#and if u don’t like these i can always make more if u want a more specific style | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crwbannwen · 15 hours ago

Text

I was writing this in the tags but I have too much to say.

So this absolutely. Don’t unwelsh my Mari Lwyd please and thank you

BUT I’d like to add some more:

As someone completely guilty of using the phrase ‘Welsh rap battle’ over pwnco. It’s because it’s one, a joke phrase I used to use even before it became more widely recognised, and two a more understandable concept I can explain to people without boring them with rhyme and meter.

I love my rhyme and meters, so trust me I knew how the pwnco worked when I use this phrase. I like saying ‘Welsh Rap Battle’ because I think it’s funny and emphasises how cool and charming I find my own cultural tradition to an English speaking person who wouldn’t know the tradition. It’s good to alter your language for people’s ease of understanding, it’s unfortunate that the joke caught on to people who don’t understand the pwnco. (And there is a limit to changing your language: it eventually does become altering something important too much for someone’s benefit).

I will also note here, while I use the phrase ‘Welsh rap battle’ to reinforce that I like the tradition, I also know people who were ashamed of the culture and tradition and used that phrase to make fun of the dead singing horse (same issue with Scots being called a dialect: cultural shame is a big issue in Wales even if we don’t think it is). Now the tradition is being reclaimed I doubt those people still see it as something to be ashamed of. But it’s something to keep in mind when using that phrase. Intentions do vary.

But my main point I wanted to adress:

Dysgais i Cymraeg fel iaith yn ail felly dw i ddim yn siarad cymraeg yn digon rhugl i fyrfyfyrio pwnco. Dw i’n gallu creu cerdd gydag amser ond beth am y bobl (cymreig) sydd ddim yn gallu siarad cymraeg o gwbl?

So while we don’t want to remove the Welsh from our tradition, we definitely don’t want to make the tradition inaccessible to our own people.

Learning a language is difficult. The education system sucks. Welsh second language a level is torture (I’d know, I did it. Average AS result in my class was a U, it was that awful). And not everyone has the means or the opportunity to learn Welsh so we should take care never to ostracise our own people. It’s more than unfortunate that we don’t all have a good grasp on the language. So having a set Cân-y-Fari that non-speakers or dysgwyr can learn and recite helps to both immerse them in Welsh and includes them in their own culture. Same with having art or an aesthetic. Maybe you can’t speak Welsh: but you can draw. That gives you a way to celebrate your culture still and I think that’s awesome. Even in English I couldn’t improvise a poem with a strict meter. The actual tradition of the Mari Lwyd is a seemingly unattainable level of fluency to most dysgwyr.

Obviously this still needs to coexist with the original Welsh tradition (not necessarily art though, if it’s a drawing of a Mari Lwyd then it’s a drawing of a Mari Lwyd. In my opinion art doesn’t need words unless the artist wants to add words). Traditions do change and that isn’t always a bad thing. In this case it’s not something we want to do, but it’s something we need to consider doing in order to help the non-Welsh speakers and dysgwyr be included in their culture.

There is an even larger issue here to be addressed with how we treat our own people as not ‘Welsh’ enough. Especially people who have mixed heritage. There’s a big racism issue that I could unpack here as well where non-white welsh students are made not to feel Welsh enough to deserve to be involved in welsh culture. Which should not happen. Similarly with half English Welshies. We need to stop treating ourselves like we aren’t Welsh enough; it only hurts us to be denied by our own people.

And as for Krampus comparisons, I bonded with a German friend over our different but similarly unique cultural Christmas traditions so I think that’s good too. I guess it’s the simplification of it that’s the problem

So I hate how the Mari Lwyd has been ‘de-welshed’. But personally, the ability for all of Welsh people to have access to it also needs to be considered in this discourse.

Still if the tradition completely shifted to English I would be so livid.

Edit: forgot to say, while I know the Mari Lwyd isn’t a cryptid, it is a cultural creature and I see no issue with people using that aspect of the tradition as a way to connect to it. The tradition isn’t only changing, it’s expanding. We just have to make sure it doesn’t drown out the original tradition

The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.

Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.

It is not in English.

Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.

...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.

So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.

I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.

Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.

And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.

I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.

#Mari Lwyd #wales #Cymru #I might be focussing on points where I disagree with the original post #but I definitely agree with the post #I wanted to just add this because I think it’s incredibly important

15K notes · View notes

marsmaximoff · 3 days ago

Text

🏛️ emperor caracalla ; headcanons ⋆₊𐕣˚𖤐 ݁｡☽

content warning: fem!reader. mentions of blood, killing and sickness, cheating, possessiveness, toxicity. idk if there’s anything else.

word count: 0.7k

author’s note: first time writing headcanons, so constructive criticism is welcomed. and english is my third language so please bear with me. i apologize for any mistake 🙏🏻 also, i’m unlocking a new obsession, so i needed to write for caracalla asap. i’m gonna write for other fred characters too because that man has me down bad. that’s it! enjoyyy! <3

emperor caracalla is a menace with an insane duality and you know that better than anyone

we have 1) mad ruler with an insatiable thirst for blood

you ALWAYS go to the games

he demands wants you there with him

(not like you have much choice being married to him)

but still, he loves to know you’re there. mostly because he actually enjoys sharing his passion and spending time with you. buuut, also because he REALLY likes to show you off. (you love seeing him all giggly clapping and yelling tho)

and let me tell you, he takes every opportunity to do so. to remind everyone that you’re his. and to brag in front of his pretty much unmarried brother.

i’m talking hand rubbing your thigh when sitting by his side (he does it absentmindedly, it’s genuinely cute), arm around your waist during feasts, sitting on his lap when watching combats, theatre or any sort of entertainment and a ton of PDA.

both of them are possessive, but he is more subtle, not as straightforward

regarding Geta, you two have an… odd relationship. he’s thankful there’s someone else to deal with his brother’s madness. but he’s suspicious of your intentions. tho jealous.

some would even say not only of the marriage itself…

caracalla knows, and absolutely feeds on it. he finally has something that belongs to him and only him

god forbid someone doesn’t get it

Dondus has grown to adore you. you’re like his other parent -he’s adopted you as such.

squeaks at you and happily climbs your arm to rest on your shoulder

loves using your braids as little ladders

and snuggling against your neck too

he’s just so cute can u tell i love him :3

anyways

and 2) sappy child

he follows you around like a puppy

you hate it when he gets overwhelmed, he tends to hide and isolate himself

you end up acting like his mother

gets insecure of his real face and keeps it from you

needs a lot of reassurance

the guards always look for you when he has an outburst

your touch and presence are the only things that ground him

LOVES LOVES LOVES cuddling

clings to you like he needs you to breathe

good luck waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom 💀

play with his hair and he’s GONE

big on pet names

to you is always “my love” “my dear” “my darling” “my wife” “my empress”

emphasis on the “my”

everything’s fine with him but “sweet boy” makes him melt

and obviously “my emperor” cause it makes him feel powerful

and compliments too

spoils and pampers the shit out of you

jewels, clothes, animals, entertainers, you name it

absolutely whipped

loves kissing

now, it can’t all be a fairytale 😞

sometimes you feel like he loves Dondus more than you

and it seems that some men being forced to kill each other brings him more happiness than you ever could

he can switch from sad to angry in a matter of seconds and sometimes his sudden change of tone and expressions startles you

🚩 🚩🚩

being married to a sick man is hard

many palace servants and guards feel bad for you

paranoid

thinks you don’t love him anymore and are going to leave him quite often

obsessive

if you say something that feels ‘off’ to him get ready for an intense interrogation

possessive and extremely jealous

cause why the fuck where you laughing with some random man?

he’d threaten to kill him and would probably get rough with you

hates other people touching you

gets violent

has hurt you before during one of his fits

regrets it afterwards but has a hard time apologizing

would probably be unfaithful. i know, i hate it too 🥲

over all i think he wouldn’t be that bad of a husband, like it could be way worse

and i say he could genuinely love you, it just wouldn’t be the healthiest of loves

but you can try to fix him girl ✨✨

#Spotify #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator fanfiction #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader #gladiator caracalla #caracalla x you #caracalla headcanons #fred hechinger #fred hechinger x reader #fred hechinger x you #gladiator 2 headcanons #gladiator ii headcanons

193 notes · View notes

gyuswhore · 2 days ago

Text

unbreaking

life has dealt Wonwoo with a very uncanny set of cards, enough to make every waking hour an uncertainty. there is one thing however, he can always count on to remain unbreaking. well, maybe two.

wc: ~1.5k | contains: Spiderman!jeon wonwoo x reader, fluff, a crime is committed but its not in detail, perpetrator has a gun but doesn't use it

[a/n]: noW I KNOW I already posted my secret Santa fic HOWEVER this one is extra extra special bc its for my one and only camothy 🫶 she's been working vv hard when ive had to take a step back from @camandemstudios duties bc of life and I have concluded that she deserves a litol treat!!! @highvern I remember you talking about spidey wonu at some point so here it is, I hope u enjoy MUAH

also, bigbigbgigbig ty to @the-boy-meets-evilfor beta-ing this for meeee <333

masterlist

The nerves were eating him inside out. He should be used to this, high pressure situations with more than just his life on the line, but Wonwoo can’t stop the waves of nausea that won’t seem to leave.

His I’m outside message stays in the text box, his thumb hovering over the send button. Swallowing, he lets his thumb rest on the screen and tries not to throw it into your neighbors bushes.

Dinner with your parents meant that Wonwoo had to reign himself in, keep to his best behaviour, do everything to be anything but himself. As your text bubbles bounce on his screen, he feels his heart come up to his throat.

[You]: clearance to ring the doorbell!!!

Deep, sharp breath, before he lets out slowly. He hopes his jeans aren’t too informal, his jacket too formal. He realises in that moment that he’s probably gonna have to hang it up, his t-shirt displaying the inevitable cuts and bruises on his arms. He curses under his breath, but it’s too late to change now, the only other pair of clothes in his trunk being his suit. Not an option.

So he rings the doorbell of your family’s home, and makes a futile attempt to clear his head. He imagines taking armfuls of the junk in his mind, dumping it into the recycling bin. He turns around, but the pile’s only doubled.

A click and the door’s opened, your face poking through the opening, a small smile on your face. Wonwoo feels himself relax at the sight, face morphing into a smile of his own.

“Hey,” he grins.

“Hi,” you whisper, unmistakable glint in your eye. “Come in.”

So he does, eyes up to catch anyone in the hall. He’s seen it before, but his stomach lurches when he sees your little sister in the hallway wearing a red t-shirt with a spider on it. Merchandise he’s never gotten a cut for because that would be compromising his identity, but he’d gotten used to it. His nerves are making him jumpy today, which isn’t always a good thing with what he is.

The last thing he wants is for your mother’s chandelier to end up covered in cobwebs not from actual spiders.

“Hey!” Wonwoo waves at your sister, who’s done nothing but stare at him since he walked in.

“Your jacket—” you start.

“Will stay on,” he interrupts, meeting your expecting eyes in a plea. “Please.”

You don’t ask questions. You never seem to.

He’s sure to say his hellos to your mother and father as politely as he can muster, but also trying to not sound blank as a sheet.

He eats what’s on his plate, compliments your dad on the potatoes, your mom on the salad. He remembers to be open for seconds, remembering how you told him your parents are happiest when they can feed their guests.

Your mother rounds up on your sister, “Do you wanna talk to Wonwoo while I get dessert ready?”

She’s been half fed by your mother who seems to be in the middle of teaching her how to feed herself.

The way she stares is unnerving, like she can see right through him. “Do you like Spiderman?”

Your father groans in a whisper, “Gear up, son.”

“Yeah! I like him, he’s cool.”

“I like him too,” she says, face blank. “I probably like him better than you though.”

“Probably.”

She looks down at her shirt, “My sister got this for me for my birthday.”

Wonwoo looks at you, eyebrows raised. “How come I don’t get one?”

“Because I like him better. Duh!”

Wonwoo makes a face like he understands, setting his cutlery down to raise his hands, “Of course! I forgot.”

“You’re bad at remembering. You were three minutes late to dinner. Probably because you forgot that too!”

He hears both you and your father exclaim at her in a chide, but Wonwoo only laughs. He should remember to sign something for you to give to your sister.

You look up to him across the table, a little exasperated but beautiful. His eyes soften, very slowly lifting his sock clad foot to rub against your ankle in reassurance. That's all he can do here.

After dessert, once Wonwoo is done complimenting you sister on the wonderful and janky icing job, your mother proposes coffee in the living room. It’s there that your sister tunes into the news channel.

“Have you ever seen a kid beg to put on the news? It’s the only place she can catch Spiderman.” He remembers you telling him that, remembers feeling endeared.

It was slow background noise for most of the coffee and conversation, and Wonwoo’s nearly done when the unmistakable BREAKING NEWS flashes across the screen like a signal. His guard is down, so he’s too quick to whip his head around to divert his attention.

It’s a hostage situation, a one man job by the looks of it. Easy work for Wonwoo, but the gun in the crazed man’s shaking hands looks too unsteady to be left the way it is.

The look you give him is enough.

Wonwoo’s proud to say he’s gotten his suiting up time down to a matter of seconds, abandoning his car in front of your building as he struggles in the backseat to pull his suit on, before letting the familiar force of his webs take him off into the night.

His first order of business was getting the wretched gun out of the perpetrator’s hands, watching him wave it about where Wonwoo — Spiderman — was perched on a streetlight.

He’s done and dusted in the next few minutes, gun caught in his web and hostage right into Spiderman’s loving arms. It was all quite routine at that point, but he notes the cameras more vividly than usual, wonders if your family is still in the living room, watching him, not knowing it was their daughter’s boyfriend they’d just served coffee and delights underneath the rouge mask.

Wonwoo catches you a few streets over, despite his never ending attempts to chide you whenever you do. It was dangerous enough to be associated with him, but following him to the very circumference of the scene never failed to heighten his nerves.

He decides to play with you a little, walking with you from the top of the building, matching your pace as you don your favourite coat and walking shoes. No hat, because you know he best recognises people from an aerial view. Not you though, he’d recognise you from anywhere.

So there he goes, swinging to a street light, before roping himself well enough to secure his descent. You always expect him to drop in on you from above, but hanging upside down in your face was a first.

You see the mask first, the large teardrop eyes before the red that surrounds them. Jumping back, you yelp loud enough to constitute your hand slapping against your mouth.

“God, be normal for once!” you chortle.

Wonwoo is amused. “I’m hanging upside down in a bodysuit, hardly anything normal about me.”

You can only sigh, shoulders sagging as you look at him in the streetlight. “Can you quit handling people with long range weapons? You know how quickly that can get ugly.”

“Can you stop following me to said places?”

You make a sour face, “You know my answer.”

“I do. Stubborn till the end.”

“Does the blood not rush to your head like that?” you ask, looking around absentmindedly, like you were trying to find passersby this late at night.

“No one’s here,” he whispers to you.

Moving in closer, you continue speaking. “My sister’s smitten with you.”

“Spiderman will be sure to bump into her sometime.” He grins under the mask, glad he’s able to gain that all important approval.

“Can Jeon Wonwoo bump into me sometime? I miss you, you know.”

“I miss you more, baby.” The but hangs in the air, but he doesn’t take it in his mouth.

Instead, he feels a pressure against his mask, right where his lips are. You kiss him through the material, and Wonwoo has to consciously grip onto his webs.

The unmistakable warmth of your fingers finds the end of his mask, pulling at it slowly, revealing the skin of his neck, the beginning of his chin, up to the pink of his lips.

You kiss him again, there where he hangs from a streetlight, there where he knows he’ll always be able to find you. The feeling of his suit, the feeling of your lips on his; they meld in ways he won’t ever understand.

Spiderman confuses Wonwoo, an enigma that feels both a boon and a curse. But Wonwoo loves you, in all that he is, and that remains the one thing he can always count on, like his webs in all ways, to be firm and unbreaking.

228 notes · View notes

yandereforme · 3 days ago

Text

Part 5: Damian pt 1

TW:Mentions of violence,

Damian definitely comes into a very different family dynamic. Bruce has been strong armed into being better at communicating, all of the kids care about each other, and the big one? They all have a mom they are protective of.

However, Talia does pay attention enough to know what’s going on (let me know if you want me to make a minific about Talia meeting Batmom). So when she sends Damian in, she warns him to view Batmom as an ally, an important ally who is essential to being Batman, despite not being involved in the night life.

I will post a poll later if Batmom should know or not, but no matter what, the batfamily doesn’t think she knows, which means Damian’s quest for Robin is kept from prying eyes.

However, Damian still has distaste for the woman he views as taking his mother’s place, right up until your first meeting.

You are invited over for dinner, and when you walk in to see a boy threatening Tim and the boys not doing anything? Especially Bruce? You lose it.

Damian is more impressed by how you glare his father into submission, and then take him aside to ask his view. I don’t think he will mention Robin, but he definitely says something about taking Tim’s place, which is something you won’t let fly.

However, you work with kids and you’ve seen enough children like him to know what to do. So instead of trying to convince him that he will be cared for without replacing Tim, you instead tell him that replacing Tim would not do him any good, as each member of the family has to carve out their own place.

You don’t go the emotional attachment route, instead making it seem like a test. He has to prove he can fit as both a public member of the Wayne clan and as a private member of the family. You also make sure to bring up the fact that Bruce is very protective of his people, so attacking one of his people will only mess with his place in the family.

That is not to say that Damian’s arrival doesn’t add a level of tension to the family. Whether you realize it or not, you and Bruce are starting to have feelings for each other. Damian’s arrival means that you have to confront the fact of Bruce’s history. Adding the fact that Damian is ten, which means he would’ve been conceived only a year before Jason was adopted, AKA after you entered the picture? That adds a lot of feelings

(I know Damian was basically a test tube baby, but the Batfamily would not think to tell you that, so angst.)

It doesn’t help that you have only just started realizing how much you like Bruce. In your defense, you always knew you had a crush on him, but you didn’t realize it was actual love until after Damian entered the picture. And on Bruce’s side, he already knows he’s in love with you, but he has not communicated it at all.

So emotions are very messy, which make team make Batmom our official mom, a.k.a. all of the kids, have a harder job than usual. Dick ends up recruiting Damian early on, and while he’s less than thrilled in the beginning, he slowly starts getting more into it. (it has nothing to do with your kindness and hugs and calm explanations that are never even slightly condescending. He just finds you useful in his endeavors.)

However, a small complication comes into play, your ex.

You and your ex broke up a few months before Dick was enrolled in your school. The main reason behind your breakup was him needing to move for his job, and you not wanting to move, which culminated into a major fight where he did something unforgivable: He slapped you.

You immediately left him and blocked him, having mutual friends drop his stuff off at his hotel so you could get away with not seeing him. You refused to talk to him, even when he tried to get into your house. It made you thankful he left.

However, him coming back to Gotham made an already tense situation worse. You refused to go to Bruce when things were already awkward, so you just suffered in silence, avoiding your ex as much as you could.

That was until your ex showed up at your school. Luckily, security escorted him off campus after he started yelling. Unluckily, this led to Damian learning about your ex and with the combined pressure between him and Alfred, you moved into the mansion and had to tell everyone else in the family about things.(The only reason they didn’t kill your ex is because he went missing(and you would’ve noticed him dying.))

However, the reason your ex went missing? He was stupid and angry enough to mention you and your job to some exfriends who now worked for the Joker.

Now, the Joker had never quite liked you after your stunt, but you added an excitement to life in Gotham.

However, a man offering your location and usual haunts was offering you on a silver platter…. That was something he wasn’t going to ignore.

Yan! Batfam x Teacher! Batmom

All platonic besides Bruce

First off, you were Dick’s teacher at Gotham Academy, and the most sympathetic to him. You knew how hard the transition was, especially since he had learned on his feet most of his life, so you decided to have most of your classes on their feet at some point, and offered him help with homework

Dick absolutely adored you. He was suspicious at first, but after a little while he grew way more comfortable. The change from the circus way of life to living in a city permanently and having to go to school was astronomical. You were the only teacher who seemed to realize that and try to help him. You threw a ball around for the class to answer things, played games to help people learn, and comforted/defended him when people looked down on him for his background.

People learned very quickly not to complain about you or your class, otherwise they would have to deal with ‘pranks’ like being doxxed, having their things ending up in trees, and their parents deals falling through.

On the first parent teacher night, Dick dragged Bruce over to you. Bruce had already heard of you from Dick and done his own surface level research on you.

The minute this man met you, he understood why Dick loved you so much. You just gave this aura of light and comfort that no one else could ever measure. You were kind and understanding and sweet.

(Note, Bruce isn’t completely yandere yet. He is starting to be, but I like slow burn. Dick is 100% yandere though.)

Dick threw a major tantrum when he learned he would have to leave your class. He was aggressive and started purposefully failing your class. It got to the point where you called a meeting between you and Bruce and Dick where you talked about everything.

You met with them at the manor, and after a few minutes, you managed to get it out of Dick why he was upset. You quietly told Dick that while you would miss him too, you would be very upset if he stayed back for him.

However, Bruce and Alfred managed a solution. With a few bribes to the school, they started a theatre club that you would run(they did research and knew you liked theatre) and that Dick would be your assistant, and he would still have the option after he graduated.

Everything was back to normal for you, besides the fact that all of your dates never lasted anymore. You couldn’t figure out why?

Then, Jason Todd was enrolled in your class

I hope you guys like this! This is my series for Romantic Yan! Bruce x Reader.

#yandere #yandere prompt #yandere batfam x reader #platonic yandere #yandere batfamily #yandere damian wayne #yandere jason todd #yandere dick grayson #yandere tim drake #this is mostly something setting up the next chapter

1K notes · View notes

daosies · 1 day ago

Text

a moment in a bottle

Neuvillette wishes he could preserve this moment forever: the aquarium; the blue light; you.

(Everyone knows that Neuvillette adores you. Except for you, of course.)

(additional, more helpful description: u & neuvillette go on an aquarium date and he pines after you like a fool)

modern, college!au

NEUVILLETTE ♡ GN!READER

@2024gisecretsanta gift for @aquatik !! ♡ i hope you enjoy this piece, and happy holidays!!!

it was so fun to participate in this event ^^ thank u to the hosts and everyone involved for making this so special!!

Neuvillette has always noticed you.

But he notices a lot of things; like the musk of the earth after it rains, like the light that dapples the campus sidewalk, seeping in between the gaps of the leaves. Neuvillette notices a lot of things, some more than others—he muses, nearly tripping over an uneven slab of the concrete floor, periwinkle eyes fixated on nothing but—

You, similarly to him, are stumbling through the crowd. You, unlike him, are entranced in your own world, eyes darting to and fro, searching amongst the sea of people while he has only ever searched for you. There are too many people in this world, Neuvillette thinks, for him to notice every one. So he notices only one. He notices—

You return his gaze (and Neuvillette feels something shiver in his chest), your lips tugging into a smile (and Neuvillette thinks the sun has shifted, that the sun has reworked itself, tunnelling all its light towards you), your figure suddenly coming closer (and Neuvillette thinks that there is nothing left; he is complete; he is yours absolutely and that is enough).

You return his gaze. You look at him! Oh, you see him! Neuvillette thinks, This is it, this must be it. This—this…

(What is it? Neuvillette is no longer capable of thought. He is no longer sentient. He looks at you, and something slams against his ribs: this-is this-is this-is…)

“Neuvillette! I was looking for you!” you exclaim, your voice occupying his mind for much longer than it does the air. Your voice—its unfathomable timbre, its incomparable and fantastical sound! It’s enough, it’s enough!

Neuvillette opens his mouth to respond. There’s a word. He feels himself about to vomit. He feels it: the rush, the suffocation, the gag and the swallow and before he can utter it into existence he clamps his lips shut. There’s a word—or maybe three, or maybe there is no word, nothing in verbal language that is enough to liken your unutterable radiance.

(What is it? The three words? The rush, the suffocation, the gag and the breathlessness? Neuvillette feels it sinking down his throat, ebbing, reduced from a violent blare to nothing more than a whisper, it goes…)

“[Name],” Neuvillette acknowledges. Maybe, that is enough. “May I ask why?”

Why are you looking for him? Why are you searching for him? Neuvillette wants to hear you say it for himself, to hear the words—which are, after all, nothing more than words—in your fantastical and wonderful timbre. He wants to hear you speak his name—which is just a word, which is just his surname—to feel the revelation, the awakening, the surge!

“Just because,”—you say, and maybe that’s enough—”I was wondering if you had any plans over the weekend?”

Neuvillette blinks, astonished. Your smile is unwavering, your eyes—your eyes! Neuvillette briefly looks away. The image remains with him still; the color, the glint, the fraction of the sun that is vested within your soul. Neuvillette looks at you, your image devoured by periwinkle.

“I don’t,” he replies. (He had promised Furina that he’d help her with her case study.) Momentarily, his gaze averts from yours. (He had told one of his professors that he’d volunteer during office hours—who was it, again?) The lie is bitter on his tongue; but Neuvillette isn’t lying. (He’s going to send an email to the professor later, once he remembers who he promised.) Your expression glows. (Maybe this is enough.) Your gentle smile evolves into an excited grin. (He’s going to have to draft a text to Furina, too.) This is enough.

“That’s great!” You reach for your bag, sifting through the various pockets, your hand emerging with two humble, paper tickets. “I won a raffle for aquarium tickets! Do you want to come with?”

He’s whole. He’s complete. This—this is it! This is the surge, the rush, the incomparable and unutterable word! Neuvillette feels it now; the spasm of his heart, the stutter of his throat, the shrink of his figure when you do so much as perceive him!

Your gaze sinks into his skin. Neuvillette lets it. Your smile sears his brain. Neuvillette replays it. You blink. Neuvillette’s heart follows.

(Do you ever realize the way he lives? The way he finds meaning only ever because it dances within you?)

This-is-this-is-this-is…

“I would love to,” he replies, unable to contain the smile that tugs at his lips, the smolder in his chest, the primal constriction of his lungs, heaving, desperate to breathe the air you exist in. A breath! A tinge! A fraction of your incomparable existence! This-is-this-is-this-is…

(Neuvillette wonders if you caught it: the word. The word, although pale in comparison, assigns meaning to the enormity that swells within him, the colossal creature, the colossal completion, the vitality; you! Oh, you! When he cannot say your name, he must say this word; this—this fraction, this tiny, insignificant thing: love, love, love! You, you, you!)

“Really?” you say, eyes growing wide. Your lips hang slightly agape, your expression wild and fantastical and bright (Neuvillette thinks this is it); but the shock dissipates into that of utter joy (Neuvillette thinks this is it), and you grin that grin of yours. That grin, (Neuvillette wipes his sweaty palms against the fabric of his dress pants), a simple little something that amounts into an enormous everything.

“Of course.” Neuvillette knows that this is it. What else, if not this?

You look at him. His heart surges, his veins beginning to flare, his arteries spasming, flowing without an ebb, overwhelmed and incomparable (Neuvillette doesn’t need to return your gaze; he was already looking at you), insignificant and worldly.

All you have to do is look at him! All you have to do is perceive him!

“Does noon work for you?”

Any time works, Neuvillette thinks, any time at all. You could ask for him at four in the morning and Neuvillette would respond; you could stir him from his sleep, from his stupor, from his life. (Take him! Take him from his life! Take him, already!)

“Yes,” Neuvillette says, unable to contain the waver of his voice, the way his fingers instinctively reach to fiddle with his sleeves, “that’s perfect.”

You look away. His heart surges, his veins beginning to flare, his arteries spasming, ebbing without flow, overwhelmed and incomparable (Neuvillette wishes you would look at him; he wishes you would perceive him, for just a moment will do), insignificant and worldly.

“Alright,” you say, grinning. “Noon it is.”

This-is-this-is-this-is…

It is, Neuvillette thinks. This is it.

Neuvillette has an unspoken routine.

Every day, he wakes up at six, even if he has no morning classes. Every day, he takes a morning walk around the city, admiring the most mundane of sights, like the glow of the lamplights, reflecting off puddles that congregate along sidewalks, like the airplane that soars by, smoke trailing in its wake.

Every day, he returns to his apartment and drinks a warm cup of water. Every day, he opens his laptop, and he sifts through his inbox, responding to different emails and updating his calendar accordingly.

Every day, he saves a slot for you. Today, he fills it in officially; the weekend; the aquarium; noon.

Every day, Neuvillette shuts his laptop, and he takes a sip of his warm water, and he thinks. Sometimes, he thinks about legal cases. Sometimes, he thinks about assignments that are due. Sometimes, he doesn’t have any thoughts at all.

But every time, he thinks of you. You weave yourself into his daily routine, the legal cases and the assignments. You appear! Even when you’re not there; even when he hasn’t seen you in a couple days, you’re terribly real and terribly vivid.

And somehow, despite everything, you’re unfathomable. (But Neuvillette fathoms you so often, so poignantly, it’s as if you’re tangible. As if you’re worldly when all you have ever been, to him, was esoteric. Unable to be comprehended. Unable to be conjured within thought, in any comparable magnitude to the colossal vitality that is, so undoubtedly, real. So, undoubtedly, you.)

Today, Neuvillette dons his finest coat. He fits the warmest scarf around his neck. He pats his pockets, and he adjusts his wristwatch—what time is it, again? He looks down—ten o’clock, he should start leaving now.

The door to his apartment swings open. Neuvillette glances up.

“Neuvillette?” Wriothesley remarks, shrugging off his work uniform haphazardly, strands of his obsidian hair sticking to his skin. “You’re still here?”

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette acknowledges, “indeed, I am.”

“That’s a surprise,” Wriothesley says, pale blue eyes drifting over Neuvillette’s outfit. “What’s the occasion?”

Neuvillette coughs into his fisted hand.

“I’m meeting with [Name] later.”

“Ah,” Wriothesley replies, smirking, “that adds up.”

Neuvillette has never considered himself to be transparent, but at the same time, he has never made it an effort to be enigmatic. But the knowing look that Wriothesley gives him is enough to make Neuvillette wonder: has he always been so plainly obvious?

Then, he thinks of you. Have you noticed how plainly obvious Neuvillette is? Have you known all along, yet never brought it up in an effort to spare his feelings?

(Have you ever wanted—for just a fraction, for just a moment—him to be so obvious? Have you ever looked at him—and held his image within your irises—when he hasn’t been looking at you (Which Neuvillette thinks, frankly, that’s impossible; he’s always looking at you)? Have you—have…)

Wriothesley chuckles. “Don’t think too hard about it. Who knows,”—he shrugs, his expression unreadable—“maybe you’ll be in for a surprise.”

Wriothesley has always known more than what he lets on; it’s just in his nature, as a part-time security guard and a student of criminal justice.

He has never been wrong, Neuvillette thinks—his mind shifts. His mind forms an image, vivid and bright and fantastical; it’s you.

This time, however, he might be. Neuvillette thinks Wriothesley’s implications are outlandish. How could he expect a surprise from you, when you already do so much as exist?

Still, Neuvillette replies, “Maybe.”

There’s a magic that follows after your existence. It’s like the petrichor that swarms the earth after it rains; like the inevitable belief that night follows after day; like the certainty that vests within time; the fact that tomorrow will come, the fact that you are, despite everything, real. It’s unfathomable, really. Your existence.

And Neuvillette has wondered when everything began, when the world started to shift, when the sun became more than the sun: when it became you. Maybe, it started when he was your partner in a group project back in physics class (which he barely managed to pass with your late-night tutoring and guidance). Maybe, it started when he realized that you were there throughout everything—through the years of his worst, when he loathed everyone, when he had no love in his heart, when the most mundane of things remained as they were: mundane.

Maybe, it doesn’t matter when things begin. All that matters is that they exist now.

“I should get going,” Neuvillette says, taking another peek at his watch.

Wriothesley nods. “Have fun. Let me know if there are any breakthroughs.”

Neuvillette blinks, echoing, “Breakthroughs?”

Wriothesley flashes another one of those knowing expressions. This time, all he offers is a hum. And this time, Neuvillette doesn’t pry; he gives in. Neuvillette does a lot of that—he thinks of you—giving in, and pressing onwards, and living in the unknown despite the answer being right—he thinks of you—in front of him.

He arrives at the subway station an hour and a half before noon. Neuvillette sneaks another glance at his wristwatch, thinking, I’m right on time. After taking a seat on a nearby bench, Neuvillette begins to observe, periwinkle gaze drifting across the sea of people, anchorless and free, his senses reborn as the world reincarnates anew. The air is crisp, the cold stinging the tip of his nose, puffs of condensation escaping his parted lips—Neuvillette feels everything. The fabric against his skin; the surge of life; the rush of the passerby; the frantic and erratic breath that life exhales with each gust of wind.

“Neuvillette!” a voice pierces the crowd, passing through the canal of his ear and stabbing cleanly through his heart. Although it’s just a sound, Neuvillette hears it wholly: the timbre, the tone, the familiarity of his name (which is, after all, not even his first name), the way the syllables sound sacred (and Neuvillette must attribute the fragility to the owner of the voice, not the name) despite it being uttered many times before.

This-is-this-is-this-is… You. You!

At your call, Neuvillette stands. His hands, unsure of what to do, reach for the sleeves of his coat, fiddling with the hem while his gaze fixates on you. Once more, periwinkle drowns in your figure. Once more, the world is right.

“[Name],” Neuvillette replies, unable to contain the gentle smile that possesses his lips. “You’re early.”

You laugh. “You’re earlier!”

“Yes,” he admits—this-is-this-is-this-is—“you’re right.”

The subway ride to the aquarium is peaceful. Neuvillette couldn’t have asked for anything else, because there you were, and there was the world, and there was the sun, and there you were, and—oh, did he mention that already?

Neuvillette thinks you were the most wonderful of them all. You; your eyes, focused on the scenery outside. You; your voice, dipped into a whisper as you speak of precious little nothings which, to Neuvillette, seem to be worth everything.

You’re radiant. Fantastically so. Neuvillette has this realization time and time again. Every time periwinkle swallows your image, and every time his heart shivers at the proximity of your presence, Neuvillette is made aware of how colossally significant you are. You’re like the world. Sublime. Wondrous.

“Neuvillette,” you suddenly say, and Neuvillette feels his ribs shudder. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

He swallows thickly—the way you say his name; oh, the way you, the way you—somehow, he finds his voice, breathing out, “It is my pleasure.”

“Neuvillette!”—and there you go again, calling his name, unaware of the spasm of his heart, the binding of his lungs—“come over here! Look, these are whale sharks!”

Oh, that’s right, Neuvillette thinks, this is your domain. Before he can open his mouth to respond, you usher him in the direction of the spotted creature, its wide mouth stretched agape while it drifts throughout the blue waters, followed by a squad of smaller fish.

“Those are remoras,” you explain, “they attach themselves to sharks and feed off of parasites that grow on the shark’s skin.”

Oh, Neuvillette thinks, noticing the glimmer of your eyes under the aquatic light, noticing the way your words begin to slur together out of sheer excitement, unable to keep up with the tempo of your thoughts.

You’re beautiful.

“What are those?” Neuvillette asks, pointing towards the manta rays.

“Those are manta rays!” you exclaim. “Like the whale shark, they’re filter feeders!”

“What does that mean?” Neuvillette queries. “To be a filter feeder?”

“It means both whale sharks and manta rays filter out the free-floating plankton drift in the water!” you say, and oh, Neuvillette thinks you look ethereal. This is your domain; the great ocean; the blue light; the knowledge; the passion. You own the sea. The world. Oh, the world!

“Did you know manta rays don’t have skeletons? They’re made of cartilage.”

“No, I didn’t,” Neuvillette replies, despite knowing that fact from the plethora of articles he read about marine life a couple days back. Neuvillette didn’t want to seem ignorant in front of you, a marine biology major, but at the same time, he thinks this is a much better alternative.

This-is-this-is-this-is…

You smile at him. “It’s all good! I go to this aquarium pretty often, so I know a thing or two.”

You’re lying, Neuvillette thinks. You know more than just a “thing or two.” You know—you know everything, it seems!

(Still, Neuvillette doesn’t pry. He does a lot of that, he supposes—he thinks of you—in your presence, and with the realization—he thinks of you—that you are, unbelievably, here. Tangible. With him. With him!)

Neuvillette wishes he could bottle this moment and keep it forever.

He observes this aquarium through your gaze, measuring all the creatures with the same joy that you hold them to, learning all there is about different fin types and different species groups. Orcas are not fish, they are marine mammals—Neuvillette knew that too, from an article titled “What Are Orcas Truly?”—sharks breathe by swimming and passing oxygenated water through their gills—Neuvillette learned that fact last night from a video titled “Sharks Sleep While Moving!”

If he weren’t a law major, Neuvillette thinks he would’ve gone into marine biology, too. (And he wonders what it’d be like, to have the same classes as you, to be able to share this knowledge with you, to be able to discuss marine life on a higher level than the rudimentary facts you’re forced to share with him, who is unfamiliar with this world.)

Neuvillette wishes that he knew more than what he knew. He wishes he could crawl into your brain and adore the ocean with the same passion that you have. He wishes he could share your struggles with strict lab professors, and discuss answers after difficult quizzes—but the boundary between your major and his is too large. He knows nothing. He can say nothing. He is nothing. So he opts to remain silent and stare.

Can he ever return to this moment again? You; the blue light; the whale sharks; the manta rays; the world! Can he ever revisit this aquarium? Will you ever want to go with him again? Will you speak to him in the same, lovely voice? Will you call his name with the same, lovely timbre?

Oh, Neuvillette wants! He wants! He wants this moment! This aquarium! You!

His heart shudders.

This-is-this-is-this-is…

And the moment is ending. Everything returns to where it started. Neuvillette finds himself on the subway once more, sitting by your side, watching you watch the window, the sun setting in the horizon, the day slipping away.

He wants to bottle this: the pink hues, the orange glimmer, the blue memory, the aquarium, you. He wants to grasp this scene and slip it into his wallet, like a charm, like a reminder of the world and all that has meaning. He looks at you. He wants—and he stops there, because he’s overstepping his boundaries and that’s too much to ask for.

A yawn escapes your lips, you apologize, muttering, “Sorry, I’m a little tired right now.”

Neuvillette notices the lull of your head, the flutter of your lashes as you struggle to stay awake.

“It’s alright.” His leg begins to bounce, his fingers reaching to fiddle with the hems of his sleeves once more. “If I may offer my shoulder, if you would, um… In case you would like to rest.”

Although you don’t seem to mind, or notice, the filler word that slips into his speech, Neuvillette is already questioning himself, berating his sudden inability to speak, reduced to nothing in your colossal presence. For how could he ever amount to anything if you are already everything?

“Thank you, Neuvillette.”

His heart lurches. His lungs heave. His brain falters, unable to form any coherent thought that isn’t composed, in its entirety, you.

Your eyes flutter shut, and your head comes to rest against his shoulder, and Neuvillette thinks—while his leg bounces up and down, mad—that, if he could, he would bottle this moment, and—while his breath shutters, coming to a stop—and, and he would preserve it. And he would love it. This light; this subway; this world; you. Forever.

Neuvillette has always noticed you. From the moment his periwinkle eyes first beheld your existence, from the moment the world incarnated anew, from the moment—which he wishes he could bottle—your gaze dawned upon him, when dusk dawned upon the two of you, when everything dissipated into darkness, he noticed you then. Even without sight. Even without speech. Even without his senses.

He notices you now, too. He notices the way your brow furrows when the sun’s light slips across your face, the world illuminating and perceiving your irrevocable beauty. He notices the way you turn away slightly, burying your face into the fabric of his coat, trying to escape the radiance which pales in comparison to your own.

His hand comes up to block the sun. Your expression eases. Your breathing evens out and the world is right again.

This-is-this-is-this-is…

Neuvillette rests his head against yours, his touch featherlight—the bounce of his leg comes to a stop—his lungs pausing, capturing the breath which holds the essence of your existence—and the moment is preserved—and the final incarnation is complete.

This is…

The sun’s final light disappears. The moment is over.

Neuvillette feels your head against his. A new moment starts.

And he supposes—without much deliberation—and he thinks—and he has thought this, for the longest of times—that this is love.

(This is enough.)

#genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette #gixrsecretsanta2024 #genshin

87 notes · View notes

irndad · 16 hours ago

Text

Christmas Wrapping- a.h.

a/n: i'm back and this is sad (no, really, it's a sad christmas fic. merry crisis!! also writing this made me think of @hotchfiles lol- lari i hope u like it <3 summary: 2 years ago, hotch broke up with a lovely but eccentric woman, and is thinking about this while attending a christmas party.

It’s Christmas, and it’s New York, and Aaron doesn’t want to be here.

He always feels guilty when he misses Christmases with Jack, and it’s painful to admit that it’s happened more than once. He’d been understanding, but Jack is almost ten now, and the resentment in his voice is subtle, but sometimes Aaron could swear he could hear Haley’s voice in it.

This dinner wasn’t optional- a director that was above him mentioned that if he wanted his career to advance, he couldn’t afford not to attend events like tonight. Which as far as thiny veiled threats go, is one of the lease concealed ones he’s received in a good bit.

New York always makes him think of her. Even though their relationship ended two years prior, she sticks in his mind like a song, the melody never quite getting to be grating. She’d loved being called his girlfriend, and Aaron had loved the way she loved it. She was younger than him, by a little over a half-decade. But still, she’d worn it better than he had. He still remembers the sight of her, meeting him at his office (never inside, lest the team tease him endlessly), in her green shoes and multicolored scarf, hair in a clip that had been lazily thrown up, and a smile that dazzled him.

“Are you ready, Mr. Hotchner?” he remembers her saying, on the other side of a memory lit in warm, glowy lights.

“I don’t think I can endorse whatever you have planned for me.” He’d replied back in jest at the time.

The walk from his hotel to the host of the party’s home is cold. He think it might be colder in Quantico, but his memory feels colder and seeps into his bones.

He might’ve married her, Aaron muses to himself. It all feels so silly to think about. But she was hard not to think about when she was his to ponder over, and she sticks in the back of his mind even after he had made he decision not to.

She’d been generous with him, the entirety of it all. Gentle with him when he mentioned that he wasn’t ready to tell the team, even if she’d known that he hadn’t waited eight months with Beth. More than that, she was beautiful. not just in her appearance, which was lovely in and of itself, but in how she carried herself. Warm, and kind- Jack would’ve loved her.

He thinks of her laugh, how she’d picked off all of the salmon roe on their fancy 5 month anniversary dinner, and eaten the meal without it- how she booked Amtraks to visit family, because it gave her more time to read on the way, and no one would make her drive once she got there. How she traced hearts into his wrist when she could tell he was anxious, read him like a book he never gave anyone permission to see. Loving her was a pleasure, an indulgment. An expensive wine sipped with leisure.

A honk of a cab shakes him out of his memories, but it doesn’t stick. She’d loved Brooklyn, loud cabs and overpriced brownstones all the same. Sometimes, when doing monotonous paperwork, he’d fantasize about buying her one, a new home in her dream city, Jack and maybe a sister.

The way it had fallen apart was one of the least proud moments of his life. Because she was different- not polished, or withdrawn in how she carried herself. It was what made her a pleasure to know- she smiled with her whole face, hugged people like she knew they might need it, wore her favorite colors because she wanted to see them whenever she passed a mirror. And he was a behavior analyst.

“Could I meet your friends?” he’d frozen, when he’d heard it. Her voice was soft, like she was nervous. “I know you were wanting to wait, but you know- you’ve met my graduate school friends. They were thoroughly impressed.”

He didn’t feel impressive to them, and he suspects she might be being kind in this moment.

“I just think you wouldn’t like them, honey.” He feels rotten lying to her, but the idea of it- of the team knowing that she is the person he loves- it feels like a magnifying glass under the sun.

“I find that hard to believe, Aaron. And either way, I’m telling you, it would mean the world to me to know them.”

He’d been backed into a corner, he’ll tell himself, later. This will be a lie, and it’ll be a lie he knows, even as he tells himself it.

“I just think we shouldn’t do that until we’re sure about eachother.”

The silence that had followed felt chasms wide. She’d been silent in front of him before- when he’d come to her apartment too tired to speak but still needing to be held, and she’d lit a candle and massaged his hands, easing the carpal tunnel from writing paperwork. Or when she held his hand waiting for Jack’s results, when he’d gotten a fever they hadn’t been able to shake. This silence was different. Long and dissapointed, and Aaron felt like he couldn’t breathe under the shame of it. He watched her wipe a single tear from her eye, and grab her novel that had been sitting on his coffee table for the last six months.

“I can’t make you sure about me, Aaron. I don’t really want to try.”

It had ended like that. Reminiscing on the whole affair had made the walk feel short, although he could feel a tear welling in his eyes. His body knew her absence, and still does. Even now, walking to this party he doesn’t want to go to, he imagines what it would be like to have the shape of her pressed into the side of it.

Aaron thinks to himself, before buzzing into the building, that he wasn’t ashamed of her. He’d wondered since the end of the first relationship he’d felt held in, if he left it because he was ashamed. But he wasn’t. He was unwilling to submit to the plain, unmediated joy of her touch.

He was almost done ruminating on this, until he knocked on the door, and there she was.

Aaron- he almost wonders if he’s hallucinating, because there she is. And she’s fucking gorgeous. She always is, but she’s so lovely tonight. Maybe it’s the fact he hasn’t seen her in so long, or maybe it’s just that she is that lovely, but the warm light of the party and Christmas Wrapping playing in the background- she looks like vision plucked from a movie.

She’d kissed him at midnight to this song, once.

Now, she’s beaming at him, opening her door to welcome him as a stranger into a party.

“Aaron! Is that you?” it’s a physiological response, the jump in his chest, when she says his name. “My god, it’s so good to see your face!”

She hugs him, and she still wears the same perfume. Her arms are warm and her face is in his chest, and even though it’s less intimate than all the ways she’s held him before, it feels kind.

“It’s so good to see you too- what are you doing here?”

It’s a blunt question, but she doesn’t seem to mind, as she ushers him into home. It’s a family apartment, old-school and clearly well-loved.

“My husband liasons with the FBI, actually! His boss said they needed a get-together space, and so we offered up our apartment. It’s cute, right?” she’d walked him right up to a man, wrapped her arms around his middle, before turning back to Hotch. “Peter, honey, this is my old friend, Aaron Hotchner! He works for the BAU.”

Husband. She has a husband. She is a beautiful woman, who he has had the honor to love, to run through the rain while laughing with, who is known and seen and loved by someone else. Hotch takes a look at her, really drinks in the sight. She’s got on a green sweater, new- he can tell by the shape of it. Earrings that seem like they’re gifts, and her hair’s pinned up lazily despite the occasion.

She looks happy.

“Oh hey! I’ve heard so much about you- I’m glad you were able to come!”

Peter has a wedding band on hsi left wrist, and Aaron can’t help but analyze him. He’s wearing an ill-fitting dress shirt and slacks, and Hotch thinks he might not have had too much choice in hosting. Owning real-estate is uncommon in New york, and your boss knowing you have a place to use might have been enough to strong arm him into using it. it’s a relative’s clothes, and it’s casual in a way that would suggest ease and friendless. An arm rests on the small of his wife’s waist.

The whole rest of the night is a blur. Jealousy doesn’t feel like the right word for it- it feels uncanny, to see her so open and warm with a man who so unashamadly loves her. There’s engagement photos on the walls, and Aaron studies them like he’ll be tested. Maybe he’s testing himself. They’re not real photos, just a photobooth they’d gone too, her ring in the foreground of all of them. Peter is a wiry, thin, dark-haired brown-eyed man who is younger than Aaron, and a year older than her.

He hears someone say they met in high school, and Hotch dimly wonders if he ever had a shot with her. He thinks this, while looking at a photo of the two of them at prom together (but not together). It’s self-comfort, he knows. Because she’d asked him, to take her seriously.

She’s drinking grape juice, instead of champagne. Aaron thinks he knows why, from the way she runs a gentle hand over her stomach when she thinks no one’s looking, and how Peter’s eyes are always trained on her midsection.

He wishes he didn’t know how to be this observant.

When the night ends, and Aaron comes back to Quantico, and people asks him how the party went, Aaron tells them it went well, and says that he saw an old friend who he’d missed a great deal out there.

He figured it’s probably better to admit to loving her in some way, at some point. Even if it’s far, far too late.

77 notes · View notes

sondheim-girly · 3 days ago

Text

ok im gonna get my yap on, because Brody Grant has so much power in this fandom and I need to talk about why. Am I overthinking this? Yes. Is everything I’m about to say super obvious? Also yes. But who cares.

Ok so some might say “oh the fandom just likes him cuz he’s hot” and the thing is, yes hes hot, but so is the entire cast? And I can’t think of anyone else in the cast who can break the fandom with one single appearance. I think the key of it is the fact that hes unpredictable and always leaves us wanting more. See, back before the Tonys he was doing a lot of press, both for opening and as a nominee. And then post Tonys, you had a three month drought where we practically didn’t get any content of him. However we were still riding high from the pre Tonys interviews, so the obsession continued to stay strong. And theres an element of someone not having their entire life and personality on public display that makes them so much more exciting. And then he disappears for an entire month, then comes back blonde and posts a bunch of photos from his trip in Tokyo. He then goes on to start appearing in the occasional Soc Saturday after not appearing in one for literally months, then is in sky’s Instagram, and starts posting on Instagram more!! So hes giving us just barely enough content to keep us sustained, but also leaving us wanting to much more. Theres also a level of mystery that’s just super exciting cuz you literally never know what he’s gonna do. Is he gonna disappear for a month and go blonde? Is he gonna show up on Soc Saturday and yell about a guy named Mike? Who knows. Not to mention how… mysterious the post he just made was? Like who even knows why he posted that?? No clue, but it’s wonderful.

now of course this is how he has maintained this strange hold on the fandom, but how did he get it in the first place? Of course hes good looking, but hes also absurdly talented, and a very charming person. He’s interesting because he has this kinda edgy ‘persona’ tho idk if that’s exactly the right way to describe it, but then you watch an interview with him and hes this super duper genuine, thoughtful, interesting guy! And then u see a clip of him with the cast and hes just really silly and funny. And so he has all these sides to him which is very intriguing. And he just has this like- really sweet smile and also I think the ear cuff and fingerless glove combo is something that definitely had a major effect on the fans. Ok ive kinda lost the plot.

also theres something about him having social media and rarely using it. Because then it’s like oh we could get content but you never know when- there are a lot of cast members who are super active on social media so we get used to it, or actors who don’t have it at all, meanwhile Brody can just get on there, say something, explode the fandom, then leave. Hes also very intentional about what posts he leaves up, which we can tell from his occasional cleansing of his account. Idk what my point is here but I wanted to say something about this

anyways this is my yap. It’s unedited and completely chaotic but I hope y’all enjoyed it.

#jean has thoughts #the outsiders musical #the outsiders broadway #Brody grant

40 notes · View notes

pintrestgrl · 2 days ago

Note

Can Barry ever be sweet to Precious? Like ever? Maybe an “I love you”?… or any single ounce of affection…

yes actually i’m so glad u asked this bc as mean as i make him seem he actually is sweet to her a lot , like he really love that stupid weirdo girl !

he just really doesn’t know how to show proper love the ‘normal way’ bc he didn’t grow up like that. but he tells her he loves her all the time but just quiet enough to not embarrass himself …

she still hears it tho and says it back just as quietly like they r in middle school ! and every single time before he leaves to go sell and she’s still sleep he kisses her temple n says it then too

as for affection he constantly is holding this girl bc she’s always fuckin crying omg. hes kinda big brother coded idk. like hes kinda mean as he consoles her while she cries.

“yeah— i know your crayon broke. just— quit fuckin’ cryin about it. okay?— don’t like seein’ you cry, precious.”

is exactly what he says while rubbing her back and braiding her hair

anyways he’s in love w his little weirdo i promise! let me know if we want more of this side of barry

#pintrestgrl #precious 🦢#barry obx #barry outer banks #barry coded #anon ask #i love them #they are so cute

36 notes · View notes

scarletwinterxx · 2 days ago

Text

don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year - hong joshua imagine

helloooo ~ ngl i was kicking my feet all giggly while writing this HAHA let's see where this one goes, let me know if i should do a part 2🤭

and happy holidays!!!🎄

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You walk into the office, the sound of your heels muffled by the carpeted floors. The usual hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by the clacking of keyboards and the occasional laughter. As you make your way to your desk in the HR department, you notice a group of your colleagues near the coffee machine. They're giggling, and their glances dart between you and the IT team’s corner. You already know what they're whispering about.

Joshua Hong.

The soft-spoken guy from IT who seems to have half the office swooning over him.

Including you, though you'd never admit it outright. Well, except maybe to Nayeon and Irene, your closest friends, but they don’t count.

Joshua is the kind of guy who’s always polite, always smiling. Whenever someone teases him about the two of you—and they do it often—he just shakes his head with that gentle smile, not saying much.

“She’s great, but we’re just colleagues,” you once overheard him say when Jeonghan Yoon, his closest friend, had nudged him about you. The words had stung more than you'd like to admit.

"You okay?" Nayeon’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. She’s perched on the edge of your desk, a knowing smile on her face. Irene’s just behind her, holding two coffee cups—one for herself and one for you.

"Fine," you reply, taking the cup Irene offers.

"They’re at it again," Nayeon says, jerking her head toward the gossipers.

"Let them have their fun," you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant. But the truth is, your stomach flips every time Joshua’s name is brought up in connection to yours.

The day passes in its usual rhythm, and you try to focus on your work. But it’s hard not to glance toward the IT corner where Joshua is discussing something with Seungcheol Choi, your cousin and, unfortunately, another enthusiastic supporter of the “You and Joshua” ship.

When Joshua looks up and meets your eyes, you quickly turn back to your screen, pretending to be engrossed in an email.

The company holiday dinner is lively, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint buzz of karaoke in the background.

You’re seated between Irene and Seungcheol, who’s had a little too much to drink and is currently attempting to convince Joshua to sing.

"Come on, man. One song! For morale!” Seungcheol insists, slinging an arm around Joshua’s shoulders. Joshua laughs, shaking his head.

"Maybe next time," he says, his tone as gentle as ever. His eyes briefly meet yours from across the table, and you quickly look away, sipping your drink to hide your flustered expression.

As the night winds down, you glance at your phone and realize it’s getting late. Irene and Nayeon left earlier and you’re left wondering how you’re going to get home. The buses have stopped running, and the idea of calling for a cab makes you wince at the cost.

You're standing on the side, scrolling through your phone thinking of options when you feel a presence beside you

"You okay?" Joshua’s voice interrupts your thoughts

You look up to see him standing by your side, his jacket draped over his arm. Noticing this, you also became extra aware of the cold breeze. Never being the one to stand cold weather, you can't help but shiver.

Joshua notices this, he stands infront of you blocking the direction where the wind was blowing from so you won't feel as cold.

"Yeah, I…" you hesitate. "I’m just figuring out how to get home."

He frowns slightly. "No ride?"

You shake your head.

"I can take you," he offers, his voice calm but firm. "It’s on my way."

"Oh, no, you don’t have to—"

"I want to," he says, cutting you off with that same gentle smile.

You contemplate for a second before agreeing. It's late and it's cold, there's no other better option now, surely you can manage a few minutes alone with him.

The ride is quiet at first. The city lights blur past the windows, and you fidget with the strap of your bag, unsure of what to say. Joshua seems relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift.

"You don’t have to be nervous," he says suddenly, glancing at you. "I don’t bite."

You laugh, the sound a little more nervous than you’d like. "I’m not nervous."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. Instead, he switches on the radio, and a soft, familiar melody fills the car. You hum along absentmindedly, and he glances at you with a smile.

"You have a good voice," he says.

"Hardly," you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up. "But thanks."

A comfortable silence falls between you, and for the first time that night, you feel yourself relaxing. When he finally pulls up in front of your apartment building, he puts the car in park but doesn’t immediately reach for the door handle.

"Thanks for the ride," you say, your hand hovering over the door.

"Anytime," he replies, his voice soft. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, "You know, people tease me about you a lot."

Your heart stops. "Yeah, I… I’ve noticed."

"I don’t usually react because… well, it’s private. And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable."

You blink, unsure of where he’s going with this. "What do you mean?"

He looks at you then, his gaze steady but warm. "I mean, I do like you. A lot more than a colleague should. But I didn’t want to assume you felt the same way."

Your breath catches. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind racing to process his words.

"I…" you start, but your voice falters.

He smiles, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You don’t have to say anything now. I just thought you should know."

The warmth of his hand lingers long after he pulls back. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you. For telling me."

He grins, that boyish, gentle grin that made you fall for him in the first place. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Joshua."

As you step out of the car and make your way to your apartment, your heart feels lighter than it has in months. Maybe, just maybe, the office gossipers were onto something after all.

#fic #story #au #svt #seventeen #svt fic #joshua hong #svt joshua #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen x y/n #svt imagine #svt scenario #joshua imagine #joshua scenario #joshua hong imagine #joshua hong scenario

40 notes · View notes

lonelyisamyw-0love · 3 days ago

Text

Hymn to Virgil

Moon knight HC’s

Dedicated to @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction for being an incredible friend and encouraging (bullying me) into writing more lol 💖💖💖 (Merry Christmas Eve friend)

Summary: reader is singing new Hozier song, Hymn to Virgil. The boys overhear them singing at different points. None of the boys have ever heard reader sing so this is their first impression.

Marc

• Hates being moon knight, hates the fighting, the guilt, the heaviness

• He lands lightly on the balcony where you’ve left the window open for him

• He tells you not to (for safety reasons), but you do anyways (he deserves a warm welcome home)

• His suit recedes, the injuries incurred long gone but the soreness feels bone deep as he climbs through the window

• He hears music playing that’s nothing new, you practically always have background music playing

• But he can hear something over it…he walks around to the kitchen and is sees something that makes him forget Khonshu, forget being a protector of the travelers of the night

• You’ve cooking dinner, unaware of him singing softly to yourself

• You turn to a picture of you and Marc last year on a picnic he planned

• One of the rare occurrences he was just…him

• Smiling you sing the lyrics “I would burn the world to bring some heat to you” as you trace his face in the photo.

• Marc doesn’t realize he’s crying til he sniffles and your turn around, startled

• You rush over, wiping the tears from his cheeks, checking for injuries when he gently takes your hands in his

• “Did you mean that?” he asks you in a soft voice, thumbs rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hands. “w-what you said-sang…did you mean it?”

• You think for a moment, you were just singing in the moment but the pieces slot together

• You flip your hands to pull Marc into a hug, gently rubbing his back

• “Of course I do Marc”, you murmur softly. “I’d do anything to make sure you were happy and taken care of”

• Marc feels something crack in his chest, a warmth long forgotten filling his chest as he pulls you into a vice like grip

• You stand in an embrace as the song continues to play, Marc murmuring soft “thank you”s against you

Jake

• You’re mouthing along to the music playing through Jake’s car speakers as he pumps gas

• “Hey cielo…let’s skip the holiday party tonight” you say, turning the music down and leaning out the window towards him

• He quirks an eyebrow at you as he finishes with the gas “You sure Cariño? You were looking forward to it all month”

• He slides back into the driver’s seat, kissing your cheek softly. The engine turns over with a gentle purr and soon enough you two are back on the road

• You gaze out the window, watching the world pass by “I don’t want to go if they’re going to be weird around you” you reply softly

• One hand rubs circles on your thigh as he drives “Cariño, you know we don’t care what people think. I am happy to get dressed up and be your arm candy” he chuckles, the sound a soft rumble that always makes you smile

• You try to think about how to put your thoughts into words: how you don’t want Jake to have to dress up for people whose opinion don’t really matter, how you’ve heard some of your coworker’s snide remarks about your boys in general, how you’d rather be with him than them

• Serendipitously you catch the lyrics of a familiar song playing and smile. “Hey Jake?”

• He hums in acknowledgement, keeping an eye on traffic when you sing softly, reaching over and softly kissing his cheek

• “I wouldn't be seen walking through any door/ Some place that you're not welcome to”

• If Jake wasn’t already smitten with you, he is full-blown, head over heels for you now. His heart fluttering in his chest “¿tu cantas?”

• You chuckle and nod “occasionally. But did you hear the lyrics? I’d rather-“

• Jake nods as he changes lanes and makes a U-turn “si si, I heard you and it makes me so happy to hear that. But you-tu voz… we’re making a pit stop and then going home”

• Your chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh “where’s the fire? Where’re we headed now cielo?”

• Jake smiles and laces his fingers with yours as he drives “to get some vinyls so I can hear more of that angelic singing”

Steven

• You decided to stop over at the museum to surprise Steven on his lunch break, sneaking him some vegan treats you made. Nodding along to the music in your headphones until you hear the grating sound of Donna’s voice.

• “Your ‘ead must be full of cotton Stevie. Don’t know what I’m thinkin’ keepin’ you on staff” her voice sets you on edge, but you steel your own emotions as you hurry inside to see Donna standing with her arms crossed chewing her gum obnoxiously as Steven stands there trying to advocate for himself.

• If that wasn’t bad enough, there are still customers in the gift shop. If you were upset before, you’re incensed now.

• “Donna if you would jus-” Steven tries to interject but Donna carries on “Should’ve fired you when you vandalized the bloody toilets.”

• You walk over, excusing yourself as you pass other customers. Relief flooding his features as he sees you. Donna turns to see you approaching, giving you a snide look-over.

• “Hi hun, I wanted to come and stop by for your lunch break. There wouldn’t be any reason that’s stopping you from being able to go on the uninterrupted 20 minute break that you are legally required to have…right? you ask, looking pointedly at Donna. There are several gasps from the customers in the gift shop

• Donna looks at them, as if she is suddenly aware of all the eyes on her. Fuming, she stalks off muttering to herself. You frown as she leaves and take a deep breath before focusing on Steven again.

• Steven runs his hand through his curls, taking a deep breath “thanks love. You always show up just at the right time don’t you?”

• You smile and put the “Out on Break” sign on the counter as the customers meander back into the lobby or out of the museum.

• Walking hand in hand, you two sit on the steps outside. A nice breeze blows as you hand him the small container. “Here. Made fresh this morning.” Steven’s face lights up and takes the container. He hums happily as he bites into one “you should be on one of those shows love. Better than most actual chefs.” You smile and roll your eyes; you’re pretty sure you could burn something to a crisp and Steven would still love it.

• “Oh! I’ve been listening to this song a lot recently. I wanted to share it with you” You hand him a headphone and begin it over again.

• He shifts slightly closer to you, loving this shared experience as Hozier’s voice sings out to you both.

• Steven smiles at you, literal hearts for eyes when you turn to smile at him. You reach over and run your fingers through his curls, the way he enjoys as you sing “I do not do this for myself/ I'd walk through Hell on living feet for you”

• Stevens eyes widen as the words register in his brain. It’s as if in that moment it’s just you and him in the world. You’re not even sure he’s breathing, and to be fair, he isn’t either. But he couldn’t care less.

• You sang. You sang to him. You serenaded him and he doesn’t think he can ever hear another song that isn’t sung by you ever again

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight headcanon #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x reader #headcanons

25 notes · View notes

margeoww · 2 days ago

Note

So like queen idk if u have instagram but like recently the leclercs went to Mexico so can we maybe get smthn REALLL angsty where its like carlos x leclerc reader and she’s not too close to the family. (not on her part mainly charles and arthur) and they go on vacation without telling her and she’s like sad. You can have more ending if u want

💐 anon

a/n: okay, let me know if this is what you wanted. because I understand the point but not too much.

Left Behind

back to my masterlist

pairing: carlos sainz x leclerc!reader

summary: left out of a family vacation, you confront Carlos about the secrecy and the growing distance with your brothers. Tensions rise, but Carlos’ heartfelt apology offers a chance for reconciliation and understanding.

warnings: angst, themes of exclusion and insecurity, emotional confrontation.

The early morning sunlight crept through the curtains of your shared apartment in Mónaco, but the warmth on your face did little to ease the growing heaviness in your chest. You scrolled through Instagram absentmindedly, your feed filled with glimpses of familiar faces. Your brother, Charles and Arthur. Both smiling and laughing under the mexican sun.

Charles had posted a picture of himself sipping on a cocktail by the pool, Arthur had shared a video of their group riding ATVs through the desert, and then there was Carlos—your boyfriend of two years—posing in the same photos, his trademark smile shining brighter than the sun.

And yet, no one had told you about the trip.

Not a single word.

Your throat tightened as you swiped through the posts. You hadn’t even known they were leaving Monaco, let alone heading off to Mexico. What hurt most wasn’t the secrecy — it was the reminder that, despite your efforts, you were still an outsider in your own family.

You’d always known that Charles and Arthur shared a bond you could never quite penetrate. They were close, the kind of brothers who had their own language, their own inside jokes. As their sister, you loved them deeply, but there had always been a sense of distance, a silent barrier that set you apart.

And Carlos… he had fit into their world so seamlessly. You’d seen it from the beginning, the way he joked with Charles like they’d been friends forever, the way Arthur looked up to him. Sometimes it felt like Carlos belonged with them more than he belonged with you.

You sighed, setting your phone aside and staring blankly at the ceiling. The questions swirled in your mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Why didn’t they tell me? Did they think I wouldn’t care? Or… did they just not want me there?

The sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts. Carlos walked in, a small carry-on bag in hand. His face lit up when he saw you, but his smile faltered when he noticed the expression on your face.

—Mi amor. —he greeted, stepping closer. —What’s wrong?

You crossed your arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. —You tell me, Carlos. How was Mexico?

His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your tone. —Mexico? How did you—

—Instagram. —you interrupted, holding up your phone. —Charles and Arthur have been posting non-stop. Seems like everyone had a great time. Everyone but me.

Carlos sighed, running a hand through his hair. —I can explain—

—Can you? —you snapped, your voice trembling.

—It wasn’t like that. —Carlos began, his tone pleading. —It was a last-minute thing. Charles invited me—

—And you didn’t think to invite me?

Carlos hesitated, guilt flashing in his eyes. —It wasn’t my place to invite you. It was your family’s trip, not mine.

The words stung, each one hitting like a blow to the chest. —My family —you repeated bitterly. —Right. The family that always makes me feel like I don’t belong.

Carlos stepped closer, his expression softening. —That’s not true—”

—Isn’t it? —you challenged, tears brimming in your eyes. —They didn’t want me there, Carlos. And you went along with it. Do you have any idea how that feels?

He reached for you, but you took a step back. —I thought you were on my side. I thought… I thought I could count on you.

—Mi amor… —Carlos said softly, his voice heavy with regret. —I never wanted to hurt you. If I had known this would upset you—

—You should have known —you cut him off. —You should have thought about how I’d feel. But you didn’t.

The tension in the air was suffocating, the silence between you deafening. Finally, Carlos broke it.

—You’re right —he admitted in a whisper.

His apology caught you off guard, the sincerity in his voice cutting through your anger. You looked at him, searching for any hint of dishonesty, but all you saw was regret.

—I love you —he continued, stepping cautiously closer. —And I never want you to feel like you’re not enough. Not with me, not with anyone.

Your resolve faltered, but his words didn’t fill the emptiness in your chest. You took a small step back, letting the distance between you speak for itself.

—I don’t know if it’s that simple, Carlos —you whispered, avoiding his gaze. —I can’t keep feeling like an outsider.

Carlos froze, his expression pained. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped. He took a breath, and his shoulders slumped slightly.

—I’ll do whatever it takes. —he said quietly. —But only if you let me.

You didn’t respond, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. The love you felt for him was still there, but so was the hurt, the lingering doubt.

Carlos nodded, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with understanding—and fear. —Take all the time you need.

He didn’t try to close the distance again, and you didn’t move to close it either. Instead, you stood there, two people caught in the uncertainty of what came next.

The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside, a reminder that the world kept turning even as yours felt stuck in limbo.

#carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #fanfic

31 notes · View notes