#but idk if i could write them accurately
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I wanna write a narumitsu fic but I have no real knowledge of ace attorney
#ace attorney#like I've devoured so much narumitsu content#but idk what is more canon and what is not#and ik i should start with games but they cost so much money i don't have#i think of starting with anime rn but still need to find one free website#i've went through so many pages of ao3 and fanart#and i know what i like with those and what i don't like#but idk if i could write them accurately
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if you met an alternate reality version of yourself that was better than you in every single way would that be fucked up or what lol
#my art#dca fandom#daycare attendant#moondrop#sundrop#sunnydrop#<- technically its an oc but they're purposefully drawn to resemble the dca's decal art so idk if it even counts as an oc lol#i really enjoy the concept of an accurate dca being face to face with a version of themselves that isnt 'ugly' or 'weird'#the image of the person you should've been but that you can never achieve. and they're standing right there in front of you#(but then eventually you see them fall into the same tragedy that you did. and now you need to be there for them#in the same ways that nobody was there for you)#if i could write and/or had the attention span required for a comic series i would never shut up about these two btw#newmoonAU#<- haha ignore that :) smiles
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Imagine looking at a character whose entire premise is that in every stage of his life, he's made every version of himself into someone that inspires people to such a degree that EVERY SINGLE VERSION OF HIM has people wanting to literally follow in his footsteps in some way or another.....
And coming to the conclusion that like.....the most important things about him are the sum of all his trappings. His entirely homemade developed from scratch could not exist if not for what he already was and brought with him BEFORE crafting this newest version of himself trappings, with his greatest trait throughout all of it being his adaptability; his ability and willingness to roll with the punches and not try to simply weather any opposition or changes to his life but instead reshape himself as needed to better fit INTO whatever new shape his life and the world around him takes. All while managing to carry the most innate, fundamental and necessary aspects of himself from one version to the next. Thus every single version of himself is different but simultaneously every single version of himself is also undeniably the same person.
The strength of this character, to me, will always be that he can be so many versions of himself, he can become so many things, all without ever actually losing or discarding any of the aspects of himself he considers most essential, the things he's not willing to lose or give up just to keep going. Finding that road not taken by most, usually because most never even think to look for it as an option. But one that he's always able to find because the one trick he's mastered in his tumultuous life is threading that needle of not just digging in his heels in an unproductive way but rather being selective about when and where he makes a stand and decides "this is not a thing I'm willing to compromise about" but here are places and ways I can and will change and evolve and adapt in order to make it possible for me to hold onto these parts and keep them as they are.
And that's why its always so mind-boggling to me that so many writers can't seem to think of anything else to do with Dick Grayson other than invent some new reason for him to just....not be that person, or to like just take the character whose most basic fundamental trait he's NOT about to compromise on is willingly giving up his spot in the driver's seat of his own life.....and make him just a passenger in his own life and stories.
Dick Grayson at age nine....at age nineteen...at age twenty nine....the one core thread running through all versions of him is the only way he's standing back and letting you call the shots for him or putting him on the sidelines in some way is over his dead body.
HOW he goes about that, what that looks like, who he becomes and what aspects of himself he plays up at some times and what traits he lets fall by the wayside at other times when they offer less in service to his primary goal here....that changes constantly. He changes constantly.
But those changes are almost always (or at least they used to be/should be IN MY OPINION) made with the intention of keeping certain things about him or his life as consistent as possible.
That's the duality of Dick Grayson that I'm here for. The inherent contradiction of him that COULD allow for endless conflict and breaking new narrative ground in all sorts of ways if mined properly:
His eternal willingness to compromise....but only ever in pursuit of doubling down on the ways he's not willing to compromise.
Forever walking that tightrope in ways that only a kid born and raised in a circus could ever hope to.
#see also: my grinding teeth when people disparage his circus origins#like the only thing its good for is colorful backstory and explaining his acrobatics#THERES. SO. MUCH. THERE.#theres so much EVERYWHERE in every aspect of his backstory and his preexisting comics and yet over and over we get#....what if we just ignored all that and did what the fuck ever as though this character has nothing integral to him or fundamental to say#to be fair my gripes with Taylor are not exactly interchangeable with my gripes with the previous runs#but I lump him in as an extension of them because while evocative of different SIDES of my ennui with these takes on Dick.....#the thing about Taylor's stuff to me (or the parts I read at least) is that its generic as hell while only retaining superficial elements#of Dick's character and stories in order to point to them and say see these are definitely about Dick Grayson. like....only in very surface#level ways. underneath that theyre basically generic superhero adventures that could easily be retooled to be about a pretty sizable number#of other characters. tbh with the whole alfred inheritance thing it honestly felt from the get go#that Taylor was more interested in writing a kinder gentler Batman like a Bruce from one of the animated shows like#The Brave and the Bold who gets along better with everyone else. even the way the Brave and the Bold largely exists to use Batman's#popularity as a star vehicle to platform his co-superhero for the episode lends itself to Taylor's approach in his NW run#with the central figure - only nominally DG imo - basically existing as a platform allowing for the drafting of any other character he want#to write in any given arc or story in a similar way to how Bruce is utilized in Brave and the Bold#anyway. idk idk. my issues with Taylor are not the same as the others exactly but also they are and also I just plain dont like the guy#so I complain about him at any given opportunity even when its not technically as accurate or relevant as it possibly could be#I Am Flawed. its fine though dont worry about it. its called being nuanced
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just watched the borderlands movie and the only good part was that krieg’s little harness thingo lowkey looked like a very skimpy little bra thing sometimes
he needs some back support with those jugs ofc
#it wasn’t AS bad as I thought it would be#but it was not good#at all#idk why they changed so much of the story and just like Made It Worse#why did they make Tina’s dad head of atlas? why not just keep her parents killed off? why did they mischaracterise her so badly?#why was she annoying? why was she an experiment? why not use a more compelling villain than Guy Who Looks And Acts As Bland As Possible#the villain was simply. no good#I wish they used jack ��#I also wish they didn’t do the Lilith’s mum subplot bc it was a little off??? somehow?#and Tannis and Lilith’s relationship wasn’t particularly fulfilling#claptrap was even more annoying#the jokes weren’t funny#the sfx were NOT as bad as everyone said they were I’m sorry I thought they were fine aside from a few weird shots in some chase sequences#another thing I don’t get that much was ppl hating Lilith’s hair bc it’s doesn’t look like in the games#ppl compared the wig to wigs that cosplayers use that look rly accurate and good but#u have to take into account#that it’s rly hard to stylise a live action movie to look something like boarderlands and most cosplays are made to look good statically#things that look good in cosplay and in the game will not look good in a live action action sequences#like if u gave her a cosplay wig it would look great and accurate but it also would be completely rigged in the wind and would not move#like real hair#which would probably be incredibly jarring to see in a live action film especially with all the action#was the hair great? no. I still think it could’ve been vastly improved on while remaining realistic for a live action movie#but I think some people hold it to unrealistic standards in their criticisms or whatever#also costumes have to be actually movable and breathable bc REAL people are shooting REAL scenes and doing stunts and shit in them#but. yeah. the costumes could definitely have had some improvement#I think that if u wanted to make a borderlands film that was accurate to the design of the characters it would be easier to do it animated#and the writing?#we do not speak about the writing good lord#borderlands movie#borderlands
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something about finding the people who sit through your info dumps with joy on their face and enthusiasm for your passions. something about finding the people who info dump right back at you because they know you love hearing about their passions. something about finding the people who manage to sum up your being in one niche, oddly specific sentence that lives in your mind rent free for the rest of time. something about finding the people who not only accept you for who you are but embrace you for who you are. who not only tolerate your quirks and differences but love and cherish them.
#i’m in my feels today if you couldn’t tell#just thinking about one friend in particular who i don’t get to see in person nearly enough but i text all the time#idk it’s the little things#the way we send each other videos of ourselves explaining whatever we’re learning about right now#the way we don’t write it in a long message because the emotion and vibes don’t translate properly#the way he’s told me that the way i dress is so gender nonconforming in his eyes#how even though i’m afab and i wear glittery makeup and crop tops and have pink hair#i still look so queer and so gnc and so Not Girl in his eyes#how that felt so validating#how i could feel the genuine love in his words#how he told me once that i’m ‘not a person with lore but rather a person with a schtick’#and how he explained to me what my schtick was and how accurate it was#how he told me he can’t wait for me to get my degree(s) and be an openly queer person in stem#how he can’t wait for me to defend my thesis sometime in the future and be wearing the brightest makeup and the biggest earrings#and the tallest boots#how he loves that i go to my chem lab every week with glitter on my eyes#how it’s cool that i don’t care if i stick out like a sore thumb because i’m me#i remember how he dropped the she/her pronouns immediately upon ne saying i didn’t really vibe with them#(even when they were still technically on my list of ‘ok to use pronouns’)#how his boyfriend who i don’t know very well has always they/them-ed me because my friend does#and if my friend is doing it then it must be the right thing#idk i just love my friends#and this friend in particular is someone i’ve gotten really close with over the past 6 months or so#and i’m so glad to have him in my life#platonic love#friendship#tell your friends you love them
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unexplainably ill about "never-ending performance" as a name for one of kaeya's constellations
#like. augh. i know its probs not even this deep. but thats such an accurate description of his entire life#he he has always been constantly performing to everyone he knows. even the people he loves and cares about. especially them#gestures vaguely. kinda ran out of nice words to express myself here. do you get me#also im plagued by my genius concept of a kaeya character study divided into parts guided by his constellation/talent names#like. never-ending performance. frostbiting embrace. excellent blood. glacial heart even. i could work w those#or so i think. idk. i still havent managed to write anything cohesive about kaeya</3#kaeyaposting#my posts
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I'm v curious abt Talon's mesoamerican origins and evolution in general how does his accent sound when written out? after such a long life what is the strongest vestige of those times he has (aside from physical features and so on). I can't believe some rando bloodsucker colonized my boy
I have no idea what his accent wld sound like as the few videos i cld find of people speaking his original language, are, of course, mainly spanish speakers! And I can sometimes hear the difference in spanish as they switch between the 2 while being interviewed but i struggle to mentally transplant that as to how it'd sound in English ykwim 😭 there's also the fact that its the modern language spoken by them so it has evolved alongside and borrows from spanish anyway, by those who still speak it and speak both Today
Im actually still zeroing in on fleshing out more of that lore, since I can't find too much info on the specific culture i envision for him, it may really just have to be "fantasy culture INSPIRED by the people" instead, so i dont completely botch actual historical info 😮💨 either that or go very vague off of the info available
#anonymous#skunk mail#his sire being spanish is pretty standard for such a thing but it makes sense as the culture were the first to have contact with them#id also love to make it as accurate as possible despite limited info but this is just a standalone oc with no fully fleshed out story so#maybe i will go the Fantasy Inspiration way bc I don't think I could? handle? portray? it all as well as one should...#cultures arent just there to pick from and play with etc etc etc#WAGH i wish we had more texts....i need to go looking again#hm hm hm hm maybe talon cld sound like modern speakers because he does spend more time with other language than his original#one once his immediate community passes and he leaves#but then that wouldn't make sense as he'd lose the accent completely if i wanna go the ''he forgor'' route#talon has a lot of Me and idk its important for me to have him learning languages thru one venue only#(so like books) and so he knows it but has not heard people say every single word so he has to guess#its not exactly like my experience but growing up i only learned Spanish through hearing and not reading or writing so i have barriers#in between ykwim#hm hm hm....we will figure it out#he's only like 2 years old! he's still a wip! and im not in any rush bc its not like ill ever make a whole project with him...#we're learning things and piecing it all together as we go for fun
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Earthdamar
Lights flickered. The distant dots in the dark void reminded you of the battle. Echoes of hollow screams. Explosions of ships. Your former comrades. Disintegrated by the talons of the dragon laced with golden armour. Eyes and wings glowing in purple light. Rivalling the stars and galaxies. Despite its glow, it was greedy. Swallowing light and hope alike. Until nothing remained.
Amongst the weak spots there was one strong and stable enough to hold your gaze. Never shying away from sight once it had appeared. Rounding its mother star since eons ago. Blue. Blue and white, with tints of green and yellow. Unlike the dark tiles and circling walls appearing black in the red light surrounding the broad window.
Steps drew closer. Following the example of screams. Projected from the walls. Drilling deep into the depths of your brain. Doors detecting the wandering presence behaved with wordless command. Sealing you in with the one responsible for the massacre. Commander of the taloned hands, standing next to you without his draconic armour. Still, his eyes emitted the same ominous glow his shell did not so long ago.
“Once we extract the Earthdamar from earth, and make Velgearians into true living beings, we will return to the front lines.” His voice was as sharp as ever. Proud posture fitting the thin smile he was carrying since his victory. Stare transfixed on the planet in blue. Until they locked onto a different target. You.
“Why are you shaking?” For a moment his never wavering grin seemed to falter. A dangerous glint glared at you for a heartbeat. It was so fast you were not even sure, if it was there to begin with. No. His eyes lit up with something else. His stance reinforced as he faced in your direction.
“I see.” He interpreted. “You can’t contain your excitement. I was afraid you were starting to follow his ideals. But it was you, who made victory even possible. Without you we wouldn’t be here.” Turning toward the window you never left his line of sight. “You can be proud of yourself. Thanks to you, the war will turn into our favour. Rush Duels are just the final step. Our monsters will crush the enemy’s forces until there will be nothing left of them.”
Ships began to align in formation in the endless void. Stars bleeding red in contrast to the dark blue exteriors. The Commander reached his hand out toward you. His smile softened while he addressed you. “Let us end it together. For the Velgear Star Cluster.”
Take his hand?
Yes
No
#yugioh go rush#zwijo zir velgear#a deer draws#a deer writes#welcome to the go rush villain dating sim where we throw redemption into the wind and let the men be unhinged#here we make them worse#or they make us worse#idk i'm not the boss of your story#i'm trying to be as vague as possible#go rush villain dating sim!au#go rush vds!au#<- the tags i'll be using for this#i'm aware “villain” is not necessarily accurate but it sums up really well what's happening#is this how the (almost) final scene of dating sims work?#idk but here they do#to be fair they could also be read as purely platonic#fond feelings are there either way... i suppose...?
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#there is a wide margin of interpretation you can take with Armand and I'd like ppl to understand that.#We just quite actually do not have all accurate or full information on him but what we have is enough to prove#he is capable and culpable of all the things he is shown and proven to have done#I think a lot of the writing this season also was intentionally meant to confuse and make you doubt what is happening there. like actually#where do the lies start?#Now are all of them equally valid? Absolutely not. But I'm not like going to judge heavily people who have a different one.#A lot of bad ones (poorly backed) I get where that conclusion gets drawn from and for me it's just kind of fun to theorize those things#People claiming it as the right interpretation are a little like... okay chill out. But I think there can be room for that.#That is unless your ideas somehow vindicate or paint him as somehow also a victim of Louis like wtf are you doing at that point don't defen#him the dude is a massive piece of shit let him be a piece of shit.#It also doesn't make much sense to make him some great mastermind or somehow winning over something he's clearly shown not wanting?#its easier for me to see him as someone who doesn't have very fixed intentions or judgements on anything#his moral compass is self serving even when those morals are aligned to good things or a desire to be good#like he can see something as bad even undesirable and still do it if it serves some larger or more stable benefit to him#with little regard for who gets hurt in the process and with low empathy to see they could be hurt by it#And thats the most consistent thing about him is he falls to whatever is most beneficial w/o regard to others even when regarding them#& those good things r performative even if he's not intending it to be when it aids in exploiting other peoples view of him to an advantage#Or like when he goes about hiding under that persona to meet bad ends intentionally. (These go back and forth)#and something something the purpose of a system is what is does#there's little point in getting into the intentions of Armand when he consistently fails to do what he's claiming be#Idk tho honestly might not post iwtv stuff for a while I'm tired#There's a an amount of interpretation you can take about any other character too just there is so much more speculation there than elsewher
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I hope someone writes a good fic about the high cloud quintet with all the messy pieces of lore we have because i'm very unsatisfied with what we got and I want MORE OF THEM. don't know why i'm so obsessed with this tragic group of friends but 😭 IM SO FEELINGS ABOUT THEM but also empty because they didn't satisfy me with what they gave us lmao I require more. but that was the end and i'll never get more....unless someone writes a great fic about them.....!
#hsr#lee text#one of the things that bothered me most was not seeing dan heng react to learning about blade/yingxing? hrm#everything in star rail seems super disconnected and rushed and i wish they could do the stories better#so i need someone to write a thing and fill in the gaps and add more and satisfy my need for a good story about these tragic losers#i want more baiheng because she seemed like the most adorable lovable thing 😭#i want more yingxing because i love him a lot for some reason i cant even figure out#i want jing yuan before he became a very sad and distant and lonely old man whose constant smile seems painfully fake.....#i want to see more of jing liu before she went crazy with mara#i want the gay and the lesbian hoyo cant give for legal reasons (xingyue/bailiu)#i want a story maybe starting with them meeting. becoming close and very good friends#maybe leading to their end dbdndnksksks it would hurt but im sure fandom writers can write it better than the game writers😅#im just rambling and reading makes me fall asleep and idk if anyone would ever write this but 😭#idk why my brain even clung onto them so much. theres other tragic friend stories this didnt happen with. why this one#i'd love a comic/manga about this group too but that even less likely than a fic. im sure other people like this group too#and maybe one is a fic writer. but an entire manga piece about them is unlikely 😅#its just easier for me to read when i can SEE it. thats just a preference tho#i feel like lore accurate fics arent as common tho? like taking all the lore you know and piecing it together into a whole story?#not that i read fics much so idk what im talking about but 99.9% if ones ive see are just ship fics only#what am i talking about i lost my train of thought lmao#anyway jingliu better come home. im at like 60 pity. where is she!!!!!!
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I ended up reading The Price of the Phoenix and while it didn't make me want to bleach my eyes like Killing Time, I still didn't like it as much as I hoped I would. Don't get me wrong, the homoeroticism was intriguing to me, but the actual writing and storyline itself left me with a headache. I think I get my hopes up with these books, given all of the possibilities that the written word has for Trek, and it inevitably sets me up for disappointment lol
#if u liked it thats fine I just kind of hated it#star trek#The only ones Ive genuinely liked so far is STTMP and the one about Garak written by Andrew Robinson#i wish Roddenberry had written more. STTMP was no literary masterpiece but his writing style had a lot of potential and I feel that#he actually captured the characters authentically and you could relate to their feelings#Price of the Phoenix had all of this corny alpha male shit going on that almost made me feel#like the author just didn't know how to write men or something#Like they relied a lot on stereotypes of the time which sucked considering that Kirk and co. are supposed to be living in the future#the dialogue was clunky and even confusing at times#and the characters were just#idk. vapid to me#Like Kirk and Spock's love for each other is portrayed which is nice but basically everything else about them just didnt feel#accurately characterized or otherwise explored#it was basically just muliple chapters of several different versions of Kirk getting his ass kicked & this big weird villain dude taking up#space on the page with his plan to take over the universe or whatever#the reincarnation concept was intriguing but the themes just weren't clear enough for me#the end haha#sttos#k/s#review#price of the phoenix#well Im glad I read it anyway I was curious#i get kind of leary of certain K/S content TBF since a lot of it- esp around that time- comes off as voyeuristic towards M/M relationships#a lot of those ppl didnt exactly care about queer movements as much as they cared about seeing their two fictional favs fuck#yes there were queer writers but we didnt always exactly get center stage in these things#you can tell what is written with respect and whats just kinda. written. you feel me#i love K/S and its history but Im not gonna pretend all or even half of it was written with the intention of uplifting queer men#i ended up having more to say than I realized uhhhhhh to be continued at another date
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i hate posts that are supposed to be positivity for people who lack friends or that say that social connections are like unexpectedly inevitable/straightforward to make or something, but then like. don't elaborate on how that is possible. it always just makes me feel more hopeless
#space chirrup#idk. i suppose even if there was actually anything theoretically actionable in those posts i still might not feel like it'd work for me#i mean i've tried googling for actual advice but for some reason ''how to make friends as a chronically online socially stunted#possibly autistic barely-transitioned transgender young adult introvert with esoteric interests'' doesn't turn up anything useful#(idk if ''possibly autistic'' is accurate all the self-assessments i've done plus the psychologist i went to said i probably wasn't)#i suspect that i might be unnecessarily limiting myself with all of that#but i have absolutely no idea what is a reasonable amount to step outside of my comfort zone/interests#i don't even have anything that i want out of basic social interactions the thing that compels me is intimacy.#but i don't want that with someone i don't know already.#but how do i get to know people when there's nothing i want to do with them and i have trouble feeling like i want things in general#does that mean i'm depressed. i've had conflicting feedback on whether i am. what is the productive course of action if i am#bc i keep thinking that like medication wouldn't be worth it if i didn't have a plan to actually improve my life but that if i had a#plan i could just do it without medication#but idk maybe medication would allow me to identify an actually viable plan. ggggggg#ALSO does it make a difference that i only feel strongly about this when it's late at night#people always say not to trust how you feel at night but it's not like i feel GOOD about my life in the daytime it's just kinda neutral#like there's enough for me to survive without significant effort and i'm not completely joyless but idk what it's all for#and night is the only time i feel motivated to do anything about it.#though usually that thing is just writing a vent post on tumblr or something equivalently unproductive lolllll
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it feels like im giving up on my writing but im not it's been less than a week and i shouldn't force it if i can't come up with anything im literally watching tons of series to try and get more context so i can write the characters better but for some reason I STILL FEEL GUILTY
AND IM SICK RN. I HAVE A PERFECT EXCUSE NOT TO BE WRITING. BUT I STILL FEEL LIKE IVE GIVEN UP. why am i like this
#i am punishing myself for literally no reason#its so annoying#ive put writing life gods off for a bit#one bc im sick#two bc im catching up on the series i haven't seen so i can write the characters better#bc ik i could just write them however i want it's a fanfic not a competition#but it still bothers me idk#i enjoy being accurate
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how about 😈, 🎢, and 🧐!
Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask
😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?
OH DEFINITELY SKDNSJDJSKS i'll leave shit on a cliffhanger (as long as it suits the story-- that always comes first, for me) like i did at the ending of LITD chap 2, or i'll put a teensy tiny little heart-wrenching detail into the narrative, etc etc. I thrive off the tears, if im making you feel Emotions then i have Done My Job as a writer LMAO
🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?
This is so hard for me to choose bc like. A staple of my fics is that theyre just genuinely insane like im not happy unless im being utterly unhinged about them on some level.
For example: we have all wayfaring hearts where tommyinnit is the Actual, Personified Universe learning to temporarily be a person. And then we have a delicate life which has the most Themes Ever considering its just a fic about two dudes eating watermelon. lost in the dark is just bananas in general what with the worldbuilding, and the upcoming everything i loved and feared is. Boy That Ending Sure Goes.
If i had to choose an existing fic, i think it would either be LITD or AWH, but for unwritten aus, the beauty and the beast timeloop goes pretty goddamn hard. That and the rest of my tma fic, sightless, unless the eyes reappear-- the amount of plotting i did for that au was astronomical and i hope to return to it one day!!
🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?
At minimum i am pouring in like. 45 min into any given subject i dont already know a ton about. I spent a solid three days researching ancient tattooing practices and tattoo ink formulas for the secret marriage au, dont even get me STARTED on the research ive done for LITD..... im very committed to realism and accuracy in my work as much as i can feasibly manage so things like wound care, weaponry, politics.... Yeah its safe to say i pour a lot of time and research into my stories SKDNSKMS
#shouting speaks#asks#ask game#tbt when i watched a suturing video so i could accurately write a medic character of mine making sutures#this extends past fictional stories too#i worked for a surgery center for a year and watched some of the surgeries happen live (cataract and ENT)#so i could explain to our patients what they could expect when they went in#cataract surgery in particular was smth i watched a decent amount of done bc pts are only given a local anasthetic#so theyre awake for the surgery#as you can imagine that is a REALLY nervewracking thing to walk into#so i made it my mission to put them at ease by just. telling them exactly what was going to happen#i ask my doctors to do this for me during procedures im awake for so that i know whats happening at all times#so i tend to extend the same courtesy to other people in the hopes that eases their anxiety too#it went a long way toward easing patient nerves wrt being awake while their eyes are being messed with#idk smth smth the illusion of control. this got long i didnt intend to talk abt this in the tags so much SKDNSKDNSM#txt
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continuing to live up to my title of rarepair royalty by seein exactly one (1) art of two characters who i dont think meet in one of my games and deciding to add them to my list
#the cryptid speaks#they only have 33 english fics on ao3 and like 97% of them are jus smut.... ah my homelands /j#honestly im drawn to write them a fic (i already have a premise) but im . not That far through the game . relatively speakin#so idk if i could write anythin without it bein terribly inaccurate skhskdhskjd#fic doesntve to be accurate but we all know how writers are
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killshot, baby
Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM
As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises.
You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly.
“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.
“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint.
“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.
Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”
“If?”
You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.”
“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.
–
The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up.
“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”
“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”
“Is this about an unsub?”
“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.
“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”
“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new.
She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.
“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.
“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”
“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick.
“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”
“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.
–
The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.
“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.
“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”
That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you.
“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up.
“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision.
–
The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?
Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.
–
The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.
“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.
“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him.
You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”
He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”
“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”
He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”
Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”
He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”
You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”
–
The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day.
You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.
“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.
“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up.
You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it.
“I can watch him.”
Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.
You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”
He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you.
“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.
–
Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day.
“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?
Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.”
He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”
–
You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless.
You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from.
Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back.
Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.
Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.
“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.
You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.”
He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”
“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless.
“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”
You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”
He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”
Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.
He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”
“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”
“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”
You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.”
Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.
–
That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.
He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it.
A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.
“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks.
“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”
“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.
“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”
Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”
“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in.
In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.
“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.
–
The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine.
The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal.
“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”
He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.
Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”
He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day.
“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you.
“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.
He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”
“White.”
He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.
You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”
He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.”
You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”
He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”
You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.
He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”
You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”
That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”
He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”
Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”
Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.
“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.
Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.
–
You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?
The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure.
You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?”
He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.
You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.”
The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”
You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself. You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road.
“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much.
“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”
Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.
“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”
“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm.
“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”
“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”
“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”
Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.
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