walking away amongst the crowd.

"y/n..." himeko pats your back as she felt bad for what has happened between your interaction with aventurine. you only shake you head in response, giving the express crew a small smile, in hopes for them to ignore the fact that the boy you once loved was now a completely different person.

#aventurine's wife #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 3 months

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hi!! so idk exactly how to describe this but i was wondering if you could write an ethan landry x fem!reader fic with a scene of ethan describing like his fantasies with the reader and what he touches himself to. idk what the story around that would be… maybe this is just something he babbles out during sex, or it could even lead to them trying out his fantasies. like i said, i dont really know. i just like the idea of ethan telling the reader what he imagines doing to her, or more accurately, what he imagines she will do to him, in order to get himself off. idk, have fun with it! tysm!!!!

Hi! If you want more to this, let me know:) I feel like it needs more, but I wanted to make sure this was in the direction you wanted it to go lol. If it's not, I can rewrite it. If it is, I'll definitely write a part 2, just let me know!

What's Your Fantasy? - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Part 2

Summary: You discover something on your boyfriends laptop, and you get curious about what his fantasies are.

A/N: I've been super busy, but I'm trying to get caught back up. My sweet bun that I've had for 7 years that always relaxed on my bed with me while I wrote passed away, so I've been a little in my feels. I hope ya'll like this:)

It was the first time that your poor boyfriend had ever been drunk. He ended up going shot for shot with Chad at a party, as you stood by watching them. Once he stopped making sour faces and yelled “This tastes like water”, you decided to leave the party early and take him home. You knew he was moments from blacking out, and in the high chance he could projectile, you preferred for it to be at his apartment and not all over the rest of the party guests.

Projectile he did, into several bushes and a random trashcan on the walk back. Once you got him back to his place, you knew you couldn’t leave him like that. You helped him get undressed and put on sweatpants before you changed into one of Ethan’s extra-large shirts that he kept specifically for you to sleep in when you stayed over. He sat in his desk chair as he started to get a little dizzy.

You grabbed a trashcan, putting it beside the bed, and grabbed some water for him. You washed your makeup off in the bathroom, before heading back to him. You were going to spoon him so he wouldn’t throw up on you, and if he moved, you knew it would wake you up. You knew exactly how the night would go, or so you thought.

“Babeeee, I don’t know if I submitted my assignments,” he said, or that’s what it sounded like he said.

“Where’s your laptop?” you asked, looking around the room for it.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?” you asked, as he stood up and stumbled to the door.

You barely made it there with him, just in time. You grabbed an ice-cold wash cloth and put it on the back of his neck, and started to rub his back as he continued to throw up. When he finally stopped, you helped him up and took him back to his bed.

“I fucking love you,” he mumbled, as you rolled your eyes at his heavily-intoxicated state.

“I love you too babe. Lay this way in case you get sick, I just need to find your laptop and I’ll cuddle with you in a minute,” you said, scanning the room before seeing a corner of it sticking out from under his bed.

You opened it and put in his password, clicking on the tab for his schoolwork. He did submit everything he was supposed to, but you saw something interesting on the other tab, so you got a little, well, very nosey. When you opened it, you saw that it was porn.

You looked over to Ethan, who was lightly snoring. You felt like you had an angel on one shoulder, telling you not to watch it. A devil on the other shoulder, telling you to see what kind of porn he liked to watch. You sort of felt like it was an invasion of his privacy, but you just had to know. You made sure the volume was low as you clicked play.

You noticed that the girl in the video, who had a few similarities to you, was giving some guy head. You thought ‘Oh, I’ve done this so many times for him’ until the end of the video, when the guy pulled out of the girl’s mouth and showered her face in his cum. Your eyes went wide as you watched it and wanted to know what else he liked to watch. You weren’t going to go through his history because you already felt bad enough about this, so you decided to have a talk with him later about things he’d like to try. You clicked back to the tab for his school stuff, before shutting his laptop and sitting it on his desk.

You crawled into the bed beside him, covering him over with a blanket and wrapped your arms around him. You kissed the back of his head, his curls tickling your face, before resting your head against his upper back as you spooned him.

You didn’t sleep well, waking up at least once an hour to check on Ethan. He slept peacefully, which you were thankful for, even if you were worried about him all night.

When he finally started to stir awake, he groaned out. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“That’s what happens when you take as many shots as you did,” you said softly, both from the exhaustion and not wanting his head to hurt worse.

“I don’t remember anything except walking into that party,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Thank you for taking care of me, baby.”

“Of course. Do you want to take something for your head?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

“Please,” he sighed, as you got up to grab Tylenol from your purse.

After he took the medicine, and you knew he was okay, you desperately needed a few hours of sleep. You curled back up on your designated side of his bed, pulling the blanket over you. You quickly dozed off, as he snuggled back up to you.

When you woke up, you noticed that Ethan was no longer with you. You went to look for him and found him on the couch watching tv. He started making grabby-hands at you the second he saw you.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing your hips and pulling you down to straddle him.

“Someone’s feeling better,” you giggled as his hands rubbed your sides under his shirt you were wearing.

“I need a shower, want to join me?” he asked, as you felt him pressing against you through his sweatpants.

“I’ll race you there,” you smirked, jumping off him.

You heard his footsteps right behind you as he grabbed you by your hips and turned you to face him the second you made it to the bathroom door.

“You cheated. You had a head start,” he laughed, as your arms wrapped around his neck.

You smiled as you stood on your tippy toes to kiss him. His hands ran under your big t-shirt and over the curve of you ass, pulling you even closer to him.

“I thought you wanted to shower?” you giggled, noticing the look in his eyes. The one that he always has when he so desperately wants to fuck you.

“Fineee,” he sighed, letting go of your ass as you backed away.

When you were in the shower with him, you couldn’t stop thinking about the video you watched the night before. Ethan is very confident with you, but he tends to hold back when it comes to sex. When you felt his hard cock resting against you as he kissed you under the flow of the water, your lips moved to his neck as your hand went to his erection.

“Fuck,” he said, as your hand wrapped it and started stroking.

“Hey baby?” you asked, placing kisses along his neck.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any fantasies about me?” you questioned, innocence in your tone as your hand started to move faster. His breath hitched in his throat, both out of nervousness and how good you were making him feel. “Come on, baby. Do you ever think about things you want to do to me? Or things you want me to do to you?”

“Yes,” he answered, his breathing getting faster.

“What do you think about?” your teeth started to graze his neck, the feeling making his whimper.

“Oh fuck..uh… I love to think about cumming on your face when I’m trying to get off. And every time I see you take your birth control, it makes me want to cum inside you so bad,” he said, as you smiled against his neck. “I cum so hard whenever I think about my cum dripping out of your pussy.”

“You want me to let you cum on my face, baby?” you asked, dropping to your knees in front of him.

“No..fuck..yes I just don’t want you to think I’m degrading you,” he finally got out, as the simple licks to his tips turned to you swirling your tongue. “I don’t want you to think you have to do stuff like that to make me happy.”

You pulled away, your eyes connecting with his. “Even if I’m down here on my knees begging you for it.”

“Fuck, baby,” he said, his cock aching at your words.

“Tell me what I do to you when you think about me like this. Walk me through it, baby,” you said, leaning forward to lick his tip again.

He intently watched you as your hands went to his thighs, holding on to them as you balanced yourself. You’d always been in charge when it came to sex, just because he was usually so shy. Seeing you like this in front of him made him wish he would’ve said something sooner. Even though you initiated it, he still felt like he was in control.

“You suck on the head of my cock,” he whimpered, as you took his sensitive tip in your mouth, gently sucking.

You kept doing it, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

“Then you take more of it in your mouth, not too much though,” he said, eyes intently on you as you put him further in your mouth. Your head was moving back and forth, as his hand went to your hair.

“Take the whole thing, baby. I know you can do it.”

When you started to gag around him, his fingers tangled in your wet hair, as he gently thrusted into your mouth. Your wetness mixed with the water from the shower dripped down your thighs as his whimpers got louder.

“Just like that, baby. You’re doing such a good job,” he praised, as you moaned around him. Your clit was throbbing as you put one of your hands in between your legs, giving your needy bundle of nerves the attention you were craving.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna cum. Stick your tongue out for me,” he groaned, starting to release in your mouth. He pulled back, your tongue sticking out as he stroked himself and he shot the rest of his cum on your face. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

His eyes kept trying to close as the euphoric feeling washed over him, but he fought it, not wanting to miss a second of you on your knees in front of him with his cum on your face as the water started to wash it away.

You smirked as you stood back up, standing directly under the flow of the water to rinse the rest of it off your face. You grabbed your face wash, cleansing your skin with it as you felt his hands wrap around your waist.

“Did you like that?” he asked, as your mouth turned up into a sweet smile.

“You have no idea how wet I am right now.” Your lips connected with his as his hand reached between your thighs. “What else do you want to try? After we go to your room and I let you cum in me, of course.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #scream smut

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ineffable-suffering · 7 months

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Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

This is Part 2 of 3 total metas. Here are:

Part 1, in case you want to read about my analysis of the Story of Job first

and Part 3, in case you're impatient and want to jump ahead.

Fair warning though, for the sake of understanding some of the references, you're probably better off reading this chaptered meta chronologically. However, every part should work just as well as a standalone! I'll do my very best to make it so.

Alright, off or on you go beyond the cutty cut!

I'll start this second part off with a very brief summary of the main take aways and points from Part 1, which go as such:

Memory, as opposed to a third party's narration, is not a factual, objective retelling of a story or event. It's mingled and mangled with emotions, imaginations and exaggerations, projecting both the feelings and impressions you had back then as well as those you might have now in the present time back on whatever it is you are remembering. (Which is why we need to put everything that Aziraphale is remembering into the context of what he might have felt in the past, as well as what he's feeling right now.)

While this doesn't mean his (or anyone's) memories are lies, it does mean they're a very subjective and sometimes factually distorted representation of what actually happened, which, in our case, gives us a lot of subtext and a lot of not-there furniture to figure out and look at.

So, let's continue with S2E3 and the Story of wee Morag. We start our flashback with a scene of Aziraphale writing his diary entry on the 10th of November, 1827. Immediately, it's firmly established that this is once again not an outside-point-of-view narration, but rather what Aziraphale remembers and wrote down.

One thing that immediately stuck out to me here, is how helpful and kind Crowley is to Elspeth, pretty much from the very beginning when they meet her in the graveyard. Not only does he take on a Scottish accent so she won't perceive him as English (as she does with Aziraphale), but he also helps her drag the barrel that has the fresh body in it and, in the end, even pulls it all by himself while Elspeth simply follows behind them. Here's a rather poor-quality picture, for reference:

Now, we know that despite not showing it very often, Crowley has always been very fond of the humans and never really put himself on a pedestal simply because he's an immortal being himself. He likes humans, just like Aziraphale does. But, just like this story will tell us, Crowley knows that on top of liking humans, you can't just put them into boxes of good and evil and expect them to always do what is supposedly the "right" or "divinely good" thing to do. (Which is what differentiates him from Aziraphale in the way he understands and treats them, as we're shown in this minisode).

Him immediately and unspokenly helping Elspeth with dragging the barrel therefore might also be a first sign of a tiny projection from present day Aziraphale, as opposed to what Crowley might have actually done (probably just walked beside her, like Aziraphale) because he has the knowledge that Crowley really was so very kind to her in the end, wasn't he? And that he's kind to humans in general. ("Not kind! Off my head on Laudanum!" Sure, babe.)

Most of this minisode, in my opinion, is actually there to establish how Aziraphale's view of morality and good vs. evil used to be quite flawed and elitist –– and how Crowley has always been there to gently nudge him towards questioning his black and white view of heavenly right and hellishly wrong. That's why I think there's not as many hints in this minisode about Aziraphale's memories not being an accurate portrayal of what happened, as there are in the Story of Job or the magic show in 1941. (And, fear not, the latter will definitely be the most hint-heavy one). Alas, there's still a few bits and bobs in the Story of wee Morag that stuck out to me, that make a brief yet good case of the whole unreliable narration thing.

First of all: The way Aziraphale describes all of it in his diary is so different from the way we see him actually remembering it. It's almost like he tried to write this entry (and possibly all of his diary) as a bit of a thrilling short story, with himself as the main character. Which makes sense, given the fact that he adores books and would certainly be keen on dabbling in the art of capital-w Writing himself. It's yet again hinting at the fact that sometimes people (and angels) try to polish and bedazzle stories (and memories) to make them seem more exciting and adventurous, often to distract from the not-so-fun parts of it.

Like when Aziraphale's diary narrates:

"It was with heavy heart we arrived at Elspeth's destination. I was determined to thwart her monstrous plan!"

... and yet we see Crowley and Elspeth casually walking down the alleyway, very obviously not heavy-hearted in the slightest, while Aziraphale nervously scurries on behind them, very obviously not determined to thwart. (Timestamp-wise, it's around 17:38 in S2E3, in case you want to see for yourself.)

We get another cinematographic/auditory hint at the fact that Aziraphale's memory is heavily influenced by what he's feeling that very moment, when Dr. Mister Dalrymple –– FRCSE, thank you very much –– shows him the tumor he removed from the seven year old boy. You can see the shock and horror on Aziraphale's face once he learns of this child's cruel fate. We then proceed to hear Mr. Dalrymple's voice grow sort of echo-y and far away as the sad music swells up and drowns out his voice almost completely. It's awfully similar to what it feels like when really horrible news are broken to you and you dissociate and drift into a state of shock. Here's the clip of it, so you may listen for yourself:

It's clear that this is a very subjective portrayal of what Aziraphale is going through during this part of the memory. He's deeply horrified and saddened about the little boy having passed away so early in life – and we hear and feel this shock with him. Through him, because this is his memory. Whatever it is he's feeling and thinking, we're feeling and thinking it too because we're seeing it through his lense.

Another (less sad) hint at a possible exaggeration is the abnormally deep hole Crowley makes the two graveyard watch keepers fall into. I'm pretty sure he's very much in charge of his miracles, making this random slip-up seem a little silly – which is why I'm also pretty sure the "Might have slightly overdone it on that hole" is a wee bit of a meta hint at this just being another one of Aziraphale's dramatic bedazzlements of this story. For the *flings feather boa around neck* drama!

You know what else might be exaggerated? Hm, I dunno, maybe Crowley growing into the size of a tree for no apparent reason. Sure, yes, he's pretty high on Laudanum which is making him a bit loopy. But apart from that, it does seem an awfully big cinematographic euphemism for him being the metaphorical (and, once again, for the drama of it) literal bigger person in this scenario. He's the one who ends up saving Elspeth and who manages to secure a safe life without poverty and grave robbing for her. While Aziraphale was so tangled up in his own moral journey and main character-ism, missing that wee Morag was seconds away from death already, Crowley is the one who actually ends up growing stepping up for the human in need and saving them for good (pun intended).

In a way, it might just be Aziraphale's view of/feelings for Crowley in this very moment. Watching the demon outgrow what, according to Aziraphale's heavenly logic, is supposed to be a foul fiend, bestowing evil upon humanity – and growing into someone who does the exact opposite and saves Elspeth instead. Another larger-than-life character development, in Aziraphale's eyes. Literally.

Let's switch back to the topic of the diary entry one last time, so I can make my final point of the this minisode's unreliable and a smidge over-dramatic narration of Dr. McFell. If you pay close attention, Aziraphale starts the entry we're all getting to experience with: "Last month, Crowley and I both happened to be in Edinburgh." Which means it didn't actually happen on the 10th of November, but rather at some point in October, 1827. Once we see Crowley get hydro-pumped back to Hell after rescuing Elspeth, the minisode ends with, presumably, the last sentence of Aziraphale's diary entry: "And that was the last I would see of Crowley for quite some time."

Take my hand and let's look at where the furniture isn't: This very clearly means that Crowley couldn't have been gone for more than a month, at best. Read again: "It happened last month and that was the last I would see of him for quite some time." This, albeit indirectly, clearly implies that when Aziraphale had sat down to write the diary entry, he had already run into Crowley again. Otherwise his phrasing would have probably been more along the lines of "... and I haven't seen Crowley since" or "... and Crowley has yet to return from wherever it is Hell's currently keeping him".

What's the point I'm trying to make? Good question. I guess my main point of storyteller Aziraphale being a bit over-dramatic in his narration is simply backed up by this, since A Single Month would barely pass as "quite some time" for an immortal being like him. And yet that's how he puts it, in his little Confidential Journals of A.Z. Fell, Vol. 603.

And another point that has absolutely nothing to do with the topic of this meta (but I'm still gonna make it 'cause this is my memory post): The meeting at St. Jame's Park in 1862 that so many, post-S2, took to be their first run-in after the Story of wee Morag, actually wasn't that at all. They saw each other at least once only a month later, as Aziraphale's diary lets us know. Which explains why he wasn't very surprised or concerned when he met Crowley in London, 1862. If there really had been 35 years in between those two events, the first one ending with Crowley being sucked back Downstairs to receive more than three decades worth of hellish punishment, wouldn't Aziraphale have been at least a tiny bit worried or more interested than:

Just saying.

Alright, let's string this inflated hot air balloon of a post back together so we can outline some invisible furniture. This time with only two humble points:

Crowley through Aziraphale's lense Backed up by how we are introduced to Bildad the Shuhite in the Job minisode (suave, cheeky, smart, passionate in shoemaking and obstetrics), it's growing quite clear that Aziraphale's memories and impressions of Crowley are very fond and impressed ones. He sees him as someone who's not only witty, funny and cool, but also as someone who has figured out way sooner and faster than him that nothing's ever black and white. Not God's plans and not the human's choices either.

Aziraphale as a bit of an exaggerating adventure author With the direct parallel we get of inkslinger journalist!Aziraphale in the present day, it's quite apparent after this minisode that Aziraphale's memory is not only deeply influenced by his emotions, but that he also tends to have a bit of a dramatic touch to him. Although, you gotta give it to the guy: A month without seeing the love of your life, even if said life is eternal, can indeed seem like "quite some time".

Well, would you lookie here, we've reached the end of Part 2! What a journey it was. I hope you forgive me for the fact that I drifted off-course a few times. I just can't seem to reel in my silly little observations, even if they've got nothing to do with the point I'm trying to make. But hey, doesn't that just make me a little bit like Aziraphale's storytelling, in a way?

I'll let you be the judge of that.

See you in Part 3! And in case you haven't snuck a peak yet: here's Part 1 again.

Ta!

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gos2 #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens analysis #aziraphale is a storyteller #but not a very accurate one #story of wee morag #my own meta #aziraphale the Drama Queen #shakespeare who #unreliable but beloved story teller aziraphale

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fayes-fics · 1 month

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 14 - Un Coin Tout Bleu

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: None really... angst, make-ups, misunderstandings, confessions and a proposal.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the penultimate chapter, so everyone is starting to make peace. There is one more chapter that will have explicit content and an epilogue to go. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, October 1939

Instinct has you up on your feet and chasing after, rounding into each room you pass, but you cannot find either of them. Your stride is definitely no match for Benedict’s; he is likely already far away.

When you stumble up the stairs, you collide with Violet. She is taken aback at first but then sees your apparent distress and has you in a hug before you know what is happening.

“Whatever is it, my dear?” she soothes into your hair.

“Eloise found Benedict and I asleep in an embrace and ran away in horror,” you stutter. “And then I let slip to Benedict you think he loves me, and then he ran. Oh god!! I have messed things up so horribly,” you lament.

Her motherly concern has you clinging to her, the sting of your mother’s recent rejection still a whiplash to your heart.

“Let us find my wilful daughter; she is likely just in shock, that is all.” she counsels calmly. “And then we will deal with your errant husband.”

Looping your arm with hers, Violet leads you to a few places where she knows Elose skulks when she wants to escape the world. You both eventually find her in the attic, where stacks of books and pillows are near an oval window that suggests this is often a refuge for her.

“Eloise Bridgerton, come and make amends with your friend,” is her stern greeting.

“Why should I?” Eloise sniffs, steadfastly refusing to turn around, staring out the small window at the grounds below. “She did the one thing - the ONE THING - I told her would make me disown her….” she adds bitterly, referencing the chat you had in Paris many weeks ago before Benedict arrived. “This was a choice she made.”

“Falling in love with your brother was not a choice, Eloise; it happened quite without me meaning to,” you implore, wanting her to believe it's true.

At that, her head whips around, surprise claiming her face. “Love?” she scoffs. “Please…” Looking to her mother for support in her derision, she frowns when she seems to find none. “Are you serious?”

“Yes…” you reply softly, taking a hesitant step forward, holding your palms open at your side—a conciliatory gesture. “I married Benedict to escape, yes, but even before then, I knew I felt something for him. That connection has only grown more profound since. We have spent a lot of time together in secret. I am truly sorry I, well, we, kept it from you. I was scared you would be angry and hurt. And you are. And you have every right to be.”

“It's true, Eloise,” Violet, standing a few paces behind you, pipes up. “I saw it the minute they arrived here. And I can tell you right now, your brother feels exactly the same.”

You want to believe Violet’s assertion about that, but you feel a tightness in your chest as she says it, worrying that it may not be accurate.

“You are my friend,” she whines almost petulantly.

“And I will always be your friend if you allow me,” you counter delicately. “No matter what happens with Benedict, and even I do not know now, you will always be dear to me and a part of my life.”

“What did that bloody idiot do now?” she inquires, sharp as a tack.

“After you left the room, I-I mentioned your mother thinks he loves me, and well, he ran out, you admit, hanging your head.

“That idiot…” she blusters, rolling her eyes.

“I'm very sorry if you see this as a betrayal. I wanted to keep it quiet because I love you so much as a friend. I truly never want or meant to hurt you….”

Eloise sighs, and you watch her shoulders slump. “You are just lucky I know some semblance of what you speak…” she offers wistfully, a glimmer of hope that has you inhaling sharply.

You know without asking that she is referring to Phillip, and you twist to smile at Violet briefly, who suddenly looks very invested.

“I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive me. I know it may take some time,” you allow. Hope creeps into the edges of your heart that you can reconcile with one Bridgerton, at least.

“It is just a shock that you kept it from me,” she sighs, finally admitting what upset her the most.

“I thought us terrible actors,” you giggle lightly, hoping humour will brighten your exchange.

A soft smile teases at the corner of her lips. “Are you suggesting I am not as sharp as I could be?” she jests gently.

“Heaven forfend!” you clutch your chest, feigning shock, then morphing into a smile you hope is an olive branch.

“I think perhaps you saw what you wanted or rather didn't want to see, daughter dearest,” Violet interjects mildly. “Because I can confirm they are both utterly terrible actors,” she chuckles.

You bite your lip and hang your head in an act of contrition that seems to amuse Eloise greatly. Her hesitant huff of humour is the best noise you could possibly hear.

“Friends?” you query tentatively, hopeful.

“Friends,” she pouts, crossing her arms. “But there is still much to make up…” she adds.

“Understood.”

With this fragile peace brokered, Violet links her arm in Eloise’s and yours, leading you both back down into the house with a declaration that tea, the ultimate British elixir, is needed.

—

Ten minutes later, you are gathered in the small glass conservatory, partaking in said refreshments. Other Bridgerton children—Colin, Francesa, and Gregory—likely drawn by the biscuit smell have also materialised. The gathering is a peaceful balm to a dramatic day. A large part of you still aches that Benedict fled, but you try to force it from your mind and concentrate on the fact that Eloise may be willing to forgive… with time.

Just as you stand to refill your teacup, however, the calm is shattered. Benedict charges into the room, flustered and breathless. He drops an envelope he is holding onto a side table and marches right up to you, stride purpose-filled, completely ignoring the rest of his family.

“There you are! I have been looking all over for you!” Relief palpable in his tone but still agitated and animated, grabbing your forearms. “Where on earth did you go?”

You splutter indignantly. “Where did I go?! Me? I think the more pertinent question is… where did you go?! You ran out of the room so fast!”

“I asked you to wait a moment,” he frowns.

“No, you didn't!” you state forthrightly.

He seems to falter, relinquishing his grip on your arms. “I… I didn't?”

“No…”

A look of doubt, then confusion, then finally understanding ripples over his face. “Oh…So you thought I… Oh…”

“Yes,” you reply quietly so the others gathered, who seem very invested now in your exchange, cannot hear. “I thought you walked out because of what I divulged.” Not wanting to go into detail with an audience.

“No! No!” he asserts candidly. “Nothing could be further from the truth!” His eyes soften as he realises what happened, looking genuinely contrite. “I am so sorry. I must’ve forgotten to say it out loud in my excitement.”

“Excitement!?” you are baffled. “You looked terrified!”

He grabs your hands this time, holding them in his, a look of earnest sincerity claiming his handsome features. “Yes, I was nervous and shocked that my mother knew and told you,” briefly glancing towards her over your shoulder. “But it spurred me to finally be brave enough to show you something. Something very important that I need your opinion on”

He lets go of your hands to grab the envelope from the table. With a nervous mien, he opens it and hands you a pile of photos. They are of an idyllic-looking country home surrounded by a pretty garden and countryside beyond. It looks so beautiful and instantly captures your imagination. For some strange reason, it already feels familiar to you.

“What do you think?” Benedict seems super nervous, shuffling his weight between his feet, apparently anxious for your answer.

“It's very pretty,” you opine neutrally, primarily confused. “I'm not sure why you are showing me, though?”

“I… I wanted to know if it was somewhere you could see yourself living?” he asks enigmatically with a small smile.

“Why?” you frown, unwilling to confess the truth - that you would live there in a heartbeat. It looks like the house you dreamed you would live in one day.

He takes a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. “Because… I would like to buy it. For you. Well, for us.”

There is no other word for it - you are floored. A loud buzzing sound is behind your ears, your knees feel oddly weak, and there is a tingle in your fingertips.

“For us?” you stutter, disbelieving.

You could hear a pin drop in the room. You can’t see them, but you know his family behind you likely have gaping mouths, especially Eloise.

“Yes, to live in. Together,” Benedict answers, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And if you are willing to live with me, well, then I also have another question for you…”

Your lungs feel afire, and your brain is short-circuiting—almost unable to surmount the shock. Entirely confounded as your heart pounds hard in your ribcage.

“A-A-And if I am, what is your other question?” you ask breathlessly.

You gasp as he falls to one knee before you, and you hear a collective ripple of shock behind you as he produces a little velvet box from his pocket.

“I wanted you to wait so I could also go and get this,” he explains, a slight shake in his hand as he holds it open—an engagement ring with sapphires and diamonds nestled within.

You can feel your eyes welling with tears as you gaze down upon him.

“Realising my mother knew the truth and accepted it was a wake-up call for me. I had to finally be brave and confess to you. We are already married, so some may think this pointless, but it is nothing less than you deserve: a proper, heartfelt, honest proposal.”

His free hand reaches and grabs yours, lacing your fingers together. It feels like the anchor you need to stay upright.

“Given the short time, it may seem reckless to others, but I do not care what anyone thinks but you. I know what my heart tells me, indeed, has told me from the moment we met—you are my home, my refuge, my present and my future. Y/n, I love you more than I ever thought possible. I would marry you a hundred times over, in whatever way you would have me. Please, please, will you be my wife?”

A sob escapes your lungs, and you fall to your knees with him, wanting to be at eye level.

“Yes, Benedict! A hundred times - yes!!!”

Your answer is rendered through watery tears as he breaks into a breathtaking grin and pulls you both to your feet. He gathers you into his arms and seals the pact with a lingering but chaste kiss. His eyes are misty, too, as your lips break apart and exchange smiles.

Behind you, his family erupts into whoops and applause as he pushes the ring onto your left finger, fitting snugly over your wedding band. You twist to see Eloise, a begrudging tear in her eye; a burden lightens in your heart as she nods towards you as if bestowing her tacit approval.

Join my taglist here | See my fic masterlist here

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @hanji-emo-blog @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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rylxdreams · 13 days

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I still can't get the unused concept art of Wish out of my head so I've been reading a lot of rewrites and looking at a lot of Wish redesigns...

So... I got inspired. I'm currently conceptualizing my own Wish "rewrite/redesigns", but with a twist. It's gonna be a spiritual "prequel", cuz idk I feel like being meta since we'll be using the original concepts before the final concepts/decisions made for the final movie XD

Many of my "prequel" characters will be stand-ins for the canon characters! So "Asha" will be renamed "Amala", "Magnifico" will be called "Mamoun", and so on. Think of Pokemon Legends: Arceus regarding the relations of these "OCs" with the canon characters.

Anyway, here are the designs I have so far! I only have the designs for Amala and the Star for now. Hopefully, I can get to draw the other characters soon, especially Mamoun and his wife.

The story will be called "Once Upon a Wish"

Here's an overview of what I have so far... Some details may change if I feel like my other choices serve the story better. (Also, small disclaimer, this is just a veryyy self-indulgent AU made by yours truly, so some details may not be accurate with the canon lore present in Wish)

The story takes place on the same island of Rosas, but from many years ago. If my research is right, canon Wish takes place in the 1200s, so maybe my "prequel" can take place in around the 900s-1000s. Rosas definitely wasn't called Rosas back then, but I'm still figuring out what to call it so I'm just gonna refer to it as "an island".

Amala is a shy, meek, but hardworking apprentice of the island's head sorcerer Mamoun (hence, her color palette looks similar to Mickey's outfit from The Sorcerer's Apprentice). Despite all her hard work in her magic studies, she doesn't really excel at using magic, making a lot of accidents during training. If there's anything she really excels at, it's the act of storytelling (She can draw/animate, sing, and write stories like fairy tales).

Amala also has a little sister Ayah, who I can imagine is the Lilo/Anna to Amala's Nani/Elsa. Ayah is spunky and cheerful, but she has an illness that makes her disabled. The sisters are orphans, but they live under an old family friend they affectionately call Grandpa Dabir. Dabir is a retired bard turned doctor who was part of a troupe with 6 other former bards, all of whom he and the sisters still interact.

That's all I can share for now. Feel free to ask me any questions about stuff about this AU!

#ryl rambles #rylxdraws #wish #disney wish #wish 2023 #wish concept art #starboy #asha #wish redesign #wish rewrite #wish au #once upon a wish #idk if I ever do make a fic of this #ill probably try to make it in screenplay format #i just wanna try if i wanna go into the animation industry #if im motivated enough to write it of course HAHAHA

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creativename87 · 8 months

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Major ORV spoilers!!

obsessed with how haunted every inch of orv feels, how its entire narrative, every sentence, every inch of dialogue is haunted by kim dokja

because like when you take a step back and look at it, orv never had kim dokja in it at all

the entirety of orv is created and written by all of kimcom, except kim dokja to find and save kim dokja

they had to take their memories of him, the constellation's memories, (probably past live streams let's be honest) They had to use what they knew and fill in the blanks whatever fit best

and kim dokja was definitely there. their memories of him weren't wrong, I'm not saying orv is a lie, but no matter how accurate their interpretation of kim dokja was, he still was never there, in the story, he never helped them write it, he was gone, and this book is their gravestone of him

This time, if he's able to come back, all he'll need to do is knock on the coffin that they've laid next to it, that they don't have the courage-- and probably never will-- to bury

and when you re-read orv with that fact in your head, it kinda fucks you up?

you're in his head, but you're separated by more than just a single wall this time, The fourth wall that comes with all books is almost enhanced by barrier after barrier (kim dokja's own fourth wall, his unreliable narration etc. etc.)

and kim dokja was never really there-- not yet at least, and you're left with the ghost of him, haunting every interaction, every unlucky smile, every single happy moment, and you can feel everyone's pain bleeding through the paper, begging you to read this and love him and love yourself

kimcom is haunted by kim dokja, the book itself is haunted by Kim Dokja, even the reader, after they finish, might be haunted by him

and I just want to make it clear I'm not saying all of the things in the book are false! they are kim dokja, just 99% of him

the other 1% is what the fragment of him determines in their head

but you get my point, that it's that single one percent that kimcom can never achieve on their own that fuels the book, that single one percent that haunts them, like a carrot on a stick they'll never reach

#i have genuinely no clue if what I'm saying makes sense #but here #take it #orv epilogue spoilers #omniscient reader spoilers #orv spoilers #orv kim dokja #orv #kdj #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient readers viewpoint #omniscent reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader novel #kim dokja #orv kdj #kimcom

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skaldish · 4 months

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I'm about to give you all the single most powerful piece of advice that was ever told to me:

It is important to be a principled person.

This is more important than being a good person. But don't take this to mean I think we should be bad people.

The reason why "being principled" has more weight than "being good" is because the definition of "good" is arbitrary. It changes depending on who you ask, which means the standards of achieving goodness are always going to change and pose contradictions.

Principles are different. They are more actionable and concrete. Principles are ideas and concepts you personally value, in that you find them valuable to your lived experience. This makes them different than something like a commandment, because they're not a doctrine. Their source is your personality—who you are and the experiences that have shaped you—rather than your goals and ambitions alone.

To give an example, here are a few of my own principles:

I value self-sovereignty. I think it's a person's inherent right to be free of undue influence, and to act as agents of their own free will. (Not to be confused with acting with impunity; people have the right to experience the consequences of their own actions the same way they have the right to act upon their own free will.)

I value people. I show people courtesy as a baseline, even during arguments, until it becomes clear the other person simply wishes to engage in the spirit of hostility. And even then I don't really lash out—I just leave. At no point do I lose sight of the fact that the people I'm interacting with are as real as I am, who have feelings and complex lives the same as I do. This means I also really value trying to understand where people are coming from, and to look at things from their perspective, even if I don't agree with it.

I value being accurate, as opposed to being right. This has been a more rewarding approach for me, by comparison.

I value discernment. I want to know what things are, which means differentiating them from what I think they are from what they seem to be, and from what they are not. The reason why I practice discernment is due how I think—my brain understands things based on how they are, rather than based on what they are—but the reason why I value discernment is because it allows me to interact with the world in a much deeper way.

I value being a mammal. Life becomes easier when I (to quote another Tumblr post) let the mammal that is my body love what it loves. Fighting against this in the past proved to be a pointless and joyless endeavor.

I have more, but these are just the things that come to me off the top of my head. And keep in mind, these will likely change as I change as a person, because that is how principles work.

To be honest, I've never put much thought into whether other people should have the same principles as me; people have different personalities and lived experiences than I do, so it makes sense to me that we would all prioritize different things.

But what I do know is that I fundamentally disagree with people whose principles are antithetical to my own, principles like conquest (of self or other), conformity, purity, and controlling others. Whether or not someone realizes they're embodying these principles is another story, but in any case it's how I know who to avoid engaging with. This is regardless of someone's political alignment or identity.

In my opinion, thinking this way makes it easier to stay grounded in a rapidly-changing world, and to remain focused on what's actually important to you in the face of the unknown. It allows you to find stable ground within yourself.

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ao3cassandraic · 9 months

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Saraqael, Heaven's Only Competent Angel

Season 2 got terrifically lucky with Liz Carr. Fantastic casting choice for a decidedly intriguing angel.

Saraqael strikes me as a Chief Operating Officer type. Judging from the colors of her lapels and Muriel's ascotty thing, Muriel is in her chain of command (near or at the bottom, naturally). Those colors also suggest that Saraqael, archangel or no, is a step down from Michael and Uriel. The big archangels don't wear plaids.

When Muriel goes to Saraqael with the matchbox, she makes a quick (and bureaucratically correct) decision to bring it to Michael and Uriel. She approaches them politely, with the correct form of address even, but fearlessly and without undue fawning. Good for her.

While Michael and Uriel are being completely and utterly useless, Saraqael heads over to the Realtime Big Globe and starts searching, zeroing in on the miracle plume quickly. So she's upper management, but she hasn't lost all ability to do hands-on OSINT. Intriguing.

Saraqael stops the standoff at Aziraphale's bookshop door with a firm but polite "Shall we discuss this inside?" She's also the one with the measurement of miracle strength, which fits a manager who still keeps her hand in. Otherwise, she observes -- and unlike Michael and Uriel, she doesn't give away anything. (Lord, Michael. "Did we [mention we were looking for Gabriel]?" It was the first thing Uriel said! Y'all get your good-cop-bad-cop story straight beforehand next time.)

And it's competent-ops Saraqael who decides on action: sending Muriel down for miracle verification and keeping a close eye on Aziraphale. Aziraphale calls this "very professional of you," and he's not wrong, considering Heaven's twisted, surveillance-laced notions of professionalism. Saraqael does her job.

Somebody definitely needed to coach Muriel better about fitting in on Earth, but I'm willing to forgive Saraqael that one; it's probably not her job to do that, but Muriel's line manager's job. Muriel's 37th-level -- I have to assume there's a line manager or two (or twelve) between them and Saraqael. Plus, of course, all the angels (except Aziraphale, possibly Sandalphon, and the Metatron) are ruinously terrible at Earthing -- s2 continues the s1 throughline of the archangels being seen on Earth only rarely and briefly.

Another moment of Michael's utter uselessness, incidentally -- in the Job minisode, when she archangelsplains the meaning of "Shuhite" our timorous Aziraphale actually rolls his eyes, and Gabriel quiets her with one hand. She's actually right to be suspicious (this happens often in s2), just terrible at actually communicating her suspicions such that anyone else will take action on them.

(I actually have considerable sympathy for Michael here. I have also 'splained a mighty 'splain professionally in my time, and had many eyes rolled at me. Michael's right. So was I. But so it goes. Knowledge without adroit communication isn't worth much.)

Saraqael recognizes Crowley in his bee!demon disguise immediately (unlike Michael and Uriel, again), but notice that she doesn't raise any alarms and she doesn't even bother punishing Muriel. (I am a bit sorry she doesn't get to take a crack at his horrific garb. Missed opportunity there.) With the Metatron's find-Gabriel mandate still in place, she lets the situation run to see if Crowley will get her closer to finding Gabriel -- which, in fact, he does! So she knows when not to act hastily, too.

In the meeting about the Second Coming, and at Gabriel's trial, Saraqael again observes but mostly holds her peace. Her opsness comes to the fore again when they decide to mindwipe Gabriel; she's the one to set it in motion via her glass phone, and she's the one to report that he can't be found. As ops, though, she doesn't unilaterally decide what to do -- she asks.

(And the Metatron, extremely punchable boss that he is, throws the worst and least accurate possible insult at her! Look, I'm not expert at British English or anything, but "wet" seems to mean "whingy halfhearted coward," and that is so not Saraqael! Ugh, if Gabriel learned management from the Metatron, no wonder he's such a horror in s1.)

So we're set up very well for the angels-and-demons bookshop scene. Does Saraqael act swiftly when told to? Yep -- if not for Crowley, Maggie and Nina would be table seasonings.

Does Saraqael observe, and draw correct conclusions? I think so. Because I'm on the side of things that thinks she rumbled the human-guise Metatron well before Crowley gave the game away to Aziraphale, yet said nothing. Very intriguing.

Here's where I'm going with all this. Two points, actually:

Point one: Maybe it wasn't the Metatron who mindwiped Crowley, since that's a thing that sure seems to have happened. (That would leave human-Enoch-becomes-the-Metatron theories intact.) Maybe it was Saraqael. Who worked with Crowley on the Horsehead Nebula, and might well have heard him asking dangerous questions. Whose job mindwiping apparently is. I'm not wedded to this theory, but gosh, it sure is interesting.

Point two: Organizations can shamble along like zombies with consistently crappy ops (a lot of us have probably worked for such; I sure have). An organization that had competent ops but suddenly loses it, however, is boned, humped, screwed, at least temporarily and quite possibly permanently.

If I were Aziraphale, wanting to ruin the Metatron and wreck Heaven's whole deal, the very first angel I'd want to subvert, recruit, or -- and I hope this doesn't happen but I'm not ruling it out, because if I'm right about what Saraqael did to Crowley, Aziraphale's gonna go postal when he finds out -- destroy, would be Saraqael.

#gos2spoilers #gos2 spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens #good omens meta #saraqael #crowley #aziraphale #the fucking metatron #michael #uriel #the heaven non-brain trust

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blindbeta · 1 year

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Why Writers Should Consider Giving Blind Characters Canes, Guide Animals, or Other Mobility Aids + How To Choose One

(Note: This post is admittedly long and full of information. Make use of the headings to read the parts you are interested in. I have provided many links, which you can read as you go or save for later. I suggest saving this post and taking your time with it. I am also willing to answer any questions for people who have difficulty reading long posts. While I considered breaking this post into parts, I decided to keep all the information in one place for ease of sharing and reference, especially because multiple sections of the post refer to other sections contained within it.)

When I read for blind characters, my most common suggestion for writers is to give their character a cane, guide animal, or utilize another mobility aid. Most stories I beta read feature totally blind characters or people with very little vision, such as only seeing colors. Despite this, it is extremely common for me to suggest giving them a cane or guide animal because they are rarely portrayed using mobility devices. Because this is such a common suggestion, I wanted to create a post about it.

Most of this will be about mobility aids for people who aren’t familiar with them or are still deciding what tools are best for their character. It will also be mostly for modern, realistic, or semi-realistic stories. I will create a separate post for fantasy and science fiction mobility aids, use of magic or magical items, and writing stories set in or inspired by times before formal mobility tools existed. However, I believe this post can benefit anyone who is writing a blind character or anyone who wants to learn more about blindness. Mobility tools are a big part of blind culture, blind communities, diversity of blind experiences, and accessibility.

Learn About Mobility Aids

Here is a comprehensive post by visually impaired fiction writer and blogger @mimzy-writing-online which contains information about canes, O&M, guide animals, etc. If you are not familiar with canes, start there. It contains helpful information for body language, use of canes, and resources for descriptions that any writer will find valuable. The post also has a section on guide animals and sighted guide.

Here is a post I made about crafting fictional guide animals, although I have no experience as a guide animal handler myself. I made sure to research and include links, so it should still be a good starting point. It also has information about differences between service animals and emotional support animals.

Sighted Guide / Human Guide

First, terminology discussion. Sighted guide is a more common term and more examples come up when I search this term. Sighted guide refers to when a person with vision helps guide a blind person. The guide can be abled or also blind themselves. I have guided my friends before and they have guided me. I have often said that, in a way, sighted guide is a misnomer because someone who has less vision or no vision can also guide someone with more vision just as well.

The term human guide makes up for this misnomer by being more accurate. A TikTok by AskABlindPerson or @askablindperson on tumblr, explains this well. Here is a link to the video. The video states the following:

“I’m blind and I definitely prefer to say human guide rather than sighted guide because you don’t inherently need vision to guide and a blind person can do it too. And it doesn’t have to be that the blind person who’s guiding has more vision than the other person either. It can just be that they know the area better than the person they’re guiding, or it could be that they just have better cane skills or independent travel skills than the other person. Because not everybody has equal access to the same exact opportunities for training. So a blind person can also guide, which is why I like to say human guide because it’s more inclusive.”

Not everyone minds which term is used, however. Some people also only use one term because it was taught to them first, rather than because of any particular meaning.

Below are some examples of sighted / human guide and when it is often used.

Here is an article titled How to be a Sighted Guide

Here is another helpful page with information on certain situations such as narrow spaces.

Here is a video by London Vision.

While human guide can be someone’s main mobility aid, it is often used according to the situation.

Situations in which your character might want to use sighted guide include:

-crowds, where a cane might be difficult to use or someone has a companion they would like to avoid being separated from

-while in lines, mostly to provide descriptions of what happens around them or to let them know when to move forward in the line

-ground that is uneven or steep may cause someone to want to use sighted guide rather than a cane, although this will depend on the person. Using a guide and a cane is also possible. A guide animal may go around the obstacle

-when going inside an unfamiliar house or indoor location, usually for locating a specific room

-navigating unfamiliar areas

-public transport

-guide animal handlers may choose to either do traditional sighted / human guide while using the guide animal or give the command for their animal to follow the person without holding onto them

Guides allow the blind person to gain additional information about their surroundings through conversation with the guide. Human guides can also aid in navigation by providing helpful directions or landmarks. Human guides can be used with a white cane or guide animal. They can also be used without any other mobility aid.

People from cultures who place high value on interdependence, especially on family, may wish to use more human guides. People who have anxiety or disorientation may prefer to use human guides or simply travel with someone else for security. Other people who might tend to use more human guides include: people who have moved to an unfamiliar area, people who are losing vision, people who have recently become blind, people with other disabilities or health concerns, or people who prefer the company of others.

In stories, human guides can portray character relationships, establishing trust and respect. Perhaps a character already knows how to guide, showing familiarity with blindness. This mobility tool can display the helpfulness of a stranger or be the start of a meet-cute. Additionally, showing how good or bad a character is at guiding can show compatibility between characters. I also believe that writing guides into a story can allow for detailed visual descriptions or conversation between your characters.

Imagine character A slowly learning to trust character B, culminating in letting that character be a human guide.

Sonar Devices

I wanted to include a section for these because they aren’t often discussed.

Sonar devices are intended as a supplement for use of a cane or guide animal. Unless the sonar and cane are paired together, such as with the WeWalk cane. While they could be used by themselves, this should probably only be with the addition of a guide and in non-crowded, familiar area.

Here is a video review of the Sunu Band by TheBlindLife.

Here is another review comparing two devices: the Sunu Band and the Buzz Clip.

Note how the devices are used, especially with a cane. The cane is used to detect objects from the waist below, whereas the sonar device is used to detect objects above the waist. This includes objects like tree branches.

Sonar devices work by detecting objects in front of the user and giving a tactile alert, such as a vibration. Vibrations increase the closer one gets to the object, giving a continuous vibration when right in front of it. Moving away from the object, such as stepping to the side, will stop the vibration.

This device could allow blind characters to be more active an create interesting opportunities for descriptions.

Why Does My Character Need a Cane, Guide Animal, or Human Guide?

A few reasons include:

1. It will be more relatable for blind audiences if characters move through the world like they do

2. It is more realistic for stories set in our world or worlds meant to be realistic save for a few elements

3. It allows audiences who aren’t blind to understand how blind people move through the world. In the case of sighted guide, it also offers depictions of politely and efficiently offering help to a blind person, which may include not offering help at all.

4. Canes and guide animals give your blind character some visibility, as the cane, and to some extent the guide animal and harness, signify to others that a character is blind or otherwise disabled in some way. As for sighted / human guide, it offers an extra voice for advocacy purposes or the added visibility that someone is being helped.

5. Mobility tools allow blind people to participate more in a world that is rarely accessible for them at a basic level. I almost always find this is true in books as well unless the writer makes a point to include universal design.

6. Mobility aids improve navigation, increase safety, and increase interaction with the world.

Why Would Anyone Need To Know My Character is Blind?

Safety is a big factor.

In this video titled Using A White Cane While Legally Blind by Cayla With a C, Cayla discusses some of the benefits of using a white cane. One of these is that the cane works as an identifier, letting people know the person using it can’t see so other people need to watch out for them. She mentions it is also important for cars and bikers to know cane users can’t see them well or at all, meaning they don’t expect a cane user to move out of the way.

Both Cayla and Molly Burke share in their videos that people are more likely to offer help when they use a cane.

How Do Mobility Aids Help Blind People Navigate?

It depends on what mobility aid is used.

Canes offer more tactile information and direct contact with the environment. Canes allow someone to feel changes in the ground, such as going from carpet to tile. They make it easier to feel steps or broken sidewalk. They allow blind people to be aware of obstacles, such as a chair, rather than simply going around them they way they might with a guide dog. They help blind people locate landmarks they need in order to be oriented in their environment and navigate their way to different places. For example, they may search for a bench, knowing a drinking fountain is across from it.

As for guide animals, because I am not a guide animal handler myself, I wanted to include quotes from a few sources.

The Guide Dog Foundation says the following in a very useful Q&A:

“In short, guide dogs are taught how to find and follow a clear path, maneuver around obstacles, and stop at curbs. They follow their teammate's directions, and they know that they can disobey only in the face of danger.”

And according to International Guide Dog Federation:

“A guide dog is trained to guide its owner in a straight line unless ordered otherwise. The dog will avoid any obstacles en route, above or around you. It will stop at stairs, doors and kerbs. The dog will not decide where to go; it is up to the vision impaired person to instruct the dog on the direction for the dog to go and the dog will safely guide the person as instructed. The vision impaired person will already be familiar with regularly travelled routes and the dog will quickly become familiar with these too.”

And International Association of Assistance Dog Partnership has a page that explains the categories of tasks performed by guide dogs, as well as other types of assistance dogs.

Sighted / human guide can be used with a family member, friend, or helpful stranger. It can be a primary mode of O&M or used when needed, meaning it be used even if someone already has a cane or a guide animal.

Usually, human guide involves contact with the guide. It can also include the guide orienting the person they are leading by describing surroundings such as “there is a bench to the right” or “we’re near the door” or it can involve telling someone where steps are.

How Do I Know What My Character Should Use?

What your character chooses will depend on their lifestyle, level of vision, age, where they live, culture, religion, and their needs as a blind person.

In the post on guide animals, I went over a few reasons someone might choose a guide dog or a guide horse.

Here are some articles about canes vs guide animals. Although the ones I found focus on dogs, I believe many points made about guide animals can be applied to miniature horses as well.

Guide Dogs vs White Canes: The Comprehensive Comparison

The link above includes the following:

“One of the biggest and most obvious differences between a guide dog and white cane is that a guide dog is trained to avoid obstacles along their pathway. A white cane helps locate impediments so that the blind person can decide how best to maneuver around them.”

Another article that may help:

White Cane vs Guide Dog: Why or Why Not?

White Canes and Guide Dogs - What’s Actually the Difference?

Here are some videos:

Guide Dog vs Canes - Pros and Cons by Molly Burke

White Canes vs Guide Dogs by Challenge Solutions

White Canes vs Guide Dogs - Which is Better? 21 Pros and Cons by Unsightly Opinions

Guide Dog vs Cane, Which is better? by Ashley’s Advice

I also wanted to discuss a few more points.

1. Multiple disabilities

People with multiple disabilities may prefer different methods. For example, those who use a stabilizing cane may have different reasons for choosing their mobility aid. I went into that more in this post here.

It would be difficult to cover all other disabilities here, but I will attempt to include some things to consider.

Consider any pain, weakness, or other difficulties your character may have around their hands, wrists, arms. Canes require repetitive use of these areas.

Consider any sensory issues your character has. Sensory issues may come into play with cane vibration and the tactile information given by canes, especially as it differs between surfaces. The video by Challenge Solutions listed above discusses pain caused by vibration and repetitive movement, for someone who already deals with this. It goes into more detail, mentioning that a dog may lessen this difficulty compared to cane use.

Consider phobias or traumas that may make service animals, especially dogs, a bad choice for the character, their loved ones, or community. In contrast, consider how a service animal may help provide comfort to characters with traumas unrelated to animals

I hope that provides a starting point for thinking about how other disabilities may impact someone’s choice when deciding what mobility aid is right for them. I hope this is helpful is choosing a mobility aid for your character.

2. Financial Considerations

Consider financial difficulties. While guide dog schools often provide highly trained dogs, weeks of training, a harness, and some essentials for free, it depends on the school. Some schools may cover the dog’s veterinary care, while others may not. Some may provide one bag of food. Some may cover costs of transportation to the training school, but may not cover the cost of missed work. Challenge Solutions lists several costly areas that go with having a dog, such as grooming or toys.

The amount the training schools cover is so varied that one cannot assume anything about how the blind person keeps up with care of their dog. They may have trained with a school that covers the most costly things, leaving them to buy the occasional treats and toys, while other schools may not cover much after the dogs and handler leave the school, causing financial difficulties that may or may not have been fully anticipated. Financial situations of blind people with guide animals cannot be reliably assumed.

Canes, on the other hand, are a one-time payment per cane, if they aren’t already free. While canes do require replacement tips and while people do go through canes quickly, the cost is not comparable to that of caring for a guide animal.

For writers, it may make sense to have your fictional world contain schools that continue to cover costs over the guide animal’s life. Or perhaps veterinary care is free in that world. Either way, this may be something to consider. The character’s financial situation can show a lot about them and the world in which they live.

3. Additional thoughts about safety and discrimination

Safety has many different connotations in blind communities. Some people consider safety to mean social safety, as alerting others to blindness may explain any behavior that would be considered strange or rude.

Some consider safety to mean physical safety from tripping, falling, running into objects or people, or having them run into you. This is especially important with vehicles.

Still others consider safety to mean being able to navigate and orient oneself, such as when traveling alone.

Some people consider safety to mean interpersonal safety and the fear of being harmed due to being perceived as vulnerable.

Molly Burke mentions this particular subject at around 19:22 to 20:47 in her video here. To paraphrase, she says that having a big dog with her makes her feel safer as a blind person. Molly states that the white cane may increase her vulnerability as it identifies her as a potential target due to her blindness.

I mentioned that it is helpful for people to be identified as blind, such as with a cane and, to a lesser extent, a guide dog. That is still true. This may provide protection by alerting others that they may need to look out for a blind person instead of expecting that person to avoid them or their vehicle.

On the other side, a cane may alert others to vulnerability in a way that is harmful to the blind person. Due to this factor, blind people may feel safer with a guide dog because the presence of a dog may make others hesitate before doing them harm. I am not sure if the same can be said for those with horses, but it is possible horses may still act as a deterrent. In the video by Challenge Solutions, Caitlyn says that while guide dogs are not trained to be guard dogs and should not be aggressive by nature, it can feel safer to travel with a guide dog. Caitlyn says the following: “They are dogs and I would like to think that they would have a protective instinct if a situation arose where that was needed.” She adds, “I think there is more of a protective aspect to guide dog usage than white cane usage. At least I always felt a lot safer with my dog than I do with my cane.”

I also wanted to include thoughts about discrimination.

Some blind people may worry they will experience more discrimination using one mobility aid over another. This may influence their decision. To give brief examples, people with service animals may be turned away from places they are allowed to go. They may need to advocate for themselves more because of this. Another example might be feeling like people judge them or stare at them more when they use a white cane. They may be grabbed or shouted at more often when using a white cane, as described by Challenge Solutions, or they may be ignored or go unnoticed in other cases. In fact, some blind people are only spoken to in public because of guide dogs acting as a conversation starter.

However, feeling invisible in society seems to be a common issue for many disabled people. Some people also talk about being invisible in some areas and uncomfortably visible in other areas. While a blind person’s choice of mobility aid may influence this, the common disabled experience of both invisibility and hyper-visibility might still follow them.

Additionally, myths about blindness, which I wrote about in this post here, may also cause people to accuse cane users of faking if they have residual vision, which can lead to them feeling unsafe or like they cannot use their residual vision without receiving negative attention. This may cause some people to want a service animal, as in the case of a guide dog, some people may assume they are simply walking their dog or training a guide dog. This may be a way some blind people try to avoid being accused of faking blindness. However, blind people with guide animals may also be accused of having a fake service animal or be accused of not really needing their service animal. Additional barriers may include general public ignorance about laws around service animals or differing laws around access per country.

All of the above can put a lot of strain on people who are just trying to get from point A to point B.

Sighted guide may come with some issues as well. Finding someone who is willing to guide and a helpful guide may be challenging unless a blind person is already using a trusted friend or family member. In social situations, other people may misunderstand use of human guide, believing that they should address the guide rather than the blind person. Use of this mobility aid may also come with judgment from others about the blind person being incapable, lazy, or a burden on others. None of these are true, but they can be judgments people make.

Sighted / human guide may be a preferred form of O&M for people who have recently gone blind or are in unfamiliar areas. Additionally, blind people who come from cultures where interdependence is valued may prefer to use a human guide with or without another mobility aid. It is also important to note that the nature of the blind community also celebrates both interdependence and dependence, and these may not always mean the same thing as they do to people who aren’t blind. This is also true when it comes to using mobility tools and techniques.

What Should My Low Vision Character Use?

The majority of blind people have some residual vision, including low vision. Which is part of why most of the blind community doesn’t use canes, along with lack of training. Unfortunately, many people with residual vision are, however subtly, turned away from using canes or other mobility aids. Based on stories from friends, suggestions in this post by @mimzy-writing-online, my own experience, and information online, I will suggest a few reasons this might be the case.

A big reason has to do with believing they have too much vision to require a mobility aid. The idea of not being disabled enough is both an internal an external issue for people with residual vision. This is because people often claim that if a person can see some, they must not require mobility aid. Mobility aids are seen as a last resort, rather than a way to make life easier. This can lead to self-doubt, confusion, or guilt for a blind person. They might feel as if they are ungrateful because they believe other people have it worse. Conversely, some people may have been taught that relying on a mobility tool is shameful, giving up, or reveals a lack of independence. And sadly, some blind people with residual vision may be afraid of rejection or standing out from others.

This leads me into another reason, which is: believing they will experience more discrimination or social exclusion when using a cane. Unfortunately, this can be true. However, it is also true to that not using a cane can cause others to judge someone for things they do or don’t do as a blind person.

Disclosure is an option that works for many. However, blind people cannot always disclose to everyone they interact with, such as to strangers spotting them outside. Disclosure of blindness can also be fraught with accusations of not really being blind, not looking blind, or not being blind enough to count as blind. These accusations sometimes happen when using canes as well. Denial of help, denial of accommodations, and accusations of faking are common.

In some circumstances, the opposite can happen. Instead of being accused of faking, the choice to use a mobility aid might bring about helpfulness from strangers or concern from loved ones. There may be concern that the vision loss has progressed or that something is wrong. After all, suddenly using a mobility tool can inspire alarm in people who aren’t used to them, because the prevailing thought is that mobility tools are only for totally blind people. And the incorrect message behind this is that being totally blind is negative.

Characters choosing to start using a mobility tool could ease themselves and loved ones into it by being open about their plans. They could experiment with cane use, marginally increasing use over time. Or they could simply use a cane as often as they need to, addressing concerns as they are brought up. Portrayal of communication about mobility aids between a blind character and their family could be a lovely addition to a story.

Lastly, blind people are expected to rely on residual vision for as long as possible, in as many situations as possible. Even if it causes pain, disorientation, or anxiety. Even if seeing is exhausting or frustrating. Even if it isn’t safe. However, the other side of this is that many blind people with residual vision enjoy seeing colors or shapes. They may enjoy being able to describe things to friends with less vision.

But their sight may not always be enough to forgo using a mobility tool safely.

It is my opinion that anyone on the blind spectrum or with declining vision can benefit from use of accessibility tools, whether it be learning Braille or training with a cane.

People with low vision can use canes when they feel it is necessary. Examples may include times where they may need extra visibility or extra contact with the ground as they walk. They may choose to use a cane when crossing the street for added safety. Same applies to using stairs. They may bring their cane only to unfamiliar environments or out with them at night. They might feel like using it one day or in one place and not the next. They may have a condition that is not stable from day to day. Overcast weather or dim lighting could make it necessary to pull out a cane. They could simply want to use their cane or decide to leave it at home because they felt like it.

A blind person does not need to a full-time cane-user to be allowed to use one. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. If they need it, they need it. It is that simple. It will be the same with your low vision character.

Characters may also switch up mobility tools depending on what is best for where they’re going and what is accessible to them. For example, someone may use a human guide for extra safety while in a new city.

Why I Want More Mobility Aids in Media

This is just my opinion, but I would like to see more characters using mobility aids blind people use in real life. This helps to normalize use of these tools for people who are not familiar with blindness. This allows blind people representation that is more true to life. It also adds more detail to stories that wouldn’t otherwise be there.

There is also something off about blind characters who don’t use anything, specifically because most portrayals of blindness involve characters who are totally blind. Why are these characters walking around absolutely everywhere with no familiar way to navigate? Why are tools used by the blind community rejected when it comes to stories about blind characters?

I suspect it is because of a few factors:

1. Not knowing how mobility aids work. Another deterrent could be the difficulties of research and, in live-action media, wanting to avoid training usually sighted actors in use of these mobility tools.

2. Not wanting the blind character to seem too hindered

3. Wanting the mobility aid to be cooler or more interesting if it does exist. This varies by genre and the period in which the piece of media is set.

I find it strange that most stories about blind people do not feature blind characters using tools or techniques blind people use in real life. It sometimes feels as if blindness is a decoration writers add to their story without thinking about how it would impact their character.

My suggestion is to consider the amount of vision your character has, along with their lifestyle, and choose a mobility tool that works for them. I know that some of you are writing characters who can technically move through life without using a mobility aid full time. In these cases, it would be fun to see characters who are transient mobility aid users.

Closing - Not Everything About Blindness is Difficult

I hope this post was informative. I know that some of it may feel contradictory in nature, but that seems to be part of diversity of experience people have with mobility aids. Not everything has to be true for your character or will be true to their experience. Additionally, don’t feel pressure to portray the difficult aspects of mobility aids or being blind in public spaces; it is good to have stories where blind characters are treated well by everyone. There are days when blind people have nothing but lovely interactions with others and when safety is not a concern.

While I mentioned some negative aspects of being blind in this post, there are many positives as well. This can include opportunities to meet new people and have conversations. This can mean getting the chance to use cool gadgets other people don’t get to use. It can also mean being able to experience the world in unique and fun ways, such as noticing little details about the world. It can mean appreciating colors, lights, smells, sounds, or sensations. It can also mean cool navigation tools and techniques.

I will post a part 2 soon. It will include information for writers of science fiction, fantasy, and stories set in historical times. As always, if anyone has anything feel free to share. I will add any responses here as edits to this post.

If you found this post helpful, my pinned post has many more links. I accept asks or messages with questions. I also offer beta reading for blind characters.

-BlindBeta

#blind characters #writing blind characters #ableism #accessibility #white canes #guide animals #sighted guide #mobility aid

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marzipanandminutiae · 4 months

Note

I'm pulling you back onstage, what's this about the dangers of white lead makeup being known already at the time it was used?

They were!

Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, writing in 1598. For anyone who's struggling with the typeface (spelling preserved):

OF CERUSSE, AND THE EFFECTS thereof. The Ceruse, or white lead, which women use to better their complexion, is made of lead and vineger; which mixture is naturally a great drier; and is used by the Chirugions [surgeons] to drie up moiste sores. So that those women which use it about their faces, doe quickly become withered and gray-headed, because this doth so mightely drie up the naturall moysture of their flesh. And if any give not credite to my reporte; let them but observe such as have used it, and I doubt not but they will easily bee satisfied.

That's putting it mildly- ceruse could also cause skin peeling, hair loss, paralysis, seizures, organ damage, a host of other symptoms, and even death. But still, they were at least aware that it was Not GoodTM, and it's possible other sources I haven't read more accurately stress the gravity of the danger. Certainly it was known to be deadly by the 18th century, when the death of 27-year-old socialite Maria Gunning, Countess of Coventry was ascribed to her alleged use thereof. (I've never seen proof of this, and it's important to remember that as an Irishwoman, she may have faced undue hostility in English high society- and had very light skin naturally).

It's also difficult to trace just how popular ceruse even was, because less harmful forms of white face paint and powder also existed. One could speculate that this woman or that used ceruse, but nobody did a survey of such things. It was definitely real- cosmetic white lead tablets have been found dating as far back as ancient Greece -but whether it was the Sephora foundation of its day or the BBL (ie a dangerous beauty aid that a few devotees turned to but most eschewed) cannot truly be known.

By the 19th century, ceruse makeup had passed completely out of use as far as I know. Its legend grew as a cautionary tale on the dangers of vanity; the "fact" that Queen Elizabeth I used it was repeated over and over until it became common- if totally unsupported -knowledge. They had arsenic complexion wafers in the latter half of the 1800s- although one brand much advertised in the US was tested by contemporary scientists and found to be mostly lactose with only tiny amounts of arsenic or none at all, so cost-cutting entrepreneurs may have accidentally prevented illness or death. IF the wafers were popular at all, which once again remains unknown- certainly few letters and diaries I'm aware of mention them, if any.

(Interestingly, there's an echo of Maria Gunning's legend in Victorian newspaper stories about socialites "enameling," or applying a plaster-like layer of semi-permanent toxic makeup to their faces. Enameling was alleged to be undetectible but It's Definitely There; Trust Us; A Friend Of A Friend Of Alva Vanderbilt's Cousin's Underbutler Said, etc. This is similarly lacking in any solid evidence; recipes for a product called "enamel" do exist in period texts, but it always seems to be more akin to liquid foundation today, and I've personally only seen one such preparation containing lead. Many even included zinc oxide, which might have provided some unintentional SPF.)

#ask #sorcerorvaati #history #fashion history #makeup #renaissance fashion #I DID find a recipe for theatrical greasepaint with asbestos in it from 1893 which. YikesTM

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gatitties · 1 year

Text

Rumors

─ Tenjiku x fem!reader

─ Summary: certain rumors about a powerful girl lead Tenjiku to you

─ Warnings: description of unpleasant ways to die

Part two / Part three / Part four

"I'm telling you again, you have the wrong person…"

You murmured to some boys that had cornered you before you could leave through the great doors of your high school, the head of that small group looked at you, fed up with you denying being who people said.

"Don't be stupid! There is no one else that matches your name."

You groaned in disgust when you noticed his growing anger, you didn't want to waste your valuable free time, you frowned making the hardest look you could, your dark circles dimmed your eyes and you gave one last blank look at the 'leader' of the group. The atmosphere around you intensified, as if it were suffocating, as if you were capable of breaking the necks of these five guys with one move.

The legs of the teenagers began to shake from the personality change, your sinister face and your iron gaze were enough to scare them away, although they said they would come back to kick your ass, you and your so-called gang.

"My God, what's up lately with all the jerks looking for a fight?"

You really didn't understand shit, as far as you knew, this last month there were several groups of people asking about you, they wanted to fight you because apparently you had a powerful gang and your name started to spread like wildfire, you heard nonsense like you had defeated a group of twenty men without ruffling your hair, even while filing your nails.

You? fighting? Do you even want to socialize a bit? If beating people up counts as socializing of course, you had nothing to do with those things anyway, the only struggles you had were with your math problems and if that subject was a person it would have kicked your ass not vice versa.

You had to ask a few people from your class, some who were more or less trustworthy and not swayed by those rumors, yes, rumors about you, not that you paid much attention to them but man, painting you as something inhuman that would be able to dismounting people twice your size with one punch was a bit over the top, wasn't it?

It's not that you looked cute or flirty, that was the main cause of the rumors starting, okay you admit it, you don't have the best fashion sense and maybe you dress a little darker than the others, maybe what sparked the rumors was your impassive demeanor, and your shitty face, because you didn't like to get up early, who does anyway? You just get to class and everyone is greeting each other with smiles on a Monday at seven in the morning, shut the fuck up, you want to sleep.

Looking back, yeah, maybe it was a bit because of your behavior, another reason that you thought would be of weight was your honesty, harsh honesty, you didn't like to beat around the bush and you went straight to the point of the issues, maybe that made your classmates see you as intimidating, geez, if they knew you cry over strangers' stories on the internet every time you open Twitter… Maybe some people were even intimidated by your height? Not that you were a building, but considering the average height of the girls, you were a bit above that.

The truth is that you had to agree with some of the rumors, you are creepy as fuck, not only sometimes because of your disheveled appearance, but also because of some of your comments, you could make very accurate descriptions of painful or disturbing deaths if is that the situation made you think of ways to die doing something everyday. Well, it's not your fault that you're a fan of crime shows, serial killers, etc.

"I hope we're not wasting time with this."

"Calm down Shion, it's not like we have anything to do, we're all here for a reason."

Izana commented as he looked at the others, Tenjiku had gathered because Kisaki had been hearing those rumors, your rumors, they were looking for strong people and if you had what they were looking for you were definitely joining the group.

"Whatever, he could have at least brought his pathetic ass here too…"

"Nu-uh, I needed Sanzu, Mucho and him to do something for me, anyway, I think we're here now."

You were half asleep at recess, getting some rest from another night of tossing and turning, otome games were messing with your sleep schedule. You almost fell asleep if not for a slight jolt, you groaned but opened your eyes finding yourself face to face with lavender eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul, your mind assimilated everything quickly when you saw how they were dressed together, also noticing the others behind of the boy.

They didn't even ask for your name when you put your hands to your head, letting out a cry of despair because you already knew what they had come for.

“I swear to god, I don't have a gang and I can't take down twenty men with one punch."

"Well, most people don't think the same as you."

Ran spoke, balancing his weapon against his palm, smiling sadistically at how you trembled a little. You know that intimidating feeling, when you know someone is angry and they seem like they're invincible? That same pressure the boys felt when you got up from your seat, although it was only a defense mechanism when you were scared.

"Just leave me alone, I don't want or am interested in fighting, I don't care what you think I am."

Apparently the trick of looking intimidating didn't help, the guy with a scar on his forehead that reached down to one of his eyes approached threateningly, grabbing your shirt to lift you into the air. You screamed internally from the looks you were getting from everyone, normally the idiots who came to confront you would get scared ─luckily─ and you didn't have to run away, but it was clear that these guys weren't weaklings like all the others.

Since silent intimidation didn't help, it might help to use your twisted mind, hopefully you might scare them off.

"I would like to lock you in a coffin alive, bury you three meters underground, wait for you to die slowly, gradually running out of oxygen, when your mind fades your bodies will rot, I will dig the bodies up and feed them to the Insects more disgusting than you can imagine."

"What the hell-"

Rin looked at you with a grimace seeing how you didn't blink once in your little monologue, Kakucho's grip loosened a bit, lowering you back to the ground but keeping you where you were. You started to sweat, without letting them recriminate you, you started to talk again.

"If you don't like that death, I can also sedate you, empty all your bodies, without intestines, while you slowly watch each other as you die little by little, I will do it slowly playing with your livers, making your intestines into scarves, I will burn you and I will feed you to pigs."

Kokonoi and Mochizuki looked at each other in silence with disgust clear on their faces, Kakucho had let go of you taking a step back to Izana's side. Hanma had a small crooked smile, it was his turn to approach you, patting your shoulder.

"What creepy things you say to be a scared cat."

Well, shit, your words hadn't sounded with the usual impassive enough tone or your nervousness had been detected by this damned matchstick. You shrank into your site, feeling smaller next to him, you raised your hands in defeat.

“Non-verbal and verbal intimidation don't work, okay, I give up, but I guess you know that that shit was just rumors."

Everyone was stunned at the guffaw Izana let out after that, he normally kept that serious tone when he was in a group, he usually only let that side out when he was alone with Kakucho, but oh boy, you were too much.

“Look at you, trying to intimidate us while you were all scared! You know, if you'd made it clear, we would have left, but you're so funny."

"What? If you're saying that you're a bad liar, I could see how you wanted to beat me up."

"Oh of course not, I would never hit a girl-"

"Yes, you should break a leg for lying so bad."

You gave your typical blank face, much more relaxed than before, but still a bit uncomfortable with all the attention you were getting, not to mention someone still with their arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, matchstick, personal space."

It was the turn of the Haitani brothers to laugh at the nickname you had given Hanma, he turned away with an offended look, but you didn't care, looking at the brothers, without a doubt their laughter bothered you because they were the ones that scared you the most.

"I don't know what's so funny, eh, Bert and Ernie?"

Kokonoi bit his tongue to keep from laughing, thinking that if he did, he would be the next person to be attacked by your big mouth, however Izana spoke again.

"You go from completely shaking and trying to be brave to messing with us? Every time you surprise me more."

"Nah, I'm just being honest now that I know you won't break my legs, I'm not making fun of you, I'm just objectively saying what you look like."

Now they all fell silent looking at you, feeling as if you were criticizing them with a simple look, imagining characters similar to them to make fun of.

"Wait, does that mean that you associate us all with something or someone?" you hummed affirmatively at Mochizuki's question "can we know-"

"You look like an onigiri if you put yourself completely in front."

"What about me?"

Madarame watched expectantly as you narrowed your eyes at him, analyzing his stance, oh, you definitely knew what he was.

"Gay."

"Wha- THAT'S NOT EVEN AN OBJECT OR PERSON!"

"Are you saying that gays are not people? Pretty disrespectful of you."

"IT'S NOT THE POINT!" he complained for a few minutes like Mochi for their comparison, he looked at you again, pointing to the remaining three; Koko, Izana and Kakucho "What about them? What stupid thing are they?"

"Mmh…" you rubbed your index finger and thumb on your chin, thinking deeply, looking at the three boys "They are just handsome."

"Nah, this bitch is not being serious-"

Hanma prevented the blonde from hitting you for your comparisons, despite also being insulted, the scene was quite funny for him. Ignoring the little spat everyone started to have, deciding you'd had too much human contact for today, you packed up your stuff to leave, only someone stopped you before you left.

"Take this please, let's talk later!"

You blinked at the piece of paper Izana had given you, it was his phone number, you shrugged, you liked the internet contact better anyway, you took one last look at the group before disappearing, briefly greeting Kakucho, who went with the only one you caught eyes with, completely ignoring how his cheeks had some rosy tinge.

"Someone had a crush?"

"Shut up Ran."

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