#i can’t believe this is all canon but never discussed

[mitternacht]

Hi I spend way too much time thinking about Fuuta Kajiyama and really wanted an excuse to throw out a full breakdown of his character and why I think he’s so well written.

The long and short of it is that Fuuta’s character was built to represent social isolation and the effects it has on the psyche. And the direction his character has taken in T3 was always going to be the natural progression of his character, especially based on his T1 verdict and the consequences of that, it did not come out of nowhere and is not a questionable writing decision.

(The rest under the cut for really long winded meta and dissection of Fuuta’s character and how we got here)

To start, I want to talk about Fuuta’s life before Milgram.

He’s a 20 year old university student, with no strong ties to family and no real group of friends or social circle to speak of. Already, he’s very isolated and has shown that he’s quite directionless. He doesn’t have any dreams or aspirations, because he thinks things like that are “childish” and “worthless”. He’s also never felt a real sense of protection or authority from the adult figures in his life, based on the way he talks about his parents. I’m inclined to believe they weren’t really present while he was growing up as well based on what we know of them, which caused further isolation and left him devoid of a sense of purpose. (Getting slightly ahead of myself here, but guess which type of people are most susceptible to falling into cults?)

So, what does he have to cling to? What does he have to keep him going? We all have a deep innate need for human connection and community, so where can he get that?

Online, of course.

So, he turns to the internet. He finds a community of people who enjoy the same things he does that he can connect with, and this serves as a lifeline for him. Now, he’s also been shown to have a strong sense of justice, which is perhaps one of the only other defining characteristics he can claim for himself and one of the only things he believes in. He feels a sense of empowerment and pride when he’s “carrying out justice” in his eyes, and it gives him a sense of purpose and duty that he’s lacking elsewhere in his life. It also brings him validation from his community, who further enable him and fan the flames, so to speak. He’s part of a group, he’s part of something for the first time in his life, and he has no way of stopping at this point. And then, it goes too far.

(I don’t feel like I should need to say this, but for the sake of posterity, yes, what Fuuta did was very, very bad and should never be condoned or excused. But again, it’s a very real problem and is caused by social isolation which is very common in today’s world and is worth having a discussion about. Fuuta’s character is an excellent showcase of how easily this can lead people to do terrible things by turning to online validation and praise for their sole source of connection with others.)

Now Fuuta is a person that doesn’t know how to deal with heavy negative emotions. He’s not very mentally strong, and being so isolated for most of his life with no real sense of purpose has left him with not a lot of ways to properly process or cope. When we first meet him in Milgram, he’s leaning very heavily on denial. He’s convinced himself that he did nothing wrong, and can’t even entertain the thought that his actions had killed someone. He’s also the type of person that can’t stand showing any signs of weakness. He acts big, and angry, and tough, because that’s the easiest way to deflect from any other “weak” emotions he may be feeling.

But, the side effect of this inability to process his negative emotions and acting out like this, is that he can’t make any real connections with the other prisoners in Milgram. (I’m not counting minigram as canon in this breakdown as an fyi, I’m basing this solely on interactions from timelines and voice dramas)

He’s lost the only community he had, completely cut off from it, and is experiencing the social isolation that drove him to this in the first place all over again. He sees the older prisoners as unreliable and not anyone he can lean on in this situation, and at this point doesn’t seem to have any particular feelings about the other prisoners. He mentions looking out for Haruka in particular, but (as much as it pains me to say this since I do love the 0103 dynamic) it’s unlikely that this was a significant enough connection to keep him from feeling socially isolated in Milgram. He states that he’s not looking to make friends with the other prisoners, but that was likely just big talk and hiding the fact that he couldn’t make that connection with anyone.

With all of these negative emotions he can’t process or cope with, the fear and uncertainty of his environment, the loss of community he once had, and without anybody or anything to rely on for guidance or protection, it’s already a recipe for a shattered mental state.

Now let’s throw a guilty verdict, some horrible physical trauma, voices that you can’t escape, heavy sleep deprivation and paranoid hypervigilance into the mix!

(I also want to point out… Fuuta’s second voice drama is titled “Baptism of Fire”. Yes, it’s a turn of phrase involving fire because that’s Fuuta’s motif, but knowing what we do now this was completely intentional foreshadowing)

The attack Fuuta sustained from Kotoko would be traumatic for anyone, and I feel that the effect this attack had on him is frequently dismissed because he wasn’t on the brink of death like Mahiru was. In Shidou’s T2 voice drama, he lists Fuuta’s injuries as: an orbital floor fracture, traumatic retinal detachment, bruising, lacerations, and a partial fracture of the thorax. This is going to cause some very severe chronic pain for him, particularly in his head and chest, especially considering they don’t have access to proper treatment and from what Fuuta has said they likely don’t have access to any sort of painkillers either. Even the act of just breathing is going to exacerbate his pain, and there’s just nothing that can be done for it. Speaking as someone with chronic pain myself, it definitely has a severe impact on your mental state and ability to do quite literally anything.

Regarding the “voices and eyes” of the audience, Fuuta has always been a special case, because out of the characters that have mentioned the voices in particular he has been the most severely and negatively affected by them. He states that he can’t sleep because he feels that he’s being watched, and he’s mentioned several times how badly the voices affect him and how badly he wants them to stop. And this sleep deprivation just aggravates quite literally everything else that he’s currently dealing with, physically and mentally, making everything worse by tenfold.

The fact that he even admits to being scared and shows weakness to Es, considering the fact that he has an innate need to hide any sort of weakness, should be very telling. We are also told so many times during T2 that Fuuta is at his breaking point and is a complete mess.

Although it’s not directly stated in canon, Fuuta very heavily showcases symptoms of psychosis that have seemed to become progressively worse through and after T2. (I made a post about this not too long ago, trying not to repeat too much here but I broke this down a little more in that other post)

And what’s a common symptom of psychosis? Religious delusion.

To start with, Fuuta's character even before entering Milgram is a prime example of someone who is extremely susceptible to falling in with a cult. Someone who is socially isolated, craves human connection and belonging, and who is searching for a sense of purpose/duty. You add onto that his murder and the need for someone to forgive him for it, the desperation for something to cling to, the worsening symptoms of psychosis and need for something to cure his pain? How in the world was he supposed to do anything but turn to religious delusion? If he hadn’t, it’s very likely the only other possible option he saw for himself was to end his life, which he mentions doing in Backdraft (and passively in his T2 voice drama).

There was a glimmer of hope when Fuuta mentions that he was grateful to Kazui and Shidou in the aftermath of Kotoko attacking him and what they did to help him, but it’s likely that he saw himself not able to continue relying on them considering Shidou had been so busy with Mahiru and Kazui may not have continued to be as present as Fuuta would have preferred. Which is heartbreaking, considering Fuuta seems to so desperately need an authority/protective adult figure to look up to. Mind you, 20 is not that old and especially if he never had that growing up, it’s natural to still want that at this age.

I would like to reiterate again that Amane did not “brainwash” nor “indoctrinate” Fuuta, she just ended up being the outlet for the only thing Fuuta has become convinced will save him. And now they’re stuck in a very sad cycle of enabling each other through their trauma.

All in all, looking at the pieces of Fuuta’s character I feel that this was always the plan, even from the beginning of T1. We were conditioned from the start to view Fuuta as guilty: by making his character theme red, by introducing him as foul mouthed, angry, arrogant, and unapologetic, and even from Jackalope’s comments in Es’ voice drama. We were conditioned to dislike him from the start, and since that guilty verdict in T1 was made Fuuta’s fate was sealed and this was always going to be the natural progression of his character. It was a slow build up, but was very well thought out and didn’t come out of nowhere.

This is the fulfillment of what happens when you put a socially isolated person through extreme stress and trauma with nothing to hold on to, and again is an excellent showcase of what it can look like to fall in with a cult even with no religious background. And how it’s even easier with individuals who have pre-existing mental illnesses/disorders.

We’ve come full circle and I’m very interested to see where his character goes from here.

[simplysamiblog]

The weight of a perfect goodbye

Before I even begin sharing my thoughts, I need to make one very important thing clear: I am a firm believer in the theory that Jayce and Viktor survived the ending of Arcane. As far as I’m concerned, they were teleported through time and space and are now slowly, painstakingly rebuilding their lives. Together, of course.

I’ve read dozens of (amazing) fanfics where this is exactly how their story unfolds, and some are so well-written that I honestly consider them canon.

That said.

I’ve seen several discussions online about this very topic:

"The creators confirmed it: they’re dead."

"The creators don’t know anything, they’re alive."

"Accept it, they were disintegrated by the Rune."

And so on.

But here’s what I think (not that it matters to anyone or carries any weight at all):

We can’t completely dismiss or outright reject the idea that, yes, Jayce and Viktor are, unfortunately, dead. At some level, we need to accept it—to believe it.

But let me explain why.

Not out of respect for the creators, the canon, the fandom, or anything like that. But out of love for the story, for the essence of their narrative.

At the risk of sounding cliché, do you really think Arcane would have been just as special if Jayce and Viktor had survived? Can you picture the scene? The protagonists recover, the fog of war and chaos clears, and there they are—Jayce and Viktor—standing atop the Hexgates, smiling. Ah, what a happy ending. What a good ending.

Sure. Nice. Nothing more.

Or imagine if we had gotten something like: "And they remained like brothers forever." Ugh.

It’s cruel, it’s unfair, it’s heartbreaking—

But it’s perfect.

The chain of events (cough) that led to that moment, the sacrifice that sealed their fate—

The relationship between Jayce and Viktor would never have been as impactful otherwise. Personally, I don’t think I fully grasped the depth of their bond until their foreheads rested against each other. In that moment of resignation, of acceptance.

Their story, their magic, was beautiful precisely because it ended right then, in that instant.

Jayce asked Viktor, "Why did you ever give me this?"

He could have let him die in the storm. Or, if he wanted to be more merciful, he could have simply saved him without giving him the Rune—

The world would have been safe. The world would have been saved.

But…

The world wasn’t as important as the moments they shared. Their friendship, their collaboration, their bond.

Viktor couldn’t deny another Viktor those moments. That brief but immense joy. Those years in which he had truly lived.

They were stronger than everything—stronger than everyone—

Even stronger than death.

And that’s why, in a way, their death is precisely what makes them so wonderful.

Call it cliché or a bit of a stretch, but the first comparison that comes to mind is Romeo and Juliet. Would it really be the most famous love story if they hadn’t met their tragic end?

"Happily ever after."

Or—

"Never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

Sure, they might have survived, somewhere. And it’s absolutely valid to believe that.

But if not for that ending, for that terrible, heartbreaking moment, how much would we have missed out on? How many incredible fanfictions wouldn’t exist? How many fanarts, how many works of art would we have been unknowingly deprived of?

We’ll never know, and I don’t want to know.

Because what we have is amazing.

So yes, I accept the idea that they’re dead—because it makes the fantasy that they’re alive and in love so much sweeter.

But most of all, it makes their relationship a game of fate, something they built around each other. A perfect circle, an inseparable chain binding them as one.

Pulling them together, pushing them apart—only to bring them back to each other again.

Over and over.

Forever.

[remuswriting]

THE ESSENCE OF LIFE; BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.” You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.” He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

WORD COUNT: 2,211 words

TAGS: Canon Divergent; Psychiatric Hospitals; Angst with Hopeful Ending; Discussion of Vomit; Platonic; Second Person POV; Not Beta Reader; M! Reader

NOTES: This is very much a self-indulgent thing as I deal with some stuff. Some of this is inspired based off of my experiences, but not all of it. Although nothing is explicitly said, please be careful if you think this could be triggering for you.

Bakugou Katsuki is a strong hero. He and everyone else in the world knew that, even if they feared he could potentially become a villain in the future. It was unlikely, but people liked to fear things. People know of his nature, how he’s abrasive, but care lies underneath. He may not be the kind who gently reassures civilians with his words, but he makes sure he sees them get to safety either in the ambulance or in their loved ones’ arms.

Something people don’t know is how much he cares about Midoriya Izuku. Back in high school, you saw a strange rivalry between them that you couldn’t depict if it was friendship or lingering hatred. You never thought too hard about it, though. It was none of your concern since you were in two different classes. Despite that, you thought Bakugou tolerated Midoriya at best back then. The current sight in front of you disputed that.

Bakugou’s hair is unwashed and messy. His clothes are disheveled and stained as if he put on whatever he first saw in his hamper. The dark circles beneath his eyes are dark and sunken in—he hasn’t slept properly in days, most likely. You don’t blame him, because if you were in his shoes, you’d be the same.

“Midoriya-san can’t have visitors currently,” you say, and Bakugou stares at you. His crossed arms squeeze against his chest slightly, as if holding himself back. “I can answer some questions, but he’s not ready to see anyone yet.”

 Bakugou nods slightly, and you think he’s going to leave. “I asked for you,” he says instead. Because of the nature of the ward you work in, none of the staff’s information is online. So, you don’t know how he knows you work here.

“I know,” you say. “Why?”

Bakugou furrows his brows, and he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. Or at least you’ve always believed so. Ever since high school, it’s been easy to read him. However, you’re a nurse at a psychiatric hospital now. Maybe that’s why it’s always been so easy.

“What do you fucking mean?” he asks, and his aggressiveness means he’s being honest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I didn’t know you even knew who I was up until five minutes ago,” you say, and he slowly nods as if it’s connecting in his head. “So, excuse me for being a little confused.”

“I saw you when we were in high school,” he says, and your brows furrow slightly. Never had you two spoken in high school. Both of you stayed in your designated areas. “In the beginning of our second year, there was a villain attack. You were the only non-hero course student that didn’t fucking run away. You actually ran to us and tried to help.”

You nod a little. “I remember,” you say, because you do remember. You remember never hearing thanks and learning that heroes never thank those who haven’t made saving people their profession. It was what led you to no longer be impressed by heroes anymore. “I’ve never been one to run away, especially when the ones trying to save us needed saving, too.”

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.”

You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.”

He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

You’re silent for a moment as you look behind him at the koi pond. The eating disorder unit is currently out for activities and surrounds the koi pond. They’re the ones who steal cereal the most to feed the fish, because it brings them so much joy. It’s always hard to tell them no, and most nurses don’t.

“Sometimes, fear makes you do stupid shit.” You pause as you look at him. “Every patient here was scared before they got here—before they got better.”

Bakugou is smart, and you hope he understands. You hope he understands that Midoriya fear made him end up here. The fear of what is something for them to talk about, not for you. The crease between Bakugou’s eyebrows softens slightly. He understands just a little.

“You should’ve fucking replaced one of those extras,” Bakugou says, and his arms aren’t squeezing his chest as much. “You weren’t scared.”

“None of you were ever extras,” you scold as you cross your arms. “I never thought that. I always thought that we were all children. You guys were forced to fight a war that heroes weren’t even willing to fight.” You look at his shoes. The laces aren’t even tied correctly. When you make eye contact, it’s overly intense. “It showed that heroes are just people no matter how much we idolize them.”

“Don’t tell Izuku that,” Bakugou says with a chuckle. Although he doesn’t sound serious, you both know he is. That’s something Midoriya refuses to hear—to acknowledge, even if it’s what he needs to survive. He deeply sighs. “We all wanted to fight.”

You nod. “I know, Bakugou-sama.”

“You can call me Bakugou-san.”

You pause as you watch him. He’s finally relaxed, and his honesty is loud. “Okay, Bakugou-san. How can I help you today?”

“Can you tell me how he is?” he asks, and there’s a slight hint of desperation in his voice. He won’t let it come out completely, but you still heard it.

“He… There’s no correct time frame for grief,” you say, and he slowly nods. “I can’t tell you the things you want to know—what he’s saying—but I can tell you that Midoriya-san isn’t the first person to be like this over grief. Nor will he be the last. He just needs time.”

“Are you putting him on more meds?” Bakugou asks. “Cause they had him on a shit load on meds in the hospital, and it was fucking him up. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“That medication was pain medication, and you told them he needs heavier dosing so his quirk doesn’t burn through it,” you say, and there’s a line you’re walking on. Midoriya hasn’t been conscious enough to sign anything saying Bakugou can know everything. “They may have gone too heavy with the dosing. I don’t know, but he’s been dealing with that the last couple of days as well.”

“How long until he’s not sick?” Bakugou asks, and you open your mouth. “Everyone keeps asking me when he’s gonna fucking be okay, and I don’t know.” He pauses, and his voice is softer when he speaks next. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Once the medication is out of his system, he’ll be able to have visitors,” you say, and his posture slouches slightly in relief. “Tell everyone that he’s safe. I’ll call you when he can have visitors, and it’ll be an appointment only because of who we have in our unit.”

Bakugou nods as he lets out a deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san.”

It’s still strange that he knows your name, and it’s even stranger to actually hear him say it. “How do you know my name?”

“I looked you up after the villain attack and tried to get into 2-A.” Bakugou chuckles. “Thought I imagined you for a while, but Dunce Face remembered you. So I went to Aizawa, and he said he’d look into you, but nothing ever happened.”

You froze before letting out a light laugh. “You.” Your smile grew. “You’re the reason I got to work with Recovery Girl.”

Bakugou’s grin resembled the one he had when he was named Number One Pro-Hero last year. It was strange for him to look this happy without that award in front of him. “That sneaky bastard.”

“Thank you,” you say as emotion swells in your chest. You know what it’s like to never get thanks, and it’s so relieving to give it. “Without you, I would’ve never gotten here. Thank you.”

Bakugou’s smile turns into a smirk. “Wasn’t all me. You’re the one with a badass quirk.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t even know my quirk.”

“Don’t need to know it to know you have hero potential.” He pauses as he looks around you two. There are trees and the koi pond, along with the entrance to the lobby. There’s not much to look at. Then he looks at you. “Before Izuku got his quirk, he ran into danger for me once. What you did back then reminds me of him.”

Your smile is small and soft. “From what I’ve learned about Midoriya-san, that’s a genuine compliment.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Bakugou says, as if to make sure you understand. You do understand, though. There are more people similar to him than he realizes, and they’re not as difficult to handle as most people make them out to be. Misunderstood isn’t the right word for them, because it’s easy to understand them if you try. Maybe looked over emotionally is a better way to put it. “Can you… Can you tell him I stopped by?”

“If he’s up to hearing that, then I will,” you say, and he nods. “The beginning of being here is always the hardest, and I want to make sure he’s comfortable before we talk about anything that may be… triggering.”

“I understand,” Bakugou says, and his entire posture is relaxed. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so relaxed. He’s either always standing up as straight as possible or has his arms tightly crossed against his chest. This is a good look on him, though. “I just don’t want him to think I gave up on him—you know, because of what happened.”

“Can I be completely honest with you, Bakugou-san?” you ask, and he reluctantly nods. “I may not fully know what your relationship with Midoriya-san is, but I do know he has full faith in you. After all the years you’ve spent fixing whatever problems you once had, he knows you’re still here. I have full faith in that.”

He slowly nods, trying to wrap his head around it. “Okay,” he says before taking another deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san. You still have my phone number in case anything changes?”

The wind brushes both of your hair as it pushes by. “Yes, and you’ll be the first person we call.” You pause. “I’ll make sure to call you myself.”

Bakugou’s leaving is simple. There’s someone waiting at the lobby door for him to unlock it. He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you as he walks away, but you watch him the entire time. There’s a pull in your chest as you think about someone caring so much about you that they seek you out, even when they’re told no to seeing you yet. You know what love is—you see it every visitation and between the patients who grow close to each other—but what Bakugou and Midoriya have is something far greater than you understand.

Once he’s completely out of sight, you turn around and head toward the unit. You know several of them are going to ask where you went, and you’ll need a story that doesn’t reveal anything. They can’t know that Bakugou came here, especially when so many of them know him personally.

The door opens, and Hamasaki, one of the youngest patients, is waiting there for you. “L/N!” he says, and his eyes are bright. “You were gone forever.”

You look up at the clock. “15 minutes is not forever.”

“It is to me,” he says, and you give him a look. “I need my medication, and you’re my nurse.”

You chuckle. “Alright, give me a second.” Midoriya is sitting at the table across from the nurses’ station. “Midoriya-san, are you needing something too?”

He looks at you, and he’s looking better than he has, but exhaustion weighs him down. He’s not been sleeping well here, but from what you understand, he’s not been sleeping well for a long time. “Can I get a boost?” he asks, and you nod before looking over at Aiko, one of the techs.

“Can you grab him a boost while I get Hamasaki’s medication?”

Aiko nods as you two pass by each other at the nurses’ station entrance. She looks at Midoriya with a soft smile, one he slightly returns. “Do you want vanilla or chocolate?”

He pauses, looking ready to throw up again, but there’s nothing in his system to throw up. He’s not been eating because he’s been sick, and they’d give him one of each if he wanted to try them both. You know how difficult it can be for patients in the beginning, because this place is not their home and it resembles a form of control being taken away. However, it gets easier the more comfortable you let yourself be.

“Vanilla, please,” Midoriya says, and you smile as you log into the computer.

“Of course,” Aiko says as she goes into the kitchen.

You look at Hamasaki, who stares at Midoriya with a proud expression. He’d been similar in the beginning, so he knows how it is. “Alright, Hamasaki,” you say, and he looks at you. “What are we needing to get?”

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

WHY IS THE FACT THAT THOMAS IS CANONICALLY A GREAT SINGER AND WRITES HIS OWN POETRY ALWAYS FORGOTTEN. WHY DOES NOBODY TALK ABOUT IT. WE SHOULD DEFINITELY BE TALKING ABOUT IT.

[burinazar]

I was thinking “haha it’s so weird and silly i got soOOO into this one very specific part/arc/related minor-ish character group of a franchise, i haven’t done that before have i? this is a new weirdness for me isn’t it?”

and then suddenly vividly remembered my inconvenient and untenable and frankly quite extreme obsession with the romulan star empire all throughout middle school, with such force and clarity that i had to put a hand to my face

[calmlb]

It’s been clear that the Tanizakis aren’t siblings from the very beginning

here’s some evidence now that it’s been confirmed canon…

everyone who’s read irl Tanizaki’s book knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

BUT just because the Tanizakis aren’t siblings doesn’t mean you can’t feel uncomfortable about them. if you feel uncomfortable, GOOD. that’s exactly what they want

the Tanizakis, Mori— they all use these disturbing ruses to disarm or distract people in order to protect themselves, or to accomplish their goals. this is a writing device that asagiri commonly employs as a way to parallel the irl literature (it’s actually ingenious)

there are 4 main indicators that have always made it clear to me that Junichiro & Naomi are not siblings:

1. most obviously— their character designs. Harukawa is extremely intentional with character designs, & she very intentionally made Naomi & Junichiro look nothing alike

their eye shapes are purposely different

their color palettes are contrasting

even their differing styles of clothing have meaning

this was all done so that the audience could PLAINLY see that they’re not related— so that WE know that they’re lying when they say they ARE related

2. how the people around them respond to their act.

the general reaction is “don’t question it”— which is exactly what they want. “be distracted by how uncomfortable you feel so that you look away from what we’re hiding” (this is likely a protective measure)

3. most importantly, this is meant to parallel irl Tanizaki’s book “Naomi,” where the main character Joji picks up Naomi to raise her into his ideal woman, but since she's so young (& a minor) they call each other cousins (Joji makes no sexual advances on young Naomi btw)

however, his plan backfires because when Naomi gets older & they get married, she flips the script on him & manipulates HIM so that he's under her thumb (which is why bsd Tanizaki is at a domineering Naomi's mercy). Joji let her have her way because of his masochistic tendencies

4. lastly is the emphasis that Asagiri and the Tanizakis themselves put on calling each other siblings.

over & over, it’s “my brother this” & “my sister that”

like they’re desperately trying to convince us that it’s true (“don’t let your lying eyes deceive you”)

here are just a few of many examples from the light novels…

again, if you’ve read “Naomi” you knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

just like if you’ve read irl Mori’s works, it’s clear that bsd Mori isn’t a pedophile

just like if you’ve read No Longer Human you know that Dazai’s an unreliable narrator. he makes you think he’s a bad person bc he believes he’s a bad person, but those around him see him differently (btw this doesn’t mean he’s never done anything “bad,” though bsd isn’t about morality— but that’s another discussion)

anyway, i’m so excited for the Tanizakis backstory to be revealed so that we can better understand why they use this defense!!

also let this be a reminder to READ THE LITERATURE if you’re able to!! even reading synopses & analyses of the coordinating books makes bsd make much more sense 🥹

reminder that this how you’re supposed to react while reading bsd:

also, if you’re interested in a post explaining how Mori isn’t a pedo, i wrote this analysis on twt. OR you can read this document that one of my moots sent me (remember: analyzing a character does NOT mean you condone any actions they may or may not commit!)

[gluion]

wish you were sober — seok matthew

seok matthew x reader, slight myung jaehyun x reader

wc — 6.9k genre & warnings — fluff, light angst, crack, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, vomitting in one scene, kissing/making out, jealousy, zb1 friendgroup antics, HAOBIN AND GYUBRIK CANON SRY, boynextdoor and kiss of life cameo, reader has hair long enough to be tucked and held back playlist/inspired by — apt. by rosé & bruno mars // sober II by lorde // wish you were sober by conan gray // urs by niki // lovers rock by tv girl notes — wrote this mainly bc my life changed the moment matthew read my sign in the jebewon con, finished it the day matthew was @ the prada event. and in both instances, i've gotten significantly more ill, so here's this very self-indulgent, self-insert fic (where aspects are derived from my own experiences) <3 if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback! request to be part of the taglist! masterlist

synopsis — as far as matthew knows, you still liked another man. yet, your friendship with him takes a sudden turn over a drunken confession... or three.

(or in other words, the three times you confess to matthew under the influence but he never believes you—until you tell him sober.)

the first time you confess to matthew happens on the night of hanbin’s graduation—no, not a confession of love but one of attraction.

if matthew has to be completely honest, he still doesn’t know what to make of your words. over the course of three years, he wouldn’t have suspected your interest in him. if anything, he’s under the impression you still like jaehyun. yet, everything shifts the moment he stumbles into the same bathroom as you.

“hanbin, have you found yourself a job?” gyuvin pops the long awaited question.

more than half of the group finds themselves in the kitchen. matthew knows that gunwook’s coming from soccer practice and yujin had to stay home for a doctor’s appointment the next day. as for you, he remembers seeing you with julie on the search for jaehyun and sungho.

the graduated fellow groans. “don’t remind me that i’m unemployed. this whole job search is going to kill me.” hao chuckles as hanbin rests his head on his shoulder.

gyuvin slings his arm around jiwoong’s shoulders. “oh, don’t worry! i’m sure this employed man can make something happen, right?” 

“me? you should be asking ricky!” all eyes land on the blond who sips away on a drink. “he’s the one with a family business. i’m barely making it in that goddamn nine to five that i’m still mixing shit for you college students.”

ricky elbows jiwoong’s side, causing the man to yelp. “you could be asking me for a job if you really hated the one you have now.”

“really? you could save me?” jiwoong almost gets on his knees until matthew holds him back.

“please don’t do that. not everyone knows you here.”

the man complies and puts his hands together. “ricky, please. i might just kill myself if i have to deal with another overtime. i mean, i can’t even remember the last time i properly hung out with you guys.”

“i don’t think anyone expects you to stick with us all the time. you have a job.” taerae’s point only brings him to a fit of laughter as jiwoong tickles him.

regardless of how loud taerae and jiwoong are, the rest of the group continues to discuss hanbin’s dilemma. “but yes, i could make something happen if you really want,” ricky offers.

“really? thank you!” hanbin hugs him. “it’s almost impossible to find a job. i don’t know why.”

“tell me about it. i can’t even get an internship. i’m already willing to settle for an unpaid one but no one seems to be accepting,” taerae complains as he leans against the wall. 

hao swishes around the alcohol in his cup. “that does make me wanna ask what the upcoming seniors are planning to do.” his eyes darted between taerae and matthew.

taerae grins. “the goal is to become a trophy wife.”

“of course it is.” gyuvin laughs before leaning against ricky. “i’m marked safe. i don’t know about you guys.”

jiwoong groans while taerae rolls his eyes at their public display of affection. “you don’t have to rub it in our faces.”

“yeah, whatever. what about you?” ricky looks at matthew. “are you still planning for medschool or is there another career crisis happening again?”

he shakes his head. “nah, i’m still pretty set on med school. next year is going to be hell for me.”

“ah, that means matthew is going to be the one providing for his partner! taerae, now’s your chance.” hanbin’s joke has everyone bursting into laughter.

taerae dramatically clears his throat, choking in between which only makes them wheeze. “matthew, can i be yours?”

matthew gets closer to his friend, his face only a few inches apart before saying, “not until you let me become yours.” at his double down, everyone starts to make gagging noises, including taerae who physically cringes.

“get a room!”

“damn, no kiss?” ricky’s joke in contrast to gyuvin’s complaint has jiwoong chuckling.

“yeah, you know what? fuck you, guys. i’m going to find someone at this damn party.” with that, taerae ventures off. jiwoong follows without another word.

gyuvin’s phone rings in his pocket. as he brings it out, he sees a message. “oh, gunwook’s already here! i’m gonna go grab him.” ricky trails behind his partner, leaving matthew with the other couple. 

hanbin looks around before asking, “hey, where is y/n?”

“last time i saw them, they were looking for myungjae and sungho.” matthew chugs down his drink before letting out a sigh.

“i wonder when they’ll finally grow a pair and ask him out, or just do something about it,” hao wonders out loud as he stares off into the crowd. “it’s almost painful to watch. i feel like i need to play cupid.”

“wait, why haven’t you been helping them out?”

hanbin’s question has matthew laughing in disbelief. “you think i haven’t? i’ve done almost everything to push them. i even told them all the signs that show he’s clearly interested, but y/n won’t budge. i’m surprised they’ve been sane enough to not say anything even while drunk.”

it almost seems like their conversation summoned jaehyun into the kitchen as he comes rushing to them. “oh, speak of the devil. we were just talking about you,” matthew says with a smile until he sees worry taking over jaehyun’s features.

“guys, i think y/n had too much to drink.”

matthew stands up straight. “where are they?”

“in the bathroom with julie.”

without another word, matthew makes his way to you while jaehyun follows. “what even happened?”

“y/n was fine, i swear. with how they were acting, we all thought they were just tipsy. but it was like watching a sudden switch from that to… genuinely almost passing out.”

it’s not that matthew doesn’t trust jaehyun. if anything, he would trust him any other day to watch over you, but tonight’s events only show that jaehyun still has much to learn about you. the guilt in his voice only shows how much he cares.

as soon as matthew spots sungho and natty outside of the bathroom, he rushes to them. “oh, thank god you’re here. julie is helping them freshen up right now,” sungho says. 

“we weren’t trying to get them blackout drunk, we swear. we really thought they were okay, but i don’t think they ate enough before drinking. me and julie were helping y/n as they were throwing up but they kept looking for you.”

matthew rubs his chin over natty’s explanation. “can i go in?”

“uh, let me check.” natty knocks on the door before swinging it open.

“matthew, we’re sorry. we really didn’t know,” jaehyun apologizes.

before matthew can say anything, julie exits the bathroom. “i think they puked out whatever they could. just make sure they stay close to the toilet.”

without another word, matthew makes his way to the doorway. he sees your hunched figure by the bathtub as you sit on the tiled-floor. in your drunken state, you don’t notice him as you quietly sing a melody.

matthew should’ve been filled with worry. yet, he thinks back to natty’s words, and the image of you looking for him plays in his mind—and it’s a smile that he can’t get rid of.

once he closes the door behind him, your eyes snap to him. “matthew! you’re here.” your slurred words bring him to a chuckle.

matthew remembers the last time you were this drunk; it’s funny to find you in the same situation after telling him multiple times that you wouldn’t drink that much ever again. he crouches to your side, taking in the sight of your disheveled state. “y/n, i thought we weren’t going to drink that much anymore.”

“i know,” you hiccup before your eyes shut, “i’m sorry.”

sure, you were always a mess whenever you drank this much, but you were never intolerable—never to matthew. (after all, he’d deal with you in your most intoxicated state over the others.)

his hand reaches out to tuck some strands behind your ear. at the presence of his warmth, your cheek snuggles against his palm. “you don’t have to be sorry. it’s okay.” you melt into his touch. 

without thinking, his thumb caresses your cheek, etching invisible shapes onto your skin. he watches you twitch over the action, and your eyes meet him once more. 

matthew’s ready to draw his hand back, help you stand up and escort you back to your place—

“you’re so pretty.”

his movements halt. matthew doesn’t know if he heard you right or if the alcohol is getting to him as well.

“huh?”

and the next thing you say stops him from breathing. “you’re so cute.”

it’s not unusual for you to compliment him, really, but something’s different about now. maybe it’s the alcohol or the distance between you two, but all matthew knows is that your words carried some weight different from other instances.

perhaps now is the worst time for matthew to be stuck in a daze. you’re drunk. he shouldn’t be making a fuss over the nonsense you spout, which is why he fails to catch the telltale signs of your impending nausea. (and you clearly wouldn’t have caught yourself in your intoxicated state.)

before you both know it, you throw up on yourself, and that finally snaps matthew out of a haze. he’s quick to grab the trashcan and bring it close to you. as you vomit, he holds your hair back. it keeps on going, and going, and going—at least matthew will take that as a clear sign that you’re done for the night.

on the next day, matthew asks if you remember what you said last night. when he’s met by your confusion, he knows better than to not think anymore of what you said then.

(and instead of sharing your slurred words, he tells you of the vomiting mishap in the bathroom. jesus fucking christ, i am not drinking ever again, you say in embarrassment.)

ever since that night, matthew has made it a habit to ask about your progress with jaehyun. it’s not that he’s running away from the events of that night. after all, hanbin’s right; matthew should do a better job in playing cupid for you and jaehyun. yet, all questions pertaining to your relationship with the boy were always met with a shrug and a refusal to dive into the details.

a few months pass. something romantic has yet to develop between you and jaehyun. at this point, matthew is feeling hopeless about the future you dream with that boy, but he isn’t the type to give up. he knows that there’s something between you two—all you need is a push.

“happy birthday, gyuvin!” everyone cheers as their cups clink against each other.

the birthday boy grins as he leans on ricky’s shoulder. “thanks, everyone. i’m glad you guys are here,” he mumbles. his cheeks have gone red and his words are starting to slur. considering how long the party has been going, matthew isn’t surprised to see gyuvin very much intoxicated.

for his birthday, he decided to invite his friends from his other social circles; basketball jocks, gaming nerds, and even student council folks take over his house as they talk and play over drinks. gyuvin thinks now would be the best time for all of his friends to meet. still, most of the group sticks together.

“you know, you should just hire me to bartend for your parties. everyone in this party seems to be chugging the drinks i mix for them,” jiwoong jokes as he bumps his shoulder against gyuvin.

“isn’t the next party going to be halloween? are we even planning to host one?” hanbin asks.

taerae tries to recall the previous arrangement. “didn’t we agree to spend halloween with yujin?”

“nah, we decided on christmas. yujin said he has plans for halloween, so we can host or just find another party to crash.” gunwook’s response brings the whole group to look at him. he raises his hands in defense. “don’t look at me! i’m not offering to host.”

“does myungjae not plan to host one?” hao’s question seems to be directed at matthew with how his eyes are on him.

jiwoong brings his hands together. “perfect! he might hire me.”

matthew rolls his shoulders back. ever since he tried playing cupid, he doesn’t know why everyone seems to go to him for anything related to you and jaehyun. first, it was when gunwook wanted to know about jaehyun’s schedule. next, it was gyuvin when he asked if jaehyun and his friends would be attending this party.

it’s not like matthew knew everything about myung jaehyun. 

(unfortunately, it doesn’t help that he only has jaehyun’s schedule because he had to find a way to make you spend time with him. what doesn’t help his case any more is that he only knew of jaehyun’s attendance because he wanted to make use of this party to push you to do something.)

“i wouldn’t know.” matthew takes a sip of his drink. “and, wouldn’t hanbin know? he’s closer to myungjae than i am.”

“we should just ask him. where is he, anyway?” hanbin looks around.

“probably with y/n, or something,” ricky jokes before swaying in his spot with gyuvin. “any update on that? what’s been going on with them.”

all matthew does is shrug in response.

“guys, hear me out…” gyuvin calls on the group’s attention. “truth or dare.”

a beat passes.

“let’s go find myungjae.”

“yah! it’s my birthday.” gyuvin pouts over hao’s reaction. “don’t you guys think it’ll be fun?”

jiwoong scoffs at gyuvin’s question. “fun? the last time we played, it resulted in someone losing their clothes and me almost losing my job from a tweet you guys made.”

“i thought you hated your job, anyway.” taerae’s comment results in a scolding from jiwoong. “what?! i’m just pointing it out.”

while some were against the idea, others were onboard with gyuvin’s idea. “i’m sure it’ll be fun. let’s get myungjae and the others to join in as well,” gunwook suggests.

then, it hits matthew that this is it—this is the opportunity that he needs to push you. under the guise of a simple and fun game of truth or dare, he could maximize whatever option you choose. “i’m in.”

everyone ends up agreeing with gyuvin’s game. from there on, all matthew needs to do is grab you and jaehyun and hope that his plan moves forward. (and get his other friends to join, sure.)

matthew is lucky that he’s able to spot julie in a sea of students. while she’s busy chatting with the seniors, he realizes that you and jaehyun aren’t with her. he continues to move through the crowd. the last thing he wants is to see you too drunk to function, especially when the universe presented him with the perfect opportunity for you and jaehyun.

yet, it comes to his surprise that he sees you in the corner, whispering into the ear of your crush with your hand against his chest. the grin on jaehyun’s face is enough for matthew.

maybe you didn’t need your friend’s help. just from the distance (or the lack of it), matthew thinks you might have everything under control. that means that matthew can sit back and allow you two to unfold this romance.

but there’s a sting in matthew’s chest. he’s sure it’s not a heart attack; it should come in a form of squeezing, and the pain should spread throughout his body. yet, the one he’s experiencing is merely an ache. maybe he should hold himself back from drinking any more.

“have you found y/n?” gunwook rests his hand on matthew’s shoulder. before matthew can respond, gunwook spots you and jaehyun. “myungjae! y/n!” at his call, you two snap your attention to them. matthew can already tell how intoxicated you are from how you spin your head to his direction. “come! we’re gonna play a game.” with that, gunwook takes his leave.

matthew’s suspicions are further proven with your inability to walk straight to him. “matthew! there you are,” you giggle as your arm links with his. your hiccup brings matthew to look at jaehyun.

“how much did they have this time?”

“less than the last time, but i’d still argue quite a lot.” 

while matthew and jaehyun try to find the group, you continue to latch onto matthew’s arm as you walk sluggishly. “do you not drink a lot?” matthew asks jaehyun.

the boy hums for a moment. “i do, but i think it’s better if i drink less when i’m around y/n. at least i’d be sober enough to take care of them.”

matthew has no reason to doubt jaehyun, especially with an answer like that. he knows that jaehyun would care for any of his friends; jaehyun’s always been the type to help out his friends with any task, but his choice to take that extra step tells matthew enough of his adoration for you.

“what are you guys talking about? are you talking about me?” you slur the question as you tug on matthew’s arm. “it better be good things.”

matthew can’t help but laugh.

as soon as matthew and jaehyun spot the rest of their friends gathering into a circle around a bottle, the three of you quickly find your own spots to settle into.

jaehyun takes a seat near sungho, leaving some space beside him. before matthew can go somewhere farther to sit, your grip on his arm holds him back. “hey, stay with me.” matthew’s eyes flicker between your drunken expression and jaehyun’s gaze fixed on him and you.

“you’re okay. you’ll be with myungjae.”

matthew’s confident that you would agree to sit beside jaehyun. after all, the boy took care of you for most of the night. yet, your grip never falters, and nothing could’ve prepared him for the last sentence you mumble, one only for him to hear.

“no. want you with me.” 

matthew stills. the music becomes muffled and the chatter surrounding him falls silent. instead, the beating of his heart fills his ears as heat rises to his cheeks—and he doesn’t know why. 

“hey! sit down!” gyuvin calls him out. with all eyes on you two, matthew doesn’t want to upset you any further. if he pushed to sit somewhere else, it would only cause a scene, and that’s the last thing he wants on his friend’s birthday. matthew finds himself sinking into a spot beside you.

the game proceeds accordingly, where most chug some more alcohol with every round that passes. secrets spill out of people’s mouths and laughter seems to fill the air. and for some reason, with all the times that’s passed, you stayed leaning against matthew.

at least you weren’t drinking along with the others.

after multiple interrogations and embarrassing dares, taerae spins the bottle. “please please please, don’t make it me again,” he prays as everyone watches the bottle go in circles.

“i’d laugh if you had to do another one,” gunwook says before taking another shot. “actually, i’m going to hope it lands on you!”

taerae tackles his friend to the ground over his comment, making him yell out complaints. yet, the universe works in taerae’s favor—and also matthew’s.

“oh my god, finally!” taerae cheers as he sees the bottle pointing at you.

you blink a couple of times. “oh, fuck me.” your head finds its spot behind your hands.

“i have been waiting for this one.” taerae rubs his hands together. “truth or dare?”

you have always been the type to choose truth. with the group’s history with dares, you weren’t the type to take that risk, which is why it comes as a surprise to everyone when you say, “fuck it, give me a dare.”

this is it. this is the opportunity that matthew needed. “i have a dare!” he beats everyone from spitting out any useless suggestion. as soon as all eyes are on him, he glances at jaehyun before saying, “i dare you to do seven minutes in heaven.”

your eyes go wide over matthew’s suggestion. “what the fuck?” you smack his arm. “no way in hell am i going to do that!”

“nu-uh! a dare is a dare,” ricky argues. “don’t try to get out of this.”

gyuvin speaks up, “if it helps, you don’t have to do anything with anyone. take this as your opportunity to bond with someone, get your heart-to-heart talk or something. but you can also make out with them, we don’t really care.” before he can take another shot, ricky stops him from doing so.

you groan at your friends’ insistence. “but with who?”

the stars are aligning for matthew. he’s about to chime in with the perfect name—

“what if we just spin the bottle again?” all hope shatters for matthew, and myung jaehyun is to blame. “that can determine who will be with y/n. it’s completely by chance.”

before matthew can interject, gyuvin claps at jaehyun’s suggestion. “you know what? you’re so fucking smart. let’s do that.” with how intoxicated the birthday boy is, no one seems to go against his idea, including you, and matthew fears what will unfold once that bottle lands on someone that isn’t jaehyun.

as soon as gyuvin reaches out to spin the bottle, matthew shuts his eyes in hopes that the universe would listen to him in the same way it did with taerae. he’s not even doing this for himself—it’s all for you. he wants you to win as much as you do with yourself. (he hopes that, at least. he needs you to believe that you have something with jaehyun as much as he does. if you didn’t, then this would go nowhere.)

“oh.”

matthew says one final prayer. he opens his eyes at the sound of gyuvin’s reaction, and what he doesn’t expect to see is the bottle pointing right at him. matthew’s convinced that the universe is going against him.

“well, lead the way, birthday boy,” jiwoong says.

matthew glances at you, expecting to see disappointment, but he only sees an expression he’s never seen before—and one he can’t decipher. 

it doesn’t take a while until you and matthew are shoved into gyuvin’s walk-in closet. gunwook says they’ll keep the game going, but matthew attempts one last time to get out of this dare, only for the door to be shut right in front of his face.

as the shuffling of footsteps grow distant, matthew finally accepts defeat. he looks back to see you sitting on the floor with eyes shut. maybe you need these minutes to sober up. after all, who is the best person to take care of you if not him? 

matthew finds himself on the floor with you. seven minutes could easily pass with you two; not a single word needs to be said. but tonight, time seems to stretch into an eternity. matthew hates it.

he takes in the sight of you; your shirt’s disheveled and your nose scrunches from the heat of the room and alcohol. still, most things remain the same. your arms cross with every moment your eyes long for rest and your steady heart sounds throughout the room from every exhale.

since when did matthew notice all the small things about you? it’s not like you two were friends longer than he is with hanbin. he still finds himself forgetting trivial things about his friends—with you, it comes easy.

your eyes peel open, and for the first time, matthew’s nervous around you.

“you feeling better?”

you nod before sitting up straight. “yeah, i think the alcohol is leaving my system.”

“that’s good.”

seconds go by.

“so,” matthew clears his throat, “how are you and myungjae?”

a laugh escapes you, not like the ones whenever he cracks a joke but something he’s never heard before. “we’re okay.”

matthew waits a couple of moments until he realizes you weren’t going to expound. “oh, so now, i don’t get to hear you yap about your crush?” his comment manages to earn a laugh he’s familiar with.

but it’s turned into a reality. he can’t remember the last time you actually talked to him about myung jaehyun. if anything, it’s almost like you don’t want to talk about the boy to him.

matthew’s never been the type to force you to share anything, really, but he realizes it’s been a while since you mentioned the boy’s name. it’s impossible for him to ignore that. and tonight, he can blame his curiosity on the alcohol.

“are you hiding something?” 

“it’s not that.”

matthew hums. “then, what is it? 

silence falls on you two.

he takes the lack of your response as a sign. to not push any further. to not be curious. to respect your privacy.

to sit back and watch it unfold.

to forget all that you’ve said on that drunken night.

“myungjae and i are just friends.” matthew’s eyes snap up to meet yours. “we’ve always been just friends.”

“but that can change. i mean, i could help you! i’ve seen how much he cares for you, i’m convinced he likes you—”

“matthew,” you cut him off, “like i said, we’re just friends.”

he frowns. “i’m confused. just because you’re friends now doesn’t mean you can’t be something more.”

your breath hitches, and his confusion deepens.

“you really think that?”

it’s at this moment that matthew spots something different about you tonight, one he’s never been on the receiving end of to experience—your glossy eyes filled with strong, bittersweet yearning.

and he holds his breath before saying, “yes.”

the bass of the music fades away. the heat of the alcohol means nothing. matthew could care less about who he came with to this party.

right now, it’s just you two. 

“i don’t like myungjae.” your reveal causes matthew to frown. “i haven’t liked him for a while.”

“oh.”

you nod. “yeah.”

matthew has a million questions running through his head. what caused the change or heart? how long ago did you know that? is there something wrong with jaehyun and he never saw? 

“i—”

“when—”

he shakes his head. “sorry, you go first.”

“no, it’s okay. what were you going to say?”

“it’s just… i wanted to know when you realized that.”

a chuckle leaves you. “even before hanbin’s graduation party.”

“you could’ve told me! if i had known, i wouldn’t have kept pushing you to do something with myungjae.” matthew hides his mouth in embarrassment. 

you shake your head. “it’s okay. i didn’t tell you because…”

matthew notices your fingers fiddling with each other, an unconscious habit of yours whenever you’re anxious, and his confusion grows.

he doesn’t want you to think he can’t be trusted with your secrets, your stories, everything about you. after all, he wants to be your friend—your person—and how can he do that if you felt an ounce of shame to tell him that? he needed to let you know that—

“i like you.”

time stills for a moment.

for once, matthew doesn’t know what to say. 

“time’s up!” the door swings open, revealing gunwook and taerae whose grins are lopsided. “did y’all enjoy the heart-to-heart?” gunwook’s question is an innocent, light-hearted one, but the silence hanging between you two is nothing of the sort.

before matthew knows it, you let out a giggle. “of course!” in your attempt to stand up, you almost lose your footing, causing taerae to reach out to you. “sorry. i don’t know why but i feel a lot drunker than before.”

your slurred words only makes taerae shake his head. “oh, my silly lil alcoholic. let’s keep it going!”

the three of you exit in high spirits. yet, matthew finds himself stuck in his spot.

stuck in his memories.

stuck in the last conversation.

stuck in your words.

stuck in denial.

“yah, matthew! hurry up! we’re still playing,” gyuvin shouts from outside of the room.

because you’re drunk. you probably didn’t mean anything you said, like how you didn’t mean what you said at the last party. 

for the rest of the night, you continue to enjoy gyuvin’s birthday.

matthew attempts to do the same.

it’s been two months since that conversation. on the morning after the party, you admit to the group that you lost recollection of the events that transpired on gyuvin’s birthday. with how much the birthday boy drank, he found himself in the same boat as you. taerae says that it’s only best that you don’t remember anything from that night, mainly to save his pride.

but matthew remembers it all. he remembers how you looked at him that night, how your breath hitched, how long the silence was all before you lied.

and he knows you lied.

all it took was one sight of you on a date with jaehyun for him to realize that.

matthew couldn’t believe he showed up to the halloween party, not because he wasn’t the type to deny an invite, but because it’s being hosted by jaehyun.

he has nothing against him, really, but the conversation in the closet shifted everything; his dynamic with the boy, his thoughts surrounding your relationship with jaehyun, his feelings towards you. matthew prefers to keep his distance out of respect for you two.

that doesn’t mean he won’t talk about it with others.

“i really don’t think they’re together.”

“hanbin, did you completely forget what i said?” matthew shakes his head. “they were on a date.”

he finds himself in the kitchen dressed as saiki k with an almost-finished bottle of soju in his hand. while the rest of his friends were off somewhere, hanbin and hao, who were dressed in stitch and angel onesies, stayed with him.

hao takes a sip of his drink. “how’d you know it was a date? they could’ve been hanging out for all you know.”

“well…”

“see! you can’t even defend your point.”

matthew groans. “that doesn’t change anything. i’m sure of it. i mean, they came in a couples costume!”

“they’re matching with sungho, you airhead,” hao points out.

hanbin laughs before adding, “as the incredibles, too!”

their doubtful reactions causes matthew to roll his eyes. he chugs the remaining contents of his bottle before grabbing himself another. “i thought i could trust you two.”

“and you can!” hanbin tries to snatch the bottle but fails. “dammit. just be responsible, okay? it’s already hard enough dealing with jiwoong and taerae when they’re drunk.”

hao sighs. “and you know, jiwoong’s drinking heavy tonight because he got laid off. hoping ricky can help him out.” matthew twists the cap open and drinks straight from the bottle once more. “hey, i’m still saying you should trust what we’re saying. whatever y/n shared in that closet might not be a lie.”

despite their attempts to convince matthew, he knows the truth. there’s no point in trying to prove him otherwise. so for now, he’ll drink the night away.

“i’ll see you guys later, or something.”

“matthew—”

he doesn’t spare a second to hear their protests. as much as he loves his friends, he needs some space to wallow in silence. all he longs for is a quiet space away from everyone with enough alcohol to forget everything.

“matthew!”

this is the last voice he wanted to hear, especially at his state. he sees jaehyun and sungho together dressed in black and red.

“oh my god, you’re matching with riwoo! you’re saiki k, right?” sungho asks.

matthew forces out a smile before nodding. “yeah. incredibles?” he points at the logo on their chests.

“yep! you should take a pic with riwoo!” jaehyun suggests

matthew would’ve agreed any other day, but he couldn’t talk to him. he didn’t want to ruin his relationship with the boy just because of his emotions. “myungjae, i would love to, but i have to go.”

“are you okay?”

when concern paints jaehyun’s features, matthew is reminded once more that there is nothing to hate about him. he needs to get over this whole thing. if you’re happy with jaehyun, he should learn how to be happy for you, too.

a sigh leaves matthew. “yes, sorry. i just need space, if that’s okay.”

“of course. i hope you’re okay. do you want me to bring you to a spot where it’s quiet?”

matthew shakes his head before reassuring the host, “it’s okay, i’ll figure it out on my own.” and with one final nod from jaehyun, matthew walks off.

he passes through the crowd, exchanging brief greetings with familiar faces, until he reaches a hall filled with doors. most rooms were already occupied, and the last thing matthew wants is to know what they’re doing. all he cares about is finding an unoccupied room where he can drink the night, the confusion, the pain, away.

once he reaches the final door, he quietly begs the universe to give him what he needs. as he swings the door open, he notices that the lights are off, and that’s enough for him to believe it’s unoccupied. without sparing a second thought, he shuts the door behind him before letting out a sigh.

it takes him a few seconds for his vision to adjust. with the moonlight cascading over the walls, he’s able to take in his surroundings. as soon as he spots a shelf filled with poetry books, he realizes he’s in jaehyun’s room. matthew couldn’t believe what the universe is making him undergo. he found himself in the bedroom of someone he desperately needed to get away from, but he’ll make do with the last unoccupied space—or that’s what he thought.

“matthew?”

“holy shit!” he jumps along with his heart. as he clenches his chest, his eyes dart to the source of the voice—only to see his friend, his supposed something. your chin rests on jaehyun’s mattress as you stare at him; the same, glossy eyes he witnessed in the closet. matthew clears his throat before standing up straight. “sorry, i thought i was alone.”

you shoot him a tight-lipped smile. “no, sorry i didn’t say anything as soon as you came in.”

a beat passes.

“why… uhm, why are you sitting in the dark?” his chest throbs as he asks the question.

what if you were there to meet with jaehyun later in the night? or what if you had already met with him? maybe he doesn’t want to know the reason after all.

“needed to be somewhere quiet,” you answer. he watches you take a sip from a big bottle of vodka. “somewhere away from the party.”

if you need space, matthew is going to give you that. after all, you were in this room before he arrived. “okay, i’ll go leave,” he says as he turns his back on you.

“no, it’s ok—”

“it’s okay. you were here first, so—”

“matthew.” 

how your voice wavers is enough to stop him. from leaving the room. from wallowing in pain.

from abandoning you. 

he looks back, only to be greeted by the sight of you in tears. the moonlight shines against your figure, making you glow in the dark room, and he feels all resolve crumble.

matthew rushes to you. as he takes a seat beside you, he sets the bottle on the floor before his hands reach out to cup your face. “what’s wrong?” he asks as his thumbs wipe the tears.

you don’t spare him an answer; all you do is stare right back at him as the tears stream down your face.

matthew think’s he fucked up. was he busy with his issues to notice yours? did you need him? (as much as he needs you?)

yet, as soon as your hand reaches up to hold his, he realizes that this is all wrong; the distance, the physical touch, everything about this doesn’t respect what you have with jaehyun.

“i’m sorry.” he rips his hands away. “i shouldn’t have done that.”

his apology brings another flood of tears from you. “i thought we were friends.”

“we are friends.”

“then, if we’re friends, why couldn’t you give me an answer back then?”

matthew’s heart stills. “w–what?”

“i remember everything.”

the axis of his world tilts. 

“from the bathroom to the closet,” you sniffle, “i remember what i said, and i meant everything.”

all he knew then meant nothing to the present.

matthew can’t tell if the alcohol was affecting his senses. maybe he’s hallucinating, or his intoxicated mind is planting delusions that he wishes were part of his reality.

but he blinks hard, and he still sees you.

“please say something.”

matthew takes one breath. “i just… i don’t understand. i mean, i’ve been going like, 5 months, thinking those were meaningless words. even in the closet, you said you were too drunk. and you always claimed you had no memory the next day. i even thought you were on a date with jaehyun the other day.” as you scrunch your eyebrows at his admission, he takes it as a sign to explain. “i don’t know. i saw you two alone a few weeks ago, and i just assumed so.”

“we were just hanging out. there’s nothing going on between us.”

he shakes his head. “well, how am i supposed to know that? when i’ve been going through these months thinking all you said was bullshit until now?”

when guilt flashes in your features, he takes a moment to let his words sink in.

he watches you fiddle with your fingers before saying, “i just want to know why you did all that.”

“is it enough to say that i was scared? i mean, i used the alcohol as liquid courage. but in both times, i couldn’t tell if you felt the same, so, i panicked and said i don’t remember anything.”

one thing that matthew knows about you is that you were afraid to take risks—no, not in decision making but in relationships. he knew that the first time you held yourself back from introducing yourself to jaehyun, and he remembers when you finally approached the boy with at least 5 shots into the night.

“can you say something? anything?” you ask.

and all times, he understood your hesitancy. every time you second guess yourself, he’s the only person who knows when to act as your safe space or a pushing force.

“tell me again. tell me what you told me in the closet, i need to hear it from you.” but when your mouth parts open, ready to repeat the three-word phrase, he cuts you off. “when we’re sober.”

this time, he wants to know if he’s a risk worth taking—without the alcohol.

“tell me when morning comes, then you’ll know.” he sees confusion flicker in your eyes. “because i can’t risk anything when we’ve drunk our hearts out tonight.”

if there’s another thing matthew knows about you, it’s that you hate unfinished conversations. yet, a nod from you is enough for him to know why it would have to wait until tomorrow.

from there, matthew stands up before taking his leave.

all he can hope is that you won’t forget the next day.

when morning comes, matthew can hear a knocking on his door. he makes his way to the doorway, rubbing the exhaustion off his eyes, before swinging it open.

“i like you.”

his eyes snap open to see you, whose eyes aren’t like the other nights but with something he’s familiar with—hope.

“i like you,” you repeat, “and i’m telling it to you now, without the alcohol.”

this time, matthew doesn’t have to doubt your words. he doesn’t have to shut down his friends’ attempts to comfort him. he doesn’t have to deny what he feels towards you.

without saying anything, his hands dart towards your waist before pulling you close to him. shock casts onto your features. as one thumb finds its way under your shirt, etching constellations that you two will only know of, his other hand reaches to tuck your hair.

his lips meet yours. as his hand travels down to caress your face, your arms slowly find their place around his neck. somehow, everything feels right, almost like you two had done this before. yet, the taste of your lips is one he’s never had. as your nose brushes against his, he can’t help but breathe you in like you’re the last thing keeping him alive.

as you attempt to pull back, he tries to chase your lips. “matthew,” you call out his name before he draws you back in for another intoxicating kiss, one where the buzz of alcohol could never compare to.

“don’t,” he mumbles in between, “let me have this.” he pulls you into his dorm with ease and shuts the door behind you. matthew pushes you against the door with his lips still on yours, hands exploring your figure.

from there, you don’t protest.

maybe he’s wanted you much longer than you did. maybe he’s wanted you ever since you revealed your crush on jaehyun and he never allowed himself to dwell on his own feelings. maybe he’s wanted you since the first time he’s ever set eyes on you. 

but one thing he knows is that he wants you—much more than you do with him.

(and he’d never allow you to think he wants you any less.)

networks taglist: @kflixnet @k-labels @blankjournal @zumblrnet @kstrucknet

zb1 permanent tag list: @deinsleeps

story taglist: @seokkiez @loserlvrss @itaerae

@blandtako @gong-fourz @rentenwins @pandagirl753

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Dick Grayson ships in order of how toxic you should write them as adults in an established relationship imo (no batcest and we can discuss the harem at a later time)

Least

Dick X Wally: this is the quintessential friends to lovers story it’s adorable. Naturally a lil bit of toxicity bc nightwing is not a healthy person but still the ratio is 99% cute and 1% angst as adults. Feel free to angst away with the Robin/KF thing

Worlds where this is cute: young justice, earth prime pre Wally meeting Linda.

Dick X Kori: listen to me, if you ignore all the shitty writing (yes the babs wedding thing) they r perfect <3. The only person who I believe can be the lights light ya know. The broke up because they both took hits they couldn’t recover from but they still love each other and they’re my favorite canon pairing they should get back together and have a kid and be a cute lil family.

Worlds where this is cute: TT, Earth prime, DCAU, injustice, titans tomorrow, Lego Batman (every single earth actually)

Dick X Zatanna: cute, childhood crush turned sweethearts turned friends nothing to say here I just don’t think it would be toxic

Worlds where this is cute: young justice

Worlds where this should never happen: all the rest (she dated his dad)

Dick X Joey: I love them so I’m biased their relationship is on par with Dick and Wally taking field trips in the 80s. Also this is joeys most popular ship and that makes me laugh. BUT ANYWAY they’re just very homoerotic and I feel like they respect each other enough the toxicity would be on the lower side.

Worlds where this is cute: literally anytime before he possesses his dad’s body.

Times this is concerning: post possessing nightwings body (anyone remember that happening I just ignore it now, cuz I hate the whole evil Joey thing but if you wanna take this ship from 30% toxic to 140% write it post possession with the dude who had autonomy issues)

Dick x Kara: I just feel like the hero worship would get in the way a little bit

Worlds where this is cute: worlds finest

Worlds where this isn’t: the rest

Dick x Roy: I love them sm ur honor (despite how low I’m putting this, it’s one one my top ships) listen Dick and Roy adore each other and would die for each other, but the baggage?? The years of expectations?? The fights??? The fact that Dick gets more and more closed off when he’s mad usually but him and Roy in the same room and fists fly?? But the only people who can talk to Dick when he’s spiraling are Roy and Donna. Like ROY HARPER is one of Dick people!! You don’t understand how much I love how they can hurt each other while loving each other so so so much. They cause me pain. I don’t believe they’d ever mellow out Dick and Wally tho bc they’re whole relationship is heated they have never had a chill emotion about each other in their history of being characters that exist in the same space.

Worlds where this is cute: literally any world where the titans exist/have existed with speedy and Robin as core members

Worlds where no?: new 52 (I hate new 52 and ignore it tho so no universe sucks bc new 52 isn’t real and can’t hurt me)

Dick X Harley Quinn: see I hated this ship and I hate it in canon but I once read a fic that was good enough I now ship it on the dl and think it would be good for Harley to be with someone who can be a safety net. But like this is AU rare pair type shit and it’s low bc I literally cannot picture a canon universe where this isn’t the most toxic thing ever.

Worlds where yes: DCAU (AU) not even the canon one like the AU of the AU that is the DCAU (take a shot Everytime I say AU)

Dick X Shawn Tsang: I’m sorry yall Shawn was such a boring character I forgot she existed but I remember that she broke up with him after he lost his memory cuz she thought he was ghosting her and like not only does it feel like she just existed to give dick a love interest. Also this comic featured the character death wing and so it’s so low not bc the ship sucks except it does bc why dick?? Are you dating someone who hates heroes?? Why r u like this??? Stopppp but also bc imo the ship has a white bread type of content that is toxic to me personally and that’s more important.

Dick x Bea Bennet: I loved them sm in the beginning, best part of the Ric Grayson arc and then they added the spyral ties and made her a pirate and tbh that ruined it for me. Dick and Bea only work as a cute relationship if Bea is a way out or a window into the outside world like something to ground the man who is always trying to get his feet off the ground. It would be interesting. But now she’s just another another relationship where he didn’t know who he was dating and tbh I don’t think he’d be down for that post literally everything that’s ever happened to him romantically after the age of 16

Dick Babs: yes it’s this low, no I will not change it. It should be lower but I used to ship this so it’s only my fond memories keeping it this high. Babs slept with his father after dating him in at least 2 universes. Dick left Gotham for freedom and she quite literally drags him back Everytime they’re together it feels like about 30 years of Dicks character development is erased. And let’s not talk about Barbara used to be a congress woman Gordon. They deaged her to make her a decent love interest for someone who was a kid when she was running for congress. And because of the fact their characters don’t naturally balance out the way some of his other canon ships do (Bea, Shawn, KORI(the best canon ship imo), hell even Helena) it leads to the characters becoming flanderizations of themselves. Dick is a loveable himbo whose only defining characteristic is his ass and I hate to say it Barbara Gordon literally just turns into female Bruce and I hate it so much but genuinely read though some of their older stuff it’s like..ugh. Anyway I hate this ship I think it’s bad for both of them and while I’m not babs biggest fan I still like her and she and Dick should be best friends who get drunk on weekends and shit talk the bats and their respective teams (titans, birds of pray)

Dick X Helena bertinelli: yall wtf is this ship, if this is your main ship? Why? Tell me? Like what?? Helena??? Esp prime earth Helena?? He has more chemistry with midnighter than her (but we are not discussing the harem so I will remain silent)

Now the most toxic ship that isn’t incestuous is so obvious bc no one has ever pictured this ship with a modicum of health in it except its creator (derogatory) I’m 99% sure every single fic tagged this also has the domestic violence tag

Dick X Catalina Flores. Yeah no a billion times no this shit is so toxic the jack Napier fell into it and became the joker. This shit so toxic it only serves as a trauma boat for another person to swoop in and get him out I hate this so much.

Now dick is an old character so he has about a billion other relationships. But these are either the recent ones (Shawn, Bea) or the ones that have a lot of ao3 clout (birdflash) or something that makes my heart soft (dick and Joey) plus his most iconic 2 pairing I will not be getting into characters like Daphne, Clancy or Betty or anything else or the creepy ones like the fact he’s had shit with both catwoman and taila.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[galactic-magick]

Life Changes: Viktor x Reader

Part 3 of my Viktor story, find Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Summary: Viktor confides in you about his meeting with Jayce, and he contemplates his future with you a lot more seriously.

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: This part was a little harder to write for some reason now that the story is directly coinciding with the canon, but hope y'all still enjoy. This AU means a lot to me and I appreciate every single one of my readers :)

-

“It’s intriguing, isn’t it?” Viktor asks, eyes bright from discussing the events of the day with you. “I mean, what if it really is possible?”

Viktor got reacquainted with a fellow Academy student today, a man named Jayce Talis who was caught doing illegal research. Viktor has spent the last hour explaining the whole situation to you—how Jayce was attempting to create magic with science—but the equipment was so dangerous it blew up the lab. Jayce’s trial with the council resulted in him being expelled and banished from Academy grounds, and Heimerdinger believes it best to destroy everything.

Viktor was able to snag Jayce’s notes and journals, furiously reading through them and sharing his findings with you. You’re certainly not as science-brained as he is, but you’ve been with him long enough that you can somewhat follow his train of thought.

“I wish I…” he trails off, flipping back and forth on a particular page.

“What?” you ask, scooching closer to him to see what he’s reading.

“I wish I could help him.”

You shrug, “Who says you can’t?”

“He’s banished from the Academy, remember?”

“So? You’re Heimerdinger’s assistant. If anyone can sneak him in, it’s you. Don’t you have access to everything?”

“I do—but darling—I could lose my job if I’m caught. I can’t afford that, especially not if we want to-”

“Viktor,” you cut him off, knowing exactly what he’s going to say. He’s made it very clear he wants a future with you, saying he wants to marry you and move in together as soon as you’re both more stable in your careers. You’ve told him time and time again you don’t mind waiting, and you wouldn’t mind just a simple wedding, but his ambition often gets the best of him. He’s always insisted on giving you the best, never satisfied with what his current position can provide you. He’s been the Dean’s assistant for a few years now, and you can see how it frustrates him at times that he hasn’t been able to work on his own studies and aspirations. Viktor is a scientist, a brilliant one at that, and his life is lived entirely in someone else’s shadow. He respects Heimerdinger greatly, just as everyone does in this city, but the Professor is set deep in his ways and rarely takes risks. The amount of times Viktor’s had to hold his tongue around him is insurmountable, and their conflicting opinions on Jayce’s Hextech seems to be the last straw.

You take his hand, “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, okay?”

He nods, “You’re right.”

You kiss his cheek and smile, “Now go find him.”

-

You don’t see or hear from Viktor the next couple days. You desperately hope he hasn’t gotten caught, and he’s able to get what Jayce needs without much trouble.

Both your hopes and worries are confirmed when you see glowing blue light coming from the Academy building, and a commotion of enforcers chasing towards it. You loosely follow them, managing to sneak in.

You wonder if it was the wrong decision, to encourage him to pursue this. What if he got arrested? What if he got banished as well? You know how much his dreams mean to him, how hard he worked to get where he is now. You couldn’t live with yourself if he lost all his opportunities to be a real scientist.

The worst part is—you know Viktor would never blame you or resent you for anything. He would move on and keep going out of stubbornness, as he always does. He’s too strong willed to truly let anyone ruin him completely. He would continue to believe in himself, finding the next best thing for him to succeed in. But you would know. You would forever live with the idea of what could’ve been.

You need this to work out for him.

The ruckus finally stops, and you peek out of your hiding spot down the hall. You see several council members come out of the lab, closely followed by Jayce and Viktor.

“We stabilized it!” Viktor exclaims, seeing you waiting for him. He stumbles over to you, his cane broken in his grip. He drops it to the ground and grabs your face, kissing you in excitement, hardly able to contain himself.

You run your hands down his body, terrified you’ll find any wounds, “Are you okay? I thought there was another explosion-”

“I’m fine, we’re all fine,” he assures you. “The council is going to reconsider their decision. Jayce wants me to be his partner in the Hextech company if it gets approved. My life is about to change, our lives are about to change…”

“Viktor, this is amazing.” you share in his joy. “I can’t wait to see what you do.”

Jayce approaches the two of you, placing a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“You must be Y/N. I’ve heard quite a bit about you the past couple days,” he moves his hand out in front of him. “I’m Jayce.”

You shake it with a smile, “I’ve heard a lot about you too. Try not to kill my boyfriend with all this Hextech stuff, yeah?”

Jayce laughs, “Don’t worry, the first thing we’re going to work on is safety. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow, alright, Vik?”

Viktor nods in response, watching as Jayce walks away. He then turns his attention back to you, his eyes softening.

“Are you ready for this, darling?” he asks.

“I...don’t know,” you say, truthfully. “A lot of things are going to change, but it’ll be good change, right?”

He breaks your gaze, his mind firing at a million miles a minute. The adrenaline rush is finally clearing enough for the reality of it all to set in, and honestly he should be asking the same question to himself. He has grown used to his simple life as the Dean’s assistant, slowly building a relationship with you and focusing his aspirations on a future with you more than his career. He would’ve been happy to just have you, but now he can have both.

All he knows for sure right now is that he wants you by his side no matter what. He’s tired of waiting to make you his—tired of not coming home to you and waking up next to you every day. If his life is really going to flip upside down, he needs you there with him.

“Vik?” you turn his face back to you and giggle. “Zoning out on me?”

He kisses your palm, eyes locked back on yours, “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he says. “And how badly I want to marry you right now.”

“Right now?” you chuckle, unsure how literal he meant that.

“Mmm mm,” he shakes his head, brushing a hair out of your face. “Tomorrow. I at least want time to make everything special for you. But I can’t wait any longer than that. I refuse to move on to this next phase of my life without being married to you.”

You lips quiver into a smile, joyful tears filing your eyes.

“Oh, Viktor…”

He kisses you desperately, cradling your head in his lanky hands, “Please say yes, sweetheart.”

“Of course the answer’s yes, silly.”

-

More Author's Notes: Next part will be the wedding and some sloppy freshly married smut heehee

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello !! if it’s not too much of a bother can you write another piece featuring Lion 🫶 maybe another angsty piece, maybe a lil lion + farah combo or something else like lion and gaz getting separated from the 141 during a mission and having to fight their way back to the extraction point (?). totally up to you !!! also thank u for keeping us well fed 🙇‍♀️

Lions and Ibexes

PAIRING: John Price x Wife!Reader 'Codename Lion'

SYNOPSIS: Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.

WORDCOUNT: 4.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, death, canon typical violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, banter, no connection to 'I'll Take the Night Shift' except codenames, protective!Price, suggestive jokes, etc.

A/N: I wanna give Farah a big smooch on her forehead.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“So this is the woman that the Captain won’t keep quiet about,” you smirk and place your hand into Farah Karim’s, eyes shimmering as you both share a tight grip. 

“Commander,” greeting the black-haired woman, your light gear hangs off of you easily and efficiently; clean and well-taken care of. 

“Lion,” she nods, smirking back. “A pleasure.”

“Please,” you huff a laugh, “I wish it could be.” Expressions dim as you instantly get to work, the hot sun and dry air sticking to your flesh like a second skin of humidity. Releasing Farah’s hand you sigh and look around the old town, skimming over the forms of other Urzikstan Liberation Force soldiers. 

Farah does the same, breathing lowly. 

“On that, I believe you’d be right.” Brown eyes flick to yours, looking you over before the woman nods. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Lead the way,” your feet push you onward, following behind the Commander as your wedding band clinks against your chest. Held on that long chain, a hand comes up to brush it carefully, letting the man who wears the mirrored piece bring you comfort even from so far away. 

John was set to ship out in two days—there were some other important operations that had taken precedence. While you could have stayed behind with him, as you had wanted to do, a plea from one of the far-distant operators of One-Four-One had caught your ear. The name Farah Karim was known. 

If you didn’t offer assistance, you’d never feel right with yourself. One call to Laswell and it was all set up. 

“I’ll be there in two days,” John had muttered into your scalp as you both lay in bed, tight to one another; lashes fluttering. “Wait for me, yeah? No running off.” 

Your smirk had made him sigh a chuckle. “No stunts of heroics, my Love? Please, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know?”

“Well,” the words are uttered into his neck and John pulls you tighter into him. “I think that’s just about the most romantic thing to happen to someone.” 

Smiling to yourself, you bring the ring to your lips and kiss it lightly before letting it drop. In your head, John is still in your shared flat in London, and you’ll be back by the hour. If only. 

“You contacted Laswell and said you had encountered more of Barkov's remaining cells?” Your voice carries easy authority; ingrained confidence. 

Farah looks back and nods firmly. 

“They’ve taken over a town in the mountains, my forces can’t break the line.” She sighs aggressively and you stare with a sliding frown. “Even dead, Barkov cannot leave my people alone.”

In the back of your throat, you hum, “Well, parasites tend to be resilient.” Farah leads you into a home with maps on the tables and low talking of strategies from others. They pause when you enter and you nod politely. Many here knew your husband as the Commander did—all those years back when he was still only a Lieutenant and had broken Farah and her brother Hadir out from the Russian’s jail; labeled as prisoners of war. 

John had told you about it during one of the many late nights in your joint offices. Eyes tired and his hands playing with your hair.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask genially, standing near the table and placing your hands down on it—standard M4A1 resting over your chest and your secondary weapon strapped to your thigh. Unlike most, you’d opted for lighter gear to allow you to move faster. 

Fewer packs sit on your vest, and the gleam of the knife on your shoulder was a testament to your preference to close, silent, encounters. Though you liked to use your silver tongue to get out of situations, unfortunately, that wouldn’t work in this instance. 

“Captain Price told me you’re one of the best undercover agents he’s seen.” You perk at this, looking over with raised brows.

“Hell,” your chuckle echoes, “when you said he couldn’t keep quiet I thought you were exaggerating.” 

Farah smiles cheekily at you before pointing to the map of a mountain town surrounded by red Xs.

“My soldiers have marked off choke points all around the area. They’re the only pathways to the town, but heavily guarded.” She glances around the room and you hear her sigh heavily. “I wouldn’t have asked for assistance unless I knew I needed it. I’d prefer to leave foreign fighters out of this conflict, unlike my enemy.” 

“I understand,” your head shakes. “It’s your home—I’ll go where you need me to. John should be here in two days to assist.”

Farah’s face flashes with surprise, her full brows rising on her head. “Price is coming?”

You shrug and laugh, “he’s stubborn.” 

The woman chuffs before moving to fold her arms over her chest. “I think perhaps he’s more of a smitten husband, hm?” At the sheepish expression on your face and dipping eyes, Farah barks a laugh.

The band around your neck clinks into the stock of your gun as you stand to your full height. 

“Is it that obvious,” you tease, tilting your head to her. You knew it was.

“I believe the simple action of asking is proof enough, Lion.” The commander looks at her work on the table, smiling easily but focusing still on her plan of attack. “But, regardless, I give my thanks for flying out on such short notice.”

“We help our own.” Resting your hands on the body of your weapon, you smile fondly. “Now, who do I need to kill?” 

—

As it turns out, killing was the very baseline of what you needed to do. 

Shuffling into the dark armor of the dead Russian soldier at your feet, you grunt at the slick spread of blood on the ground as you strap arm braces to your limbs. 

“Heavy as all hell,” you grumble under your breath, picking up the large helmet and shoving it over your head with a puff of air. 

Farah was going to lead a distraction on the far side of the western choke point while you slipped into the ranks, placing packs of C4 in some of the large-stocked weapons buildings. Easy enough for you, you admitted. You’d done things like this a million times over. 

When all was said and done, slipping your knife into the new belt at your waist, you gaze down at the dead man with a huff of air; seeing the blood still pooling from the very obvious signs of a slit up the left armpit. You blink and stuff your wedding band down your shirt. 

“Bad day, buddy,” grabbing his legs, you bare your heels and drag the body behind a large outcropping of rocks—long streaks of crimson left behind. “I’d hate to be you right now.” 

Grunting, you drop the limp flesh with a thump like a paper-towel roll meeting the counter. 

Shuffling back into the open, your feet make tracks to get you closer toward your targets. You hike the small pouch Farah gave you farther up your back without a word more. 

John had always said you were quick-witted, but when he got here he’d lose that hat of his in disbelief. The truth was that you had forgotten what little of the Russian language you’d initially known, and the situation you found yourself in now was frankly not ideal.

C’mon Lion, you think to yourself, just pick up social cues and you’ll be good. 

Oh, your husband was going to lose his shit.

—

“Come again?” The Captain barks. “What do you fuckin’ mean she’s in the base?!”

“I just explained it,” Farah levels, raising a brow. Blue eyes narrow with a growl until the Commander's lips flicker in a smirk. “We just had word three minutes ago. She’s fine, Captain.” Fingers find John’s nose bridge, digging deep into the flesh in large exasperation and worry.

He had caught a C17 and came here a day early after he’d gotten a bad feeling—internal wife radar going off as it usually did when you placed yourself in danger without him. Which was more often than not.  

I told her not to be impulsive. 

John sighs long and low, shaking his head. “Farah…you sent her in alone?” 

“She is quite capable, Price.”

“I fucking…” He stops himself and puts his hands on the table in the center of the building. Men and women were snickering from the corners, sending amused glances. “I know.”

Farah sends a glance to her soldiers and they turn away to cover their smiling mouths. Enjoyment was in her tone as she grabs the walkie-talkie from the table top and clips it to her vest. 

“There were more men than we anticipated—she had to be more careful when placing the charges. Captain,” John glares up at her when his eyes leave the maps. The Commander teases, “She is fine.”

As if on cue, the radio fizzles with your voice. Farah looks down with surprise and the Brit's eyes snap to it immediately; body tense. 

There’s a moment of garbled static where the Captain feels his heart beating out of his chest. The panic that had snapped through him when you hadn’t come out to greet him when he’d landed was primal; genuine fear stuck in his bones like spiky grass. The bond the two of you had was closer than anything on this plane of existence. It was rare to not see one without the other.

Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

“You should tell your men to move unless they want to be scorched, Farah!” The woman in the room smiles ferally and raises a smug brow as she looks at John. 

“Copy, Lion. You have my thanks.” 

“I didn’t know you could improvise Russian—it’s like the Slavic blood just entered my body!” The Brit covers his eyes with his hand and groans at the base of his throat. 

“Tell her to get her arse back here before she gets bloody shot.” John takes off his bucket hat and tosses it to the table with a gloved hand, punching his hair back from his forehead. “Giving me gray hairs,” he grunts. 

Farah laughs and says eagerly into the walkie, “Someone’s here to say hello.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Your panting breath clears and after a long glare at the device, John hears you say in a slow and awkward tone, “Hello, my Love!”

Farah tilts the radio closer to him and looks highly pleased. 

“Get back here. Now.” John grunts out, fingers digging into his arms as he crosses them. “I told you to wait for me.”

You laugh nervously, deflecting, “...did you, Dear? I guess I misheard you.” The Brit’s jaw clenches but Farah can speak before he can.

“Lion, are all the charges set, then?” You seem thankful for the distraction, sighing over the line.

“All good over here! I just need the O.K from your men and then it’s about to get a whole lot brighter.” 

“I’ll relay the news—get away, as far as you can.”

“Already on it,” your breathy chuckle exits and you pause before saying. “See you soon, Love!” 

Tiny blue eyes bug, “Wait–!” The line clicks off and Farah is already tapping into the frequency for her soldiers, turning slightly away to converse in quick Arabic. 

—

Evening rolls around and you jog back into the Liberation Force’s base, greeting the guards stationed with a breathless sigh; utterly sweaty but happy you’d gotten half a ride back from some locals. You’re back in your original gear, sear marks on your cheeks and hair slightly burned, but nonetheless unharmed. 

Everyone welcomes you back with handshakes and pats on your shoulders—brushes to your arm as people pass. You guide yourself back to the main building with chuckles and deep smiles of achievement. 

“Someone’s happy.” John’s voice freezes you halfway into the home and you cringe like a leaf. After a moment your eyebrows slide up with a cheeky smile.

“John,” you draw out his name and turn, seeing him leaning against the house with his arms crossed and legs stiff. He looks unimpressed in all of his handsome glory. “Well, don’t you look nice—did you trim your beard before coming out?” 

Walking slowly towards him, you loop your hands around his waist and press kisses into his neck sweetly. The man sighs long and you feel his large palms rest on your hips heavily. You blink innocently into his orbs. 

“Your silver tongue won’t work on me, Love.” The glint in his expression eggs you on as his nose tints down to touch yours. You smile brightly, seeing the wrinkles on his forehead dim as he melts into you easily. 

Whispering, you utter to the air, “I’d say you like my tongue, you brute. Tell me often enough.” Not a beat is missed, but you feel his cheeks go slightly red.

“Keep it on a leash and maybe I’d like it more, yeah?” You snort loudly, head dipping only to feel his lips press into your scalp; his smile is teasing as his beard drags against you. 

John breathes you in along with the scent of sand. One of his hands travels up to lock into the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your necklace. The one that mirrors his own down to the very dents and scratches. 

“You alright?” The words are a murmur into your flesh. You let him play with your wedding band as your smile softens to the same sensation of warm pelts on a wooden floor. 

There was no use telling you to stop your crusades, the Brit knew that. You did what you wanted and damn the consequences; John was stuck with damage control but knew you had the skills and know-how to break all odds. You still held that same fire that the woman he married wore like a crown of fangs without fail.  

“Always,” you reassure him, hugging his waist tighter and staring into his eyes.

The both of you lapse into a delicate hold. John’s arms cage you in and you’d have it no other way as fingers drag over warm flesh, never mind the brutal dig of gear or the stain of blood. Neither could keep you away from the other. 

“When will you stop making my heart rip out of my chest, Sweetheart?” John asks, smirking down at you. “Trying to give me a heart attack before forty, eh?”

“Oh, please,” you whisper against his lips, eyes alight with mischief as he watches you closely—pulse pounding against yours. He could never be angry at you. “We both know that if you have one, I’ll be having one too. We’ll end up being brain-dead at the same damn time, no doubt.” 

He laughs against you lowly, having to pull back to shake his head at your bland confession. “You’re fuckin’ mental, Love.” He breathes in soft puffs of breath. You gaze up at him, laced with affection and care, as he rests his forehead on yours. “Ah, but that’s alright, isn’t it? We’re all a bit crazy.” 

“You might be a little bit higher on the metaphorical scale,” you tease, face serious but eyes betraying you. They always would when it came to John; the only person to break through that ‘cunning nuisance’ that everyone always mentioned in your file. 

“Really, now?” He blinks, smirking and rubbing at your hip absentmindedly and leaning closer—pushing your neck to the side. 

“Just a bit,” you huff, not even realizing. 

Before you can utter another word, firm lips capture you like a beast in iron bars, bulky forearms stuck at the curve of your spine. You chirp into John’s mouth in surprise but melt into him as his large purr resonates into your bloodstream. Singing, you bring your hands to his cheeks, digging through those bristles to feel the burn on your hands. 

Humming, your husband nuzzles his nose into your cheek like a dog would, letting him take in your scent as you feel your legs go weak. You enjoy the worship he gives you; always would. Your body is tightly held against his own and you gladly would have shown him how much you enjoyed him being here if only for the small fact you needed to talk to Farah. 

With one last pass of his reddened lips, you slip back and kiss his bristly cheek with a chuckle. 

“Later.” 

He groans into you. “Tease.” 

“I didn’t even do anything!” You laugh loudly, moving out of his hold to walk into the house as he follows at your heels. John’s hands go to the top of his vest collar to rest. 

He leans down and whispers, “Don’t need to, Love.” 

Your face burns for him and only him as he grumbles out chuckles at your blown pupils. Huffing, you turn and roll your eyes, trying to dispel your flaming blood. Farah waits for you and with a happy glance up she comes from around the table and claps you on both shoulders. You grunt in surprise but grip her elbows with a laugh. 

“Barkov’s remaining cell was wiped out—my soldiers are hunting down the remnants as we speak.” She squeezes your gear and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, Lion, for coming out when you did. The Captain was not wrong in his assessment.” 

You turn your head to the side and glance back at John. “Hear that my Love, I’ve heard you talk about me. That’s so precious.” 

His face goes red under his beard, and his feet shuffle as you and Farah share a joking glance. John releases under-the-breath grumbles before the Commander addresses him. The woman releases you but speaks past your person.

“Some of my younger soldiers wanted you to mentor them with the use of their weapons, do you plan on staying the night?” You and John share a look, a seeming telepathic communication going on. 

He nods at you and you smile. “Only tonight, we ship out at first light. I’ll do what I’m able.”

“Then you also have my thanks. They’ll learn much, I’m sure. Lion,” John comes and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving. You watch him go for a moment before rubbing at your dirty neck while you listen to Farah. “Come with me, there’s fresh water on the roof.” 

“Oh,” you perk, suddenly realizing the fatigue in your bones and the dryness of your throat. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

As you both ascend the stairs to the roof, there’s a still silence that falls, a calm nothingness. When you finally stand on the flat roof, you look over the vast land as Farah hands you a chilled water bottle from a mini-fridge. You take it with a small nod in thanks. 

“Nice view,” you motion with the bottle before taking a long sip—downing half of it in one go. 

Farah smiles and hums. “Urzikatan is a beautiful place,” you listen and wipe at your mouth; seeing people walk the streets below as the red sun grows even lower. In the wind, your nose twitches to sand and dust, with some hint of floral notes and arid cleanliness. Farah’s face seeps with a low sadness when she looks out to the land and you pause your drinking. Brows pulling in, you watch her. 

“Farah?” You ask, carefully. It’s a moment before she responds.

“I…” She crosses her arms and sets her feet. “I wonder if this place will ever see its freedom. We’ve been fighting for so long already. My family has known war more than anything else.” Brown eyes drift to you from the side of her eye. 

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t imagine what Farah feels right now, what she has felt. Years of this…and still her home is under foreign subjugation. A frown grows on your face and you put the half-full bottle to the small wooden table near the roof’s corner. 

“You’ll get your sovereignty, Farah.” You try your best to speak your mind to the woman but remain truthful to your belief. Farah stares out as you sigh lowly. “Maybe not now—maybe not in this generation—but someday the sun is going to set on a free Urzikatan. You’re plenty strong enough to assure that and you’ve done a proper job so far. The frames are already set.” 

The Commander hums and gazes at her soldiers below as they mull about, laughing with each other and enjoying the company of their fellow countrymen.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” Farah asks you, and you study her genuine interest in her own thoughts. “Who we would be if nothing ever happened to us.” 

You stare for a moment, skull tilting down to gaze at the top of the roof. It’s not an easy question to answer. 

“Sometimes,” your lips admit. Farch eagerly pivots to your form like you hold the greatest answer imaginable. She’s been through so much—losing her family, and her home. Humming, your eyes shift to the setting sun; blinking at it. Against all of this, your lips flinch up into a smile. “But not often.” 

Farah’s eager gaze turns confused, her brows furrowing deeply with a scrunched face. 

“Because right here, right now,” John walks down the street below, and your eyes fall to him as easily as a leaf dances to the ground. The expression on your face eases. “It couldn’t have happened if there were never bad days.” Your husband looks up, and you see him pause among the ranks of other fighters. You chuckle softly, head tilting to the side. 

John stares at you as if you’re the only person to exist, moving one hand from his vest to jerk two fingers in a subtle greeting. Farsh watches the interaction closely, tension loosening from her body. Your head nods slowly to your husband and you say to the woman, absent-minded, “I’m right where I need to be…And the sun has never looked brighter.”

Farah huffs a laugh, eyes running back and forth between the two of you. 

“He loves you,” she says, “deeply.” 

“God,” your laugh echoes, “I sure hope so.” The both of you laugh. 

It felt easy to speak to the Commander, truthfully. Being surrounded by four men all of the time can get catty even with such a strong bond as you had with One-Four-One. 

You dare to share more.

"In my mind, John and I are still in Hertfordshire for our wedding,” The words come out of you slowly, unwrapping emotions one layer at a time as if swaddled in a dark veil of internal nostalgia. You watch John as he walks along, oddly sad but filled with something that makes you want to take him up into your arms with a wet laugh. “Sitting back on the grassy hills outside of town in my gown and him in his tux. The wind is cold…but neither of us can find it in ourselves to shiver. The sun's setting on our heads and making everything glow gold. His fingers are running through my hair…” You pause and hear Farah’s soft breath in the air, but you don’t look at her. Your eyes stay stuck on one person only. “When I die,” your words continue, “I can't ask for anything more than just a glimpse of that again. Just a flicker of that hill. Of those blue eyes looking into mine. I don't think it would be all that bad if I could live in that moment for senseless eternity. If I could live in it for only one second." 

John looks back at you from over his shoulder, your form shrouded in the setting sun as he slowly walks away from you. You gaze with melted eyes, the ring around your neck shining all the brighter. 

“I’m right where I need to be,” finishing, you turn your glossy eyes to Farah, who stares with a wide pull to her lids. “And you need to believe that even if you never get to see that freedom—that hill—you’ll make sure someone else can climb it just an inch farther.” 

It’s a long moment before Farah answers.

“The both of you will do this until one of you dies, hm?” You blink before you shrug. 

“Not one.” Your tone is easy, and John’s shadow turns a corner; out of sight. “I’d never let him go without me.”

TAGS:

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[knitmeatardis]

Making Up for Lost Time

I can't believe I am actually posting this, but you all have given me such lovely Hotch x reader fics, I felt the need to add my own contribution. I do not usually write this kind of thing, usually slash all the way, but here we are. For my favorite Hotch smut dealer @aureatelys

Words: ~6.9K; Rating: 18+; Aaron Hotchner x fem bau!librarian!reader

Warnings: safe p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), canon typical violence, reader is being stalked and threatened, smut, no use of y/n

There’s a certain anonymity involved in being the research librarian for the BAU. No one really takes notice of you, and you assume no one even knows your name, while you get to watch and observe everyone and get to know them from afar. Spencer and Derek, messing with each other like brothers. Emily, so assured and beautiful, confident in everything she does, especially the way she moves. JJ, open and warm despite the daily horrors she deals with. Rossi, the pater familia of the whole crew. Garcia is the only one you have any real rapport with, but she spends so much time in her cave that you rarely see her.

The only one you can’t get a read on is Hotch. In fact, you only know he goes by Hotch because that’s how you hear the rest of the team refer to him. You know he has a son and his ex-wife was killed. You know he’s often the first one here and the last one to leave. But his stern expression never really seems to change. He’s always polite to you, nodding his thanks when you bring the files he needs, but rarely speaks. 

So it is all a bit of a shock when JJ stops me in the hallway. “Hey,” she greets you, but her face is pinched, worried. “We need you in the conference room.”

“Me?” you blanch, frozen to the spot.

“Yes. You. Right now,” JJ says, taking files out of your arms and walking quickly toward the conference room. 

You follow in her wake, feeling like a bug under a microscope when you enter behind JJ and everyone’s eyes turn to look at you. It may be the first time most of them have ever really seen you. 

Hotch stands behind a chair and looks at you. He pats it. “Sit, please.” 

His voice is gentle, soft, almost apologetic. He offers his hand to you to guide me into a chair. His touch makes a strange flutter go through your body but with the way everyone is acting, it’s too hard to focus on it. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry, but I need you to confirm,” Hotch says, looking at the screen and pressing a button, “that these pictures are of you.” 

The screen fills with pictures of you outside your apartment, outside the grocery store, on the Metro on the way to work, and most alarmingly, through the curtains into your bedroom while you were undressing. Your blood runs cold. You clear your throat. “Yes. Those – those are all of me. What’s – I’ve never seen anyone…”

“These photos were sent to the bureau,” Hotch explains. “To me, specifically. It’s obviously a threat of some kind, but it isn’t clear exactly what’s going on.”

“Who else knows you work here?” Rossi asks. 

“I mean, lots of people know I work for the FBI. It’s on all of my forms and employment records. Friends and family. But only my immediate family knows I work with the BAU. I don’t discuss it with anyone. Not anyone.”  You can feel your heart racing and your stomach churns. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

You can feel Emily following you as you run for the ladies’ room. She’s waiting near the sink with a wet paper towel as you finish vomiting. You’re shaking violently and it feels like your legs are going to go out from under you.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” she reassures you, pressing the towel to your forehead. “Do you think you can come back to the conference room and listen to the plan?” 

You nod and follow Emily back to the conference room. Everyone else has cleared out, leaving just Hotch and you and the pictures up on the screen. You can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to them. Emily puts her hand on your shoulder for a moment and then leaves us alone. Hotch reaches over and turns off the television. 

“I know this is distressing –” 

“Why you?” you ask suddenly. “We’re not close. I’m not a regular member of the team. You’re only nominally my boss. I mean, technically I report to you but I spend more of my time reporting to the other librarians. We barely speak.”

Hotch’s brow draws together as he looks at you. “That’s a good question. We think that whoever this is has cast me in the role of protector and he has chosen you as the object of his delusion. He wants to draw me out for a confrontation.”

“So, what’s the plan?” 

“We’re going to give him what he wants,” Hotch says, putting his hand over yours.

….

The next several hours are a blur. The team stash you in Garcia’s lair, deep inside the bureau and away from any windows. Garcia arms you with several of her comfort tokens to keep you safe. As soon as the team is ready, you’re shuffled down to the garage and into the back of an SUV. Hotch sits next to you while Morgan drives, Prentiss next to him.

“Once we get surveillance on your apartment set up,” Hotch says to you, “I’ll take the first watch. He’s going to want to see me protecting you.”

“I understand.” Of course he’s watching you. That’s what the photographs were all about. Making sure you knew that he could see you but you couldn’t see him. “And if there’s anything I need, I should call you.” 

“Right,” Hotch says. He’s gone over all of the protocols with you several times, but he seems to understand that you repeating them is your way of dealing with your anxiety. “Agent Morgan will be walking the perimeter as well.” 

You nod, looking out the window at the scenery without really seeing it. When you get to your apartment, Hotch keeps his arm tight around you as Morgan and Prentiss lead and take up the rear, respectively. Despite the circumstances, something about the way he’s holding you makes a little thrill go down your spine. 

The three of them are efficient, almost brutally so. You want to laugh and cry at how comfortable they are with setting up this kind of surveillance. They barely even have to talk while they’re doing it. Still, it’s getting dark by the time they’re done. 

“I can only imagine how invasive this feels,” Hotch says, his voice gentle as he sits next to you on the sofa. “As much as possible tonight, go about your normal routine. In the morning, one of us will pick you up for work.” 

“Normal routine,” you huff. “At the moment, I can barely think of what that is.” 

“Well. I know when I get home, I like to take off my tie, maybe fix myself a drink.” Hotch gives you a small smile. “Just close your eyes a second. Think about what you’d be doing if none of us were here.” 

Obediently, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The first thing I do is change into my pajamas and fix myself something for dinner, I guess. I’m pretty domesticated and boring.” 

“There’s nothing boring about having a normal life,” Hotch says. “We’ll leave you to it. And I’ll be just outside.”

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“C’mon,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a smirk. “It’s Hotch.” 

“Hotch,” you say with a small smile. 

….

You try not to think about the microphones and cameras around the apartment as you go through the motions of eating something and watching television. You work on some craft projects, not really paying attention to any of it. You keep listening for someone outside or trying to come into the apartment. Finally you give up and get into bed, but all you can do is toss and turn. 

You contemplate picking up the phone and talking to Hotch, but you don’t want to distract him. On the other hand, he did say to reach out if you needed anything. And all you really want to do is sleep. You cave in, too exhausted to care about seeming weak or needy. You pick up the phone and call him.

“Hey. You alright?” Hotch answers immediately.

“I’m fine.” You huff. “I just can’t sleep. I keep listening for someone to come in.” 

“That’s not going to happen. I’m here,” he says, his voice calm and certain. It feels warm. “Would it help if we talked?” 

“Agent Morgan can’t hear us, can he?” 

“No, he can’t hear us. Tell me what’s going on.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Oh, you know. I’m just staring up at my ceiling thinking about some random guy out there who wants to maybe kill me or kill you or both, so not much really. What’s going on with you?” 

Hotch chuckles. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’m just sitting outside a nice woman’s apartment trying to make sure that no one hurts her. So not a lot going on here, either.” 

That startles a real laugh out of you. “So yeah, boring.” 

“All totally normal.” Hotch smiles to himself. “Tell me something about you,” he says. “How long have you been at the FBI?” 

“You already know the answer to that,” you say. “You hired me.” 

“So? Tell me again.” 

“I’ve been a librarian at the Bureau for about five years,” you say. “After I got my masters in library science from Georgetown. I never thought that a librarian would be needed for something like the BAU, but once I started working with the unit, I loved it.” 

Hotch leans back in his seat, looking at my apartment, imagining you laying in bed on the phone. “That’s not something I hear very often.”

“I imagine there’s a lot of burnout,” you say. “And if I was an agent, I’m not sure I could hack it. But when you all come home and you’ve saved someone or brought someone to justice, I get to feel like a little tiny part of that. It’s not a bad feeling.” 

“I probably don’t say it enough, but we value your help. We couldn’t research everything we need to on our own.”

“Of course not. You need to get your boots on the ground. I know that,” you say. You pause, worrying at your lower lip. “Before today, though, I couldn’t be sure any of you even knew my name.” 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. “I know your name. I’ve always known it.” He clears his throat. “We’ve always known it.” 

“Thanks, Hotch,” you say softly. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, just as soft. “How are you feeling now? A little less anxious?”

“A little, yes. Thank you, Hotch.” You smile into the darkness. “Your voice is very soothing. And, forget I said that because that’s just embarrassing.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Hotch isn’t able to keep the smile out of his voice. “I’m glad I can help. Do you think you can sleep now?” 

“I think I’m ready to try again,” you say to him. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”

He clears his throat again. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a long day.” 

….

You’re groggy and grumpy and still in your pajamas when Hotch calls you from outside your front door. You check the peephole like he instructed and then let him in. 

“Good morning,” he says softly, holding out a cup of coffee to stall any protests. 

All you can do is grunt and accept the cup, taking a long sip. It’s perfect. Exactly the way you take it. You look at Hotch, lifting an eyebrow but saying nothing. “Give me five minutes to fix my hair and put clothes on,” you say to him, turning away back toward your bedroom.

“You have at least ten,” he says, looking around your front room. You try to imagine what he’s seeing and the conclusions he’s drawing as he looks over your family photos, nerdy collectibles, books, and stuffed animals. You brush your hair and throw on some lipstick, thanking your past self for having your closet organized in such a way that makes it easy to pick something out and put it on. 

You emerge from the bedroom, put together and ready to go. “Told you I only needed five,” you say, pushing your hair off my face. 

There’s a moment when he looks at you that something surprised and interested crosses his face, but he quickly masks it with his patented professional stoicism. “Let’s go, then,” he says, holding an arm out to usher you ahead of him as he opens the door. Hotch escorts you down to street level. There’s an agent you don’t know driving as Hotch helps you into the backseat.

“I’m going to start expecting this kind of treatment all the time now,” you say lightly to him as he joins you. 

Hotch smirks at you, lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, just settles into the seat next to you. This drive is less anxious than the one the previous day, even though you’re still mostly looking out the window. Hotch is a solid, calming presence next to you. 

“You’re so gentle,” you say out of nowhere, immediately blushing. “Sorry. I was just – I’ve seen you during briefings and with the team and you’re direct. Concise. I wasn’t expecting you to be so warm with me. Encouraging and solicitous.” You shake your head. 

Hotch nods in acknowledgement. “Not everyone gets to see that side of me. It’s usually when bad things happen.” He glances at you. “I’m working on it.” 

“Well, just know that I appreciate it,” you tell him, putting your hand lightly on top of his. There’s a small tinge of red across his cheeks, but he slips his hand out from under yours quickly enough that you think you might have imagined it. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence. 

When you get to Quantico and up to the 6th floor, Hotch walks you to your office. “While you’re in the building, you can move around freely. But if you have to go outside for anything, get one of us and we’ll walk you.” 

You take a steadying breath and nod. “I will. Thank you.”

He puts a soft hand on your elbow. “This isn’t going to be forever. We’ll find him. I promise.” 

“I believe you,” you say, offering him whatever kind of smile you can manage. He nods at you and drops his hand, heading away as you go into my office. Without his hand on your arm, you feel suddenly cold, but you try to shake it off and concentrate on your work. You can already see that the messages light on your phone is blinking. 

Trying to recapture some sense of normalcy, you sit at your desk and check your email, looking to see if there’s anything urgent that needs attending to. Then you start with your voicemail. The first ten messages are normal, mundane, then there’s the last one. All it contains is a long exhale and then a low laugh before he says, “I see you have your knight in shining armor giving you rides, walking you into the building. That’s good. It’ll be all the easier to kill you both.”

Your blood runs cold, but you manage to hit save on the voicemail system. Your fingers are numb when you pick up the phone and call Hotch’s extension. It feels like seconds between when you hang up and when he’s there in your office. Penelope has already pulled the voicemail off the servers and saved it to her own system, but he wants to hear it for himself. It’s somehow more disturbing the second time through. When you look up at Hotch, his lips are pressed into a hard, thin line. 

“Does he sound familiar to you?” he asks you. 

“No. But I talk to a lot of people when I’m processing requests. Everyone starts to sound the same after a bit.” 

“He sounds familiar to me.” He frowns and crosses his arms. “As soon as I find out more, I’ll tell you,” Hotch promises, looking you in the eyes before he leaves. 

You feel like you’re at loose ends, not at all sure what to do with yourself. You start to work on requests and email, but your attention keeps drifting away. Every time your phone rings you think it’s going to be him again, taunting you. Eventually you turn off the ringer and turn to stare into space, until Hotch returns.

“Anything?” you ask, looking up at him. 

He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. Penelope is working on it.” Hotch takes a deep breath. “Are you okay back here? I could find a desk for you in the bullpen.”

“I’m fine. I can’t really concentrate, so not much is getting done. But I’m alright.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll make sure someone picks up the slack for you,” he says. 

“Hotch, isn’t it safer if I stay at home?” You look at him with wide eyes. “I was hoping that work would be a distraction, but that doesn’t seem to be working out so much.”

“Now that we have confirmation that the threat is to both of us, it’s better to keep you close.” He twitches an eyebrow. “I’ll get Garcia to set you up with some games on your computer.”

You chuckle and duck your head. “Thank you. I’m going to owe you so hard after all of this.”

“You don’t owe me anything. This is what we do for our own.” Hotch lingers in the doorway for a moment and then leaves. 

….

Nothing happens the rest of the day except that you have a new obsession with video games thanks to Penelope. Hotch again rides with you to your apartment, promising to take the first watch again. 

“Hotch, you should go home. I know you have a son. You don’t have to spend another night watching over me when you can go be with him.”

“Jack is on a trip with his aunt and cousins,” he says, ducking his head. “Which is good because since this unsub wants to kill me, too, I’d have to stay away from him anyway.” Hotch looks back at you. “I’d rather stay where I can get to you if I have to.” 

There’s something in his voice, something beyond his professional concern, but it’s too quick to identify. “Okay. Good night, then. If I can’t sleep…”

“Just call me.” He smiles softly. “I’ll be here.” 

Once again you try to go about my evening routine and after you try to go to sleep. When once again you can’t, you talk to Hotch. This time you’re on the phone for almost half an hour before you start yawning and he tells me to go to bed. 

The morning is a repeat of the previous day except there’s no creepy voicemail today. Feeling a little more like you’re on solid ground, you start working. The requests have piled up, despite the help you’re getting from other librarians, so you dig in. Once you generate a list of materials to pull, you head to the archives. 

The stacks are comforting and quiet as they surround you. The smell of paper files is familiar and strangely soothing. You start working through your list, putting files in carts and organizing them per request. You don’t even hear the footsteps as someone comes up behind you. 

“Good morning.”

You jump and whirl, barely biting back a scream. “Jesus! Sean! You scared the shit out of me.” You laugh a little, pushing your hair off your face. “Sorry. Just a little on edge today.” 

Sean looks you over. “That’s what happens when your white knight leaves you alone to fend for yourself.”

That’s when you see the gun. Your eyes go wide, but before you can ask any questions, he pulls you to him, your back pressing against him, the barrel of the gun pressed into your side. 

“Shh, shh, your part in this little drama is almost over. Don’t worry. I’ll kill you quickly. Come on. We have to go see your knight.” 

Sean walks you through the hallways, managing to keep the gun concealed. No one really looks at you, too absorbed in their own tasks to notice. When he pushes you into the bullpen, no one even looks up. 

“They don’t even see you. They don’t care,” he murmurs in your ear. “And it’s a tragedy. So I am going to make sure that they never, ever forget you. Go on. Get their attention.” 

“A-Agent Hotchner!” you call out. Everyone’s heads turn and in an instant he appears at the top of the stairs outside his office. Before you can even take the next breath, the guns of all the agents in the room are pointed in your direction, including Hotch’s.

“Oh, well done,” Sean says to you. He keeps you in front of him, using you as a shield and making sure no one can get behind him. “What are you going to do now, Agent Hotshot!” he says, looking at Hotch. “Huh? You, always in the spotlight, always getting attention! Think you can get me from there, Hotshot? The sniper expert.” Sean sneers at him.

Hotch stares at him for a long moment. “Lower your weapons,” he says, not raising his voice but adding a hard steel. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the team slowly lower their weapons. His gun doesn’t even waver. “Yes, I can kill you from here.”

You can’t take your eyes off of Hotch, the relaxed but poised stance, his sharp eyes focused on you and the tip of his weapon steady, trained on you.

“Can you do it before I put a bullet in her?” Sean says, ramming the barrel into your ribs and making you whimper. 

“Before, no. Within a heartbeat after, absolutely. But it’s not really what you want. You want to be recognized, you want me to see you,” he says. “Well, Sean. I see you. Now what?” 

“So you know my name. Am I supposed to be impressed? You walk around here like you’re the king of the castle and we’re just peasants under your feet. You have her, right here in front of you every day and you never see her worth,” Sean says, looking at you. 

His arm is so tight around you that you can barely breathe and you’re suddenly afraid that you’ll pass out. “What are you talking about?” you manage.

“You. You’re amazing and they don’t even consider you part of the team. You do everything for them, and they never see you. Not the way that I do. Not the way you should be loved and adored every minute of every day.” Sean’s eyes are adoring for a moment but then they turn hard again. “So I’m going to take you away from them. I’m going to take you away forever, so they will know what it means to live without you like I do. And then I’m going to kill him for every slight you had to take because of him, every late night and exhausting pace and overloaded work. I’m going to punish him for all of it.” 

“Sean, Sean,” you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You don’t need to do that. Agent Hotchner, he’s been amazing. He’s taken such good care of me, and he always has. He’s never treated me badly or ever raised his voice. When I’m working late, he’s right here, working, too.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sean yells. “He doesn’t see you when it matters! He doesn’t stand up for you! He doesn’t care! And I’m going to prove it.” 

Sean’s grip loosens and he pushes you so that you’re facing him, his gun raised. You scream as strong hands tug you down and away and a shot rings out. You hit the floor hard and you’re immediately covered by the body of whoever pulled you down, protecting you. There’s a terrible silence for a long moment, the sound of your breathing loud in your own ears. Slowly, the body over you – Derek, you realize – starts to move. 

“Hey, sweet heart,” he says, looking down at you as he gets up and then offers a hand down. “How you doing? Are you hurt?” 

“No, I’m alright,” you say, breathless. You keep your eyes on Derek. “Is – is he…?”

“Yeah, yeah he is. I’m sorry,” Derek says, voice gentle. He turns you away and puts his arm around you. 

You hear Hotch’s feet on the stairs as he comes down to the bullpen.

“Put her in my office, Morgan,” he says, still strong but quieter now. “Please.” 

You feel more than see Derek nod and then your feet are moving. He leads you the long way around, through the round table room and along the catwalk around to Hotch’s office, all the while shielding you from the scene below. He closes the door and helps you over to the couch, quickly closing the blinds. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he says, crouching down in front of you.

You haven’t stopped crying, your eyes sting, your ribs and chest hurt from the way Sean had grabbed you and squeezed. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes, letting out a wry, slightly hysterical laugh. “I could use a shot of tequila,” you say, sniffling again. 

“How about some water instead?” Derek says, putting a hand on your knee. 

“Water. Yeah. Water is good.” 

“Good. You just sit here and breathe and I’ll be right back,” he says, standing. You can hear activity outside when he opens the door, but when he closes it again, it is perfectly quiet. You sit on Hotch’s couch, wondering how long it will take your hands to stop shaking.

….

When you wake up, still on Hotch’s couch, you realize that someone has come and put a blanket on you. You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but it was sometime after Derek brought you water. You glance out of the window and realize it must be mid to late afternoon now. You sit up, groggy and confused after the adrenaline crash. You’re only sitting up for a few minutes before Hotch comes in. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, turning one of his chairs around to face you on the couch. 

“Exhausted.” You rub your face. “I can’t believe Sean did all this.”

Hotch takes a deep breath. “We found more photos of you on his computer. It seems he’s been obsessing over you for some time.”

“I had no idea. He rarely speaks – spoke – to me. I’d smile at him in the stacks or if I saw him in the hallway, but not much else. Why did he fixate on you? And what was all of that about you not considering me part of the team?” 

He opens the file folder he’d brought in with him and hands you some folded paper. You recognize it immediately as the internal FBI newsletter. Inside there’s a profile about Hotch after he broke the record for Quantico’s long-distance sniper accuracy. The article has a picture of the BAU team, naming everyone. The photo was taken in the bullpen, and in the background, there is a blurry picture of you pushing your cart and delivering files to the desks. “He had this pinned up in his office,” Hotch says. “We think this is where it all started.”

You start to laugh and it sounds hysterical to your own ears. “How do you deal with this kind of thing every day? The bizarre thinking and the leaps… that something as small as this could precipitate everything we just went through for the last 48 hours.” You shake your head. “I want to go home.” 

Hotch nods. “I’ll drive you.” 

“No, come on. You’ve done enough,” you say softly, reaching out and touching his knee. “I can make it home on my own.”

“I should take all the surveillance down. And you’re exhausted. This is going to hit you. Hard. You shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere is it?” you ask, smirking. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

You nod and stand. Your legs are still shaky though and you stumble a little. Hotch’s hands are right there to steady you, his breath ghosting over your skin as he holds you. “You’re alright,” he murmurs. 

“Thank you,” you reply, matching his tone. 

He walks you to your office so I can gather your things and then down to the garage. Instead of an FBI SUV, you get into his personal vehicle, you sitting up front with him while he drives. The ride is quiet still, but not the scared, tense silence from the other drives. When you get to your apartment, he escorts you inside, his hand on the small of you back instead of the protective circle from earlier. His body is firm and warm next to yours, and even though the danger is over, you still feel safer with him there.

He goes about collecting the cameras and microphones and putting them in cases as you toe off your shoes and head into your kitchen to look for something to eat. You are still staring into the fridge when Hotch pokes his head in. “I got everything, so…”

“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him. “I’m starving and my fridge is in pathetic shape. I could order something.” 

“That’s not –”

“Just – it’s the least I can do, Hotch. And you said I shouldn’t be alone,” you say, cocking your hip.

Hotch smirks and crosses his arms. “Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere, right?” 

“Exactly. So. You like thai?” 

Laughing softly, Hotch takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair in your small dining room. “I do. Very much.”

“Good,” you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and starting a delivery order. You hand it to him when you’re done. “Get whatever you want. I’m going to change.”

When you come out of the bedroom in your pajamas, a tank top and knee-length short pants, Hotch is in your kitchen opening a bottle of wine. He turns his head when he hears me approach. You notice that his tie is off, too, and his sleeves are rolled up to show his forearms. Your mouth waters for a moment. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I thought some wine might be helpful.”

“You know your way around a kitchen,” you say, approving. “Thank you.” You accept the glass from him after he pours and go sit on your couch. You drink in comfortable silence for a couple of moments, just sitting there examining his profile. “I meant what I said, by the way,” you say into the quiet. “About you taking great care of me. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” 

“Like I said, we look out for our own,” he says, turning his head and looking at you. His face is soft and affectionate before he lowers his gaze back to his hands. “He was wrong, you know, about me not seeing you, not knowing your worth. When I saw him there with you, that gun pressed into your side…” He shakes his head. “The idea of living without you in my life really scared me.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, looking suddenly shy.

“Hotch… what are you saying?” Your hands tighten around your glass. It’s no secret that Hotch is attractive, and the way you’ve gotten to know him over the last couple of days has been alluring. 

“I’m saying that I have been trying to maintain my professionalism,” he says, “around you. For some time now.” He licks his lips. “I know a lot about you. How you take your coffee. That you like the burritos from the place 10 blocks away even though there’s a place just around the corner. I know you have a sweet tooth. You get stressed out when there’s a chance of snow in the forecast.”

You laugh at that one. “You have been watching closely.” 

“It is sort of my job.” He gives you a small smile. Then he puts his hand palm up on the couch between you, offering it to you to take. “But I’ll admit that I had additional motivation where you were concerned.”

“Hotch…”

“Aaron. We’re off the clock. You should call me Aaron.” 

You slip you hand into his. “Aaron. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I’m your boss. And I didn’t want the risk of something going bad between us and losing you. You are part of the team. We need you.” 

“Still, I wish you’d said something. We could have been doing this the whole time,” you say, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft, almost chaste, but his free hand comes up to caress your jaw.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, thumb tracing your jaw line. 

“No,” you say looking him in the eyes. “I’m worried about transference and hero worship and all those kinds of things, but at the moment all I know is that your hand is warm and I want you to touch me.” 

Aaron takes the glass out of your hand and puts it on the coffee table before tugging you closer and over into his lap. He cups your jaw in both hands and pulls you into another kiss. This one is hotter, wetter, his tongue sliding between your lips and exploring your mouth. 

You moan softly, pressing against him as he moves his mouth to your jaw and the side of your neck. You tilt your head back, encouraging him as his hands grip your waist hard. You can feel him as he starts to harden in his dress pants, and you can’t help rubbing your hips into him. “Fuck, Aaron,” you murmur, running your hands all over his chest. His hands slip under your shirt, caressing the small of your back. “Bedroom. Please, Aaron. I need to feel you.” 

“What about dinner?” 

“It can wait,” you murmur, running your fingers into his hair and claiming his lips again.

Aaron helps you onto your feet, then stands and scoops you into his arms. He carries you into your bedroom and lays you across the mattress, covering you with his body. He kisses you over and over, his hands slipping under your shirt and caressing your breast over your sports bra. You hook your leg over his hip, arching up into him.

“Aaron…” you moan. “God, you feel so good.” 

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his already deep voice dropping into something even darker. “So stupid… wasted time. When I could have been –”

“Hey,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. Then a wicked smile curls your lips. “You’ll find a way to make it up to me,” you tease.

Aaron actually laughs, his whole face relaxing. “Challenge accepted,” he says, licking his lips. His hands are deft and efficient as he removes your pajamas, and together you work on his dress shirt and the belt of his dress pants. You can’t help giggling as you get tangled up in a flurry of limbs and discarded clothing, but finally you’re able to press skin to skin, his mouth fastened on your neck and collarbone.

“God, Aaron…” you arch against him, your breasts dragging through his chest hair. “I need you.”

Pulling back, Aaron smirks at you but also tenderly pushes hair off your face. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. He shifts his kisses to the base of your throat and then over the curve of one breast, sucking your nipple between his teeth and making you gasp. His mouth travels down your body, his tongue seeking out any place that seems enticing to him. When he reaches my ribs, he runs his thumb over the skin and you wince, realizing that you must already be bruised badly. Aaron presses a soft kiss to the spot before he moves on. 

Gently, he pushes your thighs open, and you groan as the cool air hits your hot skin. You arch as his tongue dips inside your folds, grazing your clit. He wraps his arms around your thighs, your knees bent over his shoulders as he licks and sucks on you. His chin and the stubble across his jaw rubs at the sensitive skin. His tongue teases at your entrance and then up to your clit. You reach back and wrap your fingers into the pillow as pleasure races along your spine. You’re breathless and panting, waves and waves of intense need and want running through you. 

“Oh, god… god, Aaron. I’m – I’m gonna…”

Aaron sucks hard on your clit in response, slipping two fingers deep inside you. You arch and cry out as my orgasm swamps you. He licks and caresses you through it, helping you come down. Your heart is racing and you’re blinking fast to try to get your vision back online as he crawls back over you, licking his fingers and wiping his mouth. You grab his face in both hands and draw him to you for a kiss. Your tastes are mixed in his mouth and all you can do is moan. You can feel how hard he is, his tip teasing at your skin. 

“I need you to fuck me,” you murmur, still holding his face and looking into his eyes. 

“Do you –”

“In the nightstand,” you say, gesturing at the drawer. 

Aaron lifts his eyebrow and smirks but says nothing as he shifts to reach over to the nightstand. He locates the condoms easily, and kneels up to show you as he rips the packet open. You can hear him sliding it on, his mouth dropping open as he wraps his hand around himself. “Fuck, what you’ve done to me,” he groans as he drags you closer and pushes inside you. 

You gasp as he fills me up, the tip of his cock rubbing in exactly the right places. One hand is braced on your headboard while the other tenderly caresses your skin as he starts to move. Ecstasy settles across his stern features and you pant and moan together. He makes the most delightful soft sounds as he works inside you, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Your pleasure is spiralling up again, the coil tightening in your spine, but you push it down. You want to come with him, you want to crash through the barrier at the same time. 

“Close… fuck, I’m so close,” he groans.

You run your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “Yes. Yes, god. Aaron. Let me feel you.” 

Aaron’s hips fall out of rhythm as he chases his pleasure. He groans, low and long, as he shudders through his orgasm. The feel of him twitching inside you sends you over the edge. You grind your hips against him as you come, your head thrown back in pleasure. 

“Fuck… are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Aaron asks, braced above you. He pushes hair off your face, his eyes laced with concern. 

“Right now, I am feeling zero pain,” you say, giggling as you look up at him. “I am riding the high of two spectacular orgasms. Jesus.” You caress his face and lean up so you can kiss him again. 

Aaron drags his fingers along your jaw as you kiss. He slips out of you and rolls onto his back before efficiently removing and disposing of the condom. When he returns to the bed, he gathers you into his arms, caressing the curve of your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“You’re so incredible,” you murmur, your hand caressing his pecs and abs. “You make me feel so amazing.” 

“You’re amazing,” Aaron counters. He runs his fingers through your hair and caresses the nape of your neck with his thumb. “I didn’t think sexy librarian was one of my types but then I met you.” 

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Isn’t sexy librarian everyone’s type?” you ask, teasing. You tilt your face up and grin when you get another kiss. “So. Does this make us officially a thing?” 

When you look up, Aaron is blushing delightfully as he smiles. “I wouldn’t begin to presume…”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “If you think I’m letting you go easily after all of this, you have another thing coming,” you say. “We’ll figure it all out. But I’m not giving up the chance to maybe have something great.”

Aaron nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Neither am I.” 

Your breathing settles and evens out and you can feel yourself starting to drift when both of your stomachs rumble loudly. You giggle. “Our food is probably downstairs in the lobby,” you say. 

“I’ll get it,” he says, sliding out from under you. “We’ll need the fuel for later.” 

“Later?” you ask, lifting your eyebrows and biting your lip. 

“I’m not nearly done making up for lost time with you, yet,” he says, grinning. 

[skyfallscotland]

We really need to talk about this obsession with toxic positivity in fandom.

There are corners of the internet (tumblr, reddit, in some respects AO3) that were made for discussion and exploration.

Part of being in fandom is, and has always been, discussing canon through a critical lens. This should be expected, not lambasted as if the creators themselves are going to read every post and be so viscerally offended they skip their dinner for the night.

If you’re required to only “be positive” about something, the community devolves into an echo chamber and that's boring. Going against the grain, believing something different, never used to make you a 'hater'. Where did we go so wrong that it’s perceived as such now?

Everyone has a valid viewpoint to add to any discussion, however my viewpoint is only welcomed if it’s in agreement with the majority of people—which it generally will never be given I am, in fact, a minority and therefore do not view the text through the same lens as most people. My lived experience means I don’t think like most of you, and I'm frustrated that I’m essentially told to sit in a corner and be quiet because of it. Why are you even posting under a discussion flair if any opinion different to yours is met with vitriol? You clearly don't want discussion.

Here’s the thing—you don’t love this book more than me just because you don't have any critiques. Your opinion is not more valid than mine (or anyone else's) because you lack the ability or the inclination to imagine, to explore, to question.

You (we, if I may) can love something and still believe it can be improved upon. Generally, if you love something, that is what you want—you want it to be the best it can be.

And even if you don't think the same way I do, here's the thing—ultimately, how the hell does it affect you if I don’t agree with an aspect of the text or your interpretation of it? My criticism of the way certain books are lauded for bare bones disability rep or their inclusivity when they have *checks notes* a character of ambiguous skin tone, should have no bearing on your enjoyment of the book. My opinion that a character has ambiguous morals should have no bearing on your enjoyment of the character.

You wanna know what I think it is? (You don't, but I'm going to tell you anyway)—people seek to find themselves in stories. We want to feel seen, that’s normal. But now, especially in these fandoms, people are getting the lines blurred. They’re getting their identities completely entangled with these books.

It’s ok to love something, but to become so entrenched in it that you can’t separate the book from your own sense of self? That's dangerous.

These unfortunate people need you to say only ultra-positive things about it because anything else is perceived as an attack on them and who they are—because they think they are the things they enjoy. Positive opinions on the text and its characters, in line with their own, are self-validation for them.

Enjoying something doesn’t mean it has to be a part of your identity. Things can be beloved and formative without affecting your self-esteem and sense of worth.

And I think, for me at least, it all trickles down to this: at the end of the day, if I disagree with something, I attempt to counter the opinion, that's how my brain rolls—people who disagree with 'being negative' (and I say that with the utmost derision, because usually it’s not negativity at all) don't have an argument that you're wrong, they just don't think you should talk about it. They go straight to attacks and vitriol, and telling you to get out.

You can still like something and admit it’s flawed.

There are a great many things I love about my fandoms, I just don't always mention them because it's been covered already 😉 Why bring up something ten other people already have day in, day out?

In closing, I'll leave you with this:

Even when fandom is being critical, it ultimately comes from a place of optimism and devotion, one that centers on the hope that a beloved property might stop fucking everything up and start being good again, x

Oh, and no, I won't "quit reading fantasy" just because I want to see a protagonist with my physical limitations. That's ableist as fuck. Have the day you deserve!

[directdogman]

(Sorry if I have bad English, I'm from Spain.)

I'm super hyperfixated on the original managers, so I have 2 questions.

1. In Dialtown, Tango/Terrence says no one called him Tango before. Assuming that in the DSaF universe he also liked that nickname, did any of the other original managers call him Tango or not?

2. A headcanon I've seen in the DSaF fandom is that Abel hated everyone BUT the real Scott Cawthon, and that Scott was the only one that tolerated Abel (some ppl even ship them). Is that close to canon? Or the og Scott Cawthon also hated Abel? I really want to know what they thought about each other.

Btw, I really love your games, I've played the DSaF trilogy many times, and the Dialtown demo (I haven't played the full version of Dialtown yet, but I've seen gameplays and I'll buy it for my birthday), thank you for making 4 incredible games <3

I don't answer many DSaF questions these days, but this one's interesting so here goes:

1)Tango's nickname is a DT invention as far as I remember. If he preferred the name in DSaF's universe, Harry would've used it for sure, given how much he liked Terrence and since he's literally using a name he doesn't believe is really 'his' because it makes him feel better. He of all people would understand.

2)Yeah, that's a pretty good way of stating it, but there's a little more nuance to it that explains a little bit more about Abel/Joe's rift.

Basically, the original Scott Cawthon was a unifying figure. He got on with every single one of the original managers and they all thought the world of him. The Phone Guy process was started in an attempt to recreate him by Abel (and the other managers at first) and you gotta consider why they'd all want to do that. He was the glue that held the group together, the only manager liked by everyone else there without exception, someone who could defuse tension and resolve conflicts amicably.

It's true that he had the most patience for Abel and never badmouthed Abel to the other managers and even defended him earnestly, knowing Abel the best of the other managers and knowing some of Abel's early life and where he came from, while the others were more willing to honestly discuss Abel's short fuse and occasionally mean nature (even Terrence to some extent!) This led Abel to develop more of a bond with him than the other managers and somewhat distrust the others.

While Abel was essentially Scott's number 2, as time went on, Joe became more and more integral to the running of their budding company, since he was a skilled accountant and managed to balance the books despite Scott's somewhat reckless spending at times (he was overgenerous to the point where it sometimes led to financial trouble for the company, a stark contrast to what Freddy's became later.) Since Joe was so blunt (and Abel's biggest critic), Abel was incredibly jealous and insecure that if the trend continued, Joe would supplant him.

This also explains why Abel was so willing to toss his other managers into the 'machine' when each of them suffered accidents. Ultimately, it wasn't just sheer cowardice, it was him trying to recreate the past - to recreate the one person who seemingly saw him as anything other than a vampire. Someone who actually wanted him around. Of course, no two snowflakes are ever exactly the same. Abel was a poor replacement as the owner of the company, Joe was barely able to keep things afloat amidst a messy and chaotic expansion and Harry wound up presiding over the company's demise.

There's a pretty widespread narrative theme in DSaF of damaged people trying to recreate something they've lost - Dave trying to turn Jack into the new Henry, Jake and his family, Harry and his former identity, the Kennedy family reuniting.

“Can’t repeat the past? Why, of course you can!”

But, the fact is, you can't recreate the past. The only way forward is to pick up the pieces and build something new.

[qin-qin16]

Why I think Horror shouldn't be part of the Bad Sanses

[cw: Long yapping, i’m a mediocre fan of Horror and Dust, dadmare and bad sans poly fans this one isn't for you]

@howlsofbloodhounds @what-have-i-unleashed

note: If you disagree with me, feel free to discuss the matter! Just don't be rude and respect my views on this!

I might get torn apart by my mutuals for this, but... I don't think Horror should be part of the "Bad Sanses" (or the bad guys, as some people have referred to them), especially if we're talking about Nightmare as the “leader” of the group (more like a cult leader but whatever).

I'll clear up any confusion about MTT choosing to work for Nightmare – no, they wouldn't choose that. None of them would make such a foolish, dumb decision. They're all too clever to willingly serve someone as arrogant and cruel as Nightmare.

To support my point, I’d like to say that, in my opinion, it makes sense for both Killer and Dust to be manipulated by Nightmare. Killer’s situation is pretty clear – not only does his canon show that he’s forced to work for Nightmare, but his whole history with Chara makes him the perfect victim for Nightmare to shape to his own will. That being said, I won’t go into too much detail about their troubled and extremely toxic "relationship" (I’m using the word "relationship" here because there’s no better term for this situation that I can think of for now).

And what about Dust? Okay, confession time: I’ve never seen any canon facts about him. Don’t throw stones at me – I know my charm is being a mediocre fan of these multiversal skeletons.

Unlike Killer, Dust probably didn’t even realize he was being manipulated by the devil. He already knew all the possibilities of a reset, all the choices the human could make — so why not take the one time in life chance to escape that world and boost his LOVE? A little more LOVE would definitely put an end to the endless resets. With enough LOVE, the human could finally be defeated! All he needed to do was increase his LV just a bit more and then return to his world before the human reset.

But before he knew it, he was already trapped in Nightmare’s filthy claws, unable to return to his world and stop the human from advancing through their endless genocidal routes. (Shoutout to my mutual @what-have-i-unleashed and their amazing post that I can’t seem to find, about the headcanon that Nightmare is a dream eater, and that it’s by eating Dust’s dreams that they end up meeting. [I’m not sure if that’s exactly what it was, but I trust my memory.]).

However, all he did was make it easier for Nightmare's sweet words to slip into his mind, twisting his thoughts into believing that Nightmare was a friend. My headcanon is that, after recruiting Killer, Nightmare chose to take a more ““““peaceful”””” approach to "recruit" his next servants.

Now, the point that made me want to write this post: why the hell would Nightmare choose Horror? Killer and Dust's worlds are basically universes on the verge of collapse, with no real reason to keep going. But Horror? His universe isn’t even close to ending; a new chapter just began with the fall of a new human (something extremely rare when compared to other timelines). It wouldn’t make sense for Nightmare to want to recruit someone who’s so deeply rooted in a place — and someone who would never abandon his brother to follow a cheap, terrifying version of himself.

Let’s be honest, out of the three, Horror would probably be the first to turn down any deal Nightmare might offer — both of them are way too manipulative to trust each other. And unlike Killer and Dust, Horror would definitely be unpredictable for Nightmare (he literally tortures Aliza just for fun! What wouldn’t he do to pass the time and be less bored?). Plus, he has no real use for Nightmare (ouch, sorry Horror fans).

His LOVE, no matter how high it is compared to the average Sans, still doesn’t come close to the extremely high LOVE that Killer and Dust possess. And while he might be bigger than other Sanses, he definitely has the most fragile, cracked, and scarred bones — wounds that even the strongest healing magic can’t repair. For Nightmare, Horror is probably just a bucket of negative emotions — his AU is merely a smorgasbord for Nightmare, nothing more.

[soralymystaken]

I think a lot about Lloyd and Harumi, solely because they have one of the most unique yet complex relationship dynamics in all of Ninjago, and it’s something I don’t feel like we talk about enough.

So often I see online that their dynamic is overly simplified. I so often see people arguing between them being “true-love” or “friends to lovers to enemies,” but stating it’s just one of those is overlooking all of the complexities. Even stating it as a one-sided thing from Lloyd isn’t looking at the whole picture. Of course, there can be many interpretations of how they interact. Again, that’s the reason I adore this dynamic so much. This, however, is my personal interpretation:

Also, warning, spoilers plus some swearing.

At the beginning, we see Lloyd have the whole “love-at-first-sight” trope, and we learn that Harumi invited him into the castle. While, of course this immediately is seemed as a positive interaction, later events reveal otherwise. It continues like this: Lloyd falls deeper in love with Harumi whilst she continues manipulating him to keep him on strings. She eventually realizes his feelings, and wants plays on that, making the process work exponentially better. Finally, we learn Harumi’s motives and her reasoning, and, in the episode, Lloyd is devastated. However, I have some additions on this, but I’m gonna finish up my review of canon before getting to that. We do also know that Lloyd still has feelings, though. We primarily see thing from Lloyd still trying to save her from Garmadon’s grasp along with his sadness from her death.

The next time we see her and Lloyd’s dynamic (at least as far as I want to mention,) is Crystalized. When Lloyd is captured, he apologizes. He still clearly has feelings for Harumi, and, in a turn of events, it seems that Harumi does as well, as she convinces the Overlord to spare him and to try to get him on their side.

Okay, enough about prior knowledge, lets discuss headcanons. So, firstly, I’m 100% sure that Lloyd was tormented by Harumi’s origin story. We know how high of a standard he holds himself to, and we also know how morally-driven he is. Him learning about the real stories of the real people who he had really hurt couldn’t have been taken easily. I’ve actually written a whole fic that revolves on that fact, and how Lloyd’s lingering feelings would have amplified that feeling to oblivion. Also, for people who assume he would immediately drop his feelings when he learned Harumi’s true motives, literally just look at how he talks about Garmadon and you’ll see he can’t exactly move on that easily. Things like this take time, and, again, he has guilt because of this whole thing. Moving on from a relationship when you believe you were the reason the person tried to destroy the entire world and subsequently died isn’t the same as a high school breakup. That’s fucking devastating, and especially for someone who hasn’t had the best relationships up to that point.

However, this dynamic really starts to become cloudy when you look at Harumi. Now, look: I’m like 90% sure she only had feelings for Lloyd in S15 as fan-service, but, fan-service or not, it’s canon, and therefore I’m still gonna cover it.

So, first off, when and how did Harumi develop feelings? Personally, I think there could be three main reasons. For one, gaslighting. The whole time, she was gaslighting Lloyd into loving her. Sometimes, when you keep up a lie like that for so long and with that level of commitment, you can convince even yourself of these feelings. Do I think this is the case for Harumi? Well, it depends. If you truly do believe there is a spark between them, then no. However, if you really don’t like the fact that they were given a romantic storyline in S15, then this is a totally valid reasoning.

The second reason that comes to mind is Lloyd’s persistence. Now, just to cover all our basis, reminder that “being persistent” and “never giving up on a love that could be” are not cutesy tropes and relationship goals, and no means no. I see too much stuff online saying shit like “I never gave up on her and, even though she said no 20 times, she gave in in the end.” This is not something to romanticize. If someone rejects you, fucking respect that and move tf on. That being said, though, I think that could actually be the case in this dynamic, albeit in a much less creepy way than some fuckers online do it. Lloyd clearly, even after all of the shit Harumi pulled, still has lingering feelings: a mix of platonic and romantic. I truly believe Lloyd is someone who believes that anyone can change for the better, and applies this to Harumi. The fact that, even after all the pain Harumi caused, he still searched for her in the rubble could be the reason she developed feelings. In my opinion, this is the most likely option.

The final one is a bit colder, and is for y’all who believe Harumi is evil through-and-through. Lloyd is fucking overpowered. Harumi’s reasoning to the Overlord could be just that: the reason. I personally don’t love this one as much, but if this is something you resonate with, I would totally understand why.

All of these factors strung together make Lloyd and Harumi one of my favorite dynamics. There is so much more that I didn’t even discuss here. Is it romantic or platonic or just romantic for one of them? Did Harumi develop feelings even sooner yet denied them solely because of her hatred? Is Lloyd’s relationship with Harumi less to do with Harumi herself and more-so to do with trying to rebuild a relationship with his father through her to prove he can hold onto someone he loves? All of these are questions I’d love to dive into but simply do not have time.

Hopefully you enjoyed my little rant. I love overthinking stuff like this and also love chatting about over-the-top headcanons. If you have any thoughts on this (or other headcanons you want to share), please do!

[sapphicscholar]

CW discussion of racism, kink, transphobia, and sexual violence in fan works

Look, I wish this wasn’t something I had to say in 2024 in a space (fandom) that touts itself as queer and feminist and progressive but:

1) Kink is not a cover for forsaking sexual ethics. Just because a character is into something doesn’t mean that consent falls away as a concern or that their desires and pleasures outweigh their partner(s)’ needs and wants. Fic can be a space to explore desires that you’ve never actually lived—yes!—but that means it’s also a space for listening and learning from those who may chime in to say “this kind of behavior isn’t okay.” It’s okay not to know in advance, but redress needs to involve proper tagging and/or changing tracks with the way you write these kinds of dynamics

2) If you show a character saying “no,” “stop,” and “I don’t want this” on the page, particularly without any discussions (shown or implied) beforehand that would turn this sexual encounter into a carefully negotiated sexual scene with its own safe words or escape plan, the sex that follows is not consensual. That is rape. Even if you believe your characters love and desire each other, one person’s willfully ignoring another’s demand that they stop is rape. Full stop. And choosing to passive aggressively respond to a comment requesting proper tagging by noting that the chapter contains “very trace elements of dub-con” is actually far more disconcerting and harmful than not tagging it at all. I am decidedly not saying these works can’t exist, but proper tagging and acknowledgment of what is on the page (even when it’s your OTP) is necessary.

3) While reiterating that I am not opposed to the existence of works that don’t mesh with my personal politics or sexual interests, I want fans to sit with the question of why it is almost always women of color (and often woc who are conventionally feminine in canon) who are made in fic to occupy particularly violent and misogynistic butch/masc identities, transmasculinity, and/or gender fuck/play and who are written as enacting forms of sexual violence or other forms of harm on their white cis femme partners. Ask yourself why these characters are so often cast in these roles even when they are so far from anything like it in canon. (And tbc these are critical self reflections that should include but also extend well beyond baseline facts like the fact that trans and gender nonconforming people, esp trans and gnc folks of color, are far more likely to be the victims than the perpetrators of intimate partner violence.)

A wide variety of stories can and should exist in and outside of fan spaces. I’m not saying they shouldn’t! But nothing exists outside of its social contexts, and failing to be attentive to these larger questions is actively harmful to so many people for whom spaces of imaginative creativity should be a liberating and welcoming venue.