#future tense sounds like it would be an interesting challenge...

[suckerforprettyboys]

illicit affairs- g.hawthorne

in which a simple interview starts fierce rumors of a secret romance.

wc: 1.3K

my inbox is open for requests! xoxo

The backstage room was cloaked in an awkward silence, broken only by the distant echoes of the camera and make-up crew doing their last minute touches. You, a well known and respected interviewer, were sitting patiently waiting for your interviewee to enter the room. You had your papers neatly stacked, hair perfectly set how you liked it, and a bright smile ready. 

Interviews were nothing new for you, it was quite literally your job, but today’s interview would be rather difficult in comparison to the usual interviews. You were interviewing a well known businessman and entrepreneur, the heir to the Hawthorne fortune: Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. 

Your mind is sucked from your thoughts as the door swings open, a rather annoyed and stoic looking Grayson straightening up his suit. He walks over, sticking out his hand for a handshake.

“Grayson Hawthorne, pleased to meet you,” he introduces himself, not even cracking a smile. 

You introduce yourself as well, presenting a sweet smile to go along with your words. He just stares at you, unimpressed, almost looking bored. 

“Oh boy, he seems like a joy” you think to yourself, not letting the negativity of your thoughts slip into your kind and warm demeanor. 

As the two of you settle into the interview space, the atmosphere grows increasingly frosty and tense. Grayson was clearly not in the mood to answer any hard hitting questions today, answering with the most vague responses possible. This left you to navigate through a maze of one-worded answers and dismissive gestures. 

It soon became evident that this interview would be a test of your ability to crack the enigma that was Grayson Hawthorne. 

The minutes ticked by slowly, and you pressed on, determined to unravel the layers of the unyielding celebrity. Little did they know, this encounter would become a battle of wits, a dance between an interviewer seeking to break through his icy demeanor and a stubborn man determined to maintain his impenetrable facade. 

Despite the obvious tension in the room, you continue on with your hard hitting questions, determined to get something out of Grayson Hawthorne. The air hung heavy, each question met with unspoken challenges and calculated responses. Grayson wasn’t a lot in your eyes, but the bastard was good. 

In a subtle shift, you decide to take a less business approach to the questions and quite beating around the bush. 

“So,” You smile sneakily, leaning forward as you fold your hands in your lap. “The Heiress, Ms. Grambs. Any comments on her you would like the world to know, or are you gonna shut this topic down too?” You smirk to yourself as you see a slight glimmer in his eye from your boldness. Maybe it was just the set lights that hit his perfect face just right, but you knew damn well he had something to say from the way he brightened up ever so slightly.

“No comment.” He says coldly, shifting in his chair. He crossed one leg of the other in your direction, body language indicating his slight interest in your approach to the questioning. 

He didn’t trust you, but he was opening up. Ever so slightly.

You smile warmly, laughing softly to try and clear the atmosphere. “Well folks, there’s your answer.” You turn back towards Grayson, looking him straight in the eyes as if willing him to give you something, anything. “Not to sound too forward, but you are a very handsome and wealthy young man. You have stated in previous interviews that, and I quote, ‘dating is not your thing, never has been and won’t be for the foreseeable future if you can help it,” You smile sneakily once again. 

“Does that still apply, or has a special someone changed your perspective on that?”

Grayson goes slightly stiff at your words. You take note of this, deciding that this would be that last romance question in an attempt to get him to feel comfortable. 

“I stand by the previous statements made regarding that particular topic.” He says, unfazed and bored. 

You lean back in your seat, uncrossing you legs and sighing, “Mr. Hawthorne, you are one tough cookie to crack.” You laugh, smiling sweetly at him. “I assume privacy is one of the things you value most?”

“Yes, it is.” He nods, but gives no other indication of emotions.

Bingo. You’ve gotten him to talk. And you are running with it. 

You smile, locking eyes with him again, “And is there any particular situation that made that choice set in stone? Or has that just been something you’ve always lived by?” You watch his eyes flicker with something, but you aren’t sure what.

“I grew up watching what the media had done to family members and the little bit they showed the press and chose to just steer clear indefinitely. It is better to avoid a burning building and wonder what would have happened then to walk in and burn.” He folds his hands in his lap, re-cuffing the sleeves.

You smile from ear to ear, overjoyed that he had gotten out more than a few words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“You never had to.” Grayson cuts in, expression cold. It was clear this was a sensitive topic, so you decide not to push any farther. 

“I suppose I never did, my sympathy to those who found out the hard way.” You nod. Then, as if nothing had happened, your bright smile is back.

“Alright, Mr. Hawthorne. I believe that is all the questions I have for today.” You shake his hand again, thanking him for coming out and saying goodbye to your audience. Grayson gets up immediately, looking as if he was fighting to leave the room. 

You choose to ignore it, speaking with the camera crew and production team as the wrap up.

---

Less than a half hour later you are walking back to your dressing room, a nagging feeling in your cut. You feel guilty, not sure for what, but the feeling is there non the less. 

“Fuck it,” You think to yourself, heading towards the guest dressing room.

You knock on the door. No response. 

“Hello?” You call out, only to be met with no response once again. You continue to knock for a few more minutes, ear pressed to the door for any indication of life on the other side of the door.

Eventually, a staff member finds you looking like a creep with your ear pressed to the door. She tells you that Grayson was on his way to his limo and he was quite grumpy. At this news your stomach drops, concerned that you had been the root of his unhappiness. 

You weren’t sure why that particular fact bothered you.

You intercept him outside on the way to his car, hand waving in the air to catch his attention. 

“Mr. Hawthorne!” You yell, causing him to turn. His eyes narrow, brows furrowing as he looks down at you.

“Hi,” You smile, slightly out of breath from chasing him down. “Can I speak with you for a quick second?”

Grayson glances back at his bodyguard, giving a silent signal in the form of a nod. He steps off to the side, nodding at you stiffly. 

“Quickly.” He spits out rather rudely.

“I wanted to apologize.” You say softly, eyes locked on his to show your genuine intention.

This catches Grayson off guard, “Apologize for what exactly?” He slightly quirks a brow, still peering down at you.

“For overstepping the boundaries of the interview. The description of the question I sent your agent had nothing to do with personal life or romance and it was inappropriate of me to ask such things of a total stranger.” You ramble, talking with your hands, the complete opposite from your shiny and perfect interviewer persona. 

Grayson just nods stiffly at you once again, offering no answer as you continue on.

“I’ll have the production team cut anything other than strictly business conversation or we can cut the interview entirely if you wish.”

“No need.” He says quietly. “Just cut the things not described in the papers sent to my agent and myself.”

You let out a sigh of relief, smiling at him “Thank you so much, Mr. Hawthorne”

“Grayson.” He cuts you off. “Just Grayson is ok. Mr. Hawthorne makes me sound old.” He says curtly, turning to leave.

You just stand there as he gets in the limo, waving stiffly at you. Your eyes follow the limo as it leaves, confused as to what had just happened.

The picks up, causing you to shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself. The shutter of a camera catches your attention in the distance. A group of maybe 3 paparazzi were huddled behind a group of bushes, holding their cameras in your direction.

You offer a sweet and warm smile, waving at them as they flick a few more pictures before walking off. You simply shrug, heading back inside for the warmth of the building.

Weird. 

---

Later that evening, you were finishing up with the production team getting the right clips in the right order and making everything look amazing. 

“Ok, guys. Looks great!” You smile proudly, thanking your team for all their great work throughout the day. The sound of your name being called catches your attention, causing you to turn.

Your eyes land on your agent, peeking her head through the door and asking to speak with you outside. You nod, slightly confused, and follow her into the small hallway. 

She looks at you with an odd look, “How are we gonna clean this up?” She says.

“Clean up what?” You laugh nervously, “What happened?”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, telling you to check your phone. You furrow your brows in confusion, pulling out your phone.

The second you laid eyes on it the screen glows with an endless amount of notifications: texts, dm’s, emails, and missed phone calls. Out of curiosity you click on one of the emails, leading you to an article link.

Hawthorne Heir Apparent and Heart-throb Grayson Hawthorne Spotted with Well-Known Interviewer and Possible New Girlfriend, and the cover was a picture of you and Grayson speaking in the parking lot.

Your stomach drops, “Shit.”

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Fateful Love in Motion

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

➙ Prologue

I once heard from a maid who kept a small bird that to prevent its wings from becoming useless, you need to let it out of the cage occasionally and allow it to flutter around.

I wonder when this birdcage of mine will open.

Kicho: "Do you have any regrets?"

Mai: "No."

Kicho: ".........."

(That's a lie.)

A heavy silence filled the room, and I averted my gaze from Kicho out of awkwardness.

Staying here in Ooku meant I would inevitably choose someone.

And tonight was that night.

Kicho: "Why did you choose me? Though I'm one of the attendants, we haven't talked that much."

Mai: "That's true."

(I ended up choosing him on impulse because of his strong presence.)

Seeing me at a loss for words, he sighed and quietly stood up, picking up a book from a writing desk in the corner of the room.

Mai: "Um?"

Kicho: "I have no interest in forcing anyone."

Kicho: "But if you leave the bedroom now, it will only cause unwanted rumors."

Kicho: "It would be best to spend the night quietly."

Mai: "I see."

Kicho: "Hmm. You're reading something quite challenging."

Mai: "Yes. I hope it will be useful for the future, even just a little."

Kicho: "What do you mean by that?"

His gaze pierced straight through me.

(There it is again.)

His eyes, filled with an unwavering determination, effortlessly compelled me to speak.

Mai: "Take this as a joke, but one day, I hope to break free from my dad's control and live my own life. Not here, but somewhere else."

Kicho: "I see."

He didn't say anything more after that.

One month later.

Kicho: "That's right. You should interpret it that way."

Mai: "I see. I guess I was overthinking it."

Night after night, Kicho visited me and taught me various things.

What I thought was a distressing time quickly became irreplaceable, and I began to look forward to this nightly visit.

Kicho: "Mai, is something wrong?"

Mai: "Huh?"

Kicho: "You seem different tonight. Your expression seems tense."

Mai: "You can tell?"

Mai: "Actually, my father wants me to call someone else to my bedroom tomorrow."

Kicho: ".........."

Kicho: "I see."

His response was quiet.

He probably knew that this was that kind of place.

(But...)

Kicho: "----!"

I unconsciously found myself gripping his sleeve.

(I no longer have the courage to impulsively 'choose someone' as I did that day.)

(I...)

Kicho: "Mai."

Before I could put my feelings into words, his warm hand gently overlapped mine.

When I looked up, his eyes, filled with an unwavering determination, trembled with sadness.

Kicho: "Is it okay?"

Mai: "Huh?"

Kicho: "I'm asking if it's okay for me to take you away."

Kicho: "To a place where you can be yourself. Mai, will you live with me?"

Mai: "Kicho."

Mai: "Why are you saying such wonderful things?"

Kicho: "The night you called me to your bedroom, I saw you longing to go outside, and I felt it would be wrong to cut those beautiful wings of yours."

Kicho: "As we spent time together, these feelings transformed."

Kicho: "Don't you feel the same?"

Mai: "……"

The warmth and scent I had long grown accustomed to slowly drew nearer.

We leaned in closer than ever before, and our bodies overlapped.

It was then, for the first time, that I noticed the sweetness and heat of his lips.

A tingling sensation then spread through the depths of my mind.

Mai: "Ah…"

Kicho: "Mai."

Instead of nodding, I firmly entwined my fingers with his.

Somewhere in the distance, I faintly heard a high-pitched sound, like the opening of a birdcage.

➙ Collection Events Masterlist

[wisp-of-chaos]

OC Kiss Week 2024 - Day 7

Alright here we are on the end of our OC Kiss journed. That ... honestly was a blast. I had so much fun exploring and writing those prompts, I can't express my gratitude towards the lovely person behind @ockissweek enough! <3

It's a bit sad that it's already over but I'm looking forward to trying such challenges again in the future! And without much further ado, let me present you the final piece to this amazing challenge.

Readable either here under the cut or on Ao3! Enjoy!! <3

Day 7 - Dare

Larik’s throat was running very dry very fast as he stared and didn’t dare to blink.

In his eyes, Vlassk was always gorgeous. From the moment they had met, he’d been stunned silent by the uniqueness of his appearance.

He clearly – and fondly – remembered their first meeting, when those fierce, mismatched eyes had met his own gaze and glared at him so sternly, Larik had felt as if his head was pierced by it. How they had made his breath hitch and his tentacles twitch with interest.

And even now, after knowing Vlassk and his wonderful kids for years, Larik still found himself in situations that left him breathless. Situations just like the one he was in right now; with his eyes pinned to Vlassk’s back and the delicately tied ropes covering it.

Their rich, dark red was a perfect contrast to Vlassk soft, blue coloration, and was even further pronounced by the ropes rough texture compared to his smooth skin, which moved and flexed slightly under the notions of his breathing.

Only a few years ago, Larik would never have dreamed of trying out something like shibari with Vlassk, and even less so suggested it. But now? Now the trust between them was solidified and encompassing; all misunderstandings and doubts washed away by the tide of their growing and flourishing feelings for each other.

“You’re beautiful”, Larik couldn’t help but mutter; sounding exactly as breathless and awed as he felt. He saw Vlassk’s shoulders tense the tiniest bit – he still wasn’t entirely used to getting compliments and Larik suspected he never truly would be – and moved his head to the side to give Larik a glance over his shoulder.

Larik’s throat tightened and a pleasant shiver ran down the length of his tentacles and spine when that single red eye met his own pair and effectively pinned him into place. He swallowed and for a moment just silently stared back; still trying to grasp that this was really happening and not just one of his dreams.

“May I touch you?”, he eventually asked and saw Vlassk’s tails twitching and the tips of his tentacles curling. Vlassk stared for a moment longer before inclining his head and nodding.

Larik smiled and whispered gratitude and joy and happiness against the edge of Vlassk’s mind before gingerly reaching towards him with both his tentacles and hands, but flinched when he felt a sharp mental nudge.

When his eyes found back to Vlassk’s face, he was being smirked at. “Hands only”, he commanded and Larik obeyed without question or protest; tucking his tentacles back against his chest and making contact with his fingers only.

Vlassk was cool to the touch – far cooler than Larik himself – and coated in a thin layer of damp mucous with a very distinct and exceptional smell. One, that was far less sweet and prominent that that of other illithids; faint and crisp and fresh like the salty breeze of the sea. It was a smell which Larik associated with happiness and joy and love. With home.

Larik slowly and carefully trailed his hands down; following the tightly knotted ropes and dark markings on Vlassk’s back until he met his sharp hipbones. He gave them a small but languid caress and heard the smallest gasp from Vlassk and smiled before he let his hands wander upwards again.

He still had a hard time believing this was real; that he was allowed to touch this beautiful, wonderful person and call him his husband. His partner. His love.

There had been a time, when Larik thought the very idea of finding love and a family for himself laughable and impossible. But things had changed since then. He no longer was part of the harem of his colony and free to do whatever he pleased without having to worry about accidentally breaking any rules and getting punished for it.

He was his own person now; with his own life and his own family and future. And he couldn’t be happier about it.

He felt Vlassk shuddering under his gentle touches and heard him pull in a hissing breath; his shoulders rising and the rope tightening around his upper body.

“Beautiful”, Larik couldn’t help and whisper again; a gentle and proud brush against Vlassk’s mind imbued with all the fondness and care and reverence he felt whenever looking at him.

Vlassk’s frills and tails fluttered ever so slightly and a pale blush crept onto his face; yet his tentacles curled upwards and the corner of his eye softened visibly. “Just as you are”, he whispered back with the same amount of tender emotions as he reached for Larik; a tentacle gently cupping and caressing his cheek.

Larik leaned into the touch – closing his eyes for a moment to truly feel it – and purred. It was a low rumbling sound, vibrating both through his chest and his mind and reaching out towards Vlassk with a gentle notion of daring mischief that earned him a chuckle.

“It’s true”, Vlassk said with a nudge of reassurance and deliberately leaned backwards and against Larik until his shoulders were mere inches away from his chest and his head neatly tucked underneath his chin.

“You’re the most handsome illithid I’ve ever seen~”, he cooed at him and nuzzled against the underside of his jaw; pouring gentle affection into his mind. “Strong and capable and so very talented in many different ways.”

His mind was flooded with images of vivid paintings but Vlassk also hinted at something more intimate and physical as he teasingly brushed a tentacle against Larik’s central one and made him shiver and twitch. He sighed and both heard and felt Vlassk snickering at him.

A second tentacle joined the first and softly embraced his head and pulled him a bit closer towards Vlassk as a single, simple “Perfect” was whispered into his mind and he felt him pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Larik smiled, his chest and mind igniting with genuine, soft warmth as he returned the gesture enthusiastically and said: “As perfect as you are, my beloved siren.”

[anderson14]

hello everyone. Today I would like to give my thoughts on the secular debate about english's difficulty,or rather lack there of.

Something that I feel happens many times whenever it is brought up is that there isn't enough evidence sustaining the argument,with many people going either "english is just an easy language" or "english is hard,stop saying it isn't" without giving examples or reasons for their stance. I for one believe that both of these can be applied as english is stupidly easy in some aspects and stupidly hard in others.

one example for it being a hard to learn and understand language is the phonetic incohearence of the words "cough","though","thorough","plough" and "thought",as all of them have "-ough" in them while also giving it a different sound,so we can deduce that it has a weird and difficult to understand,write and say lexicon,but it's not the full story.

English's easyness comes from its grammar,consisting of a barely conjugated infinitive form with the auxiliary verbs' past participle thrown in for the more complex tenses and the word "will" for its future tense (e.g. will have been playing).From this we can deduce that the grammar is quite simple compared to other languages.

from this I believe that while english has easier grammar compared to romance,slavic or other germanic languages,it still poses a challenge due to its abysmal words with confusing spelling.

Another thing worth mentioning is that any language's difficulty is subjective to the learner. For example,for an italian person to learn english fluently they would need much less time than a russian or chinese person due to the similar alphabet and similar grammar.

thanks for your attention through this wall of text,this is my first post on tumbler and I wanted to make it something grand that I'm interested in,I probably won't post anything else for a long time,this is more of a one-off thing,bye!

TL;DR: It depends from person to person,but it's mostly the words' spelling that's tough to understand while grammar is quite easy

[jhviscomms]

W3 Oded Ezer Workshop Day 3: (08/02/23)

At the start of the third day I was quite happy with my idea from the day before so I was just going to try and come up with something in one of the formula and enjoy myself.

Oded noted before his talk that the 'exceptional concept' isn't obvious and that research is so important to help us find our way.

The Innovative Project: Use brand new technology, or one from another field

That hasn’t yet been adopted in graphic design

Create a unique experience or visual idea

A new technology or new to GD + what can I do with it that hasn’t been done yet? = my project

The Design Fiction Project: A speculative project based on an existing futuristic scenario

Illustrates it visually

An existing futuristic scenario + A visual representation of the scenario using my expertise in design = my project 

Initially I was torn between both ideas, they were both quite challenging and both seemed harder than the previous days. Either way, i'd have to find a new purpose for something that already exists or has been conceptualised.

I started looking at next-gen stat tracking and data analytics in sports since its something that i'm interested in. However, nothing was coming to mind.

I changed my outlook and started focusing on the design fiction brief. I thought about a film i'd watched the other day: Arrival. The film is about aliens landing on earth and trying to share their language with humans.

The alien's language is made up of strange circular symbols with smaller details, I took some notes on them to explain the context of my idea.

(these are very important to understanding what i'm on about)

Heptapods use a Semasiographic form of language, which means their spoken language has no relationship with the written one, contrary to human languages.

The film implies that the human form of writing is a wasted opportunity, as we write the same thing we speak.

The Hetapods also make sounds which humans cannot understand and have no connection to the symbols.

The sounds are Hep-A and the symbols are Hep-B

Hep-B demonstrates the Hetapod's non-linear way of moving through time.

The Heptapod language is nonlinear, their language has no past, present, or future tense.

They can see all of time at once as their brains are wired to this circular form of communication. When Louise learns their language she too can look into the future. Essentially, she is rewiring her brain to the Heptapod language, which is discussed briefly in the film as “Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis: The language you speak defines the way you think”, thus now she too has a nonlinear perspective of time. 

I wanted the humans and aliens to understand each other universally and not just Louise. I thought about how us humans understand each other: translation apps, facial expressions and body language.

I spoke to some other people about it, and Josie reminded me that at the end of the film Louise wrote a book about how to understand the alien language and did my job for me.

I briefly considered looking at a different TV show before coming back to Arrival. I thought about the book and if people would read it, I imagined if hypothetically this scenario happened and aliens came to earth from the future and this person wrote a book and told us that in 3000 years the aliens needed help and that we needed to read this book to understand them.

I do not think a lot of people would read the book:

people like reading less and less these days

people would be scared of the aliens and inter-galactically xenophobic towards them

thus, parents would shield their children and tell them to not read it, just as people didn't want to co-operate in the film

With people not trying to protect the environment in the climate crisis, and people not getting vaccinated during the COVID-19 pandemic, both of these things would protect others so I have my doubts if people would read the book or not

I wondered if in this hypothetical world, I could create an alternate way of communicating with the aliens, from app's to kindles to bionic arms produced by apple. I decided that this was taking me out of my comfort zone which is what Oded said not to do, so I decided to think about a world where people did read the book.

I thought about a different way to read it and some alternate ways of reading time that I could use, clocks, sunlight and circadian rhythms, before I realised that i'd gone off track again.

The aliens came to earth because they needed help, but nowhere does it say what they need help with. I theorised that they needed access to human medical supplies, so my first idea was to make some kind of satirical day-in-the life video of humans looking after old aliens and giving them human medicine since I thought it would be quite fun.

I found some references but I won't put them in since I'm not going to go ahead with this specific idea following the feedback I got. I also had a few ideas for how my peers could develop their ideas, I told most of them after the session. I also thought of an idea for the milestones brief that i'd read. I thought of maybe playing with something to do with the different hours in the day.

Oded's feedback was essentially, don't do a video when I don't like videos as much as books. He suggested that I make a book showing this new world where humans and aliens co-exist and both groups can move through time in a non-linear way. He said to not look at the film and to think how the story would continue, however, he also said don't write anything so I think that I misunderstood. I also thought about maybe putting myself into this world and using some first person perspective. I didn't think much of this idea before speaking to Oded but now I really like it. I don't think I quite get it yet so I might chat to him again afterwards.

Oded gave us a summary talk where he encouraged us to try and fail, and not be afraid of it. He also said that we just need to follow each step of the formula and not to try and succeed, just be ourselves and have fun. He also encouraged 'stealing' from other designers, not copying.

We were left to try and reflect and improve on some of our ideas:

Idea 1: The Journalling app

slightly boring

I was distracted

Might just be a cool UI project

Nowhere near an exceptional concept

Idea 2: The Patty Hearst Editorial

More interesting

Very intrigued by the story and case

I want to share the story in an easily digestible way, 

The formula was a revival project, this wasn’t right for that, I’m not reviving the story, its already incredible, it just needs a new format

The book as a format is not quite right, its too boring for how passionate I am about the story

It can be exceptional in the right format but for now its just exciting until I find that format

Day 3: After-Arrival new world book 

Weird

Didn’t like it at first but it grew on me

Started out with the language, ended up with the ‘after the movie’ world that I created 

dying aliens and everyone being able to move through time in a non-linear way

Oded said do a book because I like books

Not quite sure what Oded meant, either

(1) In this world where no one wants to read, make people want to read the book of how to talk to aliens?…

(2) Or a book about the new world with aliens and people, able to communicate and move through time

(3) Maybe I’m imagining the content of the book of how to talk to them, based on the script of the film, maybe can get more playful over time as the humans learn how to travel through time. Blur till end, use something to unblur, what did she use in the film…

Maybe use my own perspective, put myself in this new world…

Exceptional with refinement

Weird

Didn’t like it at first but it grew on me

Started out with the language, ended up with the ‘after the movie’ world that I created 

dying aliens and everyone being able to move through time in a non-linear way

Oded said do a book because I like books

Not quite sure what Oded meant, either

(1) In this world where no one wants to read, make people want to read the book of how to talk to aliens?…

(2) Or a book about the new world with aliens and people, able to communicate and move through time

(3) Maybe I’m imagining the content of the book of how to talk to them, based on the script of the film, maybe can get more playful over time as the humans learn how to travel through time. Blur till end, use something to unblur, what did she use in the film…

Maybe use my own perspective, put myself in this new world…

Exceptional with refinement

Oded gave some more feedback on people's refined ideas. He also asked for some ideas for refining the workshop, I thought of maybe people potentially writing their specialism's on their name cards since what we were good at seemed to hold lots of weight in the workshops. He also gave us his email to contact him and emphasised the importance of doing nothing in idea generation.

I managed to catch him before he left and thank him and ask for some final clarity on my idea. He confirmed that it was in fact the third idea he was suggesting to me. I'd make the book that is seen in the film, we only see the front and back cover but we know that its Louise's guide on how to communicate with the hetapods. The film's plot is essentially a process of how she learnt the language so i'd be taking parts of the film's plot and shaping it into the book. I'm not sure yet if i'd be changing the covers at all, probably not but it still really intrigues me. I'd also obviously play with the idea that understanding the language of the hetapods allows for people to move through time in a non-linear way, which I think could create some really interesting experiments. He said that it can be technically fantastic but it'll become very special depending on how I play with time.

[semisolidmind]

The Beast of the Dark Woods

Me waking up: wasn't I going to do something today?

Me, 10 hours later and during my work shift: OH RIGHT

Also me several paragraphs into what was supposed to be a quick drabble: hey, wasn't he supposed to be a fucking vampire?

Please accept this humble offering and also I'm sorry if I messed up the grammar, writing in the present tense is not my strong suit ahhhhh 

(oooohoohoo this is very good :) definitely liking where this is going)

You can still hear the echoes of the shouts in your ear as you run. The ground is unsteady beneath your feet, the earth still soft and slick from the ongoing winter thunderstorms. With a gasp you catch yourself as your toes snag on tree roots hidden beneath the shifting mud, the impact ripping the sole of your shoes loose and causing the other to sink beneath the slurry. Of course they were party shoes, hardly meant for anything more challenging than a dance around polished ballroom floors, but they were all you had.

The sky lights up overhead, the blaze followed by a crash of thunder that isn’t quite loud enough to hide the distant gallop of hooves that are only growing closer. With a decisive twist, your yank yourself free, abandoning the useless strips of fabric and leather. You can’t stop here. If you did, you would be resigning yourself to a truly terrible fate.

The letter came a month ago. It had borne the seals and insignia of a neighbouring kingdom, and within it had been a message. A proposal really, between you and a man you barely knew. A man whose name now filled you with fear and rage.

Your family barely counted as nobility. Your only claim to the adjective was a patch of land and a distant relative that you had never spoken to outside of the rare yearly reunions or during kingdom-wide fetes held at the palace. That was where you had first met King Peter.

Sometimes you wished you could kick yourself for that day. If only you’d known better, you would have made excuses and steered clear of the creep the moment he’d sat down next to you in the gardens. Instead you had brushed his flirtations off as the fumblings of an awkward man, and explained away his inexplicable knowledge of your hobbies and whereabouts as him asking other people. It wasn’t strange that he’d started visiting your place of work, it was a fairly popular dining establishment and TK was an excellent bartender. Of course it was a coincidence that he’d showed up at the flower-shop whenever you happened to be there. He had claimed to have an interest in horticulture.

Then you’d woken up one night in the middle of a nightmare to find the man lurking at the foot of your bed and going through your basket of laundry. You’d screamed for your parents, but he’d leaped out the window and disappeared with the sort of horrifying efficiency that told you this was not the first time he had done it. The letter had come the very next day.

What could you do? Who could you tell? Your parents were ecstatic, practically frothing at the mouth at the thought of their future status. Besides, who would believe the word of a jumped-up waitress stuck to the fringes of nobility, against a king?

No one, and he had known that. You’d seen it in his grin during tonight’s dinner party, felt your heart clench in terror as he had raised his wineglass and proposed a toast to his upcoming wedding. The cheers and congratulations had drifted over your head as you’d sat woodenly in your seat, the sounds growing louder and louder until they threatened to smother you beneath their weight.

And so you had run.

The dark woods had earned their moniker well, although that wasn’t their true name. Folklore swore that using the true name of the forest would summon the monster that dwelled within it, but you had no other choice. This was the one place in the kingdom where no one would dare to tread. At least if you did die crushed between the jaws of a mythical creature, it would a far less ignoble thing than whatever Peter had planned for you. Plus, it would be on your own terms.

Eventually you stop sprinting and lean against one of the many pine trees. Panting hard, you strain your ears to listen for the thump of hooves, but hear nothing. Had you finally outpaced them? Exhausted and shaking, you slump to your knees in the dirt, fighting back tears.

Not for the first time since the whole debacle you wish that DJ was still there. He had been a knight at the castle while you were apprenticing there, and had always had a smile and kind word for you whenever you saw him in-between both of your duties. Ridiculously tall and ridiculously strong, you’d used to tease him that he had been more beast than man. When you’d said that, he would laugh and grab you around the waist, pretending to bite at your throat with his sharp canines.

“Well sunshine, they say monsters have a taste for pretty little things that go wandering into other people’s business.”

You chuckle to yourself, curling up tighter against the tree and focusing on the fond memories to keep the chill and damp at bay. That had been years ago, you doubted DJ even remembered who you were. Still, it was a nice thought to have after the last few months.

Slowly you drift off to sleep, unaware of the eyes that watch you through the trees. The forest quickly goes still, the sound of rain and night-time happenings replaced by heavy wingbeats that don't wake you up even as the dragon lands beside you. Scarlet red and obsidian black scales, thick twisted horns, and slit pupils that focus on you with a loving intensity that would have perhaps unnerved you if you had been awake to see it.

The monster begins to shrink. Scales fade into skin and talons grow more blunt. The creature, now a man, kneels down beside you and rises with you cradled in his arms the way he’d dreamed of doing for years. It was too bad you were asleep now, but there would be plenty of time in the future. After all monsters were selfish, and dragons even more so, but there were plenty of ways to make you stay. He adored you so much, and you deserved only the best. Only comfort.

DJ smooths a hand through your hair, taking in your torn, mud-stained clothes and bare feet with building fury. Flames pour from between snarling teeth as he turns to glare in the direction you had come from where he can still hear voices demanding your return.

Not to worry sunshine, he would take care of everything. By the time you woke up, everything would just be a bad dream.

[sereisstuff]

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 // Suguru Niragi

Warnings - Swearing, mentions of blood. Implied violence, mentions of bullying. The reader kinda has a savior complex.

word count - 3k

Italics + bold in the beginning is a flashback. Anything beyond the keep reading sign is present tense.

Also this was a first attempt, it’s somewhat what I could come up with at the moment, I was having mixed feelings towards Niragi because of the controversy surrounding his character and fan fictions but he is a fictional character, I’ll leave it at that.

“Leave him alone” 

You screamed bloody murder, watching as tears cascaded down his dewy cheeks running down towards his blood coated collar, baring the harsh texture of a softball plumbing against his broken nose. You witnessed his pleas and the pitiful cries he broke into for someone to help him, it was heart-wrenching.

Your voice broke their trance of hatred towards the poor boy, making you their focus of humour. The boy who seemed a year or two older than yourself coughed taking advantage of the situation to relish his tears onto the floor whilst grasping his stomach in pain. A moment so awful could only bring entertainment for the crowd. 

“Or what princess, are you gonna beat me up for it?” he scoffed, pointing towards Niragi grimly. His lips slithering into a deceitful grin and you swore, a glint of evil was shining behind his cowardly eyes.

You clenched your fist tightly feeling the silver rings bare against your cold hands, this seemed to amuse the group of them as a harmonious wave of laughter flooded beneath the bridge “How cute, a feeble thing like you challenging me? just like a little red riding hood” he muttered, his large feet padded across the cement, advancing towards your figure.

You felt your heart race in anticipation swiping a quick look towards the harmless boy shaking on the floor, angering you to your core. Like the swindling wind, your mind was running in chaos, calculating his every step with a cold glare strung to his eyes. You could almost feel your own body shaking but not in fear, no. In rage. 

“Look at her, she’s afraid of you” one interrupted with a grin, simply ignored his assumption with a raised brow. You were somewhat tall but he still stalked over you like a tree. Rooting your feet into the ground, you spoke “I’m not afraid of you, or any of you for that matter. I’m afraid of what will happen if you touch him one more time and trust me, I won’t be the one shaking in fear, that’s a promise. So go ahead, keep calling me princess, I dare you” your threat was taken lightly although the fear was evident in a few of their eyes once they witnessed the honesty in your eyes. 

A promising advance.

“You're funny, isn’t she funny? How about we make a joke out of you?” He threatened baring his teeth at you.

Your neck craned to meet his eyes, daring him to do as he pleased. One of his members gripped his hand in an attempt to pull him away “just let it go, we can get him next time” 

But he didn’t budge, ripping his friend's hand out of his own and raising it mighty in the air with a subtle hope of destruction lingering between his finger tips. He snarled out his reply “No, I’ll show her what you get when you don’t mind your own business”

You laughed, mocking his accusation, pushing him towards his wits end “That’s it you bitch” 

His hand came crashing down only stopping once you caught his wrist, twisting it around behind his back so he could squirm in pain. The others with slight moral decency, cowered in surprise, backing away from their beloved.

“You like that, huh?” You laughed, now it was your turn to become the heartless monster they awfully played “Does it feel nice being thrown around” you mocked him once more, kicking him into the floor with a nice swing of your boot covered foot, harshly connecting with his stomach so he pummeled in absolute pain.

“Your pathetic, the whole lot of you”

You rested your leg against his soon to be bruised stomach, glaring at everyone of them “Get out of here, before the same happens to you” your tone was stern and clear, sending them a threatening message they received. Although some hesitated but followed like little sheep in a herd, you bent down to their leaders face gripping strands of his hair and pulling his face to meet yours.

“Run along little lamb, watch your herd follow you” 

You made sure they were out of sight before you came back to the realization of the poor boy lying in his own puddle of tears and blood, advancing towards him in a state of worry, you bent down in front of him, arms to your sides in hopes he would understand you were no threat to him. He lifted his head slightly, his left eye of his frames was cracked and his other eye was forming a purplish bruise, you would have done a lot more than that if only you had the time.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you” you whispered softly grasping his attention, beneath his dampened strands he peaked up, a murmur of pain could be heard and beneath his hisses he gradually spoke “Th-thank you” 

“It’s fine, what they did was terrible. I hope you realise that you don’t deserve that” he had no strength to smile and only nod in understanding and suddenly it dawned on you. You had bandages and wipes in your bag, hanging out with a group such as yours you always had to be aware of any bruise and injury, what came with the mix of people you had was prone to wounds and you always came prepared for tragic things.

“I’ll be back” you spoke, standing up with a slight buckle in your knees and the pulsating pain in your fists, you so effortlessly ignored the more wounded. You gripped the straps, throwing it around your forearm and running back to him. You pulled out the bandages and the alcoholic wipes as you tapped his shoulder so he could look up from his dissociation.

“Do you mind?” you asked carefully, tipping your head towards his open wound on his cheek.

He looked at you, knitting his brows in thought. Processing what you said as he weighed out the idea that you were in fact being kind, he nodded looking into your eyes as you almost crumbled at the sight. The pain and hurt hidden behind those doe eyes was painful, you could almost hear the pleas again and you couldn’t bear the thought of that ever happening to you again, so you touched up his cuts with a hiss here and there until he spoke.

“Niragi…...my name is Suguru Niragi” 

Your eyes were blindfolded, fear seeping through your clothes, you didn’t know how you got here only to the point where you suddenly couldn’t breathe, you clawed against the callous fingers wrapped tightly around your neck until you couldn’t anymore.

“How long has she been here?” You heard piquing your interest, your head tipped in surprise hearing multiple voices jump to their question.

You had accepted your fate of death multiple times before this one but something told you to continue, to persevere past your inability to continue. So you did, in an attempt to relish your curiosity and fear, you spoke “Where am I??” silence was your given reply, amongst the void of people you weren’t aware surrounded you, a stern voice spoke with demand “We don’t treat future members like this, take her blindfold off” 

The void you’d been getting used to was finally ripped from your sight and you could suddenly feel the warmth of sun melting into your frozen complex, just as much as you could feel, you also saw. It was unlikely to enjoy such small things like this but in a world of torture, not even people could bring you peace, not anymore at least.

“She seems tattered, this wasn’t our doing wa-” before he could finish his sentence, someone interrupted 

“it’s you?”

 A voice you could recognise anywhere spoke with excitement, his laugh echoing through the room as it bounced off the walls, that didn’t sound like him. That sounded like someone who loved to live in an immoral world chasing sheep after sheep, until you fall into a pit never to come out again.

“How wonderful! I see you two seem well acquainted. I don’t suppose it was from the games?” Niragi shook his head with a grin, he seemed relieved to see you but you couldn’t say the same. You could tell by his appearance he seemed less empathetic, he had just as much reason too but it seemed edging. 

His piercings added to his already threatening look, somewhat seductive to the eye and appealing, far beyond his student years.

“Not at all hatter, me and y/n go way back, don’t we? My little red riding hood” he asked, finally staring into your stern orbs. You felt threatened, the gun leaning against his broad shoulders slid down his arms as he gripped into, pointing it towards your bitter face, his aim was reckless but it didn’t mean it still didn’t shake something in you, you flinched at the sight.

“Oho that seems to catch your attention, should I do it again?” He threatened lightly as he connected his intense gaze with your own, your lips lifted feeling a wave of bravery and keeping your face stern and fearless“I’ve known him since high-school” you spoke plainly masking the fear you hid behind your voice, he definitely wasn’t the warm boy you met that night, his fear nowhere to be seen as he reveled in his own power.

“Fascinating, how a game can bring even the furthest of acquaintances together” Hatter’s crazed dazed rested on you, his jaw clenched as if he suppressed the words he spoke although he spoke as if all the freedom in the world rested on his shoulders, unlike many. Hatter had a free spirit, you could tell by the clothing he wore and how he portrayed himself, although the creator had all the power he seemed unafraid of what was to come, like his own creator.

“What is this place?” You asked.

The hatter walked leisurely around your seat, taking his place behind you with a threatening glare venomously biting at him from Niragi, his soft hands placed against your bare shoulders, massaging them as if to make you seem well enough to become comfortable but once he felt your tensed shoulders, thrash in his palms, he took a moment to pause. 

“Welcome, new comer. To the beach, the utopia, your own personal home of freedom” Once again, the hatters voice was lost in daze.

“The what?” you asked again, that seemed ridiculous.

“The beach, A home I created, a home for those of us to feel our freedom, to bask in it’s warmth. No rules, no governed led law, just three absolute rules that every member of the beach must follow” The hatter rested a palm on your shoulder using it as a stool for his posture.

Amongst his rant, you mellowed out his words. Losing your train of thought in Niragi’s eyes, so much discomfort rested in your own he could almost feel the anger seeping from your bones, angered due to the unruly sense of it all. You either lived or died, a way out was always on your mind but the only thing that kept you running was living, making sure that when the moment came, you would still be here to leave.

Niragi, along with his powerful facade basked in its potential and he made it known to the world with his appearance, the way his voice pitched higher as he stared at your pitiful state, the enjoyment flooding his mouth with a taunting expression, you didn’t notice who that was, who he became but you knew better, deep down. He was still Niragi, the one you saved and comforted, the one who brought you food when you were so deep in school work you couldn’t bear the thought of switching positions, not even for your well-being. 

You were brought back to the world when the touch of a cold barrel met your temples, a loud click followed soon after.

“You're really starting to piss me off, little red riding hood. Do you think we’re dumb, you look at the hatter like he’s an idiot, why would you do that to your saviour” Niragi spoke tauntingly, daring you to cross those barriers you put in place for your own protection, he’s seen you angered once, he’ll see it again.

“Do it” you proclaimed with a straight face, your voice calm as a tideless sea. Niragi scoffed, the corners of his mouth stretching widely and increasingly slow, too slow for your liking. He searched your eyes for fear, wanting the succulent delight of seeing your despair. 

“Or are you scared? I know fear isn’t unknown to you” You hissed back at him, your venomous fangs digging deep into his caged memory, withstood by his own barriers. He locked those memories and threw that key into a bottomless pit but despite that, it was almost like you stood, knocking against the safe he locked his pitiful self in and he was holding the knob with shaking hands, you were resurfacing the past and he vowed to only ever live in the present.

His fingers lingered against the trigger, feeling the power of his hands against the weapon. He was a god in his own eyes but before him rested something more valuable, something he cherished in a past life. He couldn't do it and the hatter noticed this, speculation threw him in and he watched as Niragi pulled the gun away from your head, pointing it towards the roof and letting his pale fingers press the trigger with an anomaly of amusement. 

The power shot from his weapon, creating cracks in the roof as the crumbs of his doing fell in front of your eyes and you released a small breath in relief. 

"untie her, she's going to be with me from now on-wards" Niragi demanded, he was bearing a threat towards the hatters authority. 

Hatter smiled in delight, worry never once tipped his harsh features but you couldn't speak for the others, who not once faltered at your treatment, now seemed worried for your entire being. 

“Do as he says, he clearly knows our fellow members. Therefore, he should do the honors” Hatter demanded, he had a clear distinction for his choice of clothing, making it apparent that his name bore a meaning. Colorful expression distorting his position with his other executive members, freedom per se or maybe it was merely just a coincidence.

Your thrashing was unnoticed in his lock, he ripped you from your place roughly as if you had no meaning to him and it was probably true. Niragi hoisted his machine to the nape of his neck, tugging you in the other hand with what he demanded.

He couldn’t believe his eyes the moment he laid his on yours, it wasn’t often that he met people he once knew without shooting them right where they thought. Ruthless, the capacity for violence he had was uncanny but not unseen for his peers, they knew not of his past and he kept it that way, his psychotic doings sparked a mutual fear within those weaker than him and that was plenty.

“You stick with me or by me from now on, you leave my side for any apparent reason and you're dead, anything you’ve done. I’ve done worse, so I don’t think you want to play with me” in contrast to his previous behavior, he now was in a craze of success. You clenched his hand in an attempt to make him whine in pain just enough for you to run but he surprised you, locking your hand in a harsh grasp that made you bite your lip in pain.

“You should have just killed me when you got the chance, it’s not like you're the same anymore. You’ve changed” You mumbled, ceasing a breath. You relaxed your body and let him lead your way, it’s not like you feared him. As someone you once knew, you often reminded yourself in the moment that he didn’t harm a fly, that was no excuse for him now but in order to keep your sanity at bay, you did just that.

“Why would I do that when I could have fun with you instead?” He laughed.

“As if I would give you the chance too” you retorted.

His steps halted, as he stared forward with a grin. He liked the challenge in your tone, if it was anything. Niragi never once let a challenge get the best of him, he meant what he said and he would make sure more than once that he would get his way.

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, delightfully. Once a friend turned stranger, you stared at the back of his tied hair, the strands falling against his shoulder blades until you caught the sway of his head leisurely turning to face you with a snake like glint in his eyes, the horror of the unknown was creeping up your spine but you weren’t going to back down like a coward, you never did and that wont start today.

“I could warp you into my little pet, do you like being called a pet my little red riding hood. Whatever version of myself was projected onto you, you can forget because the one you're witnessing shares no mercy, not even for you. So thrash and whine as much as you like” Niragi began taking small steps towards you, you backed away in fear still grimly leaving the distaste for his actions lingering on your lips as you threw a look of utter disgust his way.

You managed to walk safely, feeling the brief tender touch of an untouched wall hit your frame, watching him tower over you “Because no one will help you, in fact, I have full control over you, I own you” You scoffed, looking away for a short lived moment before you felt his slender fingers grasp your chin harshly, forcing the contact between you two.

“You must feel so big right now. So utterly powerful, your need to pick on the weaker isn’t a new concept to you, right? In fact it should be so deeply engraved in your brain that not even a rock to the head could erase that, I see. Warp me all you want but I’ll always know you for who you were, my best friend” The words that left your tongue were hot, burning your throat as you held back tears from the countless memories. 

“That’s bullshit, your best friend? That was my need for repayment, that person is long gone now” He screamed, but his face didn’t gleam in despair, no. It shone in glee. The fight was racking up all his pent up anger and he was more than happy to dump it on anyone near, that so happened to be you. 

“Why? Why do you do this. You wouldn’t even harm a fly, the Niragi I knew was soft and caring, he hated violence” you almost screamed, baring your teeth at Niragi, the shine of the dagger he held didn’t even surprise you, his grasp of it against your neck was so close that even the tiniest gulp would have blood seeping from your throat.

“He died, a long time ago” his voice was now emotionless, you could see the shine leaving his face as he reminisced. His stoic features returned but his hold tightened, he grasped both of your hands, casually but sharply holding both above your head with his knife in the other, his body inched close to yours and you felt the texture of his clothing against your body.

“I don’t want to hear you bitching about how you miss what we had, that’s nothing now. You're nothing now, you're not special to me. Just someone I refuse to let go, you know that old saying? Snitches get stitches? Well if you tell anyone about how we met, what I went through, they won’t have any part of their body to stitch back together”

[dreamingofaizawa]

Powerful Ch. 1

Yakuza! Shouta Aizawa x Fem! Reader

*Mafia AU* Quirkless as well

Warnings: Arranged (sort of) marriage, brief mention of champagne, mentions of violence (nothing too specific). In later chapters: Probably smut

Word Count: 3.4 k

Author’s Note: ALRIGHTY here we go. I just had a fixation on Mafia AUs and, of course, it’s Shouta. What else did you expect? I’m a sucker for arranged relationships. Also he’s a little ooc in here, more confident, more ‘I want it I got it’. Hey, he’s the most powerful man in Japan, might as well have him act like it right? Anywho, I have no clue how many chapters this’ll end up being. Let’s just say this is ongoing for now.

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Enjoy~

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25 years old and you haven’t been married off yet. This was strategic on your father’s part. As a rather low-ranking clan he’d purposely saved you, his eldest daughter, for marrying into a higher ranked clan. You’d bring immense honor to the family name. If only you’d known what you were getting into, maybe you could have been better prepared for your world to flip on its head.

The black velvet gown you wear is tailored perfectly to your form, accentuating every curve and dip on your body. The skirt fanned out around you gracefully and a short train trailed behind you as you stepped through the grand doors of the massive mansion. Tonight is the annual celebratory ball, held to celebrate successful unions and achievements. This one was particularly special, you just didn’t quite know it yet.

Since the event wasn’t mandatory, you were told to go in alone as a representative of your clan, while Mother and Father attended to more important matters. Before you even stepped in you fixed your posture and schooled your expression, keeping your form humbled. Heavens know what could happen should you irk the wrong clan.

Inside you were met with an onslaught of mixed everything, mixed drinks and colors and styles. Some wore traditional Japanese kimono, others more modern versions of the garment and others, like you, wearing more extravagant european or western style clothing. Though a rather interesting mix, nothing quite clashed which you were slightly grateful for, since there was no possible way you could make it through the night without a headache if there was an unpleasant mix of visuals.

You strode through and instantly met several lower clan heads that you respectfully bowed to and engaged in pleasant small talk with, moving from person to person, couple to couple and paying respects to all of them. You kept a small smile, a pleasant facade as you waltzed over the hardwood flooring. It took almost two hours of endless conversation before you managed to catch a break in the madness, snatching a small flute of champagne from a waiter and leaning up against a wall for a breath. 

You still hadn’t noticed the pair of dark eyes that studied you from the moment you arrived.

____

You struck him as intriguing at first. From the moment you walked over the threshold his eyes drank you in, studying you, observing and judging just as he had with many other women before you. No one here knows it, but the man is looking for a bride. Someone who could stand by his side,improve and uphold his image, help him wield the power that is the Yakuza. Yes, rank is important, but Shouta is too picky to care about rank. He is looking for a specific type of woman, one that can hold untold depths of power without crumbling under the pressure or getting swept up in the rush of it all.

A woman, he decides, like you.

You held yourself with grace, pride and humility. You seemed to understand your position, your probable low rank, while also not undermining your importance nor worth. A woman like you is hard to come by in this world, most just as power hungry and ruthless and greedy as their husbands, all while putting up a cotton candy sweet mask and using it to disguise their conniving ways. 

But in truth, that’s what it took to live this kind of life, isn’t it?

It was clear you knew that, while still managing to feel genuine in everything you did, even with an action as simple as sipping champagne. At the same time he can’t deny you are quite beautiful, soft lips and softer eyes, fingers gently grasping your glass with unmatched elegance and an unwavering strength in your posture. You’d bowed before many this evening, and yet you stood taller than even the highest ranking clan heads without challenging a single one of them. Bamboo in this forest of tall, unyielding trees. Capable of wielding so much power.

For a split second his mind wandered to other things, filthy moments shared in the privacy of his chambers, shared breaths and shimmering sweaty skin. He wondered what you would be like underneath him, if you would be a brat or willingly submit yourself to him. He hopes it to be the latter, but wouldn’t completely deny the chance to tame someone difficult. How would you look pinned under his weight, completely helpless to his hands that have killed and tortured? Would you claw at his shoulders or grip the sheets instead? What would you sound like? Your image plagued his mind even if only for a moment.

He’d studied many women over the few hours since the event started, none of them giving him a good enough first impression for him to continue watching further than a minute. There was no question in his mind now. You’d be returning home with him tonight.

____

You had just finished your drink and set the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray when suddenly the ballroom fell extremely silent. All heads turned, eyes focused on the man that began his descent from the balcony overlooking the floor. He’s gorgeous, long black hair pulled into a low bun and exposing the light scruff on his chin and impossibly sharp jaw, a deep scar curved under his right eye. The full black satin suit is fitted to his form, strong shoulders and rolling muscle evident even under the thick materials. Ink peeked over the collar, a hint at what was definitely intricate sleeves and detailed artwork. His steps were measured, calculated and purposeful as he made his way down and across the floor, the entire room bowing down at his presence. 

You know who he is, as does every person here. Top rung of the ladder, Oyabun of the most powerful clan in Japan, his name widely known through the entire organization and yet almost never spoken. Shouta Aizawa, a name both respected and feared, holding unknown power and strength. His reputation is enough to make anyone feel small in his presence, known for his cold demeanor and the violence he’d committed, many losing their fingers, loved ones, and their own lives for misdeeds against him. He’d done most of that himself, marking him as a very dangerous man to be involved with, and an ally everyone wanted backing them.

You bowed down respectfully just as everyone else did, waiting patiently for a release, whether it was from the man himself or a collective understanding that it was alright to rise once again. The former was the first to come to fruition, though you didn’t expect him to be so close to you as he said it. Your eyes met with sharp onyx as you fixed yourself upright. It made you freeze in place, not quite tense, not quite relaxed, your expression hopefully not showing the utter shock you were feeling.

“What is your name?” You blinked only once before your mind caught up, and you willed your voice steady as you responded. What had you done to piss him off? What punishment awaited you for what you didn’t know you’d done? Despite fearing what may come, you don’t dare speak out of turn, even to beg for your life. His next words were addressed to the entire ballroom, you included, his smooth, deep voice booming out and yet somehow not loud at all.

“Any transgression against this woman is a transgression against me. As my future wife she is untouchable, and will remain that way until I explicitly state otherwise.” A collective hushed gasp sounded through the massive hall, your own eyes growing wide and your heart damn near stopping as your brain dissected the information. He just made you his fiance, with no warning, no hesitation, and full confidence. You are now engaged to the most powerful man in Japan, and you have exactly zero say in the matter. Really though, you never expected to be able to voice any opinions considering the patriarchy of the organization, so that bit of shock was quickly overlooked.

“It’s time to retire, little one.” His hand was held out to you, waiting for your own. You blinked, deciding it was best that you saved your shock for later you focused on the here and now and what to do in this moment. Taking a breath, you schooled your face into a pleasant smile and placed your hand in his waiting palm, allowing him to tuck you into his side as you both walked out the front doors and climbed into a black limouzine.

You didn’t allow yourself to relax, sitting silently next to the man as trees and telephone poles whizzed by the vehicle. It was tense, to say the least, his hand possessively sat on your knee as his eyes remained fixed in front of him and yours did the same. Neither of you talked, you slightly out of fear, of respect, and slightly out of sheer shock, your mind just barely able to keep itself together. He remained silent for a purpose. He would talk when you were alone, or when he felt like talking. Which isn’t right now.

You let your mind whirl a bit, worrying about what this meant for you. Worrying about how this powerful man would treat you, how he acted behind closed doors and if he even cared about you or what you might have to say. It’s nerve-wracking, suddenly bound to a power such as him, not knowing what could happen next, not knowing what to do next. There was nothing that could have prepared you for this.

The car slowed as it pulled up to the gate of the enormous estate, shaking you out of your thoughts, and once it opened the drive to the main house took nearly five minutes on its own. It’s a modern home, several stories tall with the top clearly penthouse-style with a full glass wall that overlooks the landscape, the rest of the huge inner home hidden behind crisp walls.

At a full stop, a man opens the door for you, the Oyabun having already exited and held a hand out for you to grab once again, strong muscles pulling you up with ease and leading you through the building and into an elevator. The silence is stifling as you wait for the machine to come to a stop, the soft chime indicating you’ve landed. 

Now you’re completely alone with him.

He leads you in and stops in the center of the large main room, stepping away and turning his scrutinizing gaze onto you. You do your best not to tense in front of him, not to show fear, partially for his comfort though you’re sure he’s used to it. His shoes clack softly, rhythmically on the polished wood floor as he begins to circle you, like a predator eyeing its prey, eyes burning paths up and down your form. You barely keep from squirming under his intense gaze, managing to keep still from sheer willpower. He stops suddenly behind you and you feel his warmth as he leans in close before a hand presses into your mid back and another gently grasps your shoulder, gently making you straighten even more, stand even taller.

Once he’s satisfied with your posture he rounds you and tilts your chin just a tad higher with a hooked finger. He’s silent as he shapes you, adjusting your body to his liking. You let him tenderly push and tug, grab and knead and trail those deadly fingers over you until he stops before you, studying you once again. 

“You’re my fiance now. You will hold yourself as such, radiate power as I do and command the attention of a room with only a glance.” The reminder of just what was happening made your breath stutter a little, and his hand came up to grasp your chin, making you look up into his dark eyes.

“You will learn, little one, to be the powerful woman I see.” He was so close, the heat from his body rolling over your skin and his breaths fanning over your face. Then he was walking away, motioning for you to follow as he led you to his chambers and bathroom to get cleaned up. You’d be sleeping with him from now on, he said, handing you a robe to change into after you’ve bathed and guiding you into the bathroom before closing the door and leaving you alone with your thoughts as you set to cleaning yourself.

Given you don’t screw things up, you are going to be the most powerful woman in Japan, solely because of a sudden arranged marriage dropped seemingly from out of nowhere. But the longer you think about it, it isn’t really out of nowhere is it? The Oyabun is 30 now, and until tonight hadn’t named a wife, nor any love interests, and therefore no possible heirs. If the man were to die for any reason, those chances only increasing the older he gets, the power vacuum his absence would create would be absolute madness. You’re part of a strategy, just as before. Just as always.

Yet there was no denying he’d struck something inside you. Of all the women in that hall he approached you, a woman he didn’t know from a low ranked clan, for reasons you could only barely begin to guess. He’d called you powerful earlier, the sincerity in his voice making your mind spin. Did he really see you as powerful? And the name he’d used for you felt far too tender on the tongue of such a dangerous man, though you understood the nod toward your previous rank. 

Father and Mother must be either confused, shocked, or overflowing with joy right about now. Confused as to why you haven’t returned, shocked, happy, or both at the news had they learned it. With your mind processing everything, your body finally begins to feel fatigued. 

You shut off the water before drying yourself, patting your hair in the towel before pulling on the fluffy robe. It was clearly meant for him, the fuzzy black garment large around the shoulders and sleeves engulfing your hands, the garment nearly touching the floor where it’s meant to hang several inches from it on his frame. Despite swimming in the robe, you couldn’t help but feel a bit vulnerable. You’re bare beneath it, not having planned to not return home. Still, it’s late, and the Oyabun needs to shower as well. With a steadying breath, you step out into the room.

He’s standing near the bed, the top half of his clothing discarded and bare skin exposed, along with the heavy tattooing and scars along his body. Dragon scales decorated his skin, along with delicate swirls heavily resembling smoke and clouds that followed the curves of his corded muscles. He is undoubtedly a beautiful man. You don’t realize you’re staring until a miniscule smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Enjoying the view, little one?” You blink away your daze and shift your eyes to the side, feeling the slight burn in your face at being caught. Instead of answering the cheeky question you choose to change the subject.

“I’m finished with my shower, Oyabun.” He hums, a low sound you can feel in your chest.

“I can see that, little one. And you call me Shouta.” You take a quiet, sharp inhale and nod.

“Yes, of course...Shouta.” His name feels heavy on your tongue, a name that people didn’t normally dare speak. He’s silent as he gathers his things and moves toward the bathroom, stopping momentarily by your side. You’re confused a moment before his calloused fingers gently grip your jaw and turn your head, his lips pressing softly against your temple for a split second before he’s disappearing into the bathroom. 

You stand in shock, the tender touch unexpected. Shaking your head, you decide it’s best to lay down. Hopefully you’d fall asleep by the time he finishes bathing, but you doubted it. You’re proven right when, in the midst of mulling over your own thoughts, he emerges in nothing but sweatpants, dark hair still damp as it fell around his shoulders. You managed to avert your eyes before he could catch you staring for a second time tonight, and it wasn’t long before he slipped under the blankets next to you.

There wasn’t a single word shared between you as he flicked off the lights with a remote and settled into the plush mattress. There was no movement from the man as you lay with your back to him. You aren’t entirely sure if the lack of movement unsettles you more than if he were to be shuffling around. It felt like hours had passed in the darkness, your eyes had adjusted and you couldn’t sleep despite how exhausted you felt. 

Your mind raced with questions. What happens now? What happens with your clan and parents? Would you have clothes soon? How would he treat you? How were you supposed to act around him? When is the wedding? Is the engagement already official? What if you disappoint him and fuck everything over? The entire situation makes you anxious, for more than something as trivial as your own safety. You shift onto your back and listen to Shouta’s soft snores, signaling his sleep. As silently and gently as you can, you slip out of bed.

You have no clue what you were going to do or where you were going to do it, but you had to get away from him if only for a moment, to let yourself breathe and think. Almost mindlessly, you find yourself staring out of the glass wall and out into the night. This far out, you can see the stars in the night sky clear and bright, and it was a sight you missed having lived in the city most of your life. Right here you have room to think, space to spread your thoughts and calm your mind to keep from jumbling everything in your brain and stressing over it more. 

From what you can tell there is a very small chance Shouta would treat you maliciously, so for now you don’t have to worry about that. Considering his power and status, you won’t be without clothing for long. The thought was silly in the first place, but stress tended to make you question even the most ridiculous. As for how you’re meant to act, well that would have to be tested. He’d already told you how to appear to the public, so that shouldn’t be too hard, but being alone with the man was driving you insane.

Soft footsteps broke you from your thoughts. You spin around, suddenly very much on guard, before Shouta’s voice broke through the darkness, his figure slowly approaching. 

“What are you doing up, little one?” You bite your lip and turn to gaze outside again, hugging your arms tight.

“Just thinking. I apologize for waking you, Oya-… Shouta.” His warmth hit you before his skin did, chest pressed into your back and large rough hands gripping your shoulders firm but gentle. His breath is hot on your ear and neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Such an intimate action from him only hours after he’d made you his fiance was quite the shock in and of itself, only enhanced by the fact that this man is known for his cold nature.

“Thinking about what?” His hands smoothed down your arms, following them around your waist and encompassing your hands in his, tugging you into him further. Unnatural as it may seem, it feels good, his warmth. In the arms of such a dangerous and powerful man you should feel small and scared, but you don’t. You aren’t entirely sure what it is you feel. Truthfully, you don’t have the energy to answer his question properly.

“About a lot of things. Too many things.” Right now, the only thing you want to do is melt into the man’s arms. His presence is suddenly comforting, instead of worrying, and you feel safe in his embrace. You sigh and lean into him, fatigue finally beginning to tug at your body and mind. Strong arms scoop you up like nothing, and suddenly you’re being placed down on the bed before he climbs in and pulls you onto him. An arm circles your waist while the other cradles your head, a tender kiss placed at your hairline.

“Sleep, little one.” His fingers thread through your hair, massaging your scalp lightly. It’s a soothing action, especially after nearly giving yourself a headache from stress. It isn’t long before you’re nodding off, relaxing into his body and letting his steady heartbeat lull you to sleep.

[javier-pena]

reverberate

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: Explicit (yes, that does mean no minors)

Summary: Javi shows you a secret spot.

Warnings: skinny-dipping | fingering | dirty talk | semi-public sex | daddy kink

Notes: This is part of @autumnleaves1991-blog​’s Writer Wednesday, which means I wrote it in two hours and Dani didn’t beta it, which means it’s full of impossibly long sentences and a lot of embarrassing typos. This is also my first time participating in Writer Wednesday and I had so much fun, I will definitely be doing it again in future!

***

Javi likes to surprise you. He likes to pick an outfit for you, to pack your bag for you, to tell you what shoes to bring, and you never know where you’re going to end up. He took you to Paris once and you had no idea where you were going until you spotted the Eiffel Tower from the plane. Another time, he took you to a nice, secluded restaurant in the mountains from where you watched the sunset together while you shared a bottle of the best wine you’ve ever had.

Today, he picks a light sundress for you, then sails his yacht to a part of the island you’ve never been to. From the sea, you can see mansions and private beaches, but it all has a run-down look to it, and once you come past abandoned shipwrecks you begin to feel uneasy. But then he anchors the yacht and leads you up the cliffs to an old, abandoned house that – he tells you – used to be a luxury hotel.

“Are you planning on buying it?” you tease him.

But he only smiles at you mysteriously.

Taking your hand in his, he leads you further inside the ruins that are overgrown with heavy, green trailing plants. He tells you to watch your step but guides you safely around the building as if this isn’t his first time here. You only stop once to gape at a chandelier twice your size lying on its side in the grand ballroom, as Javi calls it.

But your destination lies in a courtyard in the middle of the complex. It’s hidden from all sides by walls, empty windows gazing down at the two of you, as Javi puts down the heavy bag and makes a sweeping gesture. “We’re here,” he announces.

Your eyes immediately fixate on the pool that takes up most of the courtyard. The light blue color of its water is inviting after the hot climb up the cliffs. Javi follows your gaze.

“Go on then,” he says. “It’s why we’re here.”

You ask him to hand you a swimsuit from the bag he’s brought, but he only shrugs. “I’m sorry, baby, I think I forgot to bring one for you.”

There’s a challenge in his eyes as he says it, and you’re only too happy to accept it. You pull your dress over your head, unclasp your bra, and pull down your panties until you’re completely naked. He takes a step towards you, his mouth slightly open, but before he can say something or touch you, you take off and jump into the cool water with a loud splash that echoes around the abandoned hotel. You keep your head underwater for a while, enjoying the quietness, and when you come back up, Javi is there in front of you, his wet curls clinging to his forehead, as he runs a hand over his face to get the water out of his eyes.

He’s also naked.

“They say these ruins are haunted, you know,” he teases, a smirk on his face, as he swims towards you, his strong arms and broad shoulders cutting through the water as if it was air.

“Haha,” you reply dryly, kicking the water much less gracefully to move away from him.

“Not by ghosts,” he moves on. “This isn’t a cold, English marsh. I’m talking about mermaids, temptresses that lure men to their deaths with beautiful faces and beautiful songs.”

He drives you towards the edge of the pool until your back connects with the cold, hard stone. While you’re still trying to decide whether to go left or right, he already has you trapped with his arms caging you in, gripping the edge while pushing you even further towards the stone digging into your back. You lower your feet to discover that the water is shallow enough to stand, so you try to find a firm stance on the slippery floor.

“If you’re very quiet, you can hear their songs,” he whispers into your ear, his hot breath tickling your wet skin.

“Javi, stop it,” you giggle and try to push him away.

“Are you scared?” he asks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Why should I be?” you challenge with a toss of your head. “I have you to protect me.”

“No,” Javi answers, pretending to be thinking about it while he moves even closer to you, until you can feel his naked body press up against yours. “I’m a man. They’re after me. If anything, I need you to protect me.”

“Would you fall that easily for another woman’s charms?” you tease.

“They are supernatural beings,” he explains. “I couldn’t be expected to resist them.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “And I could?”

“Well, I’m a great catch,” he answers with a shrug.

You swat his arm playfully. “Don’t overdo it,” you tell him sternly.

His expression changes then. His smile falters, his cheeks hollow, the vein on his throat, the one you love to kiss while he’s above you, pushing into you over and over, bulges dangerously. There is lightning in his eyes as they darken, as the muscles in his arms tense from gripping the stone behind you. Then the full weight of his body presses against you, solid and hard and strong. You try to draw back, you try to escape, and then his hand closes around the nape of your neck.

“Don’t I always take care of you?” he asks. “Don’t I make sure you have everything you need?

“You do,” you reply, trying to nod, but his grip is too tight.

“Don’t I buy you nice things? Don’t I take you out whenever you ask me to?”

“You do,” you repeat, squirming in his grip.

“Say it then,” he demands, his grip tightening.

“Yes.” Your eagerness loses some of its meaning when it’s just this word hanging in the air between you. “Whatever you want me to say, Javi.”

You feel something tickle your leg and it takes you a few moments to figure out what it is. Everything feels different in the water, slower, softer, like moving in slow motion through cotton candy. But there is no doubt about what he’s doing when he grips one of your legs and pulls, pulls until there is room for his strong hand, his thick fingers, and he buries two of them inside of you.

You let out a hoarse moan, one that echoes around the ruin, amplified by the old walls. Your arms shoot out of the water to grip the edge of the pool at the same time as your legs loop around Javi’s torso.

“Look at you,” he says, curling his fingers upwards, stroking that one spot inside of you until you tighten around him. “Always so eager.”

He lets go of the back of your neck and your head falls back immediately, your eyes wide open. There is a blue, cloudless sky above you, seagulls flying overhead, chasing each other, but you don’t see them, you don’t see anything, you just feel, feel Javi pulling his fingers out of you slowly, pushing them back in, pulling them out again, once, twice, three times, until your legs are shaking.

“So, tell me,” he says in a casual tone of voice as if this is a business negotiation, “tell me what I want to hear.

“God, you’re amazing, Javi,” you pant, his name followed by a hiss as his thumb brushes against your clit.

“I think you can do better,” he says thoughtfully, considering your face with mild interest.

You lift your head so you can look at him, watch him run his free hand through his wet curls before it comes to rest against your hip, brushing small circles against your wet skin.

“You’re always so good to me,” you go on, pushing up your hips, but he removes his thumb from your clit.

Before you can protest, there’s a third finger inside of you, and this time you scream, a roar that reverberates around you and scares away two birds on the roof of the ruin who take off with an angry flutter of wings.

“You’re always so tight, baby,” he observes with a grunt. “Always thinking about my cock inside of you, aren’t you?”

You don’t have to reply. At his words, you tighten around him again involuntarily, imagining what it would be like to have him inside you right now, what it would be like to have your chest shoved up against the stony side of the pool, what it would be like for his hand on your neck, your back, your hip, holding you in place, while he fucks you, the only sounds your breathy, desperate moans and the steady sloshing of the water. Your eyes close at this image, at imagining how full you’d feel, how stretched, and suddenly you feel it, the familiar tingling in your lower belly.

“Oh no, you don’t.”

His fingers are gone as suddenly as he pushed them inside in the first place, and you let out an embarrassing, frantic sob. But you compose yourself fast enough with a steadying breath.

“Yes,” you tell him, licking your lips. “Yes, I always think about your cock inside of me.” You move your hips under the water, move them closer to his middle until you can feel it, feel how hard he is. A roll of your hips elicits a delicious grunt from him, a repetition of the movement a low growl. “Do you want to put it inside of me, daddy?”

He stills your hips with an unrelenting grip before his fingers are back inside of you, stretching you open, stroking against a spot you can never reach when you do this yourself, when you try to pretend your fingers are his.

“Later, baby girl,” he says, his voice sweet like honey. “Let me take care of you first, okay?”

You nod eagerly, then let your head fall back again, closing your eyes. He sets a punishing pace now, one that makes you dig your heels into his back, one that turns your knuckles white from gripping the stone. Then his thumb brushes your clit again, lightly at first, but then with a sense of purpose, as he rolls the bundle of nerves under his digit until it is almost too much, until you’re almost too overstimulated to come.

“Hey,” you hear his soft voice through your hot, red, lustful haze. “Let daddy see your pretty eyes.”

You couldn’t resist him, even if you wanted to, you want him to see you come undone and have him know that it’s because of him, because he does always take care of you, because he does always make sure you have everything you need, because he does always give you whatever you want. Your eyes fly open, and you see him towering above you, a concentrated crease between his eyes, his eyes that are full of love and affection and devotion, and it’s all you need.

You come with a gasp that rips its way out of your chest as suddenly and unexpectedly as your climax rips through you. It turns into a moan, a wailing sound, as wave upon wave of deep, hot pleasure shoots through you. Javi doesn’t stop, not for one second, his fingers reaching deeper and deeper inside of you with each thrust, until you stop twitching in his grip. Then he removes them carefully and helps you untangle yourself from his body.

He holds you upright as he kisses you, your face, your neck, your shoulders, your temple, and then he softly cups your face with both hands and says, “There is no prettier sight in this world than you coming for me, baby girl.”

You feel your face grow hot. “Shut up,” you tell him with an airy laugh.

“I mean it.” He kisses your lips softly, once, then with more force, until you open up and let his tongue explore every corner, drawing out delicious, desperate noises.

You pull away. “You’ve teased me enough for one day,” you tell him, the palm of your right hand pressed flatly against his chest.

“I’m only getting started,” he replies, pushing closer.

“If you keep that up, you will have to fuck me again,” you say, and it sounds like a warning.

“I’m planning on doing that, baby girl.” He gives you another small kiss. “But let me take you back to the yacht first. I want to be somewhere where I can give you my full attention.”

[beauty-and-passion]

Silly fun challenge prompt: what languages do you associate with the Sides/what would be the 2nd language each Side learn?

For example I am a big fan of Hispanic (Spanish speaking) Creativitwins fanon. And c! Thomas too could've learnt Spanish in high school and the fact his love interest is hispanic too just makes perfect sense-

And in contrast to Hispanic twins I headcanon Janus as a francophone (French speaking) for two reasons: 1) it was still lingua franca around Victorian era, his aesthetic inspiration and 2) dividing American high school by Spanish class vs. French class is like causing Civil War (I was and still am a language nerd, so I learnt both languages, which was a mistake but the kind of mistake that was worth it when you think about it later)

German suites Logan since lots of famous philosophers are German. I associate Japanese or Korean with Virgil since those two are really dominant in the current subculture world (and maybe our emo could've been inspired and turn into E-boy - wow that sounds terrifying)

I don't have strong preference on Patton's but Italian sounds nice, since all those music and dessert and anything sweet are often from Italy. And maybe 'Orange' can be some language that sounds harsh like Russian, so he can murmur in that in sleep and scares everyone else

I know you're in Europe: 1) you use GMT and 2) Americans wouldn't care about Eurovision. So I wonder how you would think based on your European experience!

Oooh, I like this! As European Who Studied Languages, I definitely approve this and I'll gladly add my two cents about which languages the sides should learn.

_________

Roman: He canonically knows Spanish and that's perfect like that. Spanish is a romantic language, someone speaks Spanish and you can't help but swoon. It’s a great choice for the Side responsible for romance and passion.

_________

Remus: Remus isn't just intrusive thoughts, but there’s a very high chance he’s also responsible for Thomas' sexual urges. So, what is the language made for sex? You’re right, it’s French. French is sexy. You can say anything in French and bam, ✨sexy ✨.

"Je sors la poubelle." Sexy, isn't it? Well, I just said "I'm taking out the trash". See? Very sexy.

(French people, please confirm my words. We all know it’s true)

_________

Janus: Your points are incredibly valid and I love them. But if we should choose among all languages, I would love Janus to be one of the very few (extremely few) people in the world who can speak Latin.

I know Latin is a dead language, but it would be great - and not just because of the connection with his name.

Let’s consider that the other Romance languages, despite evolving from Latin, cannot entirely understand it, because they all changed a lot through the centuries after mixing with the Germanic ones. On the other hand, the Germanic languages (English, German, Swedish and so on) are part of a completely different group, only slightly influenced by Latin, so they cannot understand it.

In other words, Janus would speak a language that only sounds familiar - and maybe you can grasp a couple words here and there if you know a romance language, but the true meaning is hidden. What is he actually saying? Who knows. Is he actually cursing someone? Who knows. After all, do you understand Latin? Yeah, me neither.

If I have to pick a language that is still spoken today instead, I think I'll join you with French. Your points are valid and French is a very elegant language, fitting for Janus’ whole aesthetic. So yes, French could work.

_________

Logan: German is a great choice and you are absolutely right with your point about the philosophers. Also German is a language of harsh sounds and strict grammar rules - for example:

declensions that should be used accordingly for articles, adjectives and nouns

specific verbs for specific meanings

words made by putting together shorter words (like Haustürschlüssel.  Haustür means “front door”, Schlüssel means “key” -> this word means “front door’s key”)

sentences that should follow a specific construction, with parts of the compound verb after the noun and part at the end of the sentence. And secondary phrases also have a specific syntax and should always be introduced by a comma

In other words, it's a very organized language and I think it would fit Logan.

But also, considering that almost all words related to science and philosophy come from Greek, I think Logan should at least understand some Greek. As a treat.

(Also because Greek is another incredibly complicated language, so if someone has the patience to learn it, it’s definitely Logan.)

_________

Virgil: oh my gosh, I never thought about an eastern language for Virgil. In a way, it would be a very peculiar choice and I kinda like it. Japanese and Korean are extremely complicated languages, they have a very specific alphabet (I'm especially thinking about the Japanese one, that even asks for a specific direction to write words) and require a lot of work (and memory) to learn them.

But Virgil is also a poet and when I think of poets and sonnets my first connection is with the french ennui, le mal du vivre and especially Baudelaire and his works. Virgil would appreciate Baudelaire a lot. So French, again.

But hey, there’s too much French now. So I’ll pick the other european literature full of sadness: the russian one.

Russian is supposed to be a big scary language and its alphabet is weird and omg what if they're cursing us? But if you learn it a little bit, you’ll find out that Russian has a lot of soft/open sounds (due to a good use of vowels) and it's very poetic.

So the language itself is a bit like Virgil: he seems scary and evil at a first glance, but if you learn about him, he's actually kinder than he looks.

But never underestimate Russian, because just like Anxiety, fear is just behind the corner: you start learning it and wow, there is just one present tense, one past tense and one future tense? This is great, what a wonderful language!

And then, before you’ll realize it, you will find out that each verb has a “doppelganger” used for entirely different purposes AND there a gazillion verbs of motion and you will end up crying on the floor, because there are just too many verbs - and look, there are also one trillion particles you can put before these verbs and they give them EVEN MORE MEANINGS.

No, this isn't entirely based on my personal experience, what makes you think that.

_________

Patton: I have never thought about Patton learning another language, because English just fits him too well.

But when you proposed Italian... well, my heart just wiped out everything else. There is nothing here, only Patton speaking Italian.

So yes, Patton's second language should be Italian. No, it must be Italian. Because French is the language of sex, Spanish is the language of love, but if you want to declare your eternal love to someone, you use Italian. Do you want to marry someone? Italian. Do you want to tell your significant other how much you adore them? Italian. Italian has one million ways to express love and Patton should use them all with his kiddos.

And yes, Italian is also associated with warm people, warm places and good food, all things Patton deserves and should enjoy. So Italian is a big yes.

_________

Orange: since Orange is a mystery, I am a bit torn between these two languages:

1) Esperanto: This language is amazing, because it isn’t a natural language, born like all others, but it has been built by a man, who wanted to create an universal language in order to foster world peace and international understanding.

So this language has been created to be as simple as possible, with a very regular grammar (unlike all other natural languages) and its words all have references to other language groups (romance, germanic, slavic, indo-europeans, finno-ugric languages and so on).

And if you actually listen to it (especially if you know some latin languages) you will find it weirdly understandable. I found this video in particular and I was impressed by how strangely familiar esperanto sounds.

And... that’s it, I just think it would be kinda poetic that the last side knows a language that all others can use and understand.

2) A Greenlandic language. Why? Because they are insanely polysynthetic.

What does that mean? If in German you can make words by putting together other two/three words (like in the example I used before), in the Greenlandic languages you can build an entire sentence by putting together nouns, verbs, articles and everything else. All together in one single word, whose meaning can be translated with an entire sentence in another language.

Do you want an example? Here is an example from Wikipedia: tuntussuqatarniksaitengqiggtuq.

Yes, this is a word.

This word is from the Yupik language and means "He had not yet said again that he was going to hunt reindeer.". And this word is made of:

tuntu- (= reindeer)

ssur-  (= hunt)

qatar- (future tense)

ni- (= say)

ksaite- (negative)

ngqiggte- (= again)

uq  (3rd.sing.IND)

Is this insane? This is fucking insane. Do you want to be scared? This is real fear. What the heck. How. Why.

You know what? This is perfect for Orange, I’ll leave Esperanto to Thomas. Orange deserves to be this scary. I can already see the other sides quiver before him.

_________

And so, here are my guesses! If someone has other ideas, feel free to add yours and tell us why, so we can all have a nice discussion :D

[winterscaptain]

advocate.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the very first part of ajf! the beginning of our story! oh my goodness! this got a little long, but there was a lot i wanted to pack in here. thank you all for your patience as i worked through this <3 i’ve got some fun graphics in here for you - open them for best quality!

words: 8.45k warnings: language, alcohol use, canon-typical descriptions of injury and violence, mention of suicide

summary: “our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.” - oscar wilde. au!july-september 2007

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“Director Shepard?” 

You approach her, feeling very young, with a question and a smile. 

She turns, smiling at you softly. “Yes?”

Her lecture was immaculate - she covered a broad swath of topics - being the first female director of NCIS, her history in international relations and liaison work with British and Israeli intelligence - all of which paved a bit of a roadmap for success in federal law enforcement. 

You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “I’ve gotta tell you it was a challenge to choose between agencies in my applications, I admire your work both as an agent and director of NCIS and I was wondering…” 

You lose your nerve a bit, but steel yourself again and ask. 

“... Would you be willing to meet with me and talk about your career trajectory a little more?”

There’s a light in her eyes as she studies you with a kind of supreme benevolence and gentleness. “I would.” 

+++

“Alright,” she says, setting her napkin in her lap. “What do you want to know?” 

You laugh a little, “Is everything a good place to start?”

She laughs, and you’re immediately drawn to her warmth. There’s a kind of fire in her, and it doesn’t just come from her hair. “Not at all. Though I’ll give you some unsolicited advice now, to save some time. Find someone you can follow, someone you can learn from.”

She goes on to tell you about her mentor, still on the Major Case Response Team under her purview at NCIS. Though she’s his boss now, she tells you that she still goes to him for advice, for friendship. 

“Trusting the people you work with always comes first. It’s not always possible, but when you can manage it. It makes everything better. Always protect them where you can, and don’t ignore the politics”

You do everything except take notes as she tells more stories, how she’s switched from “probie” to Agent to diplomat to Director, before she turns back to you. 

“Do you know which unit you’re interested in, yet?” 

You shake your head. “Not yet. I’m hoping I’ll have a better idea when the Quantico unit chiefs start coming in to lecture. I’m hoping one of them will catch my interest.”

“Great idea. When one of them does, give me a call. I think any unit could benefit from someone like you.”

+++

Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Gideon have your attention the moment they step into the room. They’re confident, with a sharp kind of intelligence you admire. 

The world of the BAU is fascinating. Serial killers, sex criminals, the very worst of depraved humanity is their everyday. While it sounds somewhat horrifying, it compels you. 

Agent Hotchner especially catches your attention. He’s confident in a kind of serious, bladed way. Clearly intelligent, he commands the attention of everyone in the room and effortlessly wields his authority among curious students and his fellow agents. 

You’d think Agent Gideon would be the obvious leader, what with all his years of experience and seniority, but even with his grasp of a field he shaped, he doesn’t hold a candle to Hotchner. 

With your half-hour-old knowledge, you put together a quick profile of the remaining figure. 

Agent Morgan, while strong and clearly an alpha male, brings a skepticism with him. It hangs in the air around him and seems to apply to both of his colleagues. There’s something about Agent Gideon that makes him uneasy, distrustful. He tends to shift his weight away from him when they get too close to each other. 

He’s not overt about his skepticism regarding Agent Hotchner, but you get the idea there’s more under the surface you couldn’t possibly know just by studying his behavior in a lecture hall. 

This is fun. 

You hide your smile in your notebook, jotting down a couple of notes as Agent Gideon continues his “brief overview of profile-driven serial killer arrests.” 

+++. 

“Director Shepard’s office.”

“Hi Cynthia,” you greet her secretary. “Is Director Shepard in?”

She connects you, and you ask about the BAU. 

“Is Jason Gideon still the unit chief over there?” She asks. You can already hear her typing and you’re more than a little concerned about her tenacity in this moment. 

“No, ma’am, it’s Agent Hotchner, now.”

“Perfect.”

+++

+++

You’re called into SSA Radner’s office the following Monday to “discuss some changes to your academy courses.” 

That doesn’t sound good. 

SSA Radner, an imposing and intimidating woman, is the SSAIC in charge of your NAT class - the person in charge of your collective fates. 

No pressure. 

She opens the door when you knock, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, have a seat.” 

You chuckle nervously. “Thanks, Agent Radner.” You note her little smile as she sits at her desk, and chance a question. “Have I done something, I dunno, wrong? We don’t seem to find much good news in the SAIC’s office at my rank.” 

That pulls a laugh from her. “I wouldn't worry too much. I have a proposition for you. It’s...unusual, but not unheard of.” 

Your brow crumples a little and she exhales. 

“It might actually be better if - yeah. Hold on.” She clicks her intercom and her assistant chirps from the other side. 

“Yes ma’am?”

“Please send them in. I’d like to do a joint briefing.” 

Joint briefing? What is this, the third invasion of Iraq?

The door opens behind you and you whip around, finding Agent Hotchner and IOS Section Chief Erin Strauss. 

What the fuck? 

Either you’ve done something terrible or insane and you’re not sure which. 

Chief Strauss addresses you first, shaking your hand. You introduce yourself for good measure but have a feeling she already knows who you are. 

“It’s come to our attention that you have ambitious interests and are taking exceptional steps to make the most of your education and training at the academy. Is this a fair assessment?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Agent Hotchner steps forward, sort of looming over you with something that isn’t quite a stern look. You take his hand when he offers, introducing yourself and ignoring the jolt of energy that shoots up your arm at his touch. 

His handshake is firm, his hands dry and warm. He looks different up close, younger, maybe. There’s the barest touch of grey at his temples, the beginnings of lines around his mouth and eyes. 

Not what I expected.

What did you expect? 

How old could he be? Thirty-five, maybe? 

Shut up. 

He’s handsome. 

Shut up!

His face relaxes a little bit before he speaks. “Director Shepard, a close professional colleague, has been a staunch advocate for you and your talents. She approached me about taking you on, giving you case hours in lieu of some coursework.” 

“You’d have some catching up to do, as it’s already three weeks into your twenty, and we’d transfer you into the profiling classes,” Agent Radner adds. “But with your diligence, I doubt you’ll have trouble with the added workload.” 

“No, ma’am. That should be fine. But,” you look between the three of them, “what does ‘case hours in lieu of some coursework’ mean, exactly?” 

“You’d be on assignment with the BAU until you received your formal assignment following successful completion of the academy, with the possibility of assignment with the BAU as a full-fledged agent.” Chief Strauss rattles off the information as if it’s the thousandth time she’s said it. 

It might be. 

You can’t even fathom how much effort and time must have gone into this decision. The realization leaves you speechless. 

She prompts you again. “Does that sound like an opportunity in which you’d be interested?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” You feel a little stupid, but you’re rewarded with a proud smile from Agent Radner. 

You could also swear you saw a twitch of Agent Hotchner’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who smiles much. 

+++

“So this’ll be your desk,” Agent Jennifer-but-my-friends-call-me-JJ Jareau says, pointing to one of the many desks in the bullpen. 

You set your bag down with a little smile, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. 

Agent Morgan pats your shoulder as he passes your desk. “You’ll do just fine, kid. Ready for a case briefing in ten?” 

“Sure.”

His blinding smile eats up his whole face and you like him already. He’s different than you thought he’d be, but you still don’t think your preliminary profile was too far off.

Agent Gideon, still holed up in his office, has yet to acknowledge you. 

Your eyes keep wandering to the open blinds, behind which Agent Hotchner and a woman you understand to be his wife have a quiet, apparently heated argument on either side of his desk. Except for the tight set of her mouth and the angry glint in her eye, she seems lovely. 

Derek follows your gaze. “Wasn’t always like that.” 

You look at him, a little furrow in your brow. 

Should he be telling me this?

“She’s not always here either, but their son, Jack, has been sick, so it’s been… tense.” Derek shakes his head. “You wouldn’t catch me married in this job, not once.” 

That pulls a laugh from you. 

Emily, sitting at the desk beside you, turns in her chair. “Remind me to drink to that later.” 

Derek snorts and picks up a couple of files, headed up to the round table room. 

+++

Your first case briefing is, well...brief. The case seems fairly straightforward and you run through relevant vocabulary while JJ outlines the case details. 

Preferential offender, keeps his victims for no more than three days, victims found in public places. 

He wants them found, and fast. 

Need-based, maybe? What are his priors? 

You’re all dismissed with a brisk, “Wheels up in thirty.” 

You pack your things a little slower than probably called for. Hotch disappears into his office again, closing the door behind him. When you pass the window, his wife is tucked under his chin. 

Hotch’s eyes flicker to yours and you quickly train your gaze on the floor, hustling down the stairs. 

+++

You land next to each other when you board the plane. You do your best to avoid taking anyone's assigned seat. 

With a team of this size, you can only assume they have such things.

And they do. 

Gideon, Spencer, Morgan, and Prentiss take a seat at the table while JJ perches on the arm of the couch. 

Hotch settles at the informal “head” of the table, leaning on the chairs across the aisle. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the row next to him, trying to stay out of the way. 

“C’mere, kid,” Derek says, beckoning you forward. “You’re on this team.” 

You shuffle forward in your seat, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and case file open in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

JJ smiles at you, and you almost feel comfortable. 

+++

You end up alone with Hotch in the precinct conference room after you land, unboxing files and sorting them for Spencer. Until you know enough to make yourself useful, you’ve made it your mission to handle the tedious and the clerical. 

Hotch pauses every once in a while as if he wants to say something. You continue on your way. When he’s ready, he’ll stop you. 

“I’m sorry about earlier. My wife, Haley, she -” 

You look up, waving him off with a little smile. “It’s okay, Hotch. It’s none of my business.” 

He looks at you for a minute, studying your face with a bit of a squint. “You mean that.” 

It’s not a question. 

You’re confused. 

“Of course.” A nervous laugh leaves you. “I mean, you’re welcome to tell me if you want, but it’s nothing I need to speculate or gossip about or, God forbid, profile.” 

The shock and relief war on his face until it settles back into something that looks like his usual severity, but a little softer. He doesn't say anything else, but you have the sneaking suspicion you passed a test neither one of you prepared for. 

Spencer and Emily return from their trip to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Who organized these?” Spencer asks, pointing at the neat piles you made. 

“Me.” You look up from another box you’re working on. “Would it be helpful if they’re sorted another way? I went chronologically and then by number and type of offenses, with preferential offenders that match the M.O. on top, when possible.” 

Emily, Hotch, and Spencer freeze, staring at you like you grew another head in front of them. 

You’re suddenly and violently self-conscious. “What?”

Spencer snaps out of it first, shaking his head and picking up a stack. “Nothing that’s just...um…”

“Exactly right,” Emily supplies. She glances at Hotch before looking back at you. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Hotch is the last to break, but the curious little glances he keeps throwing your way always linger a little too long. 

To your credit, you ignore them. 

+++

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Derek slides into the driver’s seat and rolls out of the parking lot. 

You’re headed to another witness’s house under direct orders to observe and as a few (carefully directed) questions. Derek insisted on bringing you himself while the others keep busy with something else. 

“I’m liking it,” you reply. 

He laughs. “Coulda fooled me.” 

You screw up your face and look over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” he says through a laugh, “when you’re not making yourself ridiculously useful, you look terrified.” 

“I am terrified.” 

“Nothin’ to be scared of as long as you keep asking questions,” he says. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounds. 

“You’re joking, right?” You turn to face him, shifting in your seat. “Agent Morgan -” 

He cuts you off. You’re pretty sure that’s just how he is - he interrupts the other members of the team frequently and fearlessly. “- Derek. Or Morgan.” 

“Fine. Morgan, you have to know that your team is legendary. I don’t even know why -”

“- Don’t say it.” He flags his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “You’re here for a reason, and none of us are going to let you fall so hard you can’t pick yourself up, okay?” He glances over, meeting your eyes. “We’ve got your back.” 

You quirk a smile. “Thanks.” 

“And,” he adds, “Hotch seems to like you alright. That’s half the battle.” 

“What’s the other half?” 

He snorts. “Gideon. And local law enforcement.” 

+++

You settle in a little easier after that. JJ’s your next target as you help her make some calls to the D.A.’s office. 

You hang up and take a breath, slumping back in your chair. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even lunchtime. 

“Hanging in there?” JJ asks, smiling at you over her files. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just a… different kind of energy than the academy, I think.” 

“I felt that way when I got here, too. Gideon was unit chief back then and Spence had just started, too.” She huffs a laugh. “It was a little easier when there were more newbies, but then…” Her face clouds over and she shakes her head. 

“Then...what?” 

She looks up at you and her mouth twists. “Boston.” 

+++

“Hey, Derek?” 

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the trepidation in your voice. 

The dark interior of the car feels safe in the early hours of the morning, headed back to the hotel. “You said I could ask you anything, right?” 

His eyebrows pinch. “Shoot.”

“What happened in Boston?” 

Derek takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “I wasn’t there. I was supposed to be there.” 

You wait on him, watching him watch the road. 

“Unsub holed himself up in a massive warehouse. Gideon called in all the support he could - A Team, B Team, SWAT, the whole nine. I was visiting my mom in Chicago for her birthday like I do every year.” 

He stops at a red light, and you take a moment to look past him into the adjacent SUV, where Emily and Hotch’s profiles rest in a statuesque silhouette, backlit by the streetlamp. 

“It was a trap from the start. Everyone pushed in on Gideon’s order and the whole thing just…” He tosses his hand up and it lands with a smack on the leather steering wheel. “It just went up. Boom. Six BAU agents in our unit, dead, just like that. Had to rebuild from scratch.” 

You shiver, though the car is warm. “I’m so sorry, Derek.” 

He shrugs. “Gideon took six months off, Hotch took over. Gideon came back, Hotch stayed up front.” He smiles a little. “Haley wasn’t happy, but that’s the job.” 

Why does it always come back to Haley? To Hotch? 

Because he’s the unit chief. 

I know but…

Don’t read into it. 

You decide to push, just because it’s Derek, because he seems to know, because you feel safe with him, because it might be a mistake. “Is that what you meant?”

“Hm?” His head turns just a little toward you, his brow furrowed. 

“You told me on my first day ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Is that what you meant?”

“No sane man would take on the unit chief position with a wife and baby on the way.” He shrugs and with a secret little smile says, “But nobody ever accused Hotch of being sane.” 

+++

Aaron sits in front of his computer, the end of his pen tapping on the glossy wood of his desk. 

Does he have feedback? He’s not sure. 

Even with your limited knowledge, you’ve managed to optimize most of the administrative bullshit and political nonsense that clogs most local investigations. You bounce between acting as his shadow and JJ’s, making friends and soothing hurts when toes inevitably get stepped on. 

You’ve immediately adapted to his style of criticism and correction, using Derek and Spencer as guide-rails when you’re not sure where you’re going. 

There’s nothing to complain about. 

But then again…

Feedback isn’t just about the negative. 

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he won’t shower you in the glowing praise you deserve. Gideon never did for him or anyone that came after. 

It’s not in their nature, or his. 

He starts to type. 

Glancing out his office window, his eyes find you hunched over your desk, poring over one of Spencer’s notebooks, a pinch in your brow as deep as the Grand Canyon. 

You work hard, impossibly hard. You throw everything you have at your work in the field while managing your courses and keeping up with your classmates. 

That in mind, he drafts an email to Jenny. 

With a sigh, he sends it.

He’s still thinking of what you said on the last case, the genuine truth of it, and how many times he has done his best to preempt the gossip that plagues this office, no matter who it’s about. 

This unit, as much of a family as it may be, constantly wraps itself in the business of everyone else. To know you couldn’t give less of a shit about his marriage when the rest of the team (save Gideon) probably has money on when Haley calls it quits is, admittedly, refreshing. 

+++

After being in the field, classes take on a new kind of banality. You’re keeping up well enough, but watching Gideon and Derek quarrel over the details of a profile beats diving into the techniques - you guessed it - Gideon developed from cases past. 

Hotch and Garcia were gracious enough to CC you on emails while you were grounded at the academy, but it wasn’t the same. 

It was hard not to feel left behind, like the last kid chosen for dodgeball in PE class, watching the rest of the unit leave the office. You hung back in the bullpen as long as you could find something to do this morning, making it to class at the very last minute. 

Even after lectures, your classmates want nothing more than your attention. You’re suddenly consulting on three different practicals and never have a lunch to yourself.

Most afternoons, you sneak into the bullpen just for some peace and quiet. 

You hear your last name and look up, finding Erin Strauss approaching you. You stand. “Ma’am.”

“What are you working on?”

You look down at your desk, finding practical and theoretical exam notes shuffled around next to mock consults and other nonsense Hotch dropped on his way to the jet earlier in the week. “Course work, mostly. It’s nice to… get away every once in a while.”

Erin nods with a little smile. “I’d imagine you’ve been pretty popular lately.”

You shrug, a little facetious. “You could say that.”

She pays your shoulder in a surprisingly maternal gesture, before wishing you luck and leaving you to your work. 

At this point, you can’t even imagine just being an FBI agent. 

+++

You’ve just closed your burning, tired eyes when your phone rings. 

You answer, your last name a grumble into the mic. 

“It’s Hotch.”

You sit up straight in bed, immediately awake. “Sorry, sir, I -“

“I should apologize. I don’t mean to interrupt your studying or wake you but I think I could use your opinion on this profile.”

You frown in the dark, flipping your desk lamp on. “My help, sir?”

“Yeah.”  He heaves a sigh and you can almost see the fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been looking at it too long.”

“Maybe Derek, can -“

“No. You. Here, listen -“

He rattles off the details of the case and you snatch your notebook and pen off the desk, jotting things down as Hotch continues through the case. 

“Have you identified and contacted local individuals who fit the victimology, taken steps to protect them? He’s a preferential offender with a predictable cooling-off period, right?” 

For some reason, this isn’t half as exhausting as the practical exam practice you’d been working on for the last five hours. You may or may not have written those exact questions about fifteen times, but it’s far less exhausting when directed at Hotch. 

“Yeah. Two high-risk victims are in protective custody and JJ’s been in touch since this morning.”

You go through a few more basic questions, getting your feet under you, before asking the one you’re really after. 

“Sir, why did you call me?”

“I needed another set of eyes.”

You huff a laugh. “No, I gathered that, but why did you call me? I’m in the middle of learning about something you’ve been doing for…” You search for a number, but your brain is fried. 

“Too long,” he supplies. 

“Sure. But my point stands.”

“That it does.” Something creaks in the background and you imagine he’s leaned back in his chair. 

“Did I help?” You’re happy he can’t see your dubious, if not entirely doubtful, expression. 

He’s happy you can’t see the little fond smile on his face. “Yes, actually. You did.”

+++

“Wheels up in thirty.” 

You all stand from the table and start your routines. Emily and Spencer make a beeline for the coffee machine while JJ jets back to her office for contact sheets and files and all manner of coordinating materials. 

Derek’s routine is simple enough - he already has his coffee and his go bag, so he’s answering a few emails before wheels up. 

You never really know what to do during this liminal space, so you stick to classwork. 

Much to your surprise, you’ve shot ahead in your classes on the shoulders of Derek and Spencer. They’ve been monumentally helpful with the history and application of profiling techniques (though much of Derek’s advice has been ‘just watch Gideon,’ you’re not sure how to watch a process that takes place entirely inside the man’s head). 

You ride with Hotch to the airstrip, looking out the window most of the way. It’s only a five minute drive, but the tree-lined roads around Quantico are always lovely this time of the morning. 

As always, you do your best to stay out of the way on the plane, taking up residence on Hotch’s right with your notebook and case file. 

You offer some thoughts here and there, not pushing too much or saying enough to make an ass of yourself. 

When Hotch calls break, the rest of the team scatters to their respective corners. 

Gideon turns to you, gesturing with one finger. “Hey, ah…” 

Spencer chirps your last name from across the cabin and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Good job in the briefing, today.” 

And with that, he disappears to the far side of the cabin, leaving you and Hotch alone by the table. 

“Wow,” you say with a little smile. “I didn’t know he was aware of my existence.” 

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch. 

Success. 

+++

“Welcome back, kiddo!” Derek offers you fist and you bump your knuckles against his on your way back to your desk. “How’d those exams go?”

You huff, playing at defeat. “Oh, you know.” 

“Don’t worry about it. There’s always next time.” 

Hotch, returning from a meeting with Strauss, hardly looks up from the file in his hand when he says, “Well done on your exams. SSA Radner threatened to hang your marksmanship targets on her wall.” 

You hide a smile. “Thanks, Hotch.” 

“Not fair!” Spencer says, tossing another Tums in his mouth. “I never passed those.” 

“Then how on earth do you have that, Reid?” You point at his six-shooter, still clipped to his hip. 

“Wait wait wait,” JJ says, dropping her files and crossing her arms. “You haven’t heard that story?” 

Your eyes flicker from Derek, to JJ, to Spencer, and back. “...No.”

JJ settles in, regaling you with a wild tale of an L.D.S.K. - 

“You remember what that stands for, right?” Derek points at you and you have a feeling this is about to become some kind of pop quiz. 

“Yeah. Long Distance Serial Killer.” 

“Good. Famous unsubs include…?” 

You sit back in your chair with a little smirk on your face. “D.C. Snipers Muhammad and Malvo, active October 2002, seventeen victims total. Apprehended by agents from the FBI Baltimore field office -” 

Derek holds up a finger. “And?”

“- and the BAU and the Maryland State Police.” 

“Good.” 

JJ waits for Derek to nod at her and she continues what you imagine to be a rather embellished version of a story in which Hotch and Reid save the day.

“...And then Hotch just starts kicking the shit out of Spencer -” 

Hotch’s office door shuts and he sails down the stairs with one of those little secret smiles. “This one ends with Reid stealing my sidearm and shooting the unsub in the head.” He taps right between his eyebrows in the barest of pauses on his way out of the bullpen. “Dead center.” 

Derek and JJ groan, both whining about how he ruined the punchline before devolving into a fit of giggles. You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pushes through the glass door and turns the corner. 

You join in the mirth, ruffling Reid’s hair. He smiles widely at you. 

Maybe you could just get used to this place.   

+++

The second round of classes on top of added case hours (you’re traveling with the unit more often than not) nearly brings you to the brink. 

On the plane back to Quantico, you realize you can’t remember the last time you actually had a full night of sleep. 

The rest of the unit is out cold, curled into themselves or stretched out under blankets, save for Hotch and Gideon. 

Gideon’s writing in that wretched notebook again, entirely focused on his work under the weak reading light. 

Aaron sits beside you on the other side of the cabin, looking over a few files before returning home. You watch him check his watch, sigh, shrug, and pull out his phone. To your surprise, he doesn’t move to give himself space as he calls his wife. 

“Hey, honey, it’s me… Yeah, we’re on the plane. Should be back within the next hour and a half... “ 

He sighs and tightly closes his eyes. “Haley, please… Yes, I know Jack’s already asleep… Are you implying I didn’t do my damnedest to - Then what’s your point?...” 

His voice never once rises above a low murmur. It’s impressive.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can… No, I won’t pass ‘Go’ or collect two-hundred dollars or step foot into my office… Yes. Plane. Tarmac. Car. Home… Yeah… Love you too.” 

He snaps his phone shut and leans back, tipping his head against the headrest.  

You stay quiet, continuing your review of S.S.A. Bailey’s course on, ironically, conflict de-escalation. 

Hotch takes a talking breath and you look over at him, keeping a kind of soft understanding on your face - really, shooting for anything that isn’t curiosity. 

“I appreciate your…” He looks for a word. “Discretion.” 

You laugh a little down your nose. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s none of my business?”

“How many times do I have to imply that a phrase like that isn’t in the vocabulary of this team, usually?” He shifts a little, and you notice his thumb, running along his forefinger like he’s searching for bone. 

“Is it really that bad?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows, and you relent. 

“Fine.” You drop your voice. “Do you want to know what I’ve seen?”

He shrugs. “An outside perspective might be nice.” 

You keep your eyes on your book as you speak, keeping your volume low and your tone as neutral as you can. 

“I’ve seen how Emily worries about fitting in - I can’t help but relate. This team is a family and it’s… hard to break through that sort-of-wall to the outside world.” 

The prickly feeling of his eyes on you isn’t altogether unpleasant, but you still haven’t grown used to it. 

“Derek and Spencer are worried about Gideon and,” you glance at him briefly, “so are you. Everyone seems to want to know why, but I don't think that’s always useful.” 

Hotch hums once, maybe in agreement - you’re not too sure. 

You are sure, though, that this was a test. 

“How’d I do, Counselor?”

It’s never too early to invoke the J.D. hanging in a frame behind his desk. It was the first thing you noticed and suddenly, a lot more made sense. 

You’re rewarded with a small smile. “Not bad. Though you did forget to drop in the little bit about my marriage.” 

“I didn’t forget,” you assure him.

“No?” 

“No. I figure if you have something to say, you seem like the kind of person who’d just say it. At least,” you shrug, “that’s my impression.” 

He’s quiet for a minute before he squints and looks over your shoulder at your reading. His brown eyes track down the page before returning to yours. He’s close to you, but you’re not uncomfortable. 

Hotch is...safe. Somehow. 

“There’s a reason you’re the exception. Not sure what it is yet,” he says. “But there’s a reason.” 

“What?” 

He leans back, a cryptic little smile on his face, and says nothing else for the rest of the flight.

+++

“Hotch, are you sure it’s not a trick question?” 

“The questions aren’t designed to trick you,” comes a voice from the doorway. To your surprise, it’s Gideon. “They’re designed to stretch and reveal your instincts. No right answer.” 

The corners of his mouth turn down while his eyebrows rise in that kind of halfway-encouraging look he sometimes gets. “Just go with your gut.” 

He disappears and you turn back to Hotch, scribbling away in a file. 

“He’s right.” 

Your brain feels less and less bound to your body as the days pass. “Am I nuts, or is that the most words he’s strung together since I got here, combined?” 

What you now know to be a smile twitches at Hotch’s mouth. “You’re not nuts.” 

You sigh and turn your attention back to your mock exam, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. “I’m sorry to keep bugging you with homework - it feels like cheating.” 

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Resourcefulness is not cheating. If it was, I’d have to go back and get my J.D. out of a Cracker Jack box.” 

You muffle a laugh.

He checks his watch. “I have a check-in with the budget office in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay right where you are, but it’ll be boring and I plan to do a lot of pacing.” 

You hold your hands up in surrender and settle in. 

Friday afternoons in the office feel a lot like Saturdays in the office - which is to say, nothing happens at all. The rest of the team is catching up on paperwork while Gideon walks laps with his little notebook. 

Not three minutes into his conversation, Hotch stands and begins to pace, as promised. 

"No, we can't cut the technology budget... Because if the BAU gets called to a remote region, we need to have immediate access to satellite phones and our technical analyst… Yes… Send the budget to the Director, and I'm certain it'll come back approved without changes… The arrest and prosecution rate of this unit is -” 

His desk phone rings and he gestures for you to pick it up. 

“Agent Hotchner’s office,” you say with more than a little trepidation. You’re definitely not qualified to answer the unit chief’s phone. 

“Goddamn it, Aaron why can’t you -” She pauses. “Wait. Sorry. Who is this?” 

You introduce yourself. “I’m currently on-assignment with the unit. It’s… unconventional.” 

“Hm. Why are you answering Aaron’s phone?” Her tone isn’t accusatory - it’s more curious than that. You’d imagine this doesn’t happen all that often. He’s either at his desk, or he’s not at his desk. 

She calls him Aaron. 

You’re not sure why that surprises you. They’re married, and he has a first name. 

Taking a look across the room, you watch Hotch’s profile as he continues to defend the budget he submitted. 

Aaron. 

You make an attempt to see the man behind the suit, the man who goes home to his wife and son when he can. 

“I’m using his office to study for my academy exams. I’ll see if I can reach Agent Hotchner for you. Just a second.”

She snorts something that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp. “Thanks.” 

Hotch looks over and squints at you, mouthing, Who is it? 

You put her on hold and answer in a stage whisper. “It’s your wife.”

Hotch freezes for just a second - it almost looks like he’s rebooting. 

He blinks three times in rapid succession before he pulls the phone away from his mouth. “Tell her I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back.” You move to reach for the phone but he holds up a finger and you freeze. “Wait two minutes.”

You follow instructions, taking the time to answer a few more mock exam questions. You try not to think too hard about his avoidance. This doesn’t seem like a particularly pressing phone call - Hotch is in budget meetings all the time. 

None of your business. 

After about a minute and a half, you pick up the phone again. 

Before you can say anything, she’s already back on her mini-rampage. About twenty seconds in, she pauses. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m still not talking to my husband, am I?”

De-escalate. Disarm. Establish rapport. 

You can do this. 

You channel Derek, using a softer tone designed to distract. Maybe you’ll sneak some humor in there, if you can manage it. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hotchner, he’s not available.” 

With a defeated sigh, she asks, flatly, “Where is he?” 

Humor. Play off her disappointment. 

“I assume he’s in a meeting or something - he likes to think he’s very important - but I can’t find him.” 

To your surprise, she laughs a little. 

You check with Hotch across the room. He rolls his eyes at you but continues his bickering. 

Success. 

“Can you just… I don’t know… Tell him I called, or something?” 

You try not to think too hard about the defeat in her tone. “I promise I’ll badger him to call you back as soon as he’s back at his desk, ma’am.”

“Wow.” She sounds impressed, and you’re not sure why. You’re not left in suspense for long. She continues - 

“You’re a way better liar than JJ. Also - please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old. Haley’s just fine.” 

“Of course.” 

“You know what…” She asks for your cell number and you give it to her, throwing a glance at Hotch for good measure. He’s still pacing. 

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but can’t say anything to you before he’s forced to respond to the poor budget clerk who drew the short straw. “No we can’t start sharing hotel rooms…”

Haley interrupts your momentary space-out. “Thanks, again. If he doesn’t have a chance to call me back, can you let him know I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend? With Jack?” 

“Sure.”

That’s another question I’m not going to ask. 

You hang up the phone and get back to your exam, trying not to feel comforted by the lull of familiarity in the room. 

+++

For some reason, you keep finding yourself alone in police precincts in the middle of nowhere with Hotch sitting across the table from you. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You look up. 

“Haley, she…” He heaves a sigh and trails off for a minute, frowning at a spot above your head. “I don’t know why I’m asking, what I’m asking.” 

You keep your eyes on him. “Shoot.” 

He takes another breath. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.” 

This is above my pay grade. 

“Everything I do seems to irritate her - trying, not trying, just surviving. I don’t know.” He shakes his head at your somewhat bewildered expression. “Sorry, I -” 

“No, no, Hotch. It’s fine.” You search for his eyes. “What can I do?” 

He shakes his head. “Any advice?” 

Any advice? Definitely above my pay grade. 

You also feel for him - he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate. 

Besides that, it almost makes sense he’s asking you rather than anyone else on the team. They’ve all known him too long, have been too close to see his struggles clearly. They need to see him as an authority, separate from petty squabbles. 

Separate from the things that make him human. 

He needs to be a superhero for this team, and then go home and be a superhero for his family. Both parts of his life exist with a wall between them - Agent Hotchner can’t be a husband and a father in the field, and Mr. Haley Hotchner can’t be an agent at home. 

It must be lonely. 

Everyone else knows about and ignores that necessary separation. He trusts them as his colleagues, people he can rely on professionally, but perhaps not personally. 

Well, all except Emily. 

You get the feeling that he doesn’t completely trust Emily yet, but you’re not sure why. That’s another thing to figure out about the walking enigma sitting across from you. 

“Well… I’ve never been married, I don’t have kids, but I think…” You search for words. 

It’s none of my business, is what you want to say. 

Instead, you offer, “Why don’t you just ask her?” 

His brow crumples. “What?”

“Ask her. You don’t know how to, I dunno, do it right on your own, it sounds like. But you’re a team, right? Just ask her.” 

You duck down to your work, getting the feeling he’d rather not be observed as he processes. There’s a part of you that wonders whether his preference for privacy masks his fear. 

Another part of you already knows the answer. 

+++

Derek and Emily walk back into the precinct, spotting the pair of you right where they left you. 

Hotch still watches you with a soft, curious frown on his face, like there’s a puzzle there he can’t quite solve. You diligently work away, sticking flags and post-its on cold cases for the board. 

“What’s with that?” 

Emily looks up from her phone. “What’s with what?”

Derek nudges his chin toward the conference room. “That.”

Emily’s brow pinches a little. “They seem to be getting along well.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t think he’d warm up so easily. He didn’t with me.” 

“He gets like that. He’s getting better, though, ever since you called him out.” 

She snorts. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think he actually listened - I barely meant it.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Derek raises his eyebrows and searches for her eyes. “And he heard you.” 

Emily shifts her attention back to you, her posture softening. “Oh.” 

“C’mon,” Derek says, tapping her upper back with a good deal of affection. “Let’s regroup and see what we’ve got.”

+++

Aaron sits up in bed, the harsh light from the hotel table lamp illuminating the ugly wallpaper and the case files on the equally ugly bedspread. 

His fingers hover restlessly over the keys as he drafts his email, warring with himself. 

Does he want you on the team? Permanently? He’s already shown too much of his hand, revealed too much of himself, grew too comfortable too quickly. 

He’s not sure what it is about you that forced his guard down. 

You’re not the first person he’s asked about Haley, though he must admit that Gideon was next to no help. Spencer’s offered him unsolicited statistics about marital strife on three separate occasions in the past three months. 

Aaron presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. 

I live in a circus. 

He opens his eyes and reads over the email again. 

Fuck it. 

His cursor hovers over Send for just a moment before he clicks. The little whooshing sound seals his fate. 

+++

You land in Arizona and Gideon’s already on edge. There’s already another crime scene by the time you get off the plane

“This one’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” 

Derek sighs. “You’ve got good instincts. Stay close.” 

You elect yourself Derek’s shadow at the crime scene, taking notes for him while he circles and observes the body. 

Leaning close to him, you ask, “Isn’t the body positioning a sign of remorse?” 

He looks over at you with a little smile. “Yeah. Good work.” He looks across the street to Hotch, speaking with the detective. “Do yourself a favor and note that to Hotch. Make sure Gideon hears you.” 

+++

This time, you’re alone with Emily in the conference room, helping her pin and organize the board. 

“Hey,” she says, something like hesitation in her voice. 

You turn. “Yeah?” 

“Did Strauss ever…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder as Hotch, Gideon, and Derek come back in from the Arizona heat. They’re on their way to the conference room. 

“Did she ever what?” 

Emily shakes her head and forces a smile, waving you off. “Nevermind.” 

You’re not sure you get the confused look of your face before your colleagues walk through the door. 

+++

“Where are they?” Hotch watches the monitor, his eyes flickering, searching for Derek and Emily. 

You’re frozen, watching over his shoulder as the woman stabs the unsub, and then herself. Without knowing why, your mind wanders to that question Emily almost asked you the day before. 

This isn’t good. 

+++

The plane ride home is quiet, tense. 

You sit next to Hotch again. There’s not much you can do, but you shoot a text to Haley. 

5:42pm We’re flying back. Should be wheels down in Quantico in about four hours. 

She texts back after a minute. 

5:43pm Thanks. 

There’s something off - you don’t like the look of that period, but you try not to read into it too much. You’re all feeling a little unsettled after that case. 

Your eyes wander across the cabin. 

JJ’s bottom lip is firmly planted between her teeth as she stares out the window. 

Spencer’s sitting across from Gideon with a huge book in his lap, but he’s looking at Gideon more than he’s reading. 

Gideon, for once, doesn’t have his journal in his hand. He, like JJ, stares out the window, his mouth pinched. 

Emily’s eyes are restless, her breathing somewhat irregular. She’s picking at her nails. 

“Emily.” 

She looks up at you, and you tap the back of your hand with a finger. She looks down, finding her thumb and index finger close to bleeding. 

“Thanks.” She looks away from you again. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the view out the window was the most captivating sight in history. 

You know better. It’s just clouds. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand. Jenny. 

5:58pm How’s it going? 

You huff a little laugh down your nose. 

5:58pm Rough day. 

Hotch breaks his gaze from the window. “What’s up?” 

“Just Jenny. She’s checking in.” 

He shakes his head and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone. “Good day for it.” 

6:01pm If you’re up to it, I’ll be in my office late if you want to swing by and talk about it. 6:02pm I also have booze. 

You look up to find Hotch reading over your shoulder. He backs off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to -” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

“You should go, if she’s offering.” 

You snort. “Should I be job-searching already?” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says with a little smile. “Jenny’s seen a lot. She’s a good resource.” 

+++

The Navy yard is quiet as you drive across the campus. The NCIS building isn’t hard to find, but it’s still unfamiliar territory. 

When you park and get cleared for access and up the elevator, most of the lights are off on the Major Case Response floor. There are still agents present, working under the warm light of their desk lamps. 

A team of four takes up the middle of the bullpen, but they barely look up as you pass them and climb the stairs. 

Cynthia isn’t at her desk - gone for the night - and Jenny’s office door is open. She also has her overhead lights turned off, giving her office a cozy, lived-in feel. 

“Hey, you,” she says, looking up with a little smile. “Just got the scuttlebutt on that Arizona case. Definitely not ideal, I hear.”

You shake your head, collapsing into a chair on the other side of her desk. “Not ideal is a good way to put it.” 

She stands and crosses the office, pouring two small glasses of some amber liquid you know is gonna burn like hell. 

You take what she offers and hold in both of your hands, not really interested in drinking it, and follow her to the couch. 

“What happened?” 

You heave a breath. “Got the call - three murders already. Clearly a preferential offender. All the women were students, brunette, similar features. We already had another crime scene by the time we landed. We used the profile, got the guy.” 

Jenny’s brow pinches. “Then?” 

“Copycat. Even came with a note exonerating the suspect we had in custody. We had to let him go without a lead on the second suspect.” 

She sighs and takes a sip of her bourbon. “Been there.” 

“We were surveilling him, waiting for him to do something stupid - we knew he would. The copycat confronted him… She was suicidal. Stabbed him, then herself. We were too late.” 

“Oh, my God.” 

You level her with an exhausted look. “Yeah.” 

“How’s your team?” 

“Tired, mostly.” You offer a humorless laugh. “Maybe in a more existential way than a physical way, not that any of us have slept…” 

The two of you chat into the early hours of the morning. She’s had more than one day like this, in more than one country. 

“It’s days like this that make you question whether you’ve chosen the right line of work.” She looks over at a picture of herself in front of the Eiffel Tower, resting on her bookshelf. “But the good days…”

“They make it worth it, don’t they?” 

The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile. “Yeah. They do.” 

+++

You find a text from Haley when you get back into the car, not realizing you left it in the center console cup holder. 

10:38pm Thanks for getting him home safe. Get some sleep.

+++

When you come in the next morning almost embarrassingly late, Gideon’s office is still dark. 

You’re not even really sure you should be here in the first place, what with the major fuckup hanging over everyone’s heads. The last thing you want to do is go home to your room, back to those four tiny walls and textbooks, even after everything. The bullpen, this team, has become your safety net. 

They should all be here, but there’s only one absence striking you as particularly odd. “Where’s Gideon?” 

Spencer shrugs, spinning half-circles in his desk chair. He looks despondent, staring at the carpet. You don’t see Emily or Derek, but you assume they’re somewhere. 

Weird. 

You set your things down and head up the stairs, knocking twice on Hotch’s door. 

“Yeah?” He looks up and sees you, relaxing a little. 

You take a little breath. “Should I be here today?” 

“Do you want to be here today?” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite place. It almost sounds like insecurity, like he’s worried he’s scared you off. 

Far from it. 

“I do, sir. I want to be here.” You think of Jenny, and hope he can hear more than you can say. “It’s worth it.” 

You think maybe you’re figuring him out a little more. He smiles more often than you’d think, but you have to know what it looks like. This look - the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the slight crease at the corners of his eye, the threat of a dimple - is just as big a smile for him as Morgan’s human-sunshine smile. 

“Then stick around. I’ll have you work on some mock consults with Reid and Prentiss - you’ll be doing a lot of those in the next few months until you’re ready to take them on by yourself.” 

“I’ll go pick them up from JJ. They’re in her office, right?” 

He nods and you turn to leave, but you’re stopped by the sound of your name before you can get through the door. “Yeah?”

“You’ve performed remarkably well, no matter what happens after this.” 

The side of your mouth twists. “Thank you, sir.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse​ @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger​ @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad​ @angelsbabey​ @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid​ @captain-christopher-pike​ @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em​ @word-scribbless​ @jdougl-love​ @dreila03​ @forgottenword​ @aaronhotchnerr​ @ssa-morgan​ @sana-li​ @tegggeeee​ @abschaffer2​ @ssacandice-ray​ @ellyhotchner​ @lotties-journey-abroad​ @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25​ @mooneylupinblack​ @ssareidbby​ @bwbatta​ @roses-and-grasses​ @capricorngf​ @missdowntonabbey​ @averyhotchner​ @mandylove1000​ @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor​ @spencers-hoodrat​ @popped-weasels​ @evee87​ @nuvoleincielo​ @this-broken-band-girl​ @reidtomestyles​ @hotch-meeeeeuppppp​ @winqhster​ @the-falling-in-the-danger​ @iconicc​ @mangoberry43​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @kerrswriting​ @mac99martin​ @itsalwaysb33nyou​ @baumarvel​ @messyhairday-me​ @ssworldofsw​  @deagibs​ @crazyshannonigans​ @moonshinerbynight​ @jhiddles03​ @teamhappyme​ @mendesmelodies​ @starsandasteroids​ @unicorn-bitch​ @ambicaos​ @bispences​

[loveofafangirl]

In the Quiet

[Laszlo Kreizler Masterlist]

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Reader (no gender, race, or body type given)* *reader is an aristocrat who has aspirations of being an artist

Synopsis: You and Laszlo spend a quiet moment together while you reflect on how you met. *Fluff* Meet-Cute*

Word Count: ~1,250

A/N: This is my first time writing Laszlo. I hope you enjoy it!

Your fingers weave through his silky hair, his head resting in your lap as the two of you recline on a picnic blanket. The soft melody of the babbling brook beside you is amplified by the quiet stillness surrounding you. The warm breeze off of the water tousles your hair and tickles your features. The occasional bird chirps a melody just for the two of you.

You breathe easier away from the city. You know he does as well, even though he thrives in the unruly environment. He needs this break, away from the darkness and melancholy that he lets consume him. Here, he can find peace without distraction. Of course, it wasn't easy. Each small town had its own history, and with it, its own tragic stories to analyze.

Laszlo saw the potential for psychopathy everywhere. His mind raced with ideas of what might be, and more importantly, why. He had a thirst for knowledge and understanding, unlike anyone you had ever known—one that could not easily be quenched. There was always more: more to learn, more to observe, more to understand.

You found that Laszlo appreciated the subtle details often overlooked by others. You were the same in that way. It was what had brought you together—the details—just, not the same ones. Where he saw despair and pain, you saw the possibility of hope and promise.

"What do you see?" His confident voice questions behind you.

Your body tenses at the intrusion. You were so focused on your work you hadn't noticed his appearance.

"Sir?" Your gaze settles on the curious man, now standing beside you. You observe how his hands rest casually on his walking stick before him, but his focus is not on you, rather your subject.

"Please, pray tell me if you would, what is it that you observe." He gestures to the woman on the bench across the path that you had been drawing.

You run your charcoal-covered fingers nervously over the cloth you had beside you. His polished appearance reminded you how your current state reflected poorly on your status. It was why you had come to this park, away from the aristocracy uptown, away from those that told you art was a skill to possess but not suitable for more than a mere hobby to entertain and impress those of importance.

Your already straight spine lengthens as you attempt to reclaim your station. Your gaze shifts between the woman and your canvas. "I see loss."

"Very astute." He interrupts the rest of your thoughts. "I observe the same. I surmise the young woman has suffered a great deal. The loss of a child, perchance."

"A husband," you correct, quite confidently. The look on his face tells you he is not used to being challenged. You turn your drawing toward him, pointing out the simple metal ring the woman held in her hand. It was no longer visible at present, but you had captured it earlier as she turned it between her fingers.

"You have a tremendous eye for detail." He offers with a raise of his brow and a simple nod, impressed with your deduction. "May I?"

He takes the seat beside you, and you hand him your portrait. He carefully accepts it and studies it more closely. His gaze shifts between the drawing and the subject, "It is very good. Howbeit, might I still offer a suggestion?"

"If you wish." You nod anxiously, your fingers twisting the cloth in your hands. You knew accepting feedback from strangers was something you would have to learn to endure if you wanted to show your work at a gallery one day. You just hadn't expected it so soon.

He hands the portrait back to you. "The eyes—they're not quite correct."

The corners of your lip pull up, certain you had been careful in your interpretation. "They are," you insist. "Or, they will be."

His lips press together, and his head shifts to the sides in contemplation, not quite understanding your meaning.

"Life is filled with consequences: some good, many bad." You grab a stick of charcoal and continue sketching. You no longer felt unsettled by his presence; in fact, you felt a boost in your confidence. He seemed genuinely interested in how you perceived the world. You did not feel any judgment on his part for your enjoyment of this work. "This woman may have suffered, yet she presses on. She sits in the quiet here instead of satisfying her pain in weeping or, perhaps, indulging in less savory means. She has hope. I saw just a glimmer of it earlier as the scent of the blossoms in the breeze caught her attention, pulling her momentarily from the melancholy. Although finite, the spark will grow until she is whole. That is what I chose to capture."

"The loss of another—a paramour—is not so easily overcome." His voice is more distant now, heavier. You sense he speaks from experience.

"Nothing worthwhile is easy, good Sir. However, in time, perspectives can change as long as one holds onto hope."

"Perhaps."

The soft sounds of your charcoal etching across the canvas fill the comfortable quiet that settles between the two of you.

Your fingers brush the strands of chocolate hair off of his forehead, as you press your soft lips to his skin. You could never have imagined how that chance meeting would change your life. You chew your lower lip as you pull away.

His warm brown eyes meet yours. His mouth opens to speak but closes, leaving only a warm smile in reply to your touch.

You scratch lightly over his lush beard, savoring the coarse texture against the pads of your fingertips. Your own smile spreads as your gazes lock together.

This was good for him. He needed this break in the country as much as you did. It had become somewhat of a retreat for you. Your family was not thrilled with your choice of partner. Despite his status and education, as an Alienist, he was considered a less than ideal match. Your parents had even offered to support your wild pursuits to become an artist to dissuade your interest in him, but it was too late. Neither of you cared much what others thought about your pairing. The world was changing, and so were you. You and Laszlo would press forward carving a path that fit your ideals, not that of the masses.

The two of you needed each other more than you could have realized. You needed his understanding, disregard for conventions, and the way he challenged you in ways society could not. He needed your kindness, generosity, but most of all, light.

The details had brought you together, but it was in these quiet moments when the two of you could just be that your love blossomed. It was where your relationship developed and spoke louder than words ever could.

Laszlo captures your hand in his good one and brings it to his lips, brushing feathery kisses on your skin. Your eyes close, relishing his tender affection. It wasn't often you had him all to yourself, so you treasured moments like this.

Your free hand continues stroking gently through his hair, letting him rest in your care. The glow of the sun bathes you in its warmth as the gentle breeze wraps you in its comfort. You stay nestled together, just the two of you, in the quiet, letting your adoration speak for itself.

A/N#2: Thank you so much for reading! I'm not sure how often I will write Kreizler, but if you liked this and are interested in more, please like, comment, and/or reblog. I truly appreciate every interaction. Also, if you'd like to be tagged in future fics, let me know.

[maraudersftw]

This is weird. My dialogue is awful. I've been writing for over eight years now. I've barely improved. I feel demoralised every time I reread something of mine because it's just plain terrible. Like, there's no way anyone is actually ever going to say that. Let alone two super witty people, you just know would be great at bantering / flirting. I've asked people to beta, they're just too nice to actually tell me the very apparent issue with my dialogue. I'm not exaggerating. What should I do?

Hey, anon! First of all, I'm honoured that you thought of reaching out to me for this question even though I'm definitely still learning a lot of things about writing and what feels right to me myself. But I understand where you're coming from, and I'll do my best to help you out in whatever way I can. If any of my lovely writer mutuals have more to add, please feel free to do so!

1. Before I even start talking about anything else, it's important to remember that we're our own toughest critic, so it's possible (and quite likely) that your dialogues are not nearly as terrible as you think they are. When you've been writing and staring at the same words you've written multiple times, even the most interesting of dialogues can feel lame and try-hard to you. Whenever I write a fic and proofread through it before posting, 9/10 times I feel like it sounds boring or too dragged out. And it's because I already know what's going to happen, what the other person is going to say. Even if something is meant to be witty, I no longer find it to be so because I've written them. Return to your fics a year from now and you may feel differently.

2. Your betas are there to help you. I know it's difficult to broach that awkward boundary where you want them to be brutally honest about your writing vs wanting strangers on the internet to shower you with validation, but if you really, genuinely, want to improve your writing and make the maximum use of your betas, try talking to them about it. From what you've told me, they seem like very nice people, and if you tell them that they should just be as critical with your writing as they are with theirs, I think they'd understand. If they find that uncomfortable, that's fair. You can always ask someone else. I find that having different betas for different fics is always a good idea because you get to see how differing perspectives work.

3. Ask your betas to leave you comments when they're editing. It's easier to just pass on the doc and have them fix your typos and grammatical errors, but ask them how you can improve the dialogue and pacing as well! Tell them to leave some tips for you as they go over your work. This way, it doesn't have to be an one-on-one conversation (so neither of you feel awkward), and you can just return to the doc later and go through the suggestions slowly and imbibe them into your future works.

4. This might sound very simple, but it's important to remember when you're writing fic that these characters are normal humans who talk and behave like normal humans do. Sometimes, the whole flirting/bantering feel of the conversation just comes through from their actions and not their words. For eg. instead of writing something like:

"Hey, Potter! Are you free this weekend?" asked Lily.

"Why? Wanna take me on a date, Evans?" He smirked.

"Maybe I do."

You bring the scene to life through the same words, but more actions. Like so:

"Hey, Potter!" Lily called, her fingers tentative as they fell on his arm. James turned around, one eyebrow cocked. "Are you free this weekend?"

He looked at her silently, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Why? Wanna take me on a date, Evans?"

Lily's eyes glittered with the thrill of a challenge, and she pressed a little closer. "Maybe I do."

5. Make sure that you let your characters talk and breathe like normal humans, too! Let them take those heavy pauses for tense scenes, let them break off in between sentences because they can't finish a thought right or they're laughing too hard or they've just suddenly remembered something that froze them on the spot. Let them fumble and sigh and repeat words like we do IRL conversations. If your character is having an argument, and they're red in the face, they're probably not gonna say: "Why not?"

They're much more likely to say: "Well, why the hell not?!"

You can throw in a couple of "um"s and "uh"s and "er"s for those unsure few milliseconds. Em dashes are your best friends here. Sometimes, even saying that they're pausing to think or breathe or collect themselves can help bring your dialogues to life.

But yeah, don't overdo them either coz then the flow might break lol

6. Read! Read! Read! As writers, we sometimes forget to really read other stories or appreciate different characterizations and writing styles, which can make your writing growth halt. Not saying this is true for everyone, but reading more definitely doesn't do harm. And especially for us fanfic writers, this works even better, because we're writing about the same characters again and again. If you read another writer's take on it, you'll slowly start to hold onto the pattern of how a certain character speaks, or what they're likely to do. This is extremely useful when writing a dialogue. For instance, I know how headstrong and stubborn Lily is, I've read so many takes on this trait of hers. So when I write my dialogues, I know I can't have her backing down easily. She will go red in the face, she will yell, she will be in denial, and say harsh things she probably doesn't mean entirely when she's mad. But at the same time, I also know she's unflinchingly kind, so you know you have to write that she speaks in soft tones when comforting someone. She probably smiles really kindly, tucks her hair behind her ear when she's shy, confesses things with a lot of bravery, watches James from the sidelines with the softest expression (sorry, got lost in the feels for a sec)

Similarly, you've gotta make James be the loudest one in the room, the one who's voice carries over to everyone, who's absolutely unabashed in his dialogues and whose confidence shines through his words. But the same boy then turns unsure and tentative in moments where his heart is on the line. I always write his dialogues as super vulnerable during such scenes (much more than Lily's would be). A lot of desperation, pleases, promises, etc. etc.

I know this got really long, and I'm not sure if any of it was at all helpful. If you're looking for something specific, please do send in another ask! I don't mind helping out!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Four

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read I hope everyone's had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies!! Warnings: Uuuuuh none Summary: “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.” 

“You seem a little agitated, if you don’t mind my saying so.” You did mind her saying so, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be irritated with Mrs. Lloyd. She was Uncle Cornelius’ housekeeper, had known you since you were very young, and was familiar with your moods. “I’m not particularly looking forward to this evening,” You excused. Mrs. Lloyd glanced at you in the mirror as she adjusted the off-the-shoulder sleeves of your royal blue evening gown. “Could it have anything to do with the fact that Lord Dawson will be in attendance?” She asked. “Among other things,” You replied stiffly. She hummed, lifting her hands to smooth over your hair. “Shall I tuck a flower into the braid? I got a lovely bunch of gardenias at the market this morning,” Mrs. Lloyd offered. She didn’t wait for your answer before she headed for the door. “Why gardenias?” You asked, turning to look at her. “They symbolize purity and gentleness,” She told you. You grimaced. “Are there any flowers that symbolize resentment?” You asked. Mrs. Lloyd frowned. “Petunias. But I didn’t buy any of those.”

-- “It’s the last thing this country needs, reform,” Mycroft had been prattling on for nearly twenty minutes now. Most of the men’s voices uttered murmurs of agreement, though you noted Sherlock’s was absent. You glanced in his direction to find him eyeing the man that had been seated across from you. Lord Fredrick Adelbert Dawson did cut a fine figure, you couldn’t deny it. With a sharp, pointed jaw, dusty blonde hair, hawk-sharp steel blue eyes, and an aquiline nose, he tended to draw the eye of many a young lady. He had even drawn yours when you’d first met him. And then you’d had a conversation with him and any interest you’d had faded quickly. You lowered your eyes to your plate as you saw Sherlock’s gaze flit to you.

“Come now, gentlemen, I do believe we’re boring our companions,” Cornelius chuckled, casting looks around the table, “Perhaps Mr. Holmes could tell us about the case he’s currently working on?” You felt yourself grow tense as everyone’s attention shifted to Sherlock. If he was rattled by this sudden spotlight, he didn’t show it. His face retained its usual mild expression; the only noticeable change was a now quirked brow in Cornelius’ direction. “What is it you’d like to know?” He asked. “Whatever it is you can tell us,” Cornelius pressed. “I’m not sure there’s much Sherlock can say about this one at present,” Mycroft’s voice was tight as he reached for his glass of wine. You watched him take a rather long sip before he lowered the glass to the table. The hand that had been holding it rested on the cloth, balled into a fist. “Is it because it’s confidential, or is it simply dreadfully boring?” Lord Dawson asked. You cast Sherlock a glance, watched him tip his head and narrow his eyes at the question. Oh dear. “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.” “The truth?” Dawson repeated, brows raised in amusement, “What excitement can one find in the truth?” “About as much excitement as you find at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. Is it still under the management of Madame Vestris?” “Sherlock,” Mycroft hurried to hiss from the other end of the table. But the damage had been done. You watched as the blood drained from Dawson’s face. The comment had landed with the other gentlemen at the table, and, unfortunately, with you. Uncle Cornelius, in one of his more intoxicated states, had once made mention of ‘the pretty ladies he’d been in the company of’ at the Theatre Royal. You weren’t naïve; you knew that they were ladies of the night. You reached for your glass of wine, avoiding the eyes of both Sherlock and Lord Dawson as they looked to you for a reaction.   “I quite loved H.M.S. Pinafore!” Cornelius piped up in the hopes of breaking the tension. -- After dinner, the ladies had adjourned to the sitting room for a glass of wine and some conversation; the men had remained in the dining room for brandy and cigars. You had only been able to stand the chatter for a few minutes before you excused yourself. You stepped out into the garden, sighing into the night air and allowing your shoulders to sag just a little. Dinner had been no less than a disaster. Even after Cornelius had moved the conversation on, there had been glares and harsh words veiled as polite conversation between Sherlock and Dawson. You had hated it; you knew that this would be awful, but you couldn’t have fathomed it would be nearly this bad. “Are you cold?” You jumped at the sound of his voice. Sherlock held his hands up in apology as you brought your hand up to your chest, feeling your heart pound. “No,” You lied, the word harsh in your irritation. If he knew you were lying, he didn’t call you on it. Sherlock turned, beginning to wander around the garden in silence. You rubbed your hands over your arms, trying to warm them as he was looking elsewhere. As you saw him turn back toward you, you quickly lowered your hands, clasping them in front of you. “What are you doing out here?” You asked. “I wanted some air,” Sherlock excused. “There’s plenty of air inside.” “And you?” Sherlock asked, “What drew you out?” “... It was too warm in the sitting room,” You fibbed. Sherlock hummed, clearly unconvinced before he began to wander the garden again. “Did they teach you to lie at finishing school?” He had meant it to be a joke, but you nodded and said, “In a way.” His brow furrowed. “Explain,” He requested. You looked down at your hands, considering. “Well... You’re taught to comport yourself according to the rules of society. How to sit, how to eat, how to smile, how to speak, how to laugh. And you’re taught to act that way regardless of however you may truly be, or however you may feel. You learn to become someone else, for the sake of society...Though everyone tells you that it’s for your own sake.” When you looked at Sherlock, you found him watching you closely. “...Promise me you’ll find Enola before Mycroft does,” You pleaded softly. His mouth turned down in irritation. “I’m doing everything I can, dove,” Sherlock swore. “If you were doing everything, you wouldn’t be taking breaks to ruin dinner parties,” You retorted. Sherlock grunted, turning away from you. “Your Lord Dawson is quite the character,” He commented. The butterflies in your stomach began to swirl about in an uneasy flurry. “How so?” You asked. “Well, he’s quite blunt, firm in his opinions. He seems to be under the impression that you’re meek, soft...Though maybe that was the fault of the gardenia,” he glanced back at you. You let out an irritated huff, reaching up and yanking the flower that Mrs. Lloyd had put in your hair out, tossing it on the stone bench near you. You glowered at the sight of Sherlock’s amused smile. “I’m sure Mycroft will be quite cross with you for what you said to Fredrick,” You commented. “Fredrick?” Sherlock repeated, stopping in his place, a thread of incredulity in his tone. You arched a challenging brow, silently daring him to comment on the name further. Rather than press, Sherlock said, “I’m sure Mycroft is already taking the pains to smooth things over. You’re familiar with Dawson, do you think he’s amenable?” “Your brother has a reputation for being persistent to the point of ruthlessness. I’m sure his success is imminent.” “I wasn’t asking you about my brother,” Sherlock pointed out. He tucked his hands behind his back, regarding you. “...Could you be happy with him?” The question took you aback, but your answer was prepared - it was the same thing you’d been telling yourself for months: “My family would stop worrying about my future. It would be a weight off of their mind, and therefore mine.” “That isn’t an answer.” “Yes it is,” You argued. Sherlock considered this. “I disagree,” He finally said, “Let me ask again.” He began to cross the garden toward you in slow, steady steps as he spoke, “Would you be happy, being Lady Dawson? Attending opening day at Ascot? Wearing the latest fashions? Having your name in the papers whenever your husband takes up another of his several affairs?” Your stomach churned uneasily, heart pounding as Sherlock stared you down. “Stop it,” You mumbled. “Bearing two, three little lords or ladies? Shipping them off to school--” “Stop it!” You snapped more loudly. Sherlock went still at that, close enough for you to see the flicker of shock in his eyes. You shook your head a little bit, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to quell the tears that had begun to prickle, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you looked at him again. “You’re just as bad as Mycroft sometimes, you know? Prodding me to see how quickly you can get a rise out of me like I’m some experiment and not a person. It’s cruel.” Then you saw it again - the flash of hurt that had crossed Sherlock’s face back at Ferndell. But it didn’t disappear this time. Instead it settled, twisting his handsome features as his eyes lowered to the ground. “You did it when we were young, too. Maybe it was fair then, maybe I was just this irritating noise-making thing that you wanted away from you. But we’re not children anymore,” You reprimanded him, “And what I may have to do to maintain my family’s social standing is none of your concern, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock looked at you then, eyes skating over your face before he met your gaze. “Your eyes are red,” He said. Irritation shot through you. “I’m not a case, Sherlock,” You sneered before you turned away, intending to leave. Sherlock’s hand caught hold of yours, stilling you. “Let go,” You hissed. “Dove.” His tone was beseeching, gentle. You didn’t trust it. “Let go of me,” You demanded. He did, and you strode away, leaving him alone in the night. -- “Are you alright? ... My dear, you’re shaking,” Mrs. Lloyd gripped you by the shoulders, steering you back into the study. “I-- It was colder than I anticipated,” You excused. You allowed yourself to be steered into a chair by the fire, folded into a blanket, the others fussing about you catching your death. No one noticed the gardenia missing from your hair. No one noticed the white petals peeking out from the pocket of Sherlock’s jacket as he bid Cornelius a good night. -- “Breakfast is on the table. And there’s been a delivery for you - it’s in your study,” Your mother informed you. You thanked her quietly before turning back to your vanity to finish pinning up your hair. You were glad to be home. Your last two days in London had been entirely uneventful. You’d met with your father’s other investor (with minimal condescension; the gentleman had actually been somewhat pleasant) and dropped in on your aunt one more time before traveling home. You hadn’t heard from Dawson, which was a relief. You’d heard nothing from Sherlock. That should’ve been a relief, but it was, in fact, agonizing. You told yourself it was because it meant that you had no news of Enola, but you knew that it was more than that. You couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you may’ve said or done if you’d turned back to him when he’d wanted you to. You hadn’t sought him out despite this curiosity, either in person or by post; he had a case to work on. Besides, you didn’t know what you’d say to him even if you did see him. You two seemed to turn to bickering when left to your own devices. Your curiosity about the delivery won out over your hunger, and you went into your study. There was a beautiful white satin glass vase sitting on your desk filled with purple hyacinths. You knew what those flowers meant well enough - you’d sent them to your Aunt Mary the last time you’d failed to send her a formal thank you note for a dinner party you’d attended at her home. Purple hyacinths were for apologies. You stepped closer to them warily, gently fingering the petals. Your eyes fell to the envelope beside the vase, and your stomach gave a little flip. Sherlock’s handwriting hadn’t changed after all this time; his penmanship had always had a crisp, almost tight quality to it. You picked the envelope up, pulling the note out. Please forgive me, dove.                                    -S.H. At the very bottom of the note was an address for Miss Harrison’s Finishing School. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s ; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24​ ; @awkward-walking-potato​ ; @madalore​ ; @alexa-lightwood-blog​ ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood​ ; @runawayolives​ ; @parkerismybaby​

[bibblelevi]

this may sound weird¿ but i strongly believe that the longer authors take to update just makes me love even more a series. silver soul is no exception. i've lost count how many times i reread everything, but i can tell in every chapter that the plot is getting heavier –mostly with emotions– which helps me remain intrigued with the story. i like the idea of not knowing what will happen in future chapters, your characters are very unpredictable and i find that very interesting! personally i enjoy the atmosphere you create when levi and reader are having a serious conversation about past event or when it comes to expressing their emotions towards the relationship they have, it's so tense, intimate and painfully sweet. i think i said this before but the way you portray levi's personally is something i admire from you as an author, he's so complex because all the shit life he's had so seeing him deal with foreign feelings is actually very cute i just want to hug him! :(

i sincerely hope you can finish next chapter with self-satisfaction! take care, sar! i'm always here ready to kiss your brain with whatever comes out of it! 💚

also i consider you such a sweet girl and i love seeing you on my dash but i'm shit when it come to interacting so i'm basically a ghost, it would be nice if we become moots in some moment!

i agree with you on the first part 100%!!! like i think everything is so much sweeter when you wait for it. it’s such a relief hearing how the plot is coming together from your perspective - i can tell you now that the next few chapters are going to be pretty heavy emotionally with many flashbacks to the past. chapter 11 was about reader supporting levi through his struggles despite his defenses, and now we’ll get to see the opposite.

i’m happy you enjoy levi’s portrayal and those intense scenes. they’re a challenge to write but i love love love writing them. thank you so so so much <3333

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Sparks

Ahh! Happy Birthday Shikamaru! This story has nothing to do with his birthday but here's something cute and fluffy like a yummy birthday cake.

Summary:  After a less than memorable first date with Temari, Shikamaru is determined to make the next one better.

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Sparks

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Chouji and Ino were surprised walking into the dimly lit room with the curtains pulled tightly closed.  A half eaten meal left on the table. This didn’t look like the living space of someone who just had a date with the love of their life. 

“Hey Shikamaru.” 

“You okay?”  Chouji poked at the lump on the bed and said shinobi sat up to brush a hand through his unruly hair. 

“I’m fine.”  They looked thoroughly unconvinced. Shikamaru should have known that they’d be showing up after he kept avoiding seeing them. 

“So…uhm how was your date with Temari?” 

Their friend groaned into the hands that were covering his face. “It was a disaster.”

“Really?”

“From where we were it seemed like you two were hitting it off.”  The utterly smitten look on his face was a surprising sight to see.

He bit back an annoyed statement about them snooping to sigh.

“The date was fine. We talked, the food was good but it just didn’t seem like a date would feel like I guess.  It was just like… a dinner between friends.  We’ve been friends for so long that I don’t know that we know how to be any more than that.”

“Is that what you want? Just to be friends with Temari?”

He’d contemplated that question since their date but kept coming up with the same answer. “No, I like her. I wouldn’t have asked her out otherwise. I just don’t know if she feels the same way and I worry that after our date she might think that all I’m interested in is being friends.”

“How did the night end?” He was annoyed knowing that Ino was fishing for information.

“Why? Was your date with Sai any better?”. He bit back as their dates had occurred around the same time. 

She threw her hair back with a smug smile. “It was perfect. He gave me a bouquet of flowers. He was sweet and charming all night. And the kiss at the end of the night was just incredible.”  

Even socially stunted Sai knew how to have a better first date than him.  This was all so unfamiliar and new.  He didn’t thrive in unfamiliar places and having to navigate relationships and feelings was challenging.  

The tense look across Shikamaru’s face halted Ino’s daydream. 

“How did the night end?” Ino asked again carefully. 

“Well we were standing outside her door for a while. She was playing with her keys so it seemed like she wanted to go inside.   It was starting to feel awkward so I shook her hand and said good night.”

“You shook her hand?”  Even Chouji was shocked. 

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Kiss her you idiot. She was clearly waiting for something.”

He blushed at the thought. “What if she didn’t want to kiss me?”

“Does Temari seem like the type to just let someone kiss her. She would have made it painfully obvious if she didn’t.”

“Fuck.”  He groaned and laid back in bed. He prayed that he hadn’t messed up his one opportunity. 

“So what do I do now?”  Chouji and Ino couldn’t help but be a little amused.  Shikamaru was their resident genius, smart and shrewd.  Having him ask for their advice must have been humbling. 

“Ask her out again, be really honest about how you feel and this time kiss her.” 

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Once his teammates left, Shikamaru made his way to the inn where Temari was staying. He wanted to ask her out again and was sure that this time things would be different. If he was lucky she’d agree and perhaps this time their night would end differently. 

“Shikamaru?”  Temari was surprised to find him a nervous wreck at her door. 

Shikamaru saw her and his rational plan to talk about their relationship and it’s possible future came crashing down. He quickly prayed that his teammate's advice was correct and pulled Temari into a kiss. 

He felt her tense before she melted into him. Her arms crossed behind his head. Soft and warm her lips fit so perfectly against his. 

He took a quick breath once their lips parted. His hands were firmly around her waist never wanting to let go.

“Tem-“ 

“More…kiss me more…”. Her breathless whimper propelled him forward. 

His hand moved to cradle the back of her head as he pushed her against the door. His weight heavy against her.  Lips hungry. Needy.  His rough hands moved wherever they could to feel warm skin against his finger tips. 

He’d always known that Temari was incredible. Strong, lean body with sun rayed hair. And teal eyes that were so unique and her own. 

Her lips though were his weakness. The way that they’d quirk up into that smug smirk. But sometimes soften into that sweet smile only he knew. Right now firmly pressed against his own he was left undone. 

He’d been worried after their first date that perhaps that spark wasn't there to push them beyond friendship. He was so happy that he’d been wrong. 

She pulled herself closer to him and yet it didn’t feel like enough. She knew it never would be. 

Her heavy pants sang in his ears but her soft whimpers wordlessly asking him to keep kissing her was making him dizzy. 

It was a state of weightlessness, disorienting but free that he’d gladly stay in. 

*

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Later, they sat together and he held her perched on his lap. He preferred to spend the night using his mouth for other things but he wanted to clear the air.  It wasn’t easy but he told her what he thought about their first date and some insecurities that he had. It was awkward and embarrassing but honesty was what they’d built their friendship on. 

“I was worried that I’d bored you, or maybe you thought it was just a normal friendly dinner.  Perhaps I should have made it much more elaborate just so you really knew how I felt. 

Temari paused to stare at him intently. He tried to keep his eyes on hers but they inevitably drifted to stare at her lips. They quirked into a sweet grin. 

“I look at it differently. I think that it’s something that I’ve learned from you. There can be a lot of joy in everyday life. Cloud watching, deer keeping, lazy, familiar, quiet moments. So yes, perhaps there will be parts of our relationships that seem normal or routine but in some ways I like it. Because you’re my safe place, my stability. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”  Her hand affectionately brushed through his hair.  Love shining in her deep eyes.  

“It’s you.”

He was surprised by her response even though he shouldn’t have been. Their lives had always been marred by a touch of chaos and uncertainty.  He’d gladly be her anchor.

.“Tem…”. He pulled her in tight kissing her surely and soundly. 

“Life together with you will always be an incredible adventure. As long as it’s you and me in the end.” 

She relaxed into him and his view of their future did sound incredible. 

“They were right by the way. I really did want you to kiss me that night.”  She admitted with a blush. She’d never been more annoyed at the supposed genius. 

“I’ll never make that same mistake again.”  And he sealed that promise with a kiss.

*

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My deers! How have you been? I miss you all. I hope that you enjoyed this little story from me. It was inspired by something that I think I read somewhere about Temari and Shika's first date.

I have so many WIP/ideas but I'm terribly unmotivated to write. This story has been sitting in my folder for months now so I decided to clean it up for Shika's birthday. Okay, babes please continue to take care of yourselves. I love you all!