#and people who wouldn’t even try another cultures food

[maple-keagan]

An opinion I have that would probably be a hot take anywhere else but is lukewarm on tumblr is that i think hating on picky eaters is more childish than being one. Like why does it make you so upset that someone has a limited list of foods they enjoy. Unless you’re a parent/guardian who has a hard time making meals for everyone in your care, that does not affect you in any way dawg.

It’s especially childish when it comes to hating on people who complain about the texture of food. “I hate it when people blame their picky eating on hating a texture!!” Thinly veiled ableism aside, that has to be the most valid reason to not like a food!! Someone eating mushrooms makes them feel like they’re gonna throw up, and you’re MAD?? You’re MAD about that??? GROW UP!!

[tongue-like-a-razor]

hangman request incoming ‼️‼️

so the reader is best friends w rooster and whenever she’s around hangman he’s always quite rude to her, only bc he’s harbouring huge feelings for her which he isn’t very used to. then maybe he goes too far and rooster needs to talk some sense into him (reader could be a pilot or just a close friend of rooster’s)

SORRY i’m not great and giving requests but i hope there’s something in there that you like !

Ahhhh I LOVE this request!! And I really loved writing this piece, which may or may not turn into a series.. oops I couldn't resist haha

Less Talk | Part I

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Masterlist

“Do you ever not have an opinion?” Jake watches you irritably before taking a long swig of his drink. He needs the alcohol to calm his nerves so that he doesn’t inadvertently push you off your chair.

You glare at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A nice, safe space for Seresin to dominate the conversation without opposition.”

Jake lets out a steady breath. No one riles him quite like you do. “We’re talking about food, Y/N. It doesn’t exactly have global ramifications.”

“Actually, it does,” you respond matter-of-factly. “And are you saying I shouldn’t have an opinion unless it is ground-breaking in nature? Maybe I should just sit here quietly and look pretty.”

“Ha!” Jake cackles. “I would love to see you try.”

“Hangman!” Bradley, who’s sitting to your right, gives him a disapproving look.

You make a grimace. “I will never give you that kind of satisfaction.”

Jake meets your gaze with a hostile look. The thought of you satisfying him in any way sort of disorients him. He makes a face at you because he can’t deny that if you were to just sit there in silence, you would be exceptionally pleasant to look at. Pretty, even… maybe. Instead, he says, “How the fuck does eating avocado toast for lunch have global implications? I would love to know.”

“The recent surge in consumption of avocados - thanks to health nuts such as yourself - has led to an unprecedented increase in price to the point where those people whose culinary staple for generations has been the avocado cannot afford to keep it their diet.” You fold your arms over your chest to drive your point home while Jake just stares at you, speechless. No other woman in the world has ever rendered him that. He glances over at Bradley who is looking back at him with a slight grin. Just when Jake thinks you might be all talked out, you add, “And don’t even get me started on the environmental burden of growing enough avocados to sustain the whole of North America’s health culture.”

Jake blinks at you. “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“The avocado trade is contributing to local violence and extortion” – you continue, but Jake cuts you off.

“Okay, okay!” he says. “I’ll never eat an avocado again.”

“Just quit spreading your avocado propaganda!”

“It’s not propaganda! They’re actually good for you!”

“How wonderful it must be living in a world where your needs come before everybody else’s,” you say bitterly.

“Can we please talk about something other than avocados?” he says tiredly, his eyes sliding to Bradley in a plea for assistance.

“If you’re looking for a topic on which I do not have an opinion” – you say, but Jake interrupts you again.

“Does such a topic exist?” he asks flatly.

You roll your eyes at him. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re the one who should talk less?”

Jake nods. “Certainly. I should talk less to you. Because you’re driving me crazy, lady.” He stands up after having downed the rest of his drink. “I’m getting another beer and, when I return, I’m going to have a conversation with my good friend here, Rooster.”

Bradley shakes his head and looks over at you. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bitter, bitter man.”

“A bitter man who needs to be schooled on occasion,” you mutter.

Jake turns to look at you with wide eyes. He slides back into his seat. “I heard that,” he says dangerously, inclining into the table.

“Good,” you respond, leaning forward so that your noses are nearly touching. “You were meant to.”

“You are so fucking annoying,” he whispers, his eyes slipping momentarily to your mouth as you lick your lips.

“Hangman, come on, don’t be a dick,” Bradley says, also putting his weight into the table in an attempt to intervene.

Jake’s eyes are still scanning your face as you glare at him without moving away. The truth is, he could probably listen to you talk about the problematic export of Mexican avocados for hours just to watch your mouth move and to hear the passion in your voice. But he’s tired of the tunnel vision he experiences every time your boyfriend ditches you and you end up going out with your best friend, Bradley Bradshaw. This is the fifth time this month that you’ve accompanied Rooster to ‘guys’ night out’ and it’s becoming more and more difficult for Jake to shake you after each successive evening of relentless verbal sparring.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake can see Bradley slowly inching off the table, having realized that he may be a third wheel. But Jake doesn’t need him to be some sort of wingman in this bizarre scenario where he may or may not be completely in love with an unavailable woman who happens to be an expert at pushing all his goddamn buttons. Normally, he would remedy this kind of matter with a good old romp in the hay but, considering the fact that you are in a relationship, this option is, unfortunately, off the table. Besides, he’s not entirely sure it wouldn’t have the opposite effect on him, anyway.

But, despite all the reasons for avoiding your pull, Jake can’t look away, not even for a second; not even to get another beer. He moves his face a millimeter closer to yours, just to see what would happen; not because your breath smells like Peach Schnapps and not because your eyes are absolutely destabilizing him. His nose is about a split second away from brushing yours when your phone buzzes on the table. You flinch, withdrawing immediately, leaving Jake to watch you try to frantically pick it up. You shoot him one last intimidating look before rising from the table.

“Hey, babe,” he hears you say as you walk away.

“What’s your deal, man?” Bradley says as Jake watches you step outside.

Jake shakes his head solemnly. “Doesn’t she have other friends to play with?” he asks. “Why’re you always babysitting her?”

Bradley fixes Jake with a knowing look. “Hangman,” he says with a suggestive squint to his eye. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Jake stares at Bradley. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to tell you that your bestie is a pain in the ass, Rooster.”

Bradley’s jaw hardens. “You’re way out of line.”

“Come on, I can’t be the only one who finds her absolutely infuriating. The girl never shuts up!”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “And you don’t, at all, find that sort of thing attractive?” he says sarcastically.

“Attractive? I find it immensely aggravating, actually.”

“So aggravating that you argue right back every time,” Bradley points out with a smirk. “Movies, books, social constructs. Last week, I heard you guys bickering about space waste. What do you even know about space?”

“What does she know about space?” Jake responds angrily, pointing toward the door with his entire arm.

Bradley leans back in his seat with a sigh. “I know that you don’t actually hate her, Jake,” he says. “You can stop pretending.”

“Who’s pretending?” Jake looks up at him aggressively.

Bradley purses his lips. “What if I told you that her boyfriend is a shithead?”

Jake’s jaw tightens but he continues to stare at Bradley coldly. “Why the fuck would I care?” he says.

Bradley returns his callous expression before looking away. “Been trying to get her out of that relationship for months.”

Jake lets out a sigh. “She’s a grown-ass woman, she can decide for herself if she wants to end it.”

Bradley nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Jake rises from his seat, his eyes unintentionally drifting up to check if you’re still outside. He sees you pacing back and forth through the big window of the bar. You look like you’re arguing. Big surprise. “Want another beer?” he asks Bradley.

“Please,” Bradley says.

Jake nods at the cocktail you’ve been drinking. “She going to have another one?”

Bradley shrugs. “Probably, unless you’ve pissed her off enough that she decides to leave early.”

Jake scoffs. “She’d be doing me a favor.”

Bradley shakes his head with a laugh. “I don’t even know what she’s drinking, man.”

Jake shifts his jaw. “I do.”

Bradley gives him another piercing look. “Shocking,” he says with a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up, Bradshaw,” Jake says under his breath as he walks away. He glances back at the window behind which you’re now waving your arm around aggressively and yelling into the phone. He tears his gaze away from you, frustrated with himself for even giving a damn.

For some reason, he feels a painful pang in his chest, like he’s jealous of whomever it is you’re tearing into. You’ve never gone off on him quite like that and he can’t help the resentment this fosters. He tries to suppress the impulse to go out after you and rip your stupid phone right out of your hand. That would surely reclaim at least a fraction of your attention. Then maybe he could do something unexpected; something that might persuade you to channel your passion in a more constructive way.

He orders three drinks and walks back to the table with the beers before going back for your cocktail. When he returns, he exhales sharply, giving Bradley a humorless look. “Why’s her boyfriend a shithead?” he says, feeling his hands forming into fists before Bradley even has a chance to respond.

But, right when Bradley’s about to speak, you walk back into the bar.

Read Part 2

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this piece! It's my first Hangman story, so let me know what you think!

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Twice Buried [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@i06gyu) Center (@@mickisnotclever) Right (@sleepinginthelibrary)

Prompt: Aaron finds out about the depth of pain the reader went through in her childhood and he can’t let the wrongs done to her go without risking their relationship, so he takes matters into his own hands. 

Pairing: Aaron x BAU!Reader, fem!Reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns 

Category: Angst/Comfort 

Word Count: 14.9K

Content Warnings: Mention of childhood sexual abuse [reader] hoarding, gross bugs, phobias [reader] mention of food and drink, character in distress [reader] mention of death of a family member [reader]. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! It has been a good while since I’ve posted a fic. If you want that whole, what happened in Levi’s life recently story, feel free to check out my other posts. I can’t promise fics will be written and posted as often as they used to be, but I am still writing, and I still love Aaron. Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/n had been reserved since joining the BAU. Everyone noticed it. Worse than Emily, who had made a special kind of splash by crash landing ‘by accident’ on the team. But y/n had been far from an accident. She’d been on an arranged agent swap with the General Directorate for Internal Security or the GDIS for short on their anti-terrorism team. After the ‘Je Suis Charlie’ incident in 2015, the U.S. was afraid of similar incidents happening in the States and had sent a few agents abroad to get a better grasp of the situation and then report back to the FBI and the Pentagon. y/n had been one of those agents. When she spotted a similar trend online that indicated that another attack was imminent she acted in time. The information had been found in a private Discord Server which Penelope had helped hack. The ring had been larger than any of the team could imagine, and having y/n on the team had been a help. It wasn’t a long time later before Dave sent y/n an invitation to join the team for a prolonged period of time. y/n had agreed. Getting an invitation to be on the BAU was like winning the lottery, and she hadn’t won anything in her life before, so she wasn’t going to give up this one chance to make something of herself. 

The change from y/n’s original team to the BAU had been a culture shock, even though she’d been on the team for a short time before. Her somber and almost aloof attitude while in the office had rubbed some of the team the wrong way. Aaron had to remind them that they all had a period of adjustment, except for Spencer, who was basically raised in the FBI. All of the original members of the team had laughed at that and agreed with Hotch. However, time passed and yes, y/n had gotten better. She was less aloof, and the team realized they had mistaken that first emotion for a closed-offness that y/n kept herself in. 

She was marvelous at redirecting conversations back to another member of the team, or vaguely answering without really giving any solid details. If their group had normal people, they wouldn’t have even noticed, and it was clear to all of them that y/n’s former team had been the same way too. However, the BAU relied very much on knowing each other, even if it wasn’t all the gory details, Hotch for one had never opened up about his younger years, but hints were appreciated, so they could keep each other safe. 

For example, if the team hadn’t known how bad Spencer’s drug problem had been, they wouldn’t have been able to protect him from the legal ramifications of his actions. They had protected him from that. But over time, y/n had stayed wary and guarded, though she had started attending events with the team outside of work which was an improvement. Finally, JJ stepped in and told y/n, respectfully, if she could just try and talk more to the team. They wanted to know her and cared about what she thought. This had hurt y/n at first. She felt betrayed and that she’d let her new team down. y/n knew JJ was saying this in good faith and not to demean her in any way. She’d experienced that before and this wasn’t that. So, slowly, y/n had started talking more and giving her thoughts on things. She still stayed mostly quiet about herself. Why would remain a mystery to the team for a long, long, time? 

Once when the team was out for a post-case, late-night meal, they were talking about and laughing, and Aaron was sitting across from y/n. He had paid a lot of attention to y/n. In some small ways, she reminded him of Elle, and he felt like he had failed Elle in some fundamental way when she had ‘left’ the team. No matter how much better y/n had become at sharing her emotions and opening up, there were still obvious tells that Hotch could perceive around a topic that made y/n wary. Things like family, or childhood, or the past. When these conversations started, as one had that evening, he watched as y/n’s face fell flat for just a micro-second. When her normally pretty expression changed to this, Aaron imagined y/n as a marble statue whose bright paint had chipped away decades ago. Someone stuck in a moment of anguish forever. y/n always snapped out of it, and the other members of the team didn’t seem to notice it, but Aaron did. He wondered what was behind those moments of affectless expression. It bothered him, but he didn’t pry. He hoped, that when the time was right, y/n would find the courage to open up herself. But he wasn’t going to pressure her into a confession. That was against his moral compass. He knew from personal experience that it was harder to speak about difficult things when pressure was added. 

The team kept trekking on as the summer moved into the fall and a few more facets about y/n were discovered. The team was on a case in the Midwest. A small town off the beaten track where an unsub had been finding more and more gruesome ways to kill people. It was halfway through the case and the team was going back to the hotel to catch some sleep before the start of another day. 3:00 a.m. at a small motel was oddly liminal, and Hotch felt a sense of unease as they all trudged to their rooms. y/n was next to him on the left and he walked with her up the stairs on the outside of the building toward their rooms. y/n covered her mouth as she yawned. She’d told Hotch it was okay, that she could walk by herself, but he insisted he go with her. He didn’t like the idea of y/n walking around outside at this time of night, even if it would be under a five-minute walk. 

y/n could feel her legs lagging up the stairs as she was so tired. She’d done a lot of physical work that day and her brain and body were protesting. As y/n lowered her hand from her mouth and said, “Sorry. Hotch. I’m so ready for bed.” What she was trying to say was that she was moving slowly, slowing him, and his long legs down from getting some sleep. Even though y/n wasn’t very clear with her words, Aaron understood what she meant and was about to say that it was totally fine, but as they reached the landing, an eerily human-child-sounding scream came from the dimly lit parking lot. 

This shocked y/n and Aaron into awareness, and Hotch, subconsciously pulled y/n quickly behind his body. He could feel how tense y/n was. How on edge as her hand brushed his side to look around his body. He held his hand out to the side to keep her back in case it was a dangerous situation. Thankfully, a long second later, there was a thump and another sound as a skinny coyote scampered away from the dumpster in the corner of the lot. Both Aaron and y/n deflated and Hotch turned to look at y/n, and they both chuckled at how frightened they had been at the presence of an animal. They finished getting to their rooms and y/n raised a hand saying, “Night Hotch. See ya in the morning.” Aaron shot her a hint of a smile and said, “Sleep well, y/n.” 

Aaron moved into his room and turned on the lamps. The walls were paper thin in the motel, and he heard as y/n moved around in her room just a wall away from his. Apart from that it was relatively quiet for a bit as Hotch got out of his black slacks and into the grey sweatpants he normally slept in during cases. They were soft and worn in a way he liked. He had just slipped on his classic white short-sleeved shirt from his suitcase and was just moving toward the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth when there was a yelp from y/n’s room, then a crash and the hurried steps of y/n running toward her door. He heard the rusty hinges scream as y/n moved outside and he wasn’t far after her. Outside he caught y/n putting her hand on her chest, breathing heavily and looking more than a little distraught. Before he could ask if everything was alright, Morgan came dashing up next to y/n and placed a hand on her back asking in his husky voice, “Everything alright, y/n? What’s going on?” Morgan was panting too as he had run up the stairs when he’d seen y/n come out of her room the way she had. 

y/n cleared her throat and forced herself to visibly relax and take a breath before saying, “It’s nothing really, just a bad bug. Sorry, I might have overreacted.” Hearing this Derek let out a large laugh and said, “Wow, you really had me scared there for a second. Who knew that you could be scared by a bug? You’re always so stoic, y/n.” Hotch watched y/n laugh, but he could tell it was fake. Morgan continued, “What was it y/n? A spider or a scorpion? Want me to get it for you?” y/n smiled at the ground and said, “Nah, it’s fine. Thanks for the offer, Morgan. I was just surprised when I opened the bathroom door is all.” Derek shook his head and said, “Alright, well if you find any more nasty surprises in your room you just give me a call and I’ll sort it out for you.” y/n nodded and said, “Will do, Derek. You’re the best.” Morgan nodded and gave y/n a pat on the back and then moved past Hotch to get to his own room. 

Aaron caught that y/n hadn’t elaborated on what the bug species was, and he noticed that she seemed to greatly relax once Morgan had made a joke of the whole situation which was clearly adversely affecting her. Once Derek was in his room, Hotch checked in saying, “What was it, y/l/n?” y/n’s head snapped up as if she’d forgotten he was there. y/n dropped her eyes to the ground again and said, “I don’t want to say it Hotch.” Aaron nodded and gently replied, “Does it start with an ‘r?’” y/n cringed but nodded yes. Aaron let out a breath and said, “You want me to get it for you?” After a moment, y/n looked up at Hotch, and he could see that she was embarrassed for being in this situation in the first place. Hotch moved a hand to y/n’s elbow and said, “y/n, I don’t mind. I know they’re gross.” Finally y/n looked at him and said, “Okay. Thanks, Aaron.” Hotch nodded and stepped inside. He kept his eyes mostly trained on the open bathroom door which light was spilling out of. He couldn’t help himself from seeing some of y/n’s more private clothing items on the bed before he moved his eyes safely to the stained carpet. 

In the bathroom, the roach was comfortably hanging out on the wall near the sink. It was like the bug sensed Aaron’s presence and quickly and unnervingly moved off the wall and toward the shower. Hotch grabbed a handful of toilet paper to get the bug. He pulled back the clear plastic shower curtain and the roach moved again to the nearest dark corner. Aaron didn’t like these bugs either. It was something about the way they moved that freaked him out slightly, but he was older, and a man, and he didn’t mind doing this for y/n if it made her feel better. With a decisive move from his hand, Aaron caught the bug in the white paper and he didn’t pay attention as the bug’s body made a crunching sound as he closed his hand around the paper. He quickly threw the chitinous corpse into the toilet and flushed it away before closing the lid and stepping back through the room. He scanned the room to make sure there weren’t any more surprise bugs and he noticed the shattered lamp which y/n must have tipped over when she ran from the room. He strode across to the side of the bed, picked up the small trashcan, and moved back to the shattered pieces of the lamp.

Aaron didn’t notice as y/n, who had been standing at the threshold of the room dropped her hands from covering her mouth, as she chewed on her nails, a nervous tick of hers, and back to her sides. She walked back into the room and next to Hotch and said, “Hotch, you don’t need to do that. I can sort it out. I’m sorry.” Aaron finished picking up the largest parts of the lamp, careful not to cut his hands on any of the glass. Only after he had finished this did he stand and say, “It’s not a bother, y/n. I’m happy to help. You should call the front office and have someone come and get the rest of the glass this morning, and if you use the restroom in the middle of the night, at least what’s left of it, make sure to wear shoes.” y/n nodded timidly, and exhausted and tried not to think about Hotch thinking about her moving around her room in the middle of the night. “Thanks again,” she said as Aaron moved to the door and shut it for the last time that night. 

Once Hotch was out of the room, y/n lay back on the bed so tired that she thought she might fall asleep right then and there. She thanked her guardian angel that she hadn’t seen the bad bug before she’d taken off her pants, because she would have run outside her room with or without pants on, and the idea of Derek, and more significantly, Aaron, seeing her in her underwear, she’d never live it down. After a moment, y/n turned her head to the door which she’d need to lock, and then toward the bathroom, which she still needed to use before she could fully relax. But given the bug and its essence that was left of it, no matter how small, y/n didn’t want to go back to the bathroom. She didn’t want to leave the bed. If she was younger, she’d have tucked her legs into her chest and stayed there for the rest of the night with all the light burning until the dawn sun illuminated her room in shades of pink and orange. But she wasn’t that little girl anymore, and she did get up and lock the door. She did put on shoes, as Aaron had suggested which felt good. It was nice and meant no glass pierced the soles of her feet and it meant she was off the ground. y/n knew this was silly, a coping technique she’d built for herself over the years, but it did give her the strength to quickly wash her face, brush her teeth, and put patches on her acne. By the time this was done, y/n moved back to her bed, turned off the lights, and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

In his room, Aaron moved back to the bathroom and took a shower before getting under the covers. He looked at the ceiling and realized that he’d learned more about y/n in his interaction with her that evening than he had in their whole time as Unit Cheif and supervisor. He pondered if he was wrong for wanting to know more about y/n. Why she was so closed off? What it was that she had to hide. He couldn’t help himself for thinking it was funny that she didn’t like bugs, but he couldn’t blame her for it either. It was never fun to have unwanted company, human or otherwise. He fell into the oblivion of sleep with a look of shame and perhaps gratitude as y/n had let him go into her room and take care of her unwanted guest. 

Aaron didn’t make many more discoveries about y/n until a month later when it was close to 5:00 p.m. and he was sitting in his office. There was a soft knock on his door and he looked up to see y/n peaking into his office. He sat up a bit straighter and said, “Come in, y/n. Do you have a question about something?” y/n shuffled into the room and kept looking at the floor before she finally raised her eyes and met his. He could see that she was biting the inside of her cheek before she said, “I have a favor to ask you if you’re willing. If it’s too much then no worries at all, you just seemed like the right person for this problem I’m having.” Hotch’s eyes widened in surprise. What could y/n possibly need from him that someone else couldn’t offer? He hoped his intrigue didn’t play out on his face as he motioned for the chair across from his desk and said, “Well, let me know what we’re dealing with and then I can let you know. Is it a work thing? Please tell me it’s not a Drake-type of situation again, is it?” He was concerned now and looked at y/n’s face closely for signs of distress. 

Drake had been an agent, who was quickly reassigned to a small HQ in Seattle who had made some untoward comments toward other female agents, including y/n. It had been y/n who had gone to JJ, and JJ who had gone to him to reveal the whole situation. When Aaron heard this he got so angry that he stood, placed his hands on his desk to steady himself before he sat back down, and asked JJ to tell him everything she knew as he grew more and more disgusted by some of the male agents in the building. He’d taken the situation to HR and made sure that y/n nor any of the other female agents were named in the official complaint before going to Strauss and basically demanding a transfer for Drake or outright termination. 

Aaron was thankful when y/n nodded her head no and said, “No, Sir. Nothing like that,” as she sat across from him. He pushed aside his laptop so that there wasn’t anything blocking their view and he waited for y/n to say what had brought her in. After a moment of silence y/n let out a breath and said, “It’s really silly, actually…” Hotch stopped her from continuing by leveling a friendly glare at y/n which made her stop and try again. y/n swallowed and said, “Well, last month there was a leak in my apartment that never got fully fixed. It was livable, but I think there’s mold in my unit now which I think has made me sick again and off again for the last two weeks. I need to get it tested, but I was wondering if there was something in my lease that I might use against my apartment complex to break my lease?” y/n looked over at Hotch. His large brown eyes only seemed more intense in the low light of his lamps. She knew he was listening to her, wanting all of the pieces of the puzzle she was trying to tell him so he could help her. That was one thing y/n loved about Aaron. He never ignored anyone on the team or anyone in need of help, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed some help. y/n continued by saying, “And, well, I’ve tried reading my lease a few times but it doesn’t make any sense to me. There is a clause about mold, but I can’t figure out the legal jargon. I was wondering if you could read it over for me if it’s not too big a bother.”

Hotch could see y/n rubbing her hands together softly on her legs, a self-soothing gesture she was prone to when y/n was stressed. He let out a little breath and said, “Of course I can, y/n. I’d be happy to help you.” He paused before adding, “I can also probably fix your leak issue while we work out the logistics of the lease. If there is mold, and you did get sick from it, there might be grounds for a civil suit, if you wanted to take legal action that is.” y/n’s face settled into one that was relaxed, and replied, “I’m not sure if I have the energy for that. I don’t even know if I have the energy to move. I’d just like to have the option. To know that I have an option.” Hotch nodded in understanding but didn’t say that. Instead, he stated, “Well, how about we set up a date for me to look over the lease and or your apartment if you want? I’m open this weekend if that works for you?” Hotch felt strange almost inviting himself into her home. He could easily read y/n’s lease in the office, but something told him not to. 

Although Hotch was far from a Marxist he didn’t believe in bringing personal work into the office. He would happily take office work home, but not visa versa. Also, by throwing out an open date for him, which he didn’t often have, he hoped y/n would realize that he did want to help her, not only with her legal issues but with her apartment which was apparently falling apart and making her ill. The idea of that bothered him more than it should have. Aaron was forced from his own head when y/n said, “Yeah. That works for me. Um, what time would you like to come over?” Surprised that y/n would let him of all people, into her space he replied, “How about 9:30? Is that too early for you?” Again Aaron was faced with the fact that he hardly knew anything about y/n. Did she wake up late on the weekends like Reid? Did she work out like he and Morgan did? Did she go out with friends to brunch like Emily? Did she have a boyfriend or girlfriend to wake up to like JJ did every morning? Not all of this information about his teammates had just been told to him, but he knew it nonetheless, and being so bereft of details about y/n’s life made him feel like he knew nothing about her, even if that wasn’t true.

Aaron’s eyes moved up as y/n said, “Hotch, Hotch. 9:30 is great for me. Is it okay with you?” Hotch felt awkward having been caught unaware twice by y/n in the course of under an hour. Aaron replied, “Yes. Sorry, I’m distracted today, y/n. Can you text me your address and I’ll put it in my calendar?” y/n smiled and replied, “Sure thing, Hotch. Thank you for the help.” Aaron nodded and said, “Let me know if you need a place to crash before Saturday. I bet the Bureau can get you a hotel room or something. I don’t think staying in a place that might be making you sick is in the best interest of the department, or my agent.” y/n tried to hide her smile at Aaron’s concern for her. He was trying to mask it too, but not very well. She told him she’d let him know and left his office feeling better than she had in some time. 

That Saturday was the first time that Aaron saw y/n’s apartment. As y/n walked him toward the AC unit that had been leaking, he tried to look around without it looking too obvious. His eyes scanned the kitchen and living room and then he moved into y/n’s small bedroom. They were chatting about their days so far, and as Aaron sat down on the floor, y/n handed him Philip’s head screwdriver to remove the grate from the crawl space below her AC. y/n asked, “So you really run five miles every Saturday morning? How do you deal with the heat? I’m tempted to just stay in all the time during summer.” Aaron let out a chuckle and said, “I think you build up the tolerance. And I wear a lot of sunscreen. They say fresh air is good for you, especially if you’re living in an apartment with mold.” Hotch had meant the statement as a joke, but when y/n didn’t laugh, he bit his tongue and hoped he hadn’t offended her. He didn’t mean to, but by the time he was formulating a response, he noticed the drip and the simple fix to the issue. An issue that the repairmen who had been there a few times already should have easily fixed weeks ago. He grunted slightly as he inched his way forward on his elbows with a wrench in one hand and a flashlight in the other. 

This time in the small space did give him the opportunity to think about y/n’s place a bit more. It was old but decently maintained, and it was clean. When he’d done the walk to get to this part of the house, he hadn’t thought much about it. But now as he saw normal signs of an older building, cobwebs, stains, and dust, he realized he’d seen very little of that in y/n’s space. It was like the apartment was staged, waiting for the photographers to come from Architectural Digest to get their pictures and get her opinion on the Pantene color of the year. y/n didn’t have a lot of things. Her furnishings were sparse but looked comfortable enough. But inside, Aaron had the feeling that maybe somewhere, storage, the attic - there wasn’t one - a closet, there were boxes of things that gave meaning to y/n’s life that she’d neglected to put out or up. Hotch sighed as he tightened the bolt that was allowing water to drip down the side of y/n’s pipes. There were multiple spots like this. It would take a while and some maneuvering on his part, but Hotch didn’t mind. This reminded him of his first apartment in college, but that was much more of a mess. Living with three other guys, it was bound to happen, even if he kept his space relatively clean. 

It took Hotch a few minutes to finish up the work on the leaks before he wriggled back into the bedroom. y/n extended a hand to him, and he took it as he stood with a small grunt. He was happy he hadn’t changed out of his workout clothes because being in such a confined space had made him even more sweaty. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and said, “Well, I think I have it all fixed down there, except for a small puddle from the leak. I can clean that up for you if you like.” y/n nodded her head no and said, “It’s fine, Hotch. You’ve done so much already, I can clean it up in a moment. I’m a bit, picky, with my cleaning habits.” Aaron nodded and said, “I get you. Reid is the same way.” y/n gave an understanding nod, and Hotch looked over y/n’s shoulder to the pictures neatly framed on y/n’s far wall. There were a few with y/n and some friends, maybe some from college and a few from her years in Paris. The photos had good composition even if they were only shot on an iPhone. Even though he had said it, Aaron knew Spencer wasn’t the same as y/n. They both cared for cleanliness, that was obvious, but there was something different about y/n that he couldn’t pin down. Some facts that he felt he was missing. 

Aaron wiped his dusty hands on his shorts and y/n said, “Do you want to wash your hands? Who knows what kind of gross stuff is under there.” She eyes the open grate and Hotch replied, “Yes, please. It’s not actually that bad down there, just dust mainly.” He chose not to talk about the spider webs, given y/n’s aversion to bugs. He’d swept away the webs anyway so she wouldn’t have to see them. y/n pointed Hotch to the door of the bathroom and he stepped inside closing the door He took a minute to look at his reflection. He didn’t look as sweaty as he felt, which he was grateful for. ‘Why does it matter?’ Aaron asked himself as he rinsed off his hands and then added a generous amount of hand soap into his palms. As he lathered the soap and then rinsed it off Hotch tried to quell the thoughts which had subconsciously been growing since he’d seen y/n looking frightened at the motel. If he tried hard enough, he could play them off in his head as protective, a fatherly gesture, but in his spirit, he knew this wasn’t true. Hotch dried his hand and pushed his hair around a bit until he liked how it sat. His ego nudged him whispering, ‘Vanity, Hotchner.” He snorted slightly and left the bathroom before he could get more in his head about his appearance. That wasn’t the point of him being here in the first place. 

By the time Aaron stepped back into y/n’s room, she had added three of the four screws back on the grate and into the wall covering the gaping hole that had been there. y/n looked up at him and smiled as she said, “Well now that you’ve helped me fix the leak I don’t think I have a reason to sue the landlord.” Hotch pressed his lips together before replying, “Well that might be true, but I think if your apartment is using a subcontractor for maintenance you could sue them for not knowing how to do their jobs.” y/n chuckled but as a big fan of not having any extra confrontation in her life, she didn’t think she’d be taking Hotch up on that offer. Instead, she asked, “Could I pay you back with a coffee, Hotch? There’s a good spot two blocks over. I was going to go there anyway to hang out for a bit.” Before the logical or even aware part of Aaron’s mind could respond he said, “You don’t mind going out with me looking like this?” His self-consciousness side blurted out what he was trying to avoid thinking in the bathroom. For a second Aaron felt like chucking himself out y/n’s bedroom window as he internally cringed so hard that his stomach hurt. 

y/n took a moment to process what Aaron had said and she stopped herself from scratching the back of her head in confusion. “‘You don’t mind going out with me looking like this?’” What the hell did that even mean? Did Hotch know how he looked? How her seeing him in something that wasn’t a suit had almost taken her breath away and sped up her heart rate three times past normal? She had thought as he worked on her AC, his body half buried in the wall, ‘He could send out a warning if he’s not going to show up in a suit. Good god, give a girl one chance not to be fucking lusting over her boss.’ She had been embarrassed by the thought, as Hotch clearly was embarrassed now. To not make the situation any more strange than it was and tried humor saying, “You mean like a guy wearing shorts and a Nike shirt?” y/n never knew if jokes would work with Aaron. He seemed to have a very sharp wit and she never knew where jokes would land with him. Thankfully this one worked and Hotch let out one of his rare laughs, shaking his head slightly at his inability to keep unwanted thoughts in. At least he hadn’t made a comment about y/n, who he thought looked lovely in her more relaxed outfit. After a moment of silence, he blinked and said, “Well alright then. You lead the way, though your apartment should be paying you for having to deal with this.” y/n chuckled and grabbed her purse as Hotch got his keys and wallet from the counter. They spent the next half hour chatting comfortably about work or people in the office, and whatever came up naturally. It was pleasant for both of them to just be allowed to relax in the presence of the other for once. When they had finished, Aaron thought for a moment that he understood y/n better. He did, but the most enlightening thing he would learn about y/n would come later in the year, and when it did, it hit Hotch like a load of bricks. 

It was September, and the weather was just starting to get cool in Virginia. The crispness of the air had the team in mostly good spirits. The latest cases had been easier.  Hotch was sipping his coffee from a cup Jack had given him for Father’s Day last year when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up from the rim of his cup to see y/n pop into the room and close the door behind her. After he’d helped her with her apartment, she had been more relaxed around him, and came to him every now and then with questions she still had about past cases or current files the team was supposed to do. The forms were often asinine and useless you’d been working in the department for years. Every time y/n made an appearance, Hotch had to settle himself and act calmly. It reminded him so much of the first time y/n had asked him for a favor. When she had been a new agent and afraid to disappoint him and the rest of the team. But this time was different and he could tell. This wasn’t y/n being shy to ask for help, or ‘checking in on him’ as she said when she had no reason to be in his office but inexplicably wanted to be there anyway. When y/n stepped in there was no attempt at a dad-joke. Instead, she was looking at his carpeted floor and there was an aurora of burden that came with her. 

Hotch was up and out of this chair before the words, “What’s happened, y/n?” left his mouth. y/n swallowed dryly and looked up at Aaron. He could see her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. y/n sniffled and stepped forward, leaning against the edge of Aaron’s desk as she said the easy part first, “I need some time off. A week or so, maybe more.” Hotch nodded his head in understanding saying, “Of course, you can get all the time you need. Can you tell me what happened, please?” There was silence, and y/n looked at her hands as she shakily replied, “My mom died yesterday. She made me the executor of her estate, so I need to go down to her house and work some things out with her will.” Hotch moved from his side of the desk to y/n’s and gently wrapped her in a hug. He could feel her shaking against him. He held her without much force, just giving her something softer to cling to than the sharp edge of his oak desk. y/n was grateful that Aaron had moved to this position. That she didn’t have to look at his face which was filled with worry. And she could not only hide her sadness but also her shame in the crook of his neck and shoulder. After a comfortable amount of time, y/n stood back and asked, “Can I leave now, or do you want me to stay till the EOD?” Hotch’s grip on y/n’s arms tightened slightly as he looked down at her and said, “Of course, you can leave now. I’ll send HR a memo. The team will help you if you want y/n. I’ll help you with anything you need. You just have to ask.” 

y/n sniffled and ran her hand under her nose which she knew was unbecoming of a federal agent, but she was past spent and decorum had seemed to go out the back door with the news that she would need to return to her childhood home. A place she had avoided for many years now. Her behavior repulsed her, expanded by her sense of shame. She didn’t want anyone with her for this. No one could see, and no one on the team could know. Still looking down, y/n said, “Thank you, Hotch. Can you just tell the team that a family emergency came up? This situation, it’s, it’s private, and I think I need some time to just get my head around it.” 

Hotch nodded in understanding. He had had moments when the rug had absolutely been ripped from underneath him. Aaron felt that there was something more going on, but he knew now was not the time to pry. Instead, he said, “Yes, of course, y/n. Can you just send me the address of the spot you’ll be staying at so I can give it to HR. They’ll ask you for it anyway, so if you let me know I can help you skip that step.” y/n looked at Hotch and said, “Sure Hotch. Thanks. I’m just going to get my stuff and go.” Aaron let y/n go and he watched her walk to his door, turn, and raise a hand half-heartedly before saying, “Thanks,” one more time and slipping out the door as quietly as she had come in. 

Hotch felt a tug at his chest. There was a small feeling of dread that he couldn’t not feel after y/n had left the room which made it hard for him to do anything else than send the forms to HR on y/n’s behalf. He leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh. He hadn’t once heard y/n talk about her parents. He knew that they had existed. It was on her transfer paper and application to the BAU. Clearly, the government had to know pretty much everything about a person to hire them into the inner ranks. But unlike Reid and Morgan, and occasionally Emily, y/n didn’t relegate any details about family around the team. He had always pictured her as an island, alone. At that moment Aaron decided that he would check in on y/n often in her absence. He hoped it wouldn’t ruin the trust they had slowly built between them, but his conscious wouldn’t let him not make sure she was okay because something inside him told him there was more going on here than simple grief. That feeling only grew worse as three days passed and y/n didn’t answer any of his calls and only one of his texts asking if she was okay, or if she needed anything. He’d offered to send her food, or coffee, or anything to her hotel, but there had just been one text: “Sorry Hotch, I’m too busy to think about this right now, thanks for the offer, I’ll take you up on it once I have more finished.” 

On the fourth day, a Saturday, Hotch couldn’t take the silence anymore. He knew he was pushing it, but he had y/n’s hotel address and the address of her mom’s house because she said she’d be at both pretty often working on things. Aaron thought it was absurd that the FBI still asked for a mailing address when someone went on leave. It was like asking for a fax number when everyone had a cell phone in their pocket. That was what made y/n’s non-response so jarring. As Aaron put the second address into his GPS, he was surprised to see that it was only a forty-five-minute drive away. He considered that y/n probably could have stayed at her apartment if she wanted to, but as Aaron got further from the city and into the exurbs, past the exurbs even to roads in disrepair, closed CVS’s franchises, and mobile homes, he realized that this juxtaposition from the luxury and safety of the city to this could be exhausting apart from all the emotions and work she was doing. Aaron wasn’t exactly surprised by what he saw as he got further and further away from Quantico. He knew the makeup of Southwestern Virginia, but the poverty of the area never failed to make him take a hard look at what had once been a thriving community. He didn’t want this part of y/n’s past to affect how he saw her. Not that he’d ever judge her for living in a place like this, but with her life being so guarded, he couldn’t help but make assumptions about why she had remained quiet so often. 

When Hotch got the the far edge of one of the many trailer and mobile home parks it was easy to find y/n even if she hadn’t answered his two calls that morning. The only thing Aaron needed to see, y/n’s old car, was parked outside of the mobile home at the far edge of the plot. There was no house number or mailbox to indicate he was at the right place, but he knew he was. He parked beside y/n’s car and stepped out of his. As he walked closer to the house and locked his car doors he noticed the very rundown state of affairs at the domicile. Most of the windows were covered with cardboard and mildew was creeping up the edge of the fake wood siding of the housing. A few feet away from the front screened door the small assaulted his nostrils and he had to take a few deep breaths through his mouth to stop from being ill. The scent was distinctly one of rot, waste, and decay. With his arm over his mouth, Aaron wondered if y/n’s mother had died and been found a few days or perhaps a week after she had been deceased. The thought appalled him for y/n’s sake, and the idea of her being inside the home made him quicken his steps to see what was going on. 

Aaron moved up the two cracked and chipped concrete steps. He knocked on the gnarled screen door. y/n had kept the inner glass door open to get better air circulation of air in the room. Hotch swallowed and softly shouted, “y/n? y/n, are you in there? It’s Aaron.” The sound seemed to be absorbed into the house, the doors gaping mouth sucking everything into its blackness. The inside of the house was dim. Hotch couldn’t see any lights on and there seemed to be piles of stuff near the door half blocking it. Before Hotch stepped inside he thought that maybe the piles of boxes might be y/n packing up her mother’s things to get rid of or sell. However, after a minute of y/n not answering, Aaron decided to move inside the home and realized he was wrong. Hotch had to open the door and slide through the opening sideways to fit around the boxes which he realized were a fire hazard right away. As he was about to call to y/n again, Aaron’s eyes adjusted to the room and the words died on his lips. 

The front room of the small mobile home was filled with stuff. Boxes upon boxes were piled on top of each other. Many of which seemed to be growing mold or deteriorating. The boxes at the bottom were falling apart and yellowed or brown. The floors were also filthy, sticky, and littered with debris. As Aaron moved his way carefully further into the room he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer number of things around him. Not only were the boxes and trash overwhelming, but the scent had gotten considerably worse now that he was inside. After Hotch passed another pile of boxes, papers, and files he noticed that in the far corner was a couch which had one cushion cleared of garbage. It was the only clear spot he had seen in the house at all. Not that the couch cushion was clean, it was stained and smelled, but it didn’t have stuff on it. Aaron was coming to the realization of what y/n had grown up around as he rounded the corner into the kitchen area. 

This space was different and yet the same as the rest of the house. In the kitchen the windows weren’t covered up, so there was more natural light which highlighted the clutter even more. This clutter also wasn’t in boxes. It was on the counters and piled in all of the corners and crevices. The scent of rot was so bad here as boxes of discarded food, possibly years old sat on counters and in the sink. There were plates and cups forgotten and even as Hotch surveyed the disgusting scene he could tell there were bugs festering in the piles of rotting paper plates and unfinished coffee cups. There was one trash bag, half full of stuff sitting on top of one of the piles, but that was the only sign of life that Aaron could sense. From how bad the hoarding looked, he assumed that this had been going on for years, if not multiple decades. 

Hotch was fully in the kitchen and had almost forgotten why he was there. He was so surprised by what he was seeing that when y/n, who was very confused as to why her boss was inside her deceased mom’s house, rounded the corner, she was startled at his presence. Aaron whipped around effectively knocking a pile of things off of the metal folding table onto the floor. He watched as if in slow motion as a glass half of a puss-colored liquid crashed to the ground and broke. It seemed so loud in the small confines of the house that seemed to absorb all sounds into its piles of decay. He and y/n looked at the mess he’d made for a half second before a number of bugs, bugs that Aaron knew y/n didn’t like scurried out from the pile on the floor, and from the kitchen counters and onto the walls. y/n saw the bugs as clearly as Hotch and nearly jumped out of her skin swatting and brushing herself, afraid that some had gotten on her. Her breath had picked up and Hotch could see that y/n might be sick. Hotch’s instincts kicked in and he didn’t even apologize or explain why he was there. He simply knew that he had to get y/n out of this house. As far away as he possibly could. He stepped forward ignoring the retreating bugs looking for cover in some other dark corner of the room, took y/n’s arm in his, and started leading her toward the front door. y/n was trying to say something to him, ask him a question perhaps, but the blood was pumping in his ears and his heart was thumping in his chest. He’d answer any questions y/n had once they were outside. 

Aaron didn’t care that some boxes fell as he pushed the pile in front of the door out of the way. He could feel y/n shaking now and he wrenched open the screen door and followed her out, down the stairs, and into the front yard. y/n was still shaking and patting herself down like she might explode into flames while looking for bugs. Hotch stepped forward assertively and stilled her hands as he thoroughly brushed her off from her arms and shoulders, then down her chest and legs. He then moved to her back and did the same thing. When he did find a bug, he brushed it off and didn’t say a thing about it. When he got back to y/n’s front, she was breathing harshly through her teeth but seemed to calm down as she asked, “What are you doing here, Hotch?” 

Hotch looked at y/n and her eyes were telling him two stories. One was logical, “Is there a case? Did something bad happen? Do you need help?” and the other was everything else, “I didn’t want you here, go away, can’t you see what I’m going through?” Aaron felt terrible for how this had ended. He hadn’t expected this, but he knew the best answer was the truth, so he said, “I was worried about you,” and nothing else. y/n sniffled and wrapped her arms around herself before looking over Aaron’s shoulder and into the house. y/n spoke the truth too, Hotch could always tell when she was lying: “I didn’t want anyone to see this.” Aaron swallowed and nodded, replying, “I know. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t known of course, but now he did, and all he could do was apologize. 

y/n composed herself. Putting her emotions back into all the boxes where they belonged and stood waiting for Hotch to say or do something. She knew if she started whatever conversation was about to happen she’d break, and she never wanted that. It was the thing that she had learned since leaving home; her secret weapon. Lie, tell half-truths, don’t show your emotions. Don’t let them know where you come from or who you really are, because if they knew, they’d never understand or give a damn about you. Slightly delusionally, y/n hoped that Aaron would get back into his car and leave, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. That he didn’t know her secret, and when she came back from leave, he wouldn’t say anything. He was kind, maybe he’d forget for her sake? 

Aaron watched the emotions play across her face like a silent film star on the big screen. It was only a series of seconds before y/n was back to the person he knew. The silence was intense and instead of leading with his emotions, Hotch tried to think logically. He assumed if he went from the heart he’d say something or ask a question that would distance y/n from him forever. So instead he asked the first logical question that came to mind, “Have you been in the house long?” Hotch was concerned that y/n might get sick again, this time from real mold and whatever other bad things inside the home, though his brain could think of little else apart from y/n not only as a child but an adult in such squalor. 

y/n’s soft, “No” had him relax. One thing was for sure, if he could avoid it, he wouldn’t be having y/n go back in there. Hotch looked back at y/n as she continued speaking, “I’ve mostly been in my hotel looking over the legal documents and trying to set my mom’s debts in order. And arrange some kind of funeral, though I doubt people will show up. She was kind of a recluse near the end of her life.” Aaron nodded along, grateful that she hadn’t spent much time here. He looked around the yard, unwilling to leave y/n here in this state, but also awkward about how he’d discovered this part of her past that she had so desperately hidden away like the trash inside. Aaron composed his next sentence carefully and asked, “Is there anything important that you need inside? Any of your mom’s documents, or items that have value?” Hotch tried to sound sincere in his words. He meant them, but with so much stuff inside, most of it looking like garbage, he knew it could come off as sounding condescending or like a joke. 

y/n thought for a moment, shifting uncomfortably on her feet before saying, “All the important stuff is out like her documents and stuff. I really should go back in and start cleaning. I rented a dumpster out back for the week and it’s not going to fill itself.” Hotch appreciated that y/n was trying to be lighthearted through this, but he shook his head no, replying, “I’ll hire someone to come and clean up. y/n. I don’t want you going back in there.” He didn’t phrase it like a command. On this account, he had no authority apart from his care and growing feelings for y/n. 

At Aaron’s offer, y/n looked back at the house from which she had fled so many times. Could this be the last time? Could she walk away and never look back? Never feel like she was slowly being buried alive by junk and trinkets and trash? She took a breath of clean air and considered that maybe she could. Maybe this was the end she had been dreaming of for so long. Maybe someone had finally come to save her from this hell. As she was about to turn around and say, “Yes, please. Let’s do that,” to Aaron, a single item crossed y/n’s mind and she paused. She looked up at Aaron and truly asked for help for the first time in a long time. “There’s a stuffed rabbit inside. It’s in my room I think. Could you get it for me?” In asking this of Aaron, she was opening herself to him almost wholly. It was an invitation for him to see all of the parts of herself that she had hidden. It was the chance to be ridiculed as she had by friends in childhood who came over and saw how she lived. It was the chance for men, older men, to not even come inside and leave her mother sobbing in the front yard. y/n was already swallowing back the tears when Aaron would say no and leave her. It was all too much for most people. It had been too much for her too. She wouldn’t blame Aaron as he drove away to something safe. To a clean apartment and shower. To a son who loved him. To someone who was no longer his wife, but someone who still cared. Given that choice, how can you pick the former? 

“Where’s the bunny? Is it a certain color?” The questions almost knocked y/n off her feet. She took in more air before saying, “It’s in the very back room. It used to be my bedroom. It’s pink with a white nose and long floppy ears.” Aaron nodded, shaking off his coat, ready to go back inside. As he moved past y/n, she grabbed his arm and said, “You don’t have to do this Hotch. It may not even be in there.” They both looked at the home and this time Aaron tried to be optimistic as he said, “y/n, do you really think your mom got rid of your childhood stuffie?” y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the ludicrous question. She let Hotch go and watched as he entered the house while her heart was trying to figure out what to do with itself. Since she had heard the news of her mom’s passing, she was on the precipice of a very high and ragged cliff face. All she would have to do was fall and everything would be over, but Aaron was like the pair of strong arms that held her back. Asking if this was what she really wanted. 

Aaron went back into the house once more trying to ignore the smell. He carefully pushed past the kitchen and into the narrow hallway. There was hardly room for him to squeeze his broad frame though. He found himself coughing a lot as particulate matter got into his system. Once out of the darkened hallway, he moved to the final door at the end of the home, peaking into the two other rooms, the main bedroom and the bathroom which were somehow worse than the front of the house. The farther he got back the more the trash piled up. He paid no mind to what was on the floor or what he was stepping on or over to get y/n what she needed to be rid of this place. He’d have to look up hoarding more thoroughly now. He’d been to a few homes on cases in the past where it had seemed to be an issue, he’d even had to call CPS on one family so they would get their act together. However, this was the worst case he’d ever seen, and he could only imagine what it was like growing up in an environment like this. Hotch had so many questions he felt like asking, so many ideas running through his mind, but he knew he’d have to be sensitive. Now was not a time for an interrogation. Now was the moment to remind y/n that he would support her. That he could be there for her, and if he couldn’t say the other things he might want to, the things he kept hidden himself, the least he could do was that. 

Hotch had to push open the door harshly to get into the back room. It was so dark inside that Aaron pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on. This sent multiple bugs and what Hotch assumed was a small rat scampering into the dark. Aaron was surprised at how overwhelmed he could be by this problem, but even being in the house for a few minutes had him desperate for space and clean air. y/n’s apartment made total sense to him now. There was no clear path in this room and Hotch moved over whatever he needed to to get to the far wall. Under a window that was also covered with cardboard, he found a twin bed. It was mostly clear of stuff apart from the detritus in the room and he wondered if y/n or her mother had kept that one space clean. He was thankful to see the stuffed animal was on the center of the bed, old and stained brown by some substance of unknown origins. Aaron picked it up and moved as quickly and carefully as he could back out of the house. He attempted to look like he wasn’t running out of the place to not make y/n feel worse about his being there, but there was no hiding that once he was outside he felt so much better. He drank in the air like water and had a final fit of coughing before he moved toward y/n. 

The very sight of Aaron with her old stuffed animal had y/n near tears again. She could have lived without it, but it had been a single constant in her life and it was a reminder of everything she’d lived through. Having it felt like a trophy: “I made it. I’m here. Look at where I am now.” As soon as Hotch handed the bunny over with his long arms, and once y/n’s hands were around the worn-out toy whose fur was all but gone where she had hugged it as a child, she broke. There was nothing or no one that could have stopped her from pulling the rabbit to her chest and crumbling to the ground with sobs that wracked her body so hard that it hurt to breathe. Hotch watched as she crumbled to the ground and he ran forward trying to catch y/n, but she slipped out of his grasp like oil. y/n was curled in on herself and shaking and Hotch bit the inside of his lip. He moved slowly, not going to make any surprise moves on y/n’s fragile mental state, as he lowered himself to the ground. Once on his knees, Aaron leaned forward and placed one of his large hands on y/n’s back. She didn’t pull back from his touch, either too overwhelmed to do so, or comforted by him. Either way, after a moment Hotch leaned in further and covered her more with his body, anchoring her to something other than the ground and herself. 

It felt like a long time, like forever until y/n’s cries weakened and her breathing evened out. y/n let her body relax slightly, exhausted by her outburst. There were so many things y/n wanted to say to Aaron about how she was behaving. She figured this type of volatility could get her kicked off of the BAU, which is one reason she’d not wanted anyone’s help with this situation. She wanted to apologize but all she could say was the question that had been plaguing her for years, “Do you know what it feels like to have someone that’s supposed to love you chose absolutely shitty worthless trash over you? Do you know what that’s like Hotch?” y/n had spoken so softly that it was hard for Aaron to understand her, but the existential ache in her voice was one he knew well and he replied honestly, “No, y/n. I don’t, and I’m sorry you have to ask questions like that to yourself.” There was another loaded pause and y/n let herself go fully limp. Hotch hadn’t left yet and there was nothing left to lose if she just let go for a moment. She’d spent her energy, there was nothing left to give. Hotch supported y/n’s body, never letting it fully lay on the ground. He looked over her and said softly, “Let me get you to your hotel, y/n. Or just away from here, okay?” 

y/n nodded and Hotch helped her to her feet. She leaned on him heavily. Letting him take her anywhere but here. The pair was moving toward Aaron’s car when they stopped. y/n looked up from the ground to see what the issue was and why they had stopped. As soon as she saw who was approaching them, she froze. Went absolutely stiff as a board, and if Aaron hadn’t been there she would have fallen over, but her hands gripped onto his shoulder like a vice and she could feel him flinch but not move away. 

Aaron saw the man walking their way slightly later than he’d liked. He was leading y/n toward his car. He was going to take her to the hotel and try and get some food and water in her before making any more suggestions. But this new man, though he seemed harmless could pose a problem to him getting them out of there as fast as possible. The approaching figure walked with a limp and was probably about fifteen years older than Hotch. When he stopped he could feel y/n stop too, bumping into him slightly. He could feel her eyes lift past his shoulder where y/n’s hand was resting and the change in demeanor was so drastic that he could feel it. The coldness and stiffness radiating off y/n signaled her discomfort along with her harsh grip on his body. Instinctually he moved in front of y/n. Whoever this guy was, he was bad news. Hotch’s protective stance didn’t stop the man from walking about a foot from them and saying in a weak voice, “y/n. Is that you? It’s hard to believe it’s you. I haven’t seen you in years.” The man spoke like Aaron wasn’t even there, and there was an awkward pause when y/n should have responded back in some way but didn’t. That didn’t stop the man from continuing like nothing odd was happening here and saying, “I heard about your mother, y/n. I’m sorry… I just wanted to come over here and let you know.” y/n’s grip tightened on his shoulder even more but he didn’t grimace, and when y/n replied in a voice so void that he wouldn’t believe she was there if she wasn’t holding him so tight, “I’m sure you are,” Aaron knew something terrible had happened between them. No one sounded like y/n without it, whatever it was, it was bad. 

That was when the flip switched on in Hotch and he moved in front of y/n totally blocking her from view. If looks could kill the man in front of Hotch would have been found in cardiac arrest so bad that it seemed medically impossible. Aaron didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to as the man finally noticed his presence and almost wilted on site. The man opened his mouth and extended his hand out a millimeter but then just as quickly shut his chapped lips and turned on his heel moving as fast as she could without it looking like an outright sprint toward another building further in the neighborhood. 

Once the man was out of sight, Aaron moved y/n to his car and opened the door for her. She slipped into the passenger seat and was back to her early state in the BAU. When she would lose all affect. Hotch helped buckle her in and then got in on the driver’s side. He started the car and turned on the AC, it had gotten surprisingly warm and Hotch felt flushed and he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or something else. The pair didn’t talk during the ten-minute drive to y/n’s hotel. However, Hotch looked over at y/n every now and then to make sure she was still with him. It felt like if he didn’t stay tuned in on her she might slip away to a place he’d never be able to find her again. At the hotel, Hotch asked y/n what her room number was and she said, “251” and handed over her key fob. Hotch took it in his hand and led y/n inside and up to her room. If a stranger walked past them they might think something sketchy was going down. y/n looked drugged from her state and Aaron was like someone taking advantage of that opportunity. But there was no one there to see them, and for that, Hotch was grateful. 

y/n slumped into bed and Hotch sat down on the edge of the mattress. He knew that he needed to give y/n space. To let her rest and recover herself from what must have been a terrible day even though it had only been an hour that he’d been with her. He’d ask her if she’d like him to leave or stay, but first, he asked, “y/n, who was that guy?” For the first time since they’d gotten to the hotel room, y/n looked at Aaron and said in a whisper, “Don’t make me say it, Aaron. Please…” Hotch needed and put his hand on her shoulder and nodded. He didn’t need to know. Inside he knew, and he realized in that moment he wasn’t leaving y/n alone. Not ever; she’d been alone for too long and he’d help her change that if she wanted that. 

It wasn’t until a few months later, when the air had cleared and the skies stopped looking perpetually gray that y/n told Aaron what he had asked months ago. This was after they had been dating for a while. He knew almost everything about her now. He had found out the main source of her shame and after that there had been little to hide from him, thus beginning a relationship had been natural. She had asked him many times why he came that day and his answers varied, but the theme was consistent. “I was worried about you. I had a bad feeling. I just needed to be there,” and whatever other motivation Hotch might have had conscious or not y/n didn’t question them. He’d come when she had needed someone and now as they were laying next to each other, in their pajamas and a sheet over them she’d tell him the rest. 

y/n rolled on her side and ran her hand down Aaron’s sharp jawline. His stubble was slightly growing out, and she knew he’d shave it later that day. His dark eyes found hers and a hint of a smile on his face. y/n said, “Hotch, you once asked about that guy, in my mom’s neighborhood. Do you still want to know?” Hotch’s eyelids closed slightly. He was thinking through this offer. It wouldn’t change anything about how he thought about y/n. He had the utmost respect for y/n and how she had handled her life after all the terrible situations she’d lived through. And this would be no different. He knew he’d respect y/n for how she’d acted in whatever situation she had been put in, but his response wouldn’t change. Because of that he honestly replied, “y/n, if it would bring you peace and make you feel better then I’d like you to tell me. If it would make you feel bad or change anything then I don’t need to know. I’d like to know, but there are parts of ourselves that can stay hidden if it’s for the best. I trust you to know what’s best.” 

y/n had a feeling this would be the response from Aaron. He always was so considerate of her and her past. She knew that even though Hotch said he wouldn’t look at her differently, there was the nagging feeling in her mind, that was always in her mind, that the truth would push whoever she was with away. And even if it was slightly selfish, y/n loved Aaron so much that if she had to lose him, then she’d rather be the one to cut the cord sooner rather than latery/n let out a deep breath and said, “I’d like to tell you.” y/n paused before adding, “I’ve never told this to anyone before, so if I get confused or it sounds weird, I’m sorry.” Hotch nodded with understanding. He placed his hand on y/n’s arm and looked at her with encouragement. 

y/n got that far-away look in her eyes as she did when she thought about the far-away past. However, he could tell that she wasn’t fully immersed in the memories as her thumb glided over his knuckles. Aaron wondered if it was too painful to fully go back there, but either way, he was ready to listen. y/n took a shallow breath and said, “My mom’s… problems… have always been there. She used to tell me that it had nothing to do with me. I got that, or I tried to, but even if the hoarding wasn’t about me, it still affected me. It still made me smell funny and made it hard to do homework, or hard to eat any normal meals. When I was very young I just assumed everyone lived like we did because we were pretty isolated.” There was a break as y/n bit the inside of her lip as she decided how to continue. When she had her timeline as clear as her mind would allow, she continued her story: “When I got old enough to go to school I had a real wake-up call and I figured out that what I was living wasn’t ‘normal’ as I had believed. This meant that I got out more often, which I was glad about and I joined as many clubs and sports as possible to stay away from home. But I was like, eleven, so there weren’t a ton of options and we were poor, but I did what I could.

This was a blessing and a curse because I made some friends, but I never told anyone about what it was like at home. It was too embarrassing for me. My absence and meeting new people gave my mom time alone to buy more stuff without me around and it gave her a chance to meet some new people too. You know my soccer coach, or drama friends mom’s and dad’s.” Aaron nodded. y/n was slowing down, which he sensed meant that the story was going to get harder to tell from then. y/n swallowed and continued, “Mom started bringing guys around, drinking and stuff, but none of them would stay once they saw what her place was like, and I don’t blame them. Then one day one of your neighbors, that man that talked to me when you were at my mom’s house was over. I found them together more and more at home, so I thought they had a thing. I was surprised that he stuck around. Rumors fly in that type of environment. One day when the house was really really bad he told me I could spend some time with him at his place if I wanted somewhere clean to study.” Hotch’s brows pulled together. He’d heard these stories time and time again and the pit in his stomach balled into a knot. 

“I thought he was being nice, at first. It was nice for a while, but he, you know, he made me pay him back for his kindness. Aaron pulled y/n into a tight hug and whispered, “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry.” There was a tense pause before Hotch asked, “Did you ever tell your mom?” y/n tensed and he knew this was the point that was tormenting her. Not that any of what she had said before wasn’t incredibly inhuman and cruel, but there were strong feelings attached to what was coming next. y/n was silent as she nodded her head yes. She sobbed into his chest and rasped out, “I did tell her after it got bad. She… she didn’t believe me. She didn’t want to believe me, because that man was someone who was willing to live and sleep with her delusions. I was the price of that relationship.” Hotch nuzzled his nose into her shoulder and whispered, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” over and over again like a lullaby. After y/n had soothed slightly, she said, “I never told anyone else, Aaron. I let it fester, and I was scared. But… what if he hurt other people after me? Other kids? I can’t live with that. This job, our job, I thought it would make my guilt feel better, but no matter how hard I try it doesn’t go away.” 

Aaron pulled up a bit and wiped away y/n’s tear-stained face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and so sad. Hotch shook his head and said, “y/n, you were a child. So many people failed you. I imagine you were clinging to what you knew. The only thing you knew. No one can blame you for that, and if they do, that’s on them. I am so sorry that no one was there to protect you then. I’m here now, no one, no one will ever hurt you like that again, and if you want to talk more about this, I’m ready to hear you. If you want comfort, I’m here. If you want to speak to someone, a therapist, or a lawyer, I’m here. I’m here,” Hotch echoed again making sure she knew that she’d never be put in that place again. As long as he was alive, it would never happen again. y/n relaxed against him. She felt so much lighter having said everything. She knew Aaron, and she knew he was speaking the truth - he was there for her and he would be as long as she wanted him to be. Aaron, despite his flaws, was committed, and he didn’t give up on things. y/n rested her hand against his heart and felt it beating under her palm, steady like he was, and for the first time in over a decade, she had nothing to hide from someone she cared for. 

Hotch was sure to be careful with this new information y/n had shared with him. He had an even keel and he kept his promises. He had even more respect for y/n than before, and he treated her the same with that new knowledge. He knew that if he made a big deal of y/n’s situation that was not what she wanted. Like all things with their relationship, they took time with each other, letting what needed to happen do so in due time. However, even though Hotch could treat y/n with the same love, the knowledge of the man’s actions who had harmed her so severely ate at him. Not only that, but that he had seen him. That the man who had tormented someone so young and innocent was still walking around free of repercussions started a small seed of darkness in his spirit. 

Aaron normally didn’t let cases get to him, but whenever there were children involved he could only imagine Jack and now a young version of y/n in the same situation. Sometimes he dreamed of the man he’d seen in the trailer park. Dreamed of him dying in various ways. He knew it wasn’t good. He knew he couldn’t let him affect him this much, but there was no stopping the hatred that was growing in his heart. After a while, Hotch had researched the man and found out where he worked, and his criminal record. It was no shock that he had a long list of pretty crimes one of assault and battery. Aaron was always shocked by the freedom of information. It took him two days to find all of this out. He realized he was privileged as an agent, it was his job to find information about people, but even so, the surveillance state seemed to be getting worse every day and no one even noticed it. He pushed that thought aside as he glared at the address on the online yellow pages. He closed the private tab and sighed, making a not to delete all of these accounts once he got home and to call Jack and see how he was doing. 

After a few months of dreams about the man and y/n  that seemed to intensify in violence, Hotch knew that he couldn’t outrun this feeling of anger. It ran in his family, and he could normally control it, but this situation dealt with someone who was as close to himself as anyone had been, so forgiving and forgetting was not an option. Plus, the pervert who had hurt y/n didn’t deserve to be forgiven. He deserved what was coming to him. Aaron knew he couldn’t risk doing something like Elle had, even if that too was justified. He had far too many people relying on him, but he knew this anger wasn’t helping him, so with careful thought and research, he made a plan. Yes, couldn’t be a Batman-type vigilante doling out justice, but he sure as hell could instill fear into the hearts of weak, hurtful, and manipulative men, and that was what he was planning to do. 

He waited until the team was on break and y/n was going to see a good childhood friend. He knew she’d be so wrapped up in spreading her warmth with those around her that she’d not fully notice if he wasn’t as responsive as usual. This plan was only going to take two days according to his carefully crafted agenda. With the team on leave, he’d also be safe from a case calling him away and the other BAU members wondered why he was near the edge of the state and not at his apartment which was a forty-minute drive to Quantico. 

It was early when Aaron caught his 4:45 AM flight. He didn’t need to, he could drive to the trailer park easily, but he didn’t want to leave a clear trail behind his actions. He rested during the flight and knew that once his task was done, he’d be able to let this go and be fully present for y/n. To return the care she always gave him. He felt that he couldn’t love her unless he let this hatred go. The flight was short, less than an hour, and it landed in a small dinky airport on the edge of Virginia. He then rented a car from the airport and paid in cash. As the sun was fully lighting the sky, Hotch pulled up to the work site where the man he was after was sitting in an air-conditioned office, making sure workers didn’t get hurt on the job. When Aaron found out that that was what the man did, he could only cringe at the irony of someone like that keeping grown men safe but having such neglect for children. 

Hotch turned off the car and sat for a moment, tapping his hand on the wheel for a second. He was wearing work clothes, some he’d picked up at Goodwill two days ago. As he stepped out of the truck, he fit right in with the other men coming on the job. It was bound to be a hot day from the sun and lack of clouds. Hotch didn’t look at anyone as he walked toward the portable set of offices on the construction site. He stepped up the wooden stairs and entered the door on the left side. The man he was looking for sat in an uncomfortable-looking swivel chair, drinking a bitter cup of coffee. The man looked up at Aaron and eyed him over. Clearly thinking he was looking for a job, the man said, “HR is the door over. You’re lucky, we fired some guys yesterday.” Hotch clenched his jaw and didn’t say anything. The silence intensified and the man uncomfortably cleared his throat and said, “Can I help you with something?” Hotch let out a breath and locked the door of the office from the inside, trapping the man in with him. The man fidgeted in his chair, not expecting this kind of reaction and not having a clue what to do. 

Once Aaron was standing in front of the man’s desk he said, “There is something you can do for me. And you will do it, or you’ll regret the rest of your sorry life.” The man in the chair swallowed thickly and stuttered, “M-man what’s this about? Do I know you?” A tiny flash of understanding moved over his face but it went away as the fear returned. Given his response, the man clearly had more than one enemy, and perhaps this wasn’t the first time this kind of conversation had happened before. Aaron didn’t take the long road as he said, “If I so much as see you, or know that you’re around a child, ever, you’ll be in the ground before you can reach for your phone and try and call the cops.” A look of horror splashed the man like water and he took a bit too long to reply, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any kids man.” 

Aaron let out a breath and replied, “I don’t believe you. The way you’re biting the inside of your mouth right now tells me you’re lying. Also, the sex offender registry says otherwise. If you’re going to blatantly lie to me, at least be right.” Another minute of silence elapsed and Hotch continued, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me. So I’m going to say it once more. If I ever see your face near a kid, or in a paper, or near someone I care about I will end you, and you’ll regret every choice you ever make. If you think you can get away with doing something you’re wrong. Every time you pass a school, every time you sit in a pew, or at a restaurant you’d better be watching your back because I will be there somehow someway.” 

Hotch slammed his hands on the cheap wooden table, shaking it and the trailer as the man flinched away. The man closed his eyes, expecting to be hit, but by the time he opened his eyes, the large man who had threatened his life was walking out the door. 

Back in the car, Aaron pulled out, the man wouldn’t call the police, if he did, his criminal record who be brought up again, and questions would be asked. Questions the man couldn’t afford to answer. Hotch took his time driving back. He made a one-night stay at a hotel and saw a one-man play of Marx in Soho. He enjoyed the performance, but it was more of a cover-up than anything else. The team would ask him what he’d done while off and he’d have something to tell them for once. The next afternoon, he checked out of his hotel and drove back to the city. He arrived at the rental return lot in the evening, dropped off the car, and then got back into his own. As he entered the driver's seat, he felt the need to be with y/n. To have her presence relax him and to know that he’d done the right thing. He texted her to ask if she was back yet. As he started the car, he got a text from y/n saying, “Aaron, yeah I’m back. I got home this afternoon. I was just going to sleep early, I just got out of the shower. If you want to come a spend the night I’d love to have you here.” Hotch’s heart warmed at her response and he quickly texted back that he’d be over in a few minutes. 

When Aaron got to y/n’s apartment he parked in a visitor spot and grabbed his keys. He let himself in with his spare and closed the door with a soft click, locking it behind him. There was only the small stove light and lamp on in the kitchen and front room. Hotch looked into the clean space and called out, “Honey, I’m here. Do you want me to turn off the lights?” The soft reply from the bedroom was a simple, “Yes, please.” Hotch smiled and switched off the lights and then moved down the wooden hallway and into y/n’s room. 

y/n was just crawling into bed in her favorite night shirt when her bedroom door opened. She beamed at Aaron. Seeing him always made her feel safe, and even though she was tired, she was so happy for him to be here. “Are you staying tonight, or just stopping by to say hi?” Aaron looked around the room, feeling better being here already. Once he started slipping off his shoes and undoing the buttons on his shirt, y/n relaxed more into the bed now that she knew he was staying. When he was just in his briefs, Hotch dipped into bed and turned off the main light in the room. Under the covers he snuggled y/n from behind, breathing in her scent of moisturizer and shampoo. He stayed like that for a little while as they both got comfortable. y/n hummed her approval and whispered, “I’m sorry I’m not up for more tonight. Thanks for coming. How was your break?” Aaron kissed the nape of her neck and replied equally softly, “It was good. I saw a play you’d like yesterday. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” Aaron could feel y/n smile in front of him as she said, “Agent Aaron Hotchner, the man of culture. I can’t wait, love.” 

y/n was as tired as she sounded as she fell asleep a few minutes later. Hotch brushed her hair lightly and held her a little more tightly as he relaxed for the first time since y/n had told him the extent of what had happened to her. He couldn’t save everyone, sometimes it was too late, but this once, this once he was going to be there for someone. He was going to keep being there. As he drifted off, he was able to sleep and not have any dreams at all.

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Colors

IMAGINE: COLORS - ZORO X READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: soulmate au. a bit ooc? ****************

The world was rather drab in your opinion. Just black, white and grays. And to see color you have to meet a certain person, your soulmate to be more specific. 

You hated that idea. If you want to see the world at its fullest you have to depend on a single person? You cursed the deity that created it. You wanted to be an independent person, and falling in love only sounded like it was going to slow you down. 

So you continued to live life in monochrome, accepting to live like this. That doesn’t mean you hated every second of it. To make the best of it, you traveled to different islands, exploring different cultures and trying different foods. 

It was a good life. 

The island you were currently at was quite busy. People constantly bump into each other, shoving, just trying to get to their destination. You wouldn’t be surprised if there were any pickpockets in the area. You didn’t really like it, too many people. So you decided to head to the docks to find your little boat. 

However, it was gone. Someone had stolen it. Your day literally couldn’t get any worse. 

Your eyes gaze at all the other ships, trying to find one that you deemed worthy enough to get help. A ship with a sheep figurehead caught your eyes. It was rather… cute. 

You could see some people walking around on the deck. With a deep sigh, you mentally prepare yourself to play the damsel in distress. Forcing tears to sheen over your eyes, you climb up the ship. 

“Excuse me,” You softly say, tears becoming more fresh in your eyes as you try to catch someone's attention. 

“Hey! What are you doing on my ship?” You hear a boy call out to you. You look at him, seeing that he was wearing a straw hat and an open vest. You could tell he had his guard up, and you don’t blame him. It is his ship anyway. However, you could tell that it would be rather easy to convince. 

“Someone stole my ship… and now I’m stuck here. Can you help me?” “Huh, are you a pirate too?” 

What, a pirate?

You didn’t really consider yourself to be a pirate but if it pleased the boy in front of you, then you would say that you were. 

“Because if you are, then you’re a terrible pirate.” He says and you almost choke on your spit. 

“No,” you whisper while wiping away some tears, “I’m not a pirate. I’m sailing by myself.” 

The boy was about to say something until another woman appeared. 

“Luffy, who is this person?” A taller woman now stood behind the boy, a slight scowl present on her face. 

“I’m (y/n), and my ship has been stolen. I just need passage to the next island… I have berri to pay you with.” You say holding up a small bag of berri, since the rest of it was on your ship. Something that irked you even more.

As soon as the woman heard berri, her scowl lifted away and a bright smile graced her face. “Of course!” She says immediately grabbing the small pouch of money that you had. She walks off, not saying anything else. Leaving you with the boy named Luffy. 

“Welcome to the crew!” He excitedly says. You quirked an eyebrow, “uh. Not part of the crew. Just to the next island.” 

Luffy ignores you, “I’ll show you to the rest of the crew. That was Nami, she’s our navigator,” he grabs your hand and starts to drag you around the ship. He opens one of the doors, which led to a kitchen. A man stood over the stove, stirring something. 

The man sighs hearing the door open. “Luffy, how many times do I have to tell you-” He turns around, ready to scold the boy. However, he stops once he sees you. 

“Well, who do I have the honor meeting?” He walks over to you, with a suave smile. “This is (y/n), she’s going to be a part of the crew now. This is Sanji, he’s the cook” Sanji grabs onto your hand, and you just slightly shake your head, “oh no. Just to the next island.” Sanji brings your hand up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on it. “Well, I do hope you change your mind.” You nervously laugh at him while pulling your hand back, “thanks.” 

Luffy grabs onto your other hand, dragging you out of the kitchen. 

“This is Usopp!” He shouts pointing to someone with curly hair and quite a long nose. “He’s a-” “I’m the Captain!” He cuts off Luffy. “No! I’m the Captain!” 

The two start to bicker, causing you to sweat drop at their antics. 

While they are bickering, you decide to look around the ship. Your eyes caught a man that was sleeping on the side of the wall. He had three swords right next to him, and you wondered, who uses three swords?

Leaving the two bickering boys, you walked up to the sleeping man. Wanting to get a closer look at the three swords. However, when you are standing right infront of him, his eyes snapped open, looking straight into your eyes.

Suddenly, you could see this green hair. Something that greatly stood out to you. 

Wait. 

You could see the color of his hair. You could see every color around you. 

It was all too much. The sudden rush of colors causes your head to spin and hurt. There were too many colors that you’ve never seen or heard before. You didn't have time to process the fact that you were now face to face with your soulmate. You rush past the man, and lean yourself over the railing. It wasn’t long until you were puking your guts out. 

“Huh, I guess my first impression isn’t that great.” You hear the man speak and you inwardly cringe. He must think you’re disgusting now. 

You groan, pushing yourself up to face your soulmate. Now that your headache has calmed down a little, you were able to take a better look at the man. He was tall, and had a few muscles on him. The thing that stood out to you was his green hair. You weren’t expecting to meet your soulmate on a pirate ship, and an actual pirate nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t expecting to meet my soulmate. And the colors… and it was just too much.” You explain. The man hums in response, “I wasn’t expecting my soulmate to sneak up on me.” You purse your lips, “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you… I was just interested in your swords.” 

The corner of his lips twitched, and he was about to say something until Luffy jumped in between the two of you. 

“(y/n)! There you are! You met Zoro!” He excitedly says. “Yeah, we met. They’re a part of our crew now, right?” Zoro says and your eyes widen. 

It seems like Luffy wasn’t the only one who decided that you were going to be a part of the crew. 

“Shhiiishiiishii, yeah!” 

Zoro shoots you a look, one of amusement and just a little bit of smugness. “Welcome, I can’t wait to show you more about my swords.”Zoro walks away leaving you speechless and Luffy just a little bit confused. “What was that about?” He asks. “Uh, don’t worry about it.” You answer, “I just found my soulmate…” 

[callsign-rogueone]

hi liz!! how are you doing?

I just wanted to ask if you could do a halloween edition of all the girlfriends dressing up

hope you ok

hi!! I’m doing okay. long weekend this week 🥳

here are my thoughts!! I had the hardest time picking costumes for some of them that could be possible in their universe — so like not pop culture references or anything. and I added how they’d be at a party, too.

Duchess is the one hosting the party, despite it being Xaden’s house — he lets her have the reins because he doesn’t do holidays, even if they’re dark and broody. I’m stuck on what she would dress up as. her and Brennan might not, honestly, with the excuse that “they’re getting too old for this” but at the very least she’d wear a nice fall-colored dress, not her rider’s clothes. she also lets her hair down for the occasion, which Brennan likes very much.

Angel dresses up as an angel, of course. cute, peaceful, and a reference to her nickname from Garrick and the boys. it’s easy enough to put together; a little white dress and a halo. Gare is a big fan of the exposed leg and the wings she’s got on. he’s going to try to pull her away from the party multiple times that night, but Angel is too polite and too shy to leave early, so Gare is a little pouty about that.

Spark is one of those people who does not care about any holiday ever. but Liam is excited about it, so she’ll play along, because she does care about him. Her costume probably consists of a t-shirt and pants, maybe a hat or a headband, but that’s it. Plunk some ears on her, and she’s the black cat to Liam’s golden retriever. Love attempted to convince her to let her draw some eyeliner whiskers — that went about as well as you’d expect it to.

Peach, our sweet healer girl, borrows someone’s flight jacket and dresses in all black to be a rider. (Dain gets over it when he sees how starry-eyed Sawyer is about this.) Later in the night, she steals the hat from Sawyer’s costume, looking him in the eye while she does. he blushes so hard, nearly choking on his drink, but thankfully these city kids don’t know the rule: wear the hat, ride the cowboy.

Darling is hand-making treats for the occasion, obviously, because she’s extra like that. she borrows a dress and shoes from Love or Duchess and is a ballerina 🥹 (this will make more sense whenever I finally finish one of her chapters… anyway) she’s classy and practical through and through, so she’s wearing tights under. and she encourages everyone to drink water and eat some real food to balance out the alcohol and churam.

Love dresses up as a fairy (because she has Tinkerbell energy). it’s easy enough to put together — a little pastel dress (of which she has dozens) and some wings, which she can make flutter with her little wisps of air. she’d make a dramatic entrance by floating down the stairs. Dain is probably a little anti-Halloween in the sense of it being “impractical” and “for children”, because there is no whimsy or fun allowed in the Aetos household, but when he sees how happy Love is, he’s on board. like Garrick, he’s into the dress and the wings, but he has the restraint not to drag her away from the party.

Sweetheart doesn’t want to stand out too much. she’s probably not going to dress up. or if she did, it would be something simple. maybe she’s another black cat with Spark — Liam plays that sunshine role for both of these withdrawn, “cold” girls. she hangs back at the edges of the party most of the night (with Xaden!) and watches it all unfold.

Sunny is also one that’s stumping me right now. she wouldn’t have any impractical clothes or shoes to wear, so she’d have to borrow something from one of the girls or make something herself. she spends a lot of the time bartending for the party, as she’s experienced in that. Aaric stays closeby the whole time, helping her, even though he has no idea what he’s doing. he probably didn’t dress up — he doesn’t seem very whimsical.

[stay-mon-army]

Hard Work Treats

Word Count: 1,853 words

Warning(s): Food (mentions of cooking and of eating but nothing specific)

Pairing: Fuma (&team) x gn!reader

Note: This was completely self-indulgent! I'm realizing that I use food and cooking for people as a love language, and man I love these boys! I want nothing more than to feed these boys to make sure they're eating good on their hard days! I hope you all are also taking care of yourselves! <3

Fuma was known as the dad of &Team, and you were not going to disagree with the masses analysis of your boyfriend. Being his significant other meant that you had become the surrogate parent of the boys as well. Even K, who was older than Fuma and should’ve been considered another parent, was often babied by the two of you – probably even more than the others were, and you weren’t going to catch him complaining.

You didn’t mind the sudden responsibility of caring for 8 grown teenage boys. They filled your extra time with shenanigans and chaos and love that you didn’t think was possible from a group of “professionals” (but the truth was they were just boys who loved to sing and dance, they weren’t anything special in that regard). In fact, you grew to love the attention and appreciation the boys showed to you, often coming to you when they had a problem or a question, taking you on like a mama bird with a collection of chicks – they basically followed you everywhere.

One day, when you knew the boys would be spending countless hours in the practice room working on their newest choreo, you decided to surprise them with some treats. These boys could put back food on a good day, but on dance practice days? They were like a pack of starving hyenas and you knew they wouldn’t have time to run out and grab food themselves.

So since you happened to have that day off from work, you spent the morning in the kitchen, making as many different dishes as you could. Since becoming the newest member of their werewolf family, you had shared your own personal family history through food, making sure to let them try as many different cultural dishes as you could remember or find that related to your loved ones. The boys were practically black holes; there wasn’t a single food they didn’t enjoy, and some became their new all-time favorites. You spent hours making all of their favorites and a few new ones they hadn’t tried yet; packing them away into pretty little containers was the best part, knowing they would fawn over all your hard work the moment you stepped through the doors of the practice room.

Putting the containers into big insulated bags to make carrying all that food easier, you finally dressed in your comfiest clothes, slapped on a mask, and began your trek down to the Hybe building. You knew that most of the boys were sad spending so much time in Korea, away from their families, but you were determined to bring them little sparks of joy wherever possible.

When you arrived, you were given a visitor pass and ushered past the security fencing, following the familiar path to the elevators and up to the practice room. As you approached the room, you debated how to enter. You could sneak in while they practiced, but you doubted they wouldn’t notice your entrance. You could burst in with food in hands, shouting as you know they would right back the moment they noticed you. You decided to just knock on the door before entering, like a normal person. Who cared about some grand entrance, it was your boys. They would be excited to see you no matter what (especially once they notice the food bags).

You pause outside the door to put down one of the heavy bags, listening to the song playing on the other side of the door. You loved their music, almost as much as you loved them as individuals, and you were secretly very proud that you were given the permission and trust to hear their new songs before they were officially released. There had been days in which you were allowed in the recording studio when they were recording new b-sides, and you couldn’t have been happier to see your boys in their element (although you much preferred seeing Fuma in the dance studio – that was his real home).

You knocked gently on the door, hearing the boys call out to stop the music as you inch the door open, peeking through.

The boys all screamed at the sight of you, exactly as you expected. The boys weren’t really known to be quiet for any extended period of time (except maybe Jo). You reached back to grab the second bag and the screaming got louder, bodies racing towards you before you could blink. Two boys grabbed the bags from you, three more had wrapped you into a group bear hug. You could see Fuma over one of their shoulders, grinning widely and laughing at the chaos around him. When your eyes locked, you couldn’t help but match his smile with one of your own – you truly had such a beautiful and sweet boyfriend.

The boys finally let you go and all begin to congregate around the food that you brought, which has been spread out picnic style across the floor – chopsticks and forks and spoons and knives and napkins scattered amongst the food as though they had been dumped out as an afterthought (they likely had been).

As the boys open up the containers of food, you notice your boyfriend sidle up beside you, his hand reaching out to ghost against your waist. You lean into his side subconsciously, laying your head against his body.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” He rumbles in your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple in appreciation.

“I know, but I couldn’t leave my babies starving when they’re working so hard.” You smile as the boys begin to bicker amongst themselves, fighting for different food items they want to try first. You watch K playfully shove Taki away from his favorite dish, making you laugh at their antics. “Besides, I needed an excuse to come see you.” You glance up at the man beside you.

He coughs into his hand, turning away to try to hide the blush that’s spread across his face. No matter how long you’ve been together, he still gets flustered when you flirt with him. It warms your heart, that even cheesy sayings get a reaction out of him, like he’s still in that honeymoon phase of puppy love, hanging off of your every interaction.

He pulls you closer into his side, still looking the other direction as he presses your body against his.

“Well, I’m glad you came.” He whispers, finally looking back at you with gentle eyes. He always looked at you like you put the stars in the sky, and you honestly couldn’t imagine why when he was the perfect partner himself.

“Of course.” You smile up at him, only being wrenched away from staring at him from the sound of screaming coming from the other direction.

You look over to find Yuma hoarding a specific dish, making Harua practically tackle him to get some for himself. EJ is trying his best to calm them down, but today seems to be a full moon or something – you had never seen them so riled up over something so small.

You decided to try to break up the frenzy happening a short distance away, also hoping that going over there would entice your boyfriend into also eating some of the food you made. He worked so hard, you know he needed to keep his strength up by eating his share of the food, and there was no way the others were going to be leaving any leftovers.

You manage to placate the boys quickly, dishing out the food to them and making sure they share all of the dishes. Fuma sneaks into the circle as well, taking bites of all of the dishes he gets passed, showering you with compliments after every tasting.

After the food is gone and the boys have spread out to lay across the floor like sacks of potatoes, you pack the containers back into their bags and get ready to leave them to the rest of their practice. Just as you zip up the second bag, you notice a shadow falling over your shoulder and you look up. Fuma is standing behind you reaching out a hand.

Unsure what’s about to happen, you take his hand, letting him pull you up to stand before him. Fuma wasn’t one for PDA – he was almost as quiet as Jo most of the time and would rather sit back and watch, rather than being the center of attention when he was in a group setting. You didn’t mind but it was something you had to get used to; you were lucky to get anything more than a grazing hand, holding hands, or a secret temple or forehead kiss most of the time.

Suddenly, Fuma reaches down and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tight so he could lift and spin you around. You squeal in surprise, wrapping your arms around his shoulders so he doesn’t drop you, burying your face into his neck so you don’t see the world spinning around you.

He puts you down to the giggles of you and the boys, most of them now watching from various lounging spots they’ve claimed around the room. When your feet touch solid ground again, you pull back and ask what that was for, wondering what had gotten into your gentle giant of a significant other.

“Thank you for always taking care of me and the boys.” He says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he smiles at you. “I know sometimes we can be hectic and one might even say crazy, but I don’t know what we would do without you. You make tough days like this really fun; I know it helps me get through all the hard work we have to put in. Thank you for being our rock.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and now it’s your turn to blush and look away.

Unfortunately for you, you know have the attention of 8 other boys, who have all gotten up from their prone positions to rush in to take you into a giant bear hug, crushing together as tight as they could get.

The laughter and shouts of gratitude warm your heart, making your day even brighter. You wouldn’t say that you do any of this for the praise or attention, but it made you feel good that the hard work you put in was appreciated. And hey, who didn’t like being appreciated for their time and effort?

You thank the boys back, trying to give as many head pats and hand squeezes to the boys as you could reach. When they finally pull away, EJ tells them that it’s time for them to do a quick stretch and prepare for the next couple hours of practice. Some of the boys groan, but they all wander off to start stretching individually or in pairs.

Fuma gives you one last kiss, this one to you lips, before swearing he’d see you at home later.

As much as you loved the boys, you couldn’t wait to see him again later.

[vitsa-didicoy]

Good evening, I was wondering if you had any good sources for people trying to learn/reconnect to Romani culture? I’ve been trying to learn more lately as my great grandmother left Europe during ww2 and was only allowed to keep her new children (in our current country, the one she fled to) if she didn’t tech them her language, religion or anything really (same with her new husband who was a refugee from another country). Wouldn’t even tell grandma what country she was from to narrow it down, but we recently found out about her eldest kid in Denmark. Would you know of any reputable resources I could access?? There’s a lot of bull shit floating around the internet and I’d hate to be misinformed

I'll start this by apologizing ahead of time for the length, as there is so much information that I feel is important when you are wanting to reconnect with Romani culture. Also, I'm not an expert and a didicoy myself. I do not have Romanipen and do not speak for all Romani. I am just someone who wants to help Roma and didicoy alike with their struggles.

First thing to understand is that Roma are not a monolith (obviously) and that our culture, religious practices, food, clothing, music, art, etc. all varies from vitsa to vitsa and even family to family. There are similarities of course, but never assume that just because one vitsa does one thing that means that its universal. A lot of gadje that try and write Romani characters get this wrong.

Some of our biggest similarities, though, are what keep us together across vitsas, especially our language, our oppression, and our Romanipen. Romanipen is a serious thing, often dictating whether you're "truly" Romani or a gadjo. Whether or not someone has Romanipen is based on whether they speak Romani Chib, were raised in a Romani community, follow Romani laws and traditions, know Romani history and oppression, etc. Because of the importance of Romanipen, some vitsas do not consider didicoy (Roma who were raised in gadjekane society and do not have Romanipen) as Roma and consider them to be gadje. This does not mean didicoy can never be accepted back, but it does mean that there is a lot of work that goes in to reconnecting with the culture.

So, where can you start? In my opinion the easiest way to start learning is through Florian Tacorian. He's Kalderash Romani and he talks about Romani culture, language, traditions, and oppression, including rating characters that represent Romani people in fiction. He's very digestible for gadje and didicoy to learn from. His YouTube channel is found here:

Once you feel comfortable with the info you learn from him, you can delve deeper by reading books about the Romani experience. Many Roma have written their experiences and history into published works (I'll link a list later in the post), but one that I've personally read from is Ian Hancock. He's Romanichal from Britain and he now teaches linguistics and other subjects at the University of Texas in Austin, TX.

Ian Hancock's works:

I suggest: We Are the Romani People and Pariah Syndrome

And here's a compiled list of Romani authors if ever you want to extend your knowledge to other experiences:

Furthermore, I truly believe that advocating for Romani Rights and learning from current events is half of learning about Roma as a whole. Our oppression is on-going with public opinion of Roma being wholly ignorant at best and vehemently hateful at worst. Reconnecting should also be spearheaded by a desire to uplift Romani voices and to advocate for equal rights. To be more educated on current Romani events, the European Roma Rights Centre is the best place for it.

European Roma Rights Centre:

Next, the most desired part of reconnecting I'd say, is learning Romani Chib. The reason you may not see easily accessible lessons for Romani Chib is because it is closed, meaning only Roma are allowed to learn it. This doesn't mean lessons for didicoy don't exist and there are resources available to learn Romani Chib. Personally, I'm learning American Kalderash from Ronald Lee's books. Even though I'm not Kalderash (at least to my current knowledge), it is still a useful dialect to learn, especially if you live in North America and want to converse with other American/Canadian Roma.

Keep this in mind, pretty much each vitsa has its own unique dialect and, based on the region, each dialect may have different loan words from the country that that vitsa resides in. Ronald Lee will not teach you how to speak every dialect, but, if you get the ground work in and talk to more and more people, you may be at least able to understand what someone from a different vitsa is saying using context clues and thus build your own vocabulary.

Link to Learn Romani by Ronald Lee:

Link to it's sister book, Romani Dictionary (English - Kalderash) by Ronald Lee:

Lastly for this section, community is a huge thing for Roma, it's the biggest thing that has kept us alive through being exiled, persecuted, enslaved, and assimilated completely in the over 1,000 years we've been out of India. It's also something that many didicoy have a big problem with, considering the points above on how hard it is for didicoy to be accepted by Roma. It's not impossible, nor is it hopeless however.

Some Roma will take pity on you because you didn't choose to be raised a gadjo, some Roma will see you as an aspect of racism and be defensive, some won't care and treat you on the basis of your character instead, and some will just ignore you. Again, Romani people are not a monolith and 10-12 million minds all with different lives will have incredibly varied opinions.

It is key to keep this mind and most importantly, to be neutral about this internally. You did not choose for your ancestors to undergo persecution, you did not choose to be raised in the dark about your heritage, and you did not choose to be born with mixed blood.

The best you can do when approaching the community is to be respectful, but engaged. As a didicoy you both can't be entitled to practice every aspect of the culture, but you also can't be too afraid to try what you're allowed to. If you are unsure of your place, ask. If you have a question about a practice, ask. If you are interested in aiding and actually being a cog in the community, you can also just ask. "No" is not a bad word and understanding why you're rejected if and when you are is a good mindset to have when you're trying to build trust in the community, too. On the flip side, if you are presented an opportunity to practice within the culture, take it. If there are Romani events in your area with an open invitation, visit and actually experience first-hand. Talk to people, tell them your intention and if you are genuine, you'll get farther than you might think.

As for online communities, I suggest starting with r/Romani on Reddit. There are a lot of posts from didicoy asking about where to start, like you. Read the comments on those posts and you'll see a lot of advice from Roma with all different experiences. And don't gravitate towards the advice that makes you feel good, just the advice that makes logical sense to you.

r/Romani:

Again I'm sorry that this is not only so long, but also that it took so long to get out. When answering these questions, I try to help with any aspect that I can, but I still want people to engage with the community themselves. I wish you the best of luck and I hope that you find the answers you've been looking for.

We are all in this together. Te aves baxtalo 💙❤️💚

[entomolog-t]

What if a person just assumes the borrower is another human, just shrunk? I think most people wouldn’t immediately assume the very human-looking thing they’ve caught is another creature entirely (unless it’s one of those borrower versions with animal features like a tail and such). So the questions would be along the lines of: How did you shrink? Is there a way to get you back to normal?

The best part is that the ball is in the borrower’s court now. They have to choose between telling the human the truth about themselves, and potentially risk their safety by doing so. Or they could play along with the human’s assumptions and keep themselves in relative safety by letting the human think they’re one of them.

Obviously the lying option could lead to a lot of angst in the future if the human found out the truth. Especially if the human keeps trying their best to help the borrower get back to ‘normal size’ but nothing works, leaving the borrower wondering how long they’re willing to keep up the charade. Meanwhile the human gets more and more upset that they can’t help their tiny friend.

OH I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS

The sheer angst potential with the borrower assuming the only reason the human is treating them like an equal is because they think they're human? So they just dwell on it so much. At first they may feel smug, thinking that the human is stupid, but they realize they may have misjudged their own intelligence because why would a human just let a stranger who has been shrunk wander freely around their home?? So they've unwittingly committed themselves to be attached to the human until they can either find a good escape where they won't go looking for them, or until they admit what they really are.

As they spend time with the human they are less desperate for escape in some sense. The freedom from danger, the liberal amount of food, the comforts the human is willing to provide them... its nice. They miss their personal freedom, and keeping up this ruse is a bit exhausting since they aren't the most familiar with human culture.... but the human is ... nice.

They've grown a friendship with this human, and they want to be able to tell them the truth. They see how worried the human is about them... They've been freaking out about how to get ahold of their family, and how in the hell they're supposed to find a way to reverse it... and they do want their freedom of movement back... They make up their mind that they're going to tell the human but-

Theres a slip up.

Maybe they said something weird, maybe the human put together too many little clues, or maybe another borrower shows up. They panic. No no no no no. This was supposed to be on their terms. They can feel themselves hyperventalating. They don't even want to look at the human. This is at best humiliating, at worst... was the human angry?? they lied. they took advantage of their kindness. They feel a hand start to encircle them and they flinch out of it's grasp.

No.

No, of course they were angry. Why wouldn't they be??

"H-hey... are you okay?"

The words seem to stop all their thoughts. All they can feel is their heart pounding in their ears. They look up at the human... at their friend and see nothing but concern in their eyes.

It breaks them.

They sob into the hand. A mix of guilt and shame and relief and happiness. They're a mess. The human waits to ask questions but takes the new information in stride. Ehh, its not that much weirder than finding a shrunken person right?

That is.... until like... 4 hours later.

The borrower hears banging on the walls.

"Hey ! Uh.... How many times have you heard me being... um weird?"

The borrower can't help but laugh, knowing immediately what the human is talking about. They would constantly talk to themselves in weird little voices, make strange noises, sing to themselves... Hell, they did it to but its not like they had an audience.

"Um" they clear their throat, a little more reassured with a wall between them "... enough."

A resounding thud sends vibrations through the borrower's chambers as the human hits their head against the wall. The groan that follows has the borrower struggling to keep from laughing.

"Fuck you." They can hear their smile despite not seeing them.

This... this could work.

[intheholler]

What makes you count as Appalachian? I was born outside the Appalachians but my family has a long history there and used to live there for the early years of my life but haven’t lived there since.

I hesitate to call myself Appalachian truly but I do feel most at home there and miss it greatly. I wish I was better connected with the culture overall.

Even if I wouldn’t be considered Appalachian, this blog is a great comfort and I thank you for running it! :)

(another identity-questioning anon, another long ass answer bc i feel for you)

first, i wanna say that no one gets to define who you are but you, and especially not me. that said--i hope my opinion benefits you in some way.

when you say what 'counts' as appalachian, it sounds like ur holding urself up against a set of strictly defined traits, and that isn't fair to you. try to shed that mindset.

now. my idea of what makes a person appalachian is this:

direct ties to the region. period.

either you live here now, grew up here but moved away at some point, even just spent the bulk of your childhood visiting family here--whatever steeped you in the land and the culture for long enough for it to become an authentic, meaningful part of you.

spending the "early years" of your life here and being raised by appalachian folks outside of here definitely qualifies (in my eyes, which, again, aren't the defining lens).

and location isn't all, bc culture isn't a static place.

when i was dealing with my own appalachian identity crisis(TM), i learned about the appalachian diaspora. i don't mean to 'splain, but, just in case you aren't familiar with the term:

di·as·po·ra /dīˈasp(ə)rə/ noun the dispersion or spread of a people from their original homeland

there are any number of reasons why we as a people leave our homes even if the roots done grown thick and intertwined. economic or socioeconomic reasons, usually.

mine was economic. (not to make this about me, but i always hope my experience can provide some helpful perspective)

i was born in nc and grew up poor as hell. my dad was a contractor, so we moved around wherever the money was. usually didn't stay in one place more than two years but always either lived in the mountains of nc or in the piedmont region of SC.

i have spent over half my life in appalachia, and a little under half on the outskirts. the times where i didn't live here used to make me question everything, since i'm not a cradle-to-casket, never-left-never-will appalachian.

but i came to see that's really fucking unfair to do that to myself, because it was never my choice. it wasn't yours, either.

appalachia informs every single part of who i am, from my values to my queerness, from my education to my (leftist) politics, from my beliefs to my worldview.

my family has been here for centuries, and grew up on the same soils in scotland. i spent my formative years here. no matter what, i was raised by appalachian women, speaking the appalachian dialect, eating appalachian food, and living the appalachian way of life, for better or worse.

some time spent elsewhere don't change that. neither does it for you.

all of that said, i get it, bc i still sometimes struggle with The Crisis. moving around so much means i never had one exact place i can call my hometown the way most people do, that i never had a place to plant permanent roots.

so, being "from appalachia" as a region is deeply, deeply important to my identity and sense of self. and that's all that matters. if it's important to your identity, then that's all that matters.

and like hell does anyone get to tell me one way or the other. lord help em if they try. they don't get to tell you, either. you spent your childhood here. if feels like home, then it's home <3

[improvised-finish]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Prompt #25 - Perpetuity

Content Warnings: Depictions of an anxiety attack/existential crisis (but everything does work out)

Spoiler Warnings: Big Big Spoilers for the last two zones of Dawntrail!

Summary: Lehon'a truly begins to contemplate the Endless, and finds herself in way over her head. Luckily, she's got someone by her side who knows just how to fish her out of the waters of metaphysical horror.

Check it out below or on Ao3:

Lehon'a had felt a dread in the pit of her stomach when their party had first set foot in Yyasulani, and that feeling had grown steadily more and more prominent as they'd learned more about life in this new version of Alexandria. It seemed that around every corner was some new philosophical quandary, laser focused to get Lehon’a to question her most deeply held beliefs. She'd held firm thus far, trying hard to recognize them as mere differences in culture, as ways of seeing the world that she herself couldn't agree with, but that she felt better for having come into contact with.

This, on the other hand, was something quite different.

Stepping into Living Memory, into this facsimile of a world, a simulacrum in the most literal sense of the word, set her teeth on edge. Knowing what she did about the place, it hid a horror behind the cheery facades and themed areas that dwarfed almost anything she could imagine.

More than becoming a Lightwarden, more than the calamity of the Final Days, more than any adversary she'd faced down; she couldn't imagine a worse fate. Stuck in a sickly-sweet recreation of your happiest memories, perpetually revived as a plastic, digital zombie. Unable to return to the star, and unable to leave your amusement park home.

The only thing worse than all of that was the knowledge that Sphene seemed to believe that it was for the best interest of her people to keep these systems running, even as the amount of energy required skyrocketed. It hardly took a studied scholar to figure out that as these energy costs grew and grew, that eventually there would come a point when there would not be enough left in all the shards combined to satisfy it, which would not only bring about an end to the Endless, but to all other life.

And yet, even in the face of such an existential threat to Etheirys, something so common to the Warriors of Light that it had almost become pedestrian, Lehon'a was paralyzed by the unique metaphysical implications of this specific world-ending calamity-to-be.

She knew in her rational mind that they were all computer programs, just simulations of what they were like in reality, but… Cahciua alone had proved that they had at least some capacity to reason and think independently of Sphene. The Endless weren't alive exactly, they didn't have need for food or drink or rest, but did that matter? Where was the distinction? Who decides?

These were the thoughts running through her head as they heard out Cahciua’s final request: to shut down each of the four areas’ terminals– for good.

A part of Lehon'a recoiled at this plan, and a part of her was eager to bring things to an end. A part of her protested that they were practically alive, and a part of her countered that they were already dead. A part of her insisted there must be some other way, and a part of her knew that there was none.

Cahciua herself added another layer; an Endless who wished to break the cycle. Not that her thoughts should be considered to be speaking on behalf of every Endless, but certainly she wasn’t the only one who longed for an escape that wouldn’t come until the very stars in the sky had been drained of all energy. Surely there were more like her.

Lehon’a watched as the rest of her party began to depart; mind racing a million malms an hour and her body frozen to the spot, as if the metaphysical quandaries might not notice her if she didn’t move. She could feel the world closing in around her, the weight of everything and everyone on her shoulders, the tightness growing in her chest, it was too much, too much, too much–

A gentle hand on her shoulder.

“My heart, is everything all right?” G’raha asked, concern obvious in his voice. “The others have started on their way, and… well, you don’t look yourself at the moment.”

The world of Living Memory, which had grown hazy in her vision, snapped back into focus. His touch was like a lightning rod, grounding her once again.

“Raha, I… I’m sorry, I… This place has sparked many questions about who we are and what it is we’re meant to be doing here, and I…” She trailed off to silence, as if hesitant to let the perfect image of the Warrior of Light slip for even a second. “I don’t think I have the answers. And I don’t know what to do.”

He pulled her into a hug, and she practically melted into his arms, tears beginning to stain his shirt.

“No one has all the answers, you know. Not me, not Shtola, not any scholar on our star or any other.” He stopped to look his partner in the eye. “And neither do you. And that’s okay. Because when we don’t have answers, we must go seek them out. I know the task at hand doesn’t seem to provide much room for alternatives, but it’s only when we’ve talked with the Endless and fully explored the possibilities that this place holds that we can know enough to come to a decision.” Lehon’a nodded. “The best we can do now is to see what there is to see, and to bring an open mind along for the journey.” He offered her a warm smile, and she smiled in return, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

After allowing Lehon’a another few moments to compose herself, he extended his hand to her. “Shall we catch up with our companions, then?”

Lehon’a took his hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. “Let’s.”

The questions continued to nag at her as they walked towards the first area, but knowing she had G’raha beside her, it felt a little easier to breathe.

[estravens-tits]

Ai the Exile

Over the course of The Left Hand of Darkness, Estraven makes enormous sacrifices for Gethen and for Genly. He gives up his comfort, his position in the Kyorremy, his country, and eventually his life. The entirety of The Left Hand of Darkness is about Estraven’s exile for Genly. But the reverse is true as well. Genly is also an exile. Here’s a look at the things Genly gave up for Gethen and for Estraven:

On Gethen

Moving to another culture is always difficult, but Genly has an especially rough time of it because of his complete immersion and lack of contact with anyone from his home culture. Here’s a few things that Genly probably struggled to adjust to.

First, language. We take it for granted that Genly knows Karhidish and Orgota, since it’s required for his job, but learning a language is a big investment. How long did it take Genly to learn 2 (or more) Gethenian languages to presumed fluency? Estraven is the only person who knows some of Genly’s native language and even then he just knows words, not enough to have a conversation. Which means that by the end of the book, Genly has not held a conversation in his native language for 3 years. As anyone who’s learned a language later in life can attest, it’s frustratingly isolating when your only way to communicate with people is through a non-native language. You don’t know the metaphors or the modern turns of phrase to use and feel like you cannot fully express yourself or that when you do your meaning is misconstrued. Genly himself is always second-guessing if the sayings Estraven quotes are actual Karhidish metaphors or just phrases he made up. As for the misunderstanding. Genly prominently misunderstands and is misunderstood for most of the book.

Second, culture. From the moment Genly arrives on Gethen, he lives fully immersed in Karhidish culture. While we are not exactly sure what his home culture on Terra is like, we know a few of the ways that Karhide differs. Genly makes note of Gethenians living in settlements of around 150 people, so he is probably used to living with many fewer people. He does not enjoy Gethenian food, finding it bland and lacking variety. He is dismayed by the slow pace of Karhidish business and innovation, slower than even the Ekumen which executes plans over several generations. These are all things that are huge stressors in a new environment: being around a lot of people, food that is not familiar or enjoyable, and a different pace of life. Adjusting to this new way of life is understandably time consuming and frustrating for Genly.

Third, being a sexual minority. A large part of the narrative of The Left Hand of Darkness centers around Genly coming to understand and accept the androgyny of the Gethenians. But the Gethenians also do not understand Genly. His sex is seen as either an oddity or an abomination, something either frowned upon or actively scorned. In both Karhide and Orgoreyn, Genly’s sexual deviancy is used to dismiss and discredit him. The Orgota commensals laugh at the idea of believing a Pervert. The Karhidish king recoils from the idea of a whole society of people like Genly. Genly has to constantly explain why he exists the way he is, and is often not believed. He is alone in his experience of sex and gender. Genly is often wrong in his assessments of Gethenians because of his refusal to let go of his own views on gender, which is partially a way to cope with his relatively new status as a sexual minority.

Fourth, the cold. Genly and is constantly freezing on Winter, even in the summer. Gethenian buildings, which lack heating, only make the cold worse for him. That kind of continual stress wears you down VERY quickly. When you are cold enough that the tips of your fingers and toes are numb and you are trying to do other tasks, it’s difficult to think about anything except how cold you are. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Genly owes some of the brusque despondency of his narration to the unrelenting misery of being chronically frozen.

All of these points paint a picture of Genly being someone who is off balance and lonely due to complete immersion in an alien culture he is still adjusting to. Add that to the fact that most of the people Genly interacts with don’t even believe that Genly IS from a different planet. To them he is a socially inept and sexually deviant Karhider rather than an alien doing his best to understand their culture. By living on Gethen, Genly voluntarily gives up his comfort (both mental and physical) and any sense of belonging.

Before Gethen

The above section looks at Genly’s experience on Gethen. Next we’ll look at what he gave up before arriving on Gethen.

It took Genly 87 years to travel to Gethen. Though relativity makes this only a few years for Genly, it is still 87 years for everyone else around him. As Estraven says “While he lived a few hours in one of those unimaginable ships going from one planet to another, everyone he had left behind him at home grew old and died, and their children grew old.” By the time Genly gets to Gethen, everyone he knew is dead. He is profoundly alone.

It’s not just the people Genly knew that are dead, but also his culture. If Genly ever went back to Terra, over 170 years would have passed since he left. A lot can change in that time. How much does our generation have in common with people from the 1800s? Whatever life, places, and belief system Genly grew up with probably don’t exist anymore.

By going to Gethen, Genly knowingly consigned himself to being not only an alien cut off from his own people, but the last remnant of a culture that no longer exists. An exile with no chance of returning home.

The Perils of the Job

While Genly does live through the events of The Left Hand of Darkness, he probably wasn’t expecting to.

Genly remarks that First Envoys on other worlds are often killed and sometimes imprisoned. Which means that he knows that he has a high chance of dying himself.

Other indications of the permanence of Genly’s mission come in Chapter 5 when Genly notes that his beard was removed permanently so that he could better fit in with the Gethenians and in Chapter 3, Genly says that his entire life “could be, and might as well be used in achieving [his] mission for the Ekumen.”

Genly’s disregard for his own life is shown in his willingness to block his own routes of escape. The ship that he came on lies disassembled in Karhide, something which Genly allowed to happen shortly after he arrived. Because of this, he has no means to return to the larger ship in orbit. He also eventually gives his ansible, his only means of communication with the Ekumen, to the Orgota. Genly has no way to escape Gethen, no plans to leave, and no way to protect himself.

All indications that Genly expects to die. By becoming First Envoy, he preemptively gives up his own life.

Choosing Exile

Estraven first comes up against the consequences of his own exile from Karhide in Chapter 6. After being asked about living in Orgoreyn permanently he muses “The joke was gone out of it with that word permanent, a skull-word if there ever was one.” Never being able to return to his own country terrifies him.

Genly’s own ultimatum came long before The Left Hand of Darkness began, when he left Terra knowing that everyone he knew would be dead if he ever returned. By the time we meet Genly he is already living with a permanent lost century of distance between Terra and Gethen and has spent years in self-imposed exile.

One of my favorite quotes in The Left Hand of Darkness comes when Genly is having a conversation with Asra in Pulefen Farm. Asra is talking about the Yomeshta afterlife where adherents are sent to different planets as reward or punishment. Genly asks what type of planet Gethen is. Neither, Asra responds. Gethen can be neither reward nor punishment because no one chooses to live on Gethen, they are just born on it. “I wasn’t born into it,” says Genly. “I came here. I chose it.”

This is the truth at the heart of Genly’s character. That he chose exile just as Estraven did. It is not an accident that Genly talks about choice while he is dying in Pulefen Farm. He chose to be First Envoy and with it chose the strong possibility of imprisonment and death. He chose the loneliness of being an alien on Gethen, without anyone who understands his language, culture, or even his gender. He chose to live in permanent cold. Genly Ai chose life on Gethen fully knowing how painful it would be.

[lovers-in-love-around-the-world]

hii again sorry for the double req but how would rindou and ran be with a agejo gyaru s/o?

Warning: Talk about parting/clubbing

Paring: Agejo Gyaru x Ran/Rindou (separate)

Okay I’m sorry if this was bad. I’m not very good with this culture/fashion style. So if anything is off please tell me. I would love to fix it. I also did them separately. So I’m sorry if you didn’t want them to. If you didn’t want them separated please let me know.

Rindou:

Okay Rindou……

He would be the one to go out with you

Clubbing with you

Partying with you

Which I mean is not bad

He does like going out more than staying home

But being at those places can make him jealous

So most times he is at your side a lot

He's not going to stop you from doing something you want to do

Just keep guys off you

In his words your too hot for them anyways

But beside him going out with you

He does like to buy you clothes

If you like something he doesn’t mind getting it for you

You like that dress

It's in your closet the next day

He provides for you

I feel like he also likes how rebellious you are and how your the life of the party

I feel like he likes a person like that

Someone who is rebellious with him and will be willing to go do some dumb things with him.

Than how your always talking and being the life of things

He also likes how you look

You can’t tell me he doesn’t like a person who is willing to wear what they want, even if its revealing, and feel good in it.

A person who is willing to show off how they look and be happy with it.

Ran:

Now Ran…

He’s is a bit different than his brother

He doesn't really want to go to the parties or the clubs.

But I mean if you really want to he doesn’t mind going

But he rather be home in bed, eating, or even playing some games, or just napping with you

He is definitely a more home body than Rindou

But now the same thing they have in common is that they will provide for you

You need a new outfit for something he wouldn’t mind giving you the money for it

You just have to have a fashion show for him in the outfit

I don’t know why but I feel like he would love to have you go and try on the outfits you buy and have a fashion show for him.

Another thing he likes to do is if you go to a party or club and doesn't join he will give you money to buy drinks, food, whatever you want there

But just give him a time and when your ready to go and he will come to pick you up

He would rather be in hell than let you walk home alone or take a cab.

I feel like he doesn’t have a big issue with being super jealous

I mean you look hot people are going to stare but they won’t be able to touch you

So he doesn’t really get super jealous

He now does if a guy is trying to throw their shot

But he just shuts them down and tells them to fuck off before going back to what he was doing

I feel like he does like your attitude a lot

Like how your rebellious and being the life of everything

Mainly being the life of everything.

He likes to hear you talk about really anything.

He also likes looking at your face while you talked

I can also see him just watching you as you do your hair

[seekforwarmth]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

thanks to @allwaswell16 for tagging me! i enjoyed reading your answers a lot! 1. List of works published this year:

ready for a war

Devoted

fuck around, find out

seven, seven

the embers are new

bet on it

Harmony

Cold Spring

two languages, one love

could start a cult

must be love

don’t let the fire die

2. Work you are most proud of (and why): i’m proud of all of them for different reasons, this is very hard to choose. i’m going to say Harmony bc it was the first time i made a collab with an artist.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why): not necessarily a work but i’m not proud that i couldn’t meet my writing goals set for this year (writing a fic longer than 20k words, finishing a wip i’ve had for three years).

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing: from fuck around, find out

“Everything looks lovely but please, call me Louis. What was your inspiration for the menu, Chef Styles?” Louis asks, beaming. Harry lets out a laugh, refocusing his gaze to the dining area. “I’ll call you Louis if you call me Harry, can we agree on that?” Once he gets a nod of confirmation, he continues. “When Oli mentioned you wanted to retribute to the people working for the movie, and that you wanted it to feel personal, it immediately made me think of the time I arrived in New York. I was a youngster, with no family in the city and only a promise of a job that I wasn’t sure I was talented enough to fulfill,” Harry tells, remembering the nerve-wracking feeling of accepting the sous chef position when he was so young and with not much expertise. “Uh, an old lady by the name of Vittoria welcomed me to her house. She was like a second mother to me, sharing with me not only her home but her culture as well. She came to the States with her parents when she was just a toddler but grew up surrounded by the Italian community. We used to have gatherings every weekend with all her family—and I mean all the family, children, grandchildren, neighbors…I learned a lot from her, from all of them. And I used that as an inspiration for today. You’ll see three courses of my version of some of the food I had the pleasure to share with Vittoria and her family. Just wait until you try the tiramisù…it’s to die for,” he ends with a sigh. When he looks back at Louis, he notices something on his face. Fondness, maybe?

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received: i love getting comments, and there are so many that i keep in my heart that it’s hard to choose. i love especially the ones under my rare pair fics bc it’s when ppl usually tell me that they don’t read rare pairs but they gave it a chance bc of me. it means more than words can express when someone trusts you like that.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard: when i was ill around july and i kept changing and changing my blff prompt. i was very close to drop out bc i thought i wouldn’t make it. fortunately i did and i finished my second fic on time.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: writing Pedro Pascal surprised me a lot lol like i’ve obviously read Louis/Pedro fics before but i had never entertained the idea of writing one myself and it was a nice surprise. also, writing Louis/OMC wasn’t on my plans either but i welcomed it.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year: i personally don’t see any growth.

9. How do you hope to grow next year: i just hope to finish the ideas that i have. i don’t expect for them to be masterpieces, i just need them to be finished.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): definitely my friends, the ones that read pairings or tropes they don’t like only bc it’s me writing them, the ones that hype my fics even if they don’t know if the story is good yet, the ones that offer their help and their advice to help me improve.

thank you to Anitra @allwaswell16 for being so supportive all this year, for betaing my works and offering your advice, and for encouraging me to keep going.

thank you to Emma @alltheselights who always reads my fics and leaves gorgeous comments under them, your support means a lot to me.

there’s three fics that wouldn’t exist without Mar @sunbellylou so thank you so much, my love, for being an inspiration to write the filthiest things.

thank you to Kenny @luviebaybie for being the most supportive even when life gets busier and busier. thanks for taking the time to beta for me, i appreciate it a lot!

thank you to Andy @outropeace for inspiring me to write abt Louis and the bodyguard, and for teaching me how to write a smau.

thank you to @linhuine, @smittenwithlouis, @nooradeservedbetter, @lemelous, @punkpillowprincess, @voulezloux, @disgruntledkittenface, @tokyolou, for your constant support and your friendship.

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: fortunately nothing bc i write romantic stories, no sad stories 🤭

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: joining fic fests is not only an opportunity for you to shine, it’s a chance to build community so pls support works from the other authors in the fest, that’s what a fest is about.

also, hide your stats from ao3. there’s a lot of freedom in not knowing if your fic has hits and kudos or if it doesn’t.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: YES! i’m only working on two projects and i’m so excited abt them. the first one it’s a collab between me and @lemelous so expect a lot of gorgeous art, and the second one is a Louis/SebStan wip i couldn’t finish this year.

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read. ;)@voulezloux, @nooradeservedbetter, @disgruntledkittenface if you haven’t done this already.

*All answers should be about works published in 2023

[ballet-symphonie]

Do you think Osipova is against the war?

She did say that she is Russian and how it’s hard for her to speak up about it, because her family is still there. She also raised money for Ukraine at a show I attended in NYC back in January, and hired a young Ukrainian dancer and a Ukrainian pianist for it. When the war began, she did things for Ukraine at Royals. She also has said that “I don’t want to go back to Russia until it’s safe,” she follows foreign agents on Instagram who’ve been punished by Russia by speaking out against it, and she hasn’t spoken to her ex, Polunin, who’s a prominent Putin supporter, in years. (Vasiliev too, he signed the “Crimea is Russia” declaration in 2014 along with Zakharova)

The one thing that really stood out to me was that she said something like “There are people in Ukraine who are without food and water, and we have to do something” that was so poignant, but brave for her to speak up. If she was in Russia, saying that would cost her career. I’m glad she’s safe in London and I think she can say things like that now because she married an American (he’s very liberal-he follows Biden and Harris!)

I personally think that she’s against the war, but I think she’s afraid to admit that she’s a Russian who’s against the war.

Wouldn’t be surprised if she and Smirnova became foreign agents by the Duma.

I think she's adamantly against it. I think people have to have reasonable expectations for public figures denouncing the war. She's not about to condemn Putin, there are too many unforeseen consequences even for someone who is outside Russia, but she's come pretty darn close by acknowledging that what's happening in Ukraine is terrible. I look at her actions, such as dancing in Ukrainian relief galas, dedicating proceeds from the Force of Nature performance at NYCC to the Ukrainian Relief Effort, and featuring a Ukrainian ballet student/pianist. All of those are choices, she certainly doesn't have to be doing them and she's doing quite a bit more than some other Russian expats. This Times article makes her position plenty clear. I obviously don't know her status with her exes, but she has been publically distant if nothing else.

She's also in a position where she can do these things. She has an American husband and is working in a liberal country. If someone working in a Russian theater did or said similar things, they'd be ruining their career AT BEST- it's worth repeating that all major Russian theatres are directly funded by the Ministry of Culture.

Now people also ask why aren't there more people like Olga Smirnova. Allow me to make another comparison. Some members of MT corps de ballet have left, thinking of MT's Oleg Ignatev, Murat Ushanov, Vsevolod Mayevskyi. The latter is Ukrainian but the first two aren't. None have attracted major attention for leaving simply because they're not huge stars. Mayevskyi talks about leaving Russia with only a few hundred dollars and no credit cards - a terrifying transition. Yet he's the only one of the three still dancing in a company, largely because he is Ukrainian and YAGP made a massive effort to network for them.

I'm certainly not trying to make false equivalencies here, but a Russian dancer speaking out would cost them their job at a minimum, and not all of them have the connections or Smirnova-equivalent star power to convince another company to take a chance on them. Not all of them have the money to just drop everything and leave if their safety was threatened- something that Smirnova certainly didn't have to worry about given who she's married to. They also likely don't have the money to get their family out safely if things turn sour - corps members are making a pittance. It's much easier and safer to just leave without making a public statement if you are willing to take that risk or even just keep your mouth shut and stay- especially when you have colleagues and bosses who do support the war. Of course, the regime and government are horrible, but I find it hard to condemn individuals who are simply trying to protect themselves and their families. It's not as simple as just pressuring people to speak up.

I don't know how many fellow tennis fans follow me, but I'm finding parallels between criticism directed at Osipova and at Daniil Medvedev, the current world #3. He hasn't been quite as direct as some of his contemporaries, Andrey Rublev and Daria Kasatkina, but has repeatedly said that he is for peace, wishes the war would stop and his wife has been pictured during matches in his box wearing a blouse with a blue and yellow collar.

There are higher consequences for public figures speaking out, Duma agents have visited Kasatkina's house (she was not home) and is apparently going to be classified as a 'foreign agent' for her actions. She likely will never return to her home country, she's incredibly brave and this is getting renowned praise as it should. That being said, it's a tremendous sacrifice to make and one that you can't expect everyone to replicate. This NYT article is about Ukrainian and Russian tennis in this turbulent time, but a great read for the intersection of sports and politics, much of which would apply to arts as well.

[docholligay]

The raison d’etre for this trip, in its conception, was to see the Christmas markets of Germany and the UK. I don’t know if I’ll say that is actually how it turned out, given how many UK markets Mom has taken a quick turn around and then decided to go do something else, like sit in a pub or sit in a different pub*. It must be said that, in this department, Germany beats the UK as rightly and soundly as [insert inappropriate WWII joke here]. The Christmas ‘markets’ in the UK are largely consisting, at least based on my survey of four large and major ones, repackaged items that are largely not handcrafted by the seller, a lot of food stalls, and, bless it, a number of bars. Not a bad tme if I lived in any of these cities but assuredly not something worth crossing that Atlantic for. 

But the German Christmas markets were mostly as advertised. Even the more commercial among them had foods that carried the air of the traditional, made extensive effort to continue the line of culture that had been there for generations, and curled around themselves in long circles that invited more of a chance to meander than a strict row system that kept you going down a shooting gallery of booths. The Frankfurt market, even straight off the plane ride with a roughly 3 hour night, dazzled with its sense of history and its easy strolls through to the bar. It was at this market that I tried what I might call, “The drink of the trip”

Fuerzangenbowle, the best hot alcoholic drink I had never encountered even in writing, even in passing, truly a genius invention.** What this is, is mulled wine, already getting points from me, but then they soak a cone of sugar in rum and light it on fire so it drips down into the wine. I would have told you i wouldn’t care for that because it would make it too sweet, but it really doesn’t. What it does, is add a note of toasted caramel to the wine, a slightly burnt taste that adds to the larger whole. It is so good, that I am going to go home and see if I can buy some kind of piloncillo that’s small enough to work for the single serving cup. I don’t know that I would try and make it for a crowd, I’ll leave that to the professionals, but I do love lighting things on fire as my wife will, sighing heavily, attest to. 

All of them were good, and Cologne in general was much more charming than I had been led to believe it would be, but it was there we came upon the best market of them all: 

The old town market. 

We stopped there simply because it was the next place on the little train that takes you from market to market, but I was immediately captured by it. Busy and crowded, people miling around each other like little bees, the hum of their voices uniting into a low buzz. A violin plays “Come Emmanuel” at the door, and the long, high voice of it carries above and weaves through. The bright and bustle as the lights glow against the darkness, fairytale in the way that I could never hope to describe to another human being. I had to take a breath as i stepped inside. It was a Christmas market as you imagine them, a watercolor made real, the cold of the air touching your cheeks, the smell of mulled wine in the air, all of it immediate and total. All of it something that somehow seemed a dream, as if i’d been pulled into a book though admittedly in my fairy story slightly less people would be wearing beanies and puffy jackets, but what is fantasy without a little grime on it? 

In this one it also seemed that the traders had been vetted to some extent in the main square, and so was near-exclusively people who had made the objects in their booths. We spoke to people when possible, given my hilariously limited German, about their stuff, and gawked at it, and I bought a little mug for my daughter with her name on it, that the woman painted right in front of us. 

Whether the rest of the markets were a disappointment*** or not was hardly material at this point, because my mother was so entranced by the old market. She spoke of it all the time on the trip, as we were going through other markets, as we sat in a pub, as we put on our pajamas. I think it will probably take the crown for experiences on this trip. I can think of only a few that might unseat it. My mother’s face as we wandered through the market was all the confirmation I needed that this was the right choice. 

And so I am delighted to inform myself that Germany was a success. I said I would never return there, I let myself be talked into it, and I had a wonderful time. 

*This sounds like a complaint, but is full of delight. I have two favorite things to do when I travel: Walk miles and miles around a city (absolutely not happening here, there is a hot short list of people in my life who can walk as fast and far as I can) and go to pubs, bars, etc where there are a fair amount of locals and people like to talk. See my unwieldy essay on how much I like people for reference. 

**The best mulled wine I had, however, does in fact go to the UK. Specifically, Peacock’s Tea Room in Ely had the absolute best mulled wine I had in the entire trip, the seasoning was exceptional, it was not overly sweet, the cup contained some soaked fruit and sliced almonds, it was truly exceptional and I know I’ll be trying to style my mulled wine off it for a long while. 

***Things are rarely a true disappointment to me because I operate on the idea that everything in life is a lesson, is information, and if it wasn’t what I built up in my head, that is information, and it’s information I can pass on to others. Sometimes i love a miserable story as much as a successful one. Attitude can change the color of many situations, and I tend to be very adpatable and cheerful, and also i froze to death or it was crowded or whatever whatever is more often than not, not what I will carry away from any given situation. But, this is somewhat unique to me and I’ve spent a long time cultivating a sense of appreciation for these things, so I felt a little bad for my mom. 

[plisuu]

happy friday Sterling! For Revalas, "honestly, i’m always there. in my head. the scars on my body might’ve healed but i never really walked away from it." from the for the damaged prompts?

Ehehehe thank you for the food! Here's Revalas and Bull having a chat about the Tal-Vashoth :)

wc: 650 @dadrunkwriting

Revalas lay on the cold stone of the ramparts, watching the moonlight filter through his fingers, the backs of his hands crisscrossed with scars and the branches of Mythal in delicate brown ink.

“It’s not easy.”

His voice was soft, quiet in the darkness. He felt the sharp gaze of The Iron Bull on him. The Iron Bull. Another name. Another title. Another role.

Kothaari. Ben-Hassrath. Hissrad. Tal-Vashoth.

Revalas.

It wasn’t so different, was it? To take a different name, a different role, and to make it your own.

“But… it’s not that bad either.” He chuckled dryly, rolling to his side. “How’s the wound? Saar-qamek, yeah? That’s rough.”

Bull grunted a reply, and Revalas raised an eyebrow. ‘A courtesy,’ The Iron Bull had called it.

What he wouldn’t have given for a simple courtesy, back in Seheron. Not that it mattered now, with the tattoos of the Dalish across his face. He recalled, vaguely, how once as a child he had tried to use vitaar, to try and be like the Qunari warriors, and mindlessly let his hand drift over the pitted scars it left across his cheek.

“Could be worse,” he continued, filling the space with idle chatter. What could be worst than being Tal-Va-fucking-shoth? “Could be stuck in Par Vollen or something. Even the swill Cabot serves is better than some of the crap there.”

Bull only stared at him, expression unreadable, and Revalas swore at himself internally. He used to be good at this—good at talking, good at smoothing over conflict and settling the minds of those who suffered Asala-taar, those that needed soothing and reassurance, and to be re-assigned within the Qun. Kothaari. One who brings peace. ‘Ben-Hassrath. Glorified re-educator,’ he reminded himself. He tried not to think about it too hard.

“Listen,” he started over, pushing himself onto his elbows as he laid on his stomach. “You’re still you, no matter what you call yourself. You aren’t any different than you were yesterday, or the day before that. No offense, but you were basically living as Tal-Vashoth anyways.”

Was this helping? He wasn’t sure. The corner of Bull’s mouth twitched. That was a no, then. This was different, a lot different than filling a role. This was his life now. Their lives, now. Creators, he hadn’t thought about the Qun this hard in years, but there it all was, all of the information, all of the knowledge and the language and the culture and laws, all still filed away neatly.

“It doesn’t matter to me, at any rate. I know, big talk coming from a fellow Tal-Vashoth, but there’s still life after the Qun, you know. It’s not all murder and banditry. Promise.” He winked, and Bull sighed, shaking his head.

“I killed hundreds of Tal-Vashoth in Seheron,” he finally said. Revalas shrugged.

“And I punched Skinner in the face last night, if we’re making confessions.”

“Probably deserved it too, the bastard.”

Silence settled over them again, as Revalas watched Bull carefully, and Bull watched him just as carefully back.

“You know what I think?” Revalas continued. “I think, Qun or not, Tal-Vashoth or not, you’re still a damn good spy, and captain of the Inquisition’s mercenaries. Sure, Seheron fucked us up pretty bad, but we’re here now, doing other things, being people. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re a good man.”

“Thanks,” Bull eventually replied. His eye crinkled, the signs of a small smile creeping into his expression. “You’re not so bad yourself. You know, for a Tal-Vashoth.”

Revalas laughed as he stood, brushing gravel off the front of his breeches, and turned back towards the door the Herald’s Rest.

“See? There you go. Now, lets head back inside and get something to drink. I don’t think I can listen to Rocky tell the same story for the tenth time this week while sober.”