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your-unfriendlyghost · 5 days ago

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sodapop patrick curtis thoughts on my desk by the end of the week or ur DONE /j

How I feel about this character

Uh like he’s perfect and should be my wife i think

Nah but fr Soda’s one of my favorite characters ever. He’s sweet and all, but he’s so much more than that. Pony says he’s movie-star handsome, that he can go from gentle one minute to “blazing with anger” the next, that he gets drunk just on living, and understands everybody. Soda’s a Kerouac-style “mad one”- “mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes Awww!”

He’s a guy who’s sensitive but strong, a “bawl baby” who’s tough, he’s probably got ADHD and dyslexia, the school system failed him. His folks died and left him holding his brothers together by a thread. He’s pretty but not pretty enough for Sandy to stay. He might end up dying in Vietnam, and thank God that isn’t canon, but it’s still there. He’s happy to live life simply, behind a white picket fence with a wife and kids- hell, he’s thrilled to. But that’s not gonna happen, at least not for a while, because Soda is a tragedy. But he loves his brothers and his friends so much that he becomes a beacon of hope despite it all.

I love Soda. Honestly, this barely scratches the surface of how I feel about him. I haven’t even touched on the adrenaline junkie stuff or the ways he’s sometimes so relatable to me that it hurts.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Steve, and sometimes Evie.

I’ve found I’m a friends-to-lovers enjoyer, so Stevepop scratches that part of my brain lol. To have someone who’s got your back through thick and thin, aware of your flaws but in spite of them- well, ain’t that the dream? The angst of it being the 60s makes it interesting to me too, because there’s a lot of ways to handle that. Man, when I first read the book I didn’t get the hype for them at all, but idk. It clicked. I get it now.

And then Steviepop is my roman empire lol. It’s all I love about Stevepop, but Evie adds even more complexity. I like her a lot and I love writing her, and I love writing her with characters who I also love. There is absolutely no canon anything to back this ship up. But dammit that’s the point of fandom.

I will say though that I like exploring Soda’s dynamic with Sandy, but I don’t really ship them. I think the fact that Sandy left him (and I mean cheated on him, even if that can be read ambiguously) implies that there’s something about him that could be undesirable, romantically. I don’t mean cheating is good or that people deserve it, just that in this case, the idea that Soda’s an imperfect boyfriend adds layers to a character who is mostly just positives. We’ll never know Sandy’s POV on it, and I don’t think Soda will either. Sandypop to me will never have closure. That’s what makes it hurt so much. That’s what makes it relatable

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I mean honestly? Steve. I know this isn’t really fair, since I like Stevepop and all, but idk, there’s no one else who I think it could be.

Steve’s a character who’s cocky and troubled and prone to assholeish-ness, but even he loves Soda. He knows about Sandy and gets angry on Soda’s behalf at Pony for mentioning her, which means Soda can tell him- angry, tough Steve Randle- about sensitive stuff. And Soda, who I think is a little in love with everyone he meets and could have anyone he wants, sees this bastard and sticks with him. He sees the parts of Steve that Pony can’t. Parts that make him worthy of being his best buddy.

It’s been said before, but no matter how you look at it, romantic or platonic, they’re each other’s person. I don’t think I could put anyone else in this slot.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I have a few lol.

1- I see a lotta fics and takes where the whole “drunk on living” thing is a lie Soda feeds Ponyboy, and while I like that take, I do also think it’s totally possible and even plausible that Soda really doesn’t drink and Pony’s view of him (in that aspect) is right.

I dunno, I mean, I know firsthand what it’s like to just get drunk on adrenaline/excitement. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, and the rush from it is better than any other high I’ve had. Thrill rides make me act as stupid as someone drinking- when I’m excited, I lose all ability to filter thoughts or fight impulses. I’ve done all sorts of dumb moves- climbing onto tables, singing loudly without knowing or caring if it bothers people, play-fighting my buddies so hard we both get genuinely injured, standing up in a convertible going down the freeway... (This is obviously anecdotal and not real evidence or anything, but like, duh. This is an opinion piece lol.)

I guess what I’m saying is that there’s a lot of interesting things that can still be done with a Soda who genuinely doesn’t drink. (Or at least not much.)

2- I love darker takes on Soda. I love when people dig into his addictive personality, his temper, his relationship with his looks/self image, all that stuff. I love his flaws, and I especially love when they co-exist with his earnest sweetness and genuine sensitivity. In a few of my fics, I’ve explored some slightly darker Sodas- Sodas who are impulsive, pent up, semi-narcissistic and occasionally manipulative. I haven’t delved deep into it or anything, and I usually keep his character wholesome, but I love it when other folks don’t.

3- I actually really like the Vietnam War storyline. I mean it hurts, but it seems plausible. I hate the idea of him dying there, but I like exploring the idea of him being drafted. Hell, maybe he even enlisted. The military is known for being a good way to earn enough money to pull one’s family out of poverty, and this paired with the flawed ideas of masculinity and strength of the time lead to a really interesting version of Soda’s future.

I’m real glad it isn’t canon though.

4- This isn’t technically unpopular but brown eyed Soda will always be canon to me. I like Rob Lowe’s Soda a lot but man….he coulda used brown contacts, yk? /hj lol

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

Well I still think it’s a crime his emotional monologue got cut outta the original version of the film. Thank God for the full novel version, but man, still.

Woulda also have been cool to see him mentioned in That Was Then This is Now, but I get that SE Hinton wasn’t trying to make an Outsiders sequel really.

Idk, Soda served his purpose, I think.

tl;dr- I love him

#sodapop curtis #the outsiders sodapop #soda curtis #the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #stevepop #rambling #ask game #ask #sodapop curtis my beloved #i actually initially wanted to dislike Soda when I first read the book cos his description annoyed me #(i was newly 15 and was jealous of all boys prettier than me which is /ridiculous/ to admit but whatever)#…but i couldn’t dislike him even when I tried. he’s just so…/good/. idk soda’s such a great character #maybe not the most plot-important but he makes the book so much better just by existing. it wouldn’t be as good without him.#ALSO sorry this took a minute to reply to anon! I love Soda and I had to do him justice yk?#long post

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writing-for-life · 11 months ago

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Keeping Them In Character...

It’s so interesting what you wrote about fixing Morpheus in the other post, @rriavian. I didn't want to take that one too off topic, hence I made a new one. I hope this is okay, because I love talking about these things, especially with other writers (everyone who reads this, writer or not, feel free to join in). I think I’ve said this somewhere else before (can’t remember where): If we keep him in character, there is no fixing him anyway.

But fanfic wouldn’t be fanfic without those attempts, and I totally get why. I want a different ending for him, too, alas, not in canon, even if that might sound contradictory. If they touched the ending in the show, I’d honestly be pissed off, but that’s my personal problem, and Neil can do with it whatever he wants—it’s his story. So I guess every fic that sees him alive at the end starts with the premise that we have to bend him into shape ever so slightly to make it possible. To me though, there’s a world of a difference between that and basically turning him into an OC with no resemblance to Morpheus bar name and looks (not saying that isn’t fair, it’s just not for me because if I wanted that, I’d write an OC, because that’s what he would be to me).

Morpheus is not weak. I even get why some people who mainly came to the Sandman via the show might be drawn into that direction initially, because we obviously see him very low at the beginning (I’m hesitant to say “at his lowest”). But after that, he pretty much stands in his power again (with ups and down obvs)—a power that burdens him for a multitude of reasons I don’t want to go into now, otherwise I’ll still sit here tomorrow. Wrote about it a million times though.

I think the fundamental misunderstanding is that anyone can fix him. So whoever we pair up with him can only walk with him, but he’ll need to take the steps himself, and more importantly: He would need a reason to want to do that. And yes, that’s exactly what my OC tells him at some point because she suffers, and she’s done with it despite understanding him on a deep level and accepting who and what he is—I think you're right when you say there’s a tendency in fandom to turn one half of the relationship into some kind of martyr and/or “void filler” to save someone. And the tricky thing about Morpheus is: He actually is looking for something to fill a void (which, to stress that again, doesn't mean he isn't powerful, so it's not to be mistaken for general weakness). And both in The Sandman and in real life, that never leads to anything good, but I can see why it's tempting to fall into that trap because his character lends itself particularly well to that type of trope (and I even play around with that in the first part of my fic, but it was also clear to me that it won't end there).

Now, this obviously isn’t real life, a story doesn’t necessarily have to lead to something good, but the most important question, to me, was always: What would make him take said steps himself, and above all: WANT to take them? Because truly, that’s where it all falls down in canon. And there is enough scope to explore that in quite a few different ways in my view.

For me, it was always clear that it can never be through wanting to change who or what he is on a fundamental level (that’s why I’m not into retired!Dream AUs, because they would fundamentally change who he is. Again, totally fine if people want to explore that, it's just not for me). I honestly believe he would bristle at that and recoil/retreat. Because it would just add to what is at the core of his very dilemma: If you want to change who and what he is, you basically admit you don’t truly understand him (not even those closest to him truly do), and that’s part of what breaks him (I say “part”, because there are more things in the mix than one can shake a stick at). And there is a clear difference between his being capable of change (we all know he is) and wanting to change him. They are not one and the same, but sometimes, fandom treats them as if they were.

Misunderstanding him, misinterpreting him is inherent to his being: He is Dream—forever out of reach, forever nebulous and unreal and weird and prone to be misunderstood/misinterpreted unless you stop trying and just trust the process/intuition--otherwise, it wouldn’t be (a) D/dream. It truly applies to all that he is. And you see what happens when he tries to rationalise things himself: Although he understands the boundaries between dreams and reality and keeps them in place, he is UNreality, and forever will be. And the way that gets ignored in fandom sometimes baffles me. Although it also doesn’t, because of course we’re human, and we want things to be real.

Back to those steps: I personally think he would never take them for himself because he doesn’t believe he has a story, and outright centring himself as the main character who is in charge of his own story is something he will always deny himself. But I think that’s also the way in? Because if he could perceive, at least initially, that he is part of someone else’s story and that they WANT him in that story (all that he is and isn’t, including all that is broken) with full acceptance but without complete self-denial. That they don’t try to change him, because they understand what the unreal is (and that requires a very particular type of person). That he would want to try because the love he has for them weighs heavier than how little he loves himself (was it you, @stellerssong who recently also wrote something along those lines, or am I making that up?). And that by doing that, he gradually learns to see himself through someone else's eyes. And once on that path, he would maybe, just maybe, start to understand that indeed he has a story of his own, and that he might be able if not to entirely rewrite, but at least to keep on writing it from this moment onward. Like everyone who believes (because believing something is possible means trusting in it despite it not being real, and trusting in the process rather than the result. He knows the power this wields over everyone but himself--not because it’s not true for him but because he won’t allow it. But maybe he could get himself to a stage where he allows it). That it's not about fixing anything really, but growing enough around what's broken and always will be, instead of trying to make it smaller or go away.

Yes, I do believe that might be possible, although there's much more to it than I've written here because it's incredibly complex, and it requires a lot of give and take, compromise and yes, pain along the way. And maybe it might not work at all (I never really 100% know where I end up when I write because my characters always, always make those decisions for me, and despite setting out with a plan, I almost never end up where I had initially intended to go. So if you asked me today, I couldn’t promise that I truly know where my current WiP is going and who will be where at its end, and it is very frustrating at times because I’m not always happy with what these guys are doing. At the moment, I'm truly not). But I believe he would at least try if someone who allowed for those dynamics were around. And that’s why I wrote an OC, because while I can see one or two canon characters that get fairly close to what I'd envision (and none of them are one half of the bigger ships), I ultimately couldn’t do it with them because there was something in their established dynamics that threw it off for me. Unless I would have pulled at least one of them (probably both) OOC to a degree that felt too much for me. But I'm always super interested in other people's process and line of thinking.

But yeah, that’s the precarious dance between trying to keep him in character while also working towards a different ending (that's obviously far less of a problem in one-shots). If that will ever work—who knows…

#sandman fanfic #the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #fanfic writing process #also somewhat of a >>>#sandman meta #trying to keep them in character #and it's hard

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my-castles-crumbling · 10 months ago

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My opinion of you? Hmmmm. Well honestly, my opinion of you… really fucking good.

I dunno how comfortable you are with compliments so i’m putting a little warning here; compliments incoming :)

Firstly, you are an awesome writer. Like genuinely. Plus it’s so impressive that you write/post those microfics everyday, it’s serious (sirius haha) dedication, and most ppl wouldn’t have it in them to keep a routine like that.

Two, you have legit saved people. People here felt safe enough to ask you for help, and from all i’ve seen, you’re damn good at giving advice.

Plus I saw that one anon you answered where you told the person not to admit they cheated if it’d get them in more trouble than they deserve, and I salut you for that. (I remember you also told them that cheating is wrong and mostly don’t do it- don’t worry I got the right message).

Anyway, my point is, there aren’t many places people feel safe enough to talk about their problems or insecurities or even dangers. Especially on the internet. So you’ve made a really good community here. You should be proud.

But we’re doing full honesty right? So honestly, I think that it seems like sometimes you don’t have enough faith in yourself.

I mean your fics are amazing, but also, they’re fucking free and a gift to the fandom. So you shouldn’t feel the need to meet anyone’s demands or be good enough for anyone but yourself.

And here, you have helped so many people, I understand insecurity is a part of living, but maybe you don’t get how helpful your blog is. Whenever I come on here, you’ve posted a microfic or made a marauders joke or truly helped someone (with annoyingly good advice btw, i’m an adult and yet NO WHERE NEAR as mature, so good on u), and it’s soothing. You’re soothing.

Give yourself credit, is what i’m saying.

You’re allowed to feel proud that you help people, proud that people love your writing, and ignore anyone who’s an asshole cause they’re dumb anyway.

And don’t forget that you don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t owe anyone a fic, or a tumblr post or an anon answer or even (within reason) kindness. You’re being generous with your time and your kindness by helping people. And while obviously that’s a good thing, you shouldn’t feel pressured to do so.

Wait let me rephrase that- anyone who pressures you to do so is a bad person and should be strongly ignored.

You don’t have to apologise for not wanting to post or be on social media. And anyone who cares should value that you’re taking time for yourself.

Plus, and sorry if it’s weird to bring up your like, real life, but I think you’re probably a really great teacher. I didn’t have many people who believed in me growing up and you seem like someone who believes in people. And that’s what matters most.

(Plus all teachers are criminally underpaid so like- good for you sticking with a half shitty job- though then again all jobs are half shitty)

Also, and in this day and age this is a truly high compliment, you don’t seem like you’ve ever sent hate.

You just have that vibe. You know… nice :)

So yes, that is my opinion of you.

Also, random question, how much gory stuff in films can you take? Usually i’m pretty alright, but I watched a pretty gross film earlier and it reminded I can’t watch everything gory.

So yeah… that’s all ❤️

Hi, um...I am SO sorry, my my allergies are terrible and I seem to be sweating from my eyes....nothing to see here...😭😭😭😭

Thank you. Genuinely. I have honestly been struggling a fair amount lately, so notes like this make a much bigger difference than you would think <3

As far as films, I'm alright with gore. I actually LOVE horror films, but I prefer psychological horror and horror based on East Asian legends.

Thank you again <3 <3 <3

#ask #asks #ask cas

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kittttycakes · 1 year ago

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Ahh I’m so glad you’re enjoying GND. It is the best and I love it so much.

Also I reread ‘kiss the ring, bend the knee, bow down’ and damn, I needed a cold shower after that.

The line where Morpheus says “I would not ask for what you would not willingly give: only your love. Your devotion. Your obedience. And in return, I would give you everything: a place in my kingdom, by my side, in my bed, in my heart.” Is just nnnnghggh.

It does also remind me of Jareth in the Labyrinth saying to Sarah “I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.”

And now I want to rewatch it haha.

I really hope Grace does get that friend! I can’t think of anyone in universe off the top of my head though. Do you think you’d consider some kind of sneaky crossover with an adjacent fandom?

I’ll be absolutely stoked if you’re able to write something where Constantine runs into/meets Grace and Hob. I love the thought of Constantine being surprised and maybe slightly TMI upon realising that maybe tall, dark and broody doesn’t have as much of a stick up his ass as you’d think.

Having been rereading a bunch of your writing, I noticed a few were written for Promptober 2022. Do you think you’ll do something similar this year?

That line was definitely inspired at least in passing by that very line from Labyrinth! That was a formative movie for me, and there’s just something about the power dynamic between full control and total submission and both at the same time that’s rife with possibility. Morpheus gets to use all of his pretty words to his advantage, as a treat! He can be all things, and Grace wants it all. I’m so happy you enjoyed that one, that might actually be my favorite of the smut one shots (so far).

I would never say never to the possibility, especially for a possible future one shot! Even just something subtle with a name…I would love for Grace to have someone who she can be fully honest with and relax around, instead of constantly having to keep in the back of her mind what she can and can’t talk about. She’s good at keeping things vague enough for plausible deniability, she pulls out a lot of “my partner” and just using pronouns instead of names, but if her friends ever think about it too hard, the stories she tell don’t quite line up sometimes, and it’s almost like there’s two different personalities at play.

I love Constantine so much (both Johanna and the short lived 2014 NBC series), so any excuse I can have to bring her back in, I will absolutely be taking. I’d really love for her and Hob to meet, that has to be a bit of a trip for him! Grace would be very interested in her and what she does, if she can weasel anything out of her about her job. Constantine definitely does her best not to think of Morpheus’s personal life, but it’s a big surprise that his type appears to be very far from the sort of Morticia Addams type she would have guessed at, if pressed.

I am planning to do another round of Promptober this year! Like last year, it will likely extend into November, but hey, it’s for fun! I did 15 prompts that I gathered from a few different sources and my own head last year, I think this year I’m going to be borrowing a little from kinktober, whumptober, and a fall/Halloween themed list that I have saved as a draft that I’ll credit and link to when my masterlist goes up. I also have a few saved asks with prompts that I’m going to be working through soon too, so lots of plans there!

#anon <3 #oc: grace talbot #my most crack fic ideal friendship for her is rose tyler #I just feel like they could be friends you know?

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ciaossu-imagines · 2 years ago

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The last one for this particular prompt, I decided to write for a Lance/Reader/Kitty polyship! I actually don’t have any other polyships for X-Men: Evolution, a real change for me so I hope any fans of the show will enjoy the headcanons (and feel free to suggest alternate polyship ideas for this fandom!)

Who is the one who would go up to a random elder in a coffeeshop and ask them about their life?

It would have to be you, if anybody. Lance doesn’t really approach strangers like that, especially not just random old people and Kitty is usually too busy with friends and her own social life…and kind of isn’t into chatting with old people, if I’m to be completely honest.

Who hates checking out books because checking them out means interacting, and that is always awkward?

Lance doesn’t really check out books. One, reading isn’t his thing. Two, he forgets completely about returning them and definitely has overdue book fees from the one time he did think to check out a book. Three, he really fucking hates small talk. It’s a huge pet peeve of his. Kitty, on the hand, checks out books for studying and to use in her schoolwork and has no problem with interacting to do so.

Who is the one to use toilet paper as tissues and carries it around all day?

This is so something Lance does, though he’s also kind of gross at times and might just use his sleeve or shirt collar if nothing else was available.

Who is the one who carries around $100 just in case there is some apocalypse and they need to buy gear?

Lance can’t seem to keep money. It’s not that he’s horrible about spending it, just that it tends to go missing on him, living in the Brotherhood house. And let’s be honest…if an apocalypse did happen, he’s just taking the gear he needs without worrying about paying for it. Kitty, meanwhile, does have a spending issue and if she saves up that amount, it’s quickly gone on things like clothes or CD’s or a million other things she wants, leaving this one to be you, my lovely reader, or nobody.

Who is the one who points with their chin?

Lance does this constantly. It’s half-laziness and half that he thinks it makes him look kind of cool and tough.

Who is the one who takes pictures of their food and instagrams it?

Lance does not have an Instagram or has one that has absolutely nothing on it. Kitty’s a little guilty of doing this but it’s not an everyday or every meal thing for her, just when the food she’s eating is like, super aesthetic and gorgeous or when she bakes something and really wants to show it off to her followers.

Who is the one who reads fanfiction daily?

I feel like Kitty would be a little into fanfiction, especially shipping fanfics that are fluffy and cute or reader inserts along the same lines. She’s really into romance fics and the tropes used in them but she doesn’t read fanfiction every day by any means, or even every week, leading it to be more likely a you thing.

Who is the one to write fanfiction?

It’s you or nobody. Lance doesn’t get fanfiction and Kitty wouldn’t be that into writing fanfiction, preferring to read it when she’s in the mood for it or to stick with her daydreams about the characters.

Who is the one who cosplays?

Now this one…this is right up Kitty’s alley. She loves getting the opportunity to dress up, especially in wild costumes. She prefers cute over sexy or edgy cosplay and loves having photoshoots done when she does cosplay. However, she’s not at all into making her own cosplays and would prefer to be able to buy most of the components of any particular cosplay she does.

Who is the one who likes to quote movies, books, and songs in conversation?

Lance quotes old 80’s movies and classic rock. I don’t know why but that is a completely unshakable headcanon I have in regard to his character.

Who is the one to burst out into song randomly?

Kitty sings quite frequently, albeit not amazingly. But she’s so happy doing it that it makes people around her smile. Lance doesn’t sing randomly but I definitely feel he sings along to music in his car, tapping on the steering wheel with his hand to the beat of the music and probably bobbing his head along to the beat as well.

Who is the one who secretly uses their neighbours WiFi?

The entire Brotherhood house is using their neighbours Wi-Fi whenever Mystique shuts off Wi-Fi to the house because these boys are all broke-ass bitches and refuse to pay for Wi-Fi even when they have the money.

Who is the one who safety pins friendship bracelet strings to their clothing so they could have something to do if bored?

Kitty doesn’t pin them to her clothing but to her backpack. Either that, or she carries them in a little baggie inside her pocket or purse. She likes making friendship bracelets; she learned how to from a friend in elementary school and learned some really cool designs during art classes at a summer camp she went to and it’s an easy thing to keep her entertained whenever she gets bored. She doesn’t really make them often for anyone in particular but gives them away to whoever likes them or asks for one.

Who is the one who played/plays an obscure instrument just to be different?

I have always strongly headcanoned that Kitty can play the cello. She’s embarrassed about it and thinks it’s really uncool so it would take a lot for her to admit it. She only learned because her parents made her take lessons.

Who is the one who puts bajillions of stickers on their door/wall?

I feel like Lance has a shit ton of posters, from band posters to classic cars to pin ups, and they’re all held up with stickers from brands he likes, bands he’s a fan of, or just really cool, kind of badass designs like snakes or skulls or things along that ilk. They’re all over his walls.

Who is the one who likes to rewatch the same movies?

Kitty likes to keep up on new movies, really only rewatching things if a sequel or prequel is coming out. Lance rewatches a lot more, probably the most out of the three of you, just because there’s very few movies that come out that he’s really into, since his tastes in media are kind of really particular.

Who is the one who uses bootlegs to watch their favourite movies/TV shows?

Lance does this a good 99% of the time. He really doesn’t have a lot of money so it’s often the only way he can manage to watch a lot of the television or movies he enjoys. He also gets DVDs from thrift stores or pawn shops for fifty cents to a dollar to build his collection up because that’s what he can afford.

Who is the one that writes on their arm to remind themselves to do something?

While Kitty is a lot more intelligent than she seems, she’s more than a little absent-minded and can forget things pretty easy so she does this fairly regularly, though she usually remembers in a slower moment, when she has time, to write the information down on a Post-It, which she sticks to the mirror on her dresser where she’ll be sure to see it.

Who is the one who owns dozens of pencils but is too lazy to sharpen them?

Lance mooches pencils and pens off of people and rarely returns them. Kitty has an extensive stationery collection but only because she really loves pretty, often glittery, pens and cute patterned pencils. She is so into anything like that. So this would have to be you who doesn’t like to sharpen pencils or nobody at all!

Who is the one who uses YouTube for their music because they don’t want to buy/download anything?

He just really can’t afford to buy new music often, so YouTube is a godsend for Lance. It’s how he listens to music when he’s not in his Jeep.

Who is the one who always wears the same shoes?

I feel like Lance does this. He didn’t grow up rich enough to own multiple pairs of shoes and he often had to patch the shoes he had with duct tape to make them last longer. So, even as he grows up, and even when he can afford more than a single pair of shoes, it’s just force of habit for him to have one pair of shoes that he wears everyone and only throws out when there’s either no soles left to them or the holes in them are too big to ignore anymore.

Who is the one to do asks like this?

It’s definitely Kitty and she really, really wants you to do them with her. She genuinely loves doing couples asks and things along those lines because you always learn something new about your partner that way and she’s just intensely curious about both you and Lance.

#x men evolution #headcanons #polyship

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humandisorderincarnatedean · 2 years ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/virginwhoredichotomy/636411847174750208/me-and-if-you-think-about-it-deans-controlling

this is an okay post or whatever, I don’t have any problems with what it’s trying to say, but I do think it unintentionally perpetuates some untruths that often go unopposed in this fandom. in this case, what draws my attention is “when sam attempts to break free like he did in season 9, dean resorts to drastic measures to keep him by his side”. I believe this must be referring to when sam was getting ready to accept death in the first episode of that season, before dean allowed gadreel to possess sam in order to prevent sam dying. and if that is true, I think framing it as simply ‘sam wanting to break free’ misses the context that sam wasn’t trying to make the healthy choice and step away from their dynamic, or leave to go live a life on his own outside of their disfunction and codependency, he was gonna die because of what the trials had done to his body. that’s the reason dean goes along with gadreel’s plan, not in refusal to let sam leave his side in any way, but to save him (not that this makes it okay, but that is what happened.) or perhaps this is referring to later in the season, when sam has found out about what dean did to keep him alive and is distancing himself from their relationship as brothers. in that case, there’s nothing on which to base the claim that dean resorted to drastic measures to keep sam with him, because sam accepted dean back into his life entirely on his own terms in sharp teeth. no one forced him, least of all dean. that’s exactly what happened in s8 too, sam chose to stick with dean and dean never made machinations to keep sam with him.

in this way this post, which truly has little to do with the subject I'm talking about here, is an interesting case in how wording a situation that happened in canon in such a way that it’s just a little bit undeniably off, can contribute to fandom’s misconceptions and misperceptions about dean, sam, and their relationship. dean’s issue isn’t with sam leaving. he doesn’t like it, but he can deal with it. what he can’t handle as well is sam dying. that’s the part he has an issue with and where he starts making bad decisions. so framing the gadreel incident as dean allowing that to happen to keep sam from “breaking free” instead of keeping him from /dying/ shifts the circumstances and motivations just enough that the interpretation of dean acting as a controlling presence in order to keep his brother with him at any costs, which often tends to float around in this fandom, seems like it suddenly has much more of a basis to build upon: despite the foundation of that, as expressed in this post, being ever so slightly twisted. and if that’s done again and again eventually it will come to a point where interpretations of characters are based only on these fan misconceptions, which is a danger you have to be wary of.

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whimsiloves · 2 years ago

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🗑️💗🐣 for the s/i asks! —canon-can-fight-me

Thank you so much for the asks, Rina!! 💖

🗑️ - give a scrapped idea for your s/i, be it an old verse or an iteration of the one you have nOW.

I’ll be focusing on my RE s/i since she's in the latest fandom I've been a part of.

One thing I scrapped from Celine was her association with the BSAA, switching her stance to Chris's subdivision, the Hound Wolf Squad (they have a cooler name and cooler uniforms anyway lol.) This gives her more of an opportunity to work intimately with the incident of the village instead of playing janitor. She gets more insight as one of the researchers of the team, and discovers vital information surrounding the inhabitants and many of Miranda's victims, including the lords, thus leading to her introduction to Heisenberg.

💗 - what arcs does your s/i go through? what do they learn?

She had to learn the hard way that relying solely on yourself can end in misery and self destruction since we as human beings need each other from time to time. Her hardheaded nature made it difficult for her to ask for help when she needed it, even as a child. There’s self-dependence then there’s masochism lol. You can’t carry the world’s problems on your own. Working with Leon, Luis, Chris, and eventually Heisenberg showed her the value in leaning on others when you’re about to collapse.

🐣 - give a description of their childhood. do they have any good memories? what sticks out when they think of their younger years?

Celine lived a pretty positive childhood, aside from the occasional loneliness due to her reclusive nature around her peers. Having a rich inner world made it difficult for her to resist putting herself out there for others in favor of her fantastical imagination which consisted of saving the world from monsters and garnering praise from those she would never bother getting acquainted with.

She had very loving and supportive parental units who taught her valuable life skills through mechanical work (her dad's forte) and scavenging for natural resources including fishing (mom's area.) Living out in the vast French countryside provided plenty of opportunities for adventure, and she would often think back to those precious, simpler times whenever she drifted to that dark place.

Bonus!

🎯 - Is there anything your s/i is incredibly good or bad at?

If we're talking skills, she's pretty elite in stealth and finding ways to be innovative in a pinch. Like sneaking up on a ganado with a "borrowed" chainsaw, disproving Leon's statement that you can't be stealthy with a chainsaw. She was very smug about it lol.

#💌 - mail #canon-can-fight-me #sorry for taking ages on this!!#i was on the other side of the world #literally smack dab in the middle of the mediterranean sea #so i've been without a whole ass computer to properly edit lol

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bluejay-writes · 2 years ago

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A sort of Fairy Tail - Chapter 7

Rating: T / PG-13, SFW. Fandom: Mystic Messenger Relationships: 707/MC (Jaena)/Saeran Chapter 7 Wordcount: 3549 Summary:

Freelance Hacker by day, cosplayer by weekend, Jaena Grey was living her best life. One fateful convention, she meets a scarily talented fellow costumer and his friend Zen.

When Jaena finds herself embroiled in the usual Mint Eye apartment plot, Seven panics to see someone he knows. Hijinks ensue, including Jaena spending the majority of her time cosplaying as 707 in his own bunker to hide herself from Vanderwood - for better or worse.

You can also read this on AO3! <- Also a good place to check tags.

Chapter 7: Extractions are never Painless

“And what are we going to do if we can’t get Saeran out?” Jaena asked the question that she knew no one else wanted to.

“We leave him.” Vanderwood said, gruffly. “If he’s too far gone to extract, it won’t do us any good to kill ourselves trying.”

“Once he’s out…” Seven said quietly, trying not to think too hard about a future where he couldn’t save his little brother. “I’ll get Jumin’s intelligence team to take down the rest of it. I’d ask the agency, but with the money they’re funneling, it’s likely a conflict of interest for them.”

“You think Han will just agree?”

“Well, he and I have been talking for a bit about figuring out what it is that V’s involved in. Their friendship is older than I am, and he’s right there with me that something’s sketchy about V’s behavior. I wish I knew exactly what V’s up to, but given that he won’t even talk to me about Saeran, even now… yeah. I’m sure he’s in way deeper than we thought.”

“Should we tell the messenger, or at least Jumin, what we’re planning?” Jaena asked, not feeling good about leaving her new friends in the dark. “In case something goes sideways.”

“Jumin yes. Jaehee as collateral because there’s nothing he does that she doesn’t organize. But telling the messenger as a whole is just warning Saeran we’re coming at this point.”

“Alright. Zero Seven, you handle that, I’ll get my car.”

“Aw, your car?”

“Yes, unless you’ve actually properly equipped one of yours?”

“Welp. Your car it is.”

As the car rolled as quietly as possible down the dirt road, Seven glanced back at Jaena, curled up in the back seat.

“We’ve been driving for hours, aren’t you uncomfortable?”

“This is nothing. You even brought me snacks.” She reached forward and squeezed his shoulder.

Vanderwood chuckled and shook his head. “She’s almost a better agent than you are.”

“Hush.” Seven said, sticking his tongue out before stopping the car. “We’re as close as we’re getting by car.”

“Okay.” Jaena said, steeling herself for the wait. “Y’all go get our punk rock goth child, and I’ll be here ready to get the fuck out of dodge when you get here.”

“Not happening.” Vanderwood said, and Jaena paused. She’d expected an argument from Seven who didn’t like leaving her alone, but not from Vanderwood, who she’d expected to be on her side about keeping her out of danger.

“What?” She couldn’t help the argument from bursting out. “Why?”

Vanderwood’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I am not leaving an untrained newbie alone in enemy territory. As I said, not happening. Zero Seven, you’re taking her with you. You’ll need her skills if you’re going to be able to keep watch and get your brother out of there. Do not let anything happen to her.”

“Understood.” Seven said, and Jaena suddenly understood their dynamic. Vanderwood didn’t complain about Seven being an unrestrained brat at home, as long as he was getting his work done. But out in person on a mission, Seven followed Vanderwood’s orders without question. Which meant that he trusted Vanderwood implicitly. Jaena swallowed, and steeled herself to do the same. When she’d run from home, she’d had to promise to do everything exactly how Tangerine said it, even if it sounded stupid. In the end, she got out safely only because she had gone against her better judgment and done exactly as he said.

Jaena felt more than saw when they both turned their attention on her, expecting more argument.

“I’ll go.” She said. “I’m sorry for arguing, it won’t happen again.” She may have sounded meek, but the steel in her eyes must have shown her sincerity, because there was no further discussion, they simply started moving.

As they approached the building, bouncing from blind spot to blind spot, Seven quietly filled her in on the route, the plan, and what to do if things went sideways.

“I know the plan was initially to get as much information as we could from this place, but I think it’s more important to convince my brother to come with us if we can. Do you agree?”

“100%.” Jaena said. “There’s nothing here he can’t get us if he’s on our side, but more than that… this can’t be a good place for him.”

“No. Not with that drug in circulation. I only hope he’s not too far gone on it to choose to leave.”

“Good. Now before we go in, we’re going to have to figure out how this building works. They’ve kept enough of their systems off the grid that we’re only going to be able to get into them once we’re close enough to the building. I’ll keep watch, you hack in, okay?”

“Got it.” Jaena said, slipping her laptop out of her bag and tapping away.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to infiltrate, there are gaps in the camera pathing that make it look like they’re inviting intruders.” Seven muttered.

“Seven, look at this. The green part here is the view parameters of the security cameras which we already knew. The parts in red are the alarm devices we didn’t know about - As soon as the security system is down, we’ll enter through this blue route here.”

“Good.” Seven said, scanning over it quickly. “This room, it’s the one we tracked the data transfers back to - that’s probably where we’ll find Saeran. I wish I could go in and get information and then find a way to get him out safely, but I just have this feeling that we’re battling against the clock right now.”

“Seven - we’ll find him. He’ll come with us. Everything will work out fine.”

“How are you so confident.”

“I met him, remember? There’s no way he’s that far gone on that drug.”

“God, I hope you’re right.” he muttered, and she reached out and tapped his nose.

Seven startled, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Don’t ever leave my side, alright? Vanderwood would never forgive me if anything happened to you…”

Jaena smiled. “I won’t, I promise. Now, let’s go get your brother and go back home!”

He grinned. “Okay, with that encouragement, I know we can do this. I’ll be watching for threats, so you get us where we need to go, alright Scarlet?”

“Got it. Kicking out the security in 3…2…1… Let’s jam.”

“Listen close for footsteps, Scarlet. I don’t think anyone knows we’re here yet. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Mhm.” Jaena said, already working on hacking the intricate lock system keeping them out of the information room. “Ok, we’re in.”

The door clicked open to reveal a wall of screens. This was absolutely the room that they were expecting it to be. Unfortunately, it was all but lifeless. All those screens, but no Saeran.

“This is…” Seven spun in a slow circle once the door clicked shut behind him. “God… Where in the world did he learn how to hack…? Why did he have to learn this… I want to know.”

Jaena was walking the perimeter of the room looking for possible computer inputs, and potential signs that would tell them how to find Saeran. When she found the bay of drives, she bit her lip. She’d brought along a secret weapon to make sure Saeran would go with them, but… she didn’t know how Seven was going to feel about her choice. Luckily for her, Saeran’s systems were old enough, or at least thorough enough, to still have a 3 1/4” floppy drive.

“Well, the break in the security’s over, so it won’t hurt us to just stay here for a little bit. He’ll likely come back. Especially if we missed something, he’ll have to come check it.” She said quietly.

“Ah. Right. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Getting distracted.”

“That’s okay, you’ve always been good at getting distracted.” A third voice said into the quiet, causing both Jaena and Seven to turn and face the speaker.

“Unknown?”

“Saeran?”

“Hello.” He said, nodding. Unlike his previous red-and-black ensemble that he’d worn when she met him, Saeran was wearing a three piece suit, full black. His hair looked simultaneously messier and more intentional, and he looked… tired. “Nice to see you again, should I say…?”

“Saeran!” Seven said, and took a step in his twin’s direction, tears in his eyes.

“I expected you.” Saeran said to Seven. “I expected this. That you’d come here first if you came to Magenta. I take it you came to get the information from our servers? You’ve probably got a module installed over there by Miss Jaena, right? Don’t worry, I installed good coolers, so the main board shouldn’t overheat with the amount of data you’ll be pulling. I’ve been seeing traces of an anonymous hacker hacking into our system. I knew it was you.”

“Actually…” Seven started, but Saeran didn’t stop to hear him out.

“But I had no idea you’d hacked into the satellite to see the exteriors. You found our blind spot and got it. I admit, you’re pretty good, brother.”

“It was me.” Jaena said.

At her voice, Saeran turned and stared at her. “What, the little costumer? Not a chance.”

“She’s telling the truth.” Seven said quietly. “Though she didn’t do the satellite work, the rest was her hands.”

Saeran blinked. “Oh. I didn’t anticipate that.”

“Saeran… I don’t know what to say.. There are so many things I want to ask you, to say.”

“I’m not surprised. You did leave me alone. Abandon me. To this hell. I’m sure you want to run right now, not that you can.”

“Can I ask a question before y’all get into the weird twin speak that I won’t understand?”

“Yes.” Seven said instantly, and Saeran just quirked an eyebrow at her.

“What changed your style? Not that I mind this suave Suit Saeran look, but the Unknown I met had an edge that you seem to lack.”

“Oh, him.” Saeran chuckled darkly. “He doesn’t get out much. This? This was another one of her attempts to fix me. Not that it’s even possible.” As if in reaction to his own statement, Saeran shucked off the jacket, vest, and tie. He left himself in just the slacks and white shirt, the latter he unbuttoned the top two buttons, as if to allow himself room to breathe. An irritated hand through his stiffly styled hair made it look more like what she recognized. “That better, princess?”

Jaena chuckled and shrugged. “You look happier, so I’m going to go with yes.”

Seven looked between them. “…Princess?” he said, barely audibly. Jaena didn’t know where the nickname had come from either, but was Seven …jealous? She didn’t get a chance to ask before he shook off whatever that was, and went back to what they’d been on about.

“Saeran… We really need to talk. Can we look past, well, the past? Get everything out on the table and figure out the truth of things? I miss you.” That last was said with more pain than Jaena had ever heard in his voice, even when he was initially telling her about Saeran, and her heart hurt for him.

Saeran looked like he wanted to lash out and shook his head. “You abandoned me to this hell. Why should I believe you won’t do it again?”

“Saeran… still, please listen. Nothing will change just by you listening.” Jaena said, even as she started to free the disc from its holder in her bag.

“If you’re talking about our childhood… there’s at least one misunderstanding.” Seven said. “I never wanted to leave you.”

“Mhm, but you sure tried to find me later, didn’t you? Came to rescue me from this hell?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Seven said. “I thought… I thought you were happier without me.”

“You used your own brother to escape that hellish house. I guess you don’t want to admit that.”

“No! I wouldn’t!” Seven said, “I didn’t use you. I thought… I thought you were happy. I did not tell you lies when we were little. I meant everything. I meant when I said I’d protect you, that I’d get us out of there together… I swear.”

“You want me to believe that?” Saeran said, eyes closed.

“I changed my name and became a secret agent not to just abandon you and live a good life on my own.” Seven said, and Jaena bit her lip. Was it time to show Saeran? No, not yet. “I believed we had to part ways first and change our identities to escape our father’s eyes. He’d tried to kill us so many times. He knew where to find us…”

“Who thought of that insane idea? We were 12. There was no way you’d have…” Saeran opened his eyes, and Jaena could see the tears welling in them. He wanted to believe Seven, despite whatever lies he’d been told.

“V did.” Seven said. “V promised that he and Rika would take good care of you once I went where he told me to go. I trusted his promise. It was so hard to leave you, Saeran.” The tears were running freely down Seven’s cheeks, and Jaena couldn’t just stand by and watch him pour his heart out and get no response out of Saeran but this bitterness.

“Saeran… after Seven got me out of the apartment I went looking for you - I found a surveillance camera on the street that showed your face - when I asked Seven if he had a twin… well, that was the first time he realized that V didn’t keep his promise. It took some prodding, but he told me everything.”

“That’s fairly convincing.” Saeran said, and Jaena could see the wheels turning. “A lot of people would probably fall for that, but… why would it take you that long? You’d been away from me for so many years and never questioned it? You disappeared without a word, just leaving your burden of a little brother behind.”

“I didn’t want to leave without a word. V told me I couldn’t tell you anything because mom would find out if I told you beforehand and it would put you in danger.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Saeran said quietly. “At first, I looked for you. The sun came up and the morning came in that hell, but you weren’t there. I looked and looked. I was so worried. I worried that you might be dead, that our father got to you. I cried for days. No matter how many times that woman strangled me, hit me, threatened me for being noisy, the naive me cried for days missing you. Did he leave because he was sick of me? Was he mad at me? Still, he’ll come back. Yes, he’s my brother. Of course he will.”

“Saeran…” Seven said, impulsively taking a step toward his brother. Jaena expected Saeran to move back, but he didn’t move a centimeter.

“I thought you were dead. But… once I found out you were alive, the shock.. I can’t even put it into words. And you want to tell me you thought I knew? That I was happy without you? How could I ever be happy without you, Saeyoung?!”

Jaena looked between them, thinking. Saeyoung? Is that Seven’s real name? Not Luciel?

“Saeran.. I believed that V and Rika saved you the morning I went missing. They told me… showed me… I was a fool to have believed them. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you like I promised. I should have known something was up, since they would never tell me anything, but…”

“Showed you? How could they show you anything if it was all lies?” Saeran’s interest was piqued, and Jaena knew it was time. She met Seven’s eyes, and he nodded to her.

“Please believe me Saeran. Everything I’m saying is the truth. The year I turned 20, Rika gave me a floppy disc without letting the agency know. On it were pictures of you and what she wrote… I believed all that.”

“You’re making that up.” Saeran said, though it lacked the heat behind his previous statements.

“He’s not.” Jaena said, slipping the disc into the drive, and hearing the telltale sound of it spinning up. On the main monitor, all of the pictures started opening, and Saeran hissed in a breath. “Do you remember when any of these were taken?”

“I remember that day. She made me smile so much my cheeks hurt, and change clothes so many times so it looked like different days. It was horrible. I had no idea why we were doing any of it and she told me not to ask. That was right before…” he shuddered, but didn’t finish the sentence. “The only candid shot there is the one with the butterfly.”

“Saeran…” Seven said, his voice rough. “What happened to you?”

The sound of footsteps broke through Jaena’s focus on the twins, and she froze. “Boys, we have company. Can we continue this conversation at home? Saeran… please come with us. We won’t force you, but I really hope you would.”

Saeran, attention still on the photos, nodded. “There’s more to this story, and if we stay here, I’ll never be able to figure out the truth. I’m not sure I believe you, but… you’re not wrong that staying here is not in either of your best interest.”

Jaena popped the disc back out of the drive, hoping she hadn’t corrupted the data, and closed up her bag.

Seven was still a mess, and Jaena had a moment of worry about getting him out of the building back through the path they’d taken. He was the one trained for this, not her.

A knock came at the door, and Saeran turned, herding them into a small room with a cot and a door to a small bathroom. He held a finger to his lips, and shut the door. For a brief second, Jaena was worried about his intentions, but her attention was immediately on Seven, who practically collapsed against her when the door shut, silently crying into her shoulder.

Jaena pressed a silent kiss to the top of his head and wrapped her arms around him, half of her attention on the man in her arms, the other half on what was going on in the room past that door.

“Mr. Ray. We’ve had word that there are intruders on the property. Have you seen anything?” The voice on the other side of the door was unfamiliar, and that in itself was a bit of a relief.

“I have not, I was on a break mandated by the Savior, and have only just now returned to my post. I will check the feeds. Should I be reporting to her directly, or would she prefer me to speak with Information or Security?”

“Security noticed the breach, but we’ve been unable to see anything on the cameras.”

“Then how do we know there’s a breach?”

“The system was down for a few minutes, we can only assume it was an incursion.”

“Or those damn mice again.” Saeran muttered. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you, Ray. For Eternal Paradise.”

“For eternal paradise.” Saeran repeated, and the door clicked shut.

With that click, Seven stood up properly and wiped his eyes. “Thank you.” he mouthed, and Jaena smiled at him and nodded. Moments later, the door to the tiny bedroom opened.

“Alright. We’ve probably got ten minutes before they check on me. Let’s get moving. Follow me. Try not to look around like tourists. I’m going out the front, where did you park?”

“Northeast corner. Behind the pines.” Seven said, and Saeran nodded, and led the way out of the complex. They passed robed people, but Jaena kept herself from looking at any of them, instead focusing on Saeran, and trying not to think too hard about Seven’s tear stains on her shirt, which she was sure were obvious to everyone who even glanced her way.

Jaena started to breathe easier once they were out of the building, but it was too soon.

“Now, where exactly do you think you’re going?” a voice called out, and both Saeran and Seven stopped short.

“…V?” Seven said, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that. You’re practically silent in the messenger these days, and then you show up in a place like this, with a stranger?”

“That’s my line. Don’t say anything weird and answer me. Why are you here? Oh, of course… you knew about this place, right? And everything that was happening with Saeran. But you wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked. I’m not even surprised. You’re with them, aren’t you.”

“I know that you won’t believe anything I say. So you won’t be able to accept it even if I tell you why I’m here.” V said, quietly, reaching into his pocket for something. Saeran was on edge, and Seven looked like he was about to lose his shit.

“Scarlet. Get to the car, this might be dangerous.”

“Too late, Luciel. You brought a stranger into this, I’m taking her out of it.”

From his pocket, V pulled a gun, and despite his supposed blindness, pointed it directly at Jaena and pulled the trigger.

#mystic messenger #mysme #mysmes #choi twins #fanfic #longfic #mysme fanfic #chapter fic #fic update #ao3 fic

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lesbianjunimo · 4 years ago

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That time you and your demon boyfriend went viral

hi yes hello obey me fandom!! my name is Gabbi and i have never played a single second of the actual game but i have read enough fanon content for the past year to have this idea swimming around in my head and now i am finally letting this accursed thing out of my brain and putting it in yours

also i’m only doing the brothers because any more than that and i’d have an aneurysm probably. oh and shoutout to @obeythebutler and @beels-burger-babe for inspiring me with their works to feel brave enough to write for this fandom

Lucifer:

You and Lucifer go viral on Asmo’s Devilgram story!

You’re in the kitchen helping Asmo with dinner duty and singing along to one of your playlists of human realm music that you like to show him.

Asmo starts filming your cute little dance while you stir the pot on the stove because you are just adorable!

About ten seconds into him filming, Lucifer appears in the doorway with quite the stern look on his face. You know, the one that comes right before a “MAMMOOOOOON” and strikes fear into the heart of all those with functioning eardrums. That one.

He opens his mouth, presumably to tell y’all to shut the fuck up, but then there’s a lull in the music and the eldest can hear your voice ever so slightly above the song’s vocalist and he freezes.

Man stops in his tracks like someone just smacked him in the face with a midair volleyball.

Asmo can be heard stifling a laugh behind his phone.

Lucifer’s face gets so soft and he almost, almost, loosens his metal-rod-through-the-ass posture before you notice him and give a little wave and ask if you and Asmo were being too loud like the considerate darling you are.

Lucifer clears and his throat and says something like, “No, you aren’t. I was just coming to check on how dinner is coming along,” and leaves, after which Asmo immediately presses the post button.

Screenshots of Lucifer’s heart eyes for you go absolutely viral because every demon on Devilgram goes absolutely feral for seeing the eldest demon brother lose his dignified composure. It becomes a meme template. “Get you someone who looks at you like Lucifer looks at MC” and “me at the delivery demon when he shows up with my spicy bat wings” posts become commonplace. (Asmo thinks the memes are totally worth getting strung up with Mammon for laughing at them.)

Mammon:

Much like Lucifer, you and Mammon end up going viral off Asmo’s Devilgram. (Noticing a pattern here?)

He pulls a silly prank on your asses and honestly I don’t know how you fell for it. But hey, they say “idiots in love” for a reason, so...

You and Asmo are sitting in the common room of the House of Lamentation just chillin. Well, he’s chillin, you’re on the floor studying for an upcoming exam.

The video starts in the middle of a conversation you and the avatar of lust were having.

“No, Asmo,” you say. “Mammon and I don’t use pet names for each other.” Now that’s just a darn lie, and every demon and crow within ten miles of Mammon and you together knows it.

“Really? I find that very hard to believe, MC.~”

You sigh in response to Asmo’s teasing. “Okay, he has a lot for me but I’m just not much of a pet name person, y’know?” The rest of the exchange goes like this:

“Oh, I totally get it.” *pause* “Hey MC, what do human world bees make again?”

“Honey.”

Cue a sheepish Mammon sticking his head in the doorway at the bluntness of your tone when you answered Asmo.

“Yeah, babe?” he looks like a puppy left on the side of a highway oh my god hUG HIM-

Asmo turns the camera back to his smug ass face and in the background you can be heard tripping on the damn carpet trying to get up and hug your mans. (”MAMMON GET OVER HERE SO I CAN HUG YOU” “W-WHAT? I THOUGHT YA WERE MAD AT ME?!?!?!?!”)

Leviathan:

Streamer Levi? Streamer Levi.

You guys go viral the first time you make an appearance on one of Levi’s weekly (insert cool Devildom streaming service name here) streams.

It’s completely unintentional. You had been asking him for weeks to play with him on there, but he’s the avatar of envy after all. He doesn’t like sharing his partner, even if it’s with random strangers who have no real access to you.

However, he has his stream on a Thursday instead of a Friday one week, and you come into his room carrying dinner because 1) You didn’t realize he was streaming and 2) No matter what he was doing, the boy needed to eat. It wasn’t unusual for you to bring him dinner, so you had no idea why he was blushing and stammering even more than usual this time in particular. Boy was speaking in beached whale trying to tell you what was wrong.

Then you notice his screen. Oh! “Hi chat!” You wave, setting Levi’s food down on his desk in front of his keyboard. “M-MC!” He full-on whines, slamming a hand over his mouth afterwards when he remembers his viewers could hear that.

Honestly, they’d meme the fuck out of him if it weren’t for the fact that they are FINALLY SEEING HIS HENRY!!! THE MYSTERIOUS MC!!!

Chat is bombarding you with questions while you make Levi eat dinner. And by make him eat dinner, I mean literally feeding this man forkfuls/spoonfuls while he games because you love how flustered he gets when you do that.

Does it impact his score? Absolutely. Does he care? Not really when you’re pampering him like that.

You start answering chat’s questions about you while he’s chewing so he can’t tell you to stop LMAO-

You’re a natural on stream. The VOD becomes the most popular on Levi’s account in a matter of hours and soon cute highlights compilations of you and him on that stream start making the rounds on Devildom Twitter.

Satan:

There was buildup to Satan going viral, similar to Levi in a way.

Satan does have a Devilgram, but it’s basically a white woman’s Instagram with added book reviews for variety. Unless you’re a reader his account is pretty boring: candles, books, fireplaces, and cats.

However, after you two started reading together fairly often he began posting pictures of your legs draped over his while you sat together. They’d always be captioned with vague ass pretentious literary criticism.

This goes on for months, and he gains a lot of (horny) followers after the leg pics start up. He doesn’t really get why but you both joke that it’s because you have some damn nice legs and I mean neither of you are complaining about the new following.

You two go viral when he finally shows your face, entirely by accident.

The post is a video, which is already strange for him and grabs attention. In it, you’re scoffing and reading an excerpt of a book, mocking its understanding of female anatomy.

“I’m quoting here, Satan: ‘her breasts bouncing around like giant pacmen.’ I’M SORRY?? THAT ISN’T HOW BOOBS WORK SIR. WHY ARE MEN ALLOWED TO WRITE?”

(fun fact that is a very real quote from a very real book I really read last month pls save me)

Originally the camera is focused on your body, with your head out of frame to protect your privacy, but your righteous anger made Satan laugh. Like, a real laugh. The one that makes you and everyone in earshot wonder if he truly was never an angel cause he sure as hell laughs like one but anyway-

When he threw his head back, his DDD angled up just a tad without him noticing, and your face was in view for like .2 seconds. Screenshots of it are making the rounds on Devilgram almost immediately: FINALLY THE LEGS’ OWNER HAS BEEN FOUND.

Satan apologizes profusely but you honestly find it funny and you two opt to just start taking selfies while reading with both of your faces in them from now on.

Asmodeus:

I’m gonna be real with you: you and Asmo go viral all the time. Pretty much everything Asmo posts can be considered viral because of his social media following and his status as one of the seven avatars of sin.

However, there are some fairly cute highlights to be pointed out among the times you were both featured in a post that blew up.

Your favorite is probably that time Asmo livestreamed on of you guys’ ‘Nail Nites,’ as you call them.

You’re both on the floor, doing your nails and kicking your feet back and forth while talking to chat. A lot of the questions are about your relationship, and there’s a lot of flirting back and forth between the two of you.

A particular clip of the stream does blow the fuck up on Devilgram, though, when someone screen records it and posts it with a bunch of heart emojis edited over it.

“’What colors do you think best describe each other?’ Ooo, that’s a good one, chat!” Asmo claps his hands together excitedly, making sure to be careful of his nails.

Pretty much everyone expected you to say pink, but you surprised both your boyfriend and your viewers when, after a pensive few moments, you replied with “Hmm...probably yellow or orange.”

“Can I ask why, darling?” Asmo tilts his head in confusion. I mean, yeah, those colors look good on him, but he doesn’t wear them often so he’s wondering about your thought process.

“Well, in the human world those colors often represent happiness, optimism, and positivity. You’re always the cheerful presence I need in my life when things get hard, so you have the vibe of those colors.”

Asmo proceeds to burst into tears and hug you, messing up both of your nails and prolonging the stream since you both have to start over. But neither of you particularly care.

Fun fact: Asmo has the clip that demon made of that portion of the stream saved on his DDD and watches it whenever he feels sad.

Beelzebub:

Beel and you probably go the most viral out of everybody. Like this moment is an entire phenomenon across the Devildom internet.

It’s a video, or well, multiple videos, taken at the end of a Fangol game that Beel’s team had just won. Everyone is cheering and going crazy, yourself included, and you just really wanted to congratulate your boyfriend.

So, like the rational person you are, you elect to climb up onto the railing of the bleachers and wave to get his attention.

You were absolutely fine up there, and sat all comfortably motioning Beel over to you. He notices, of course, and jogs over, standing right beneath you and looking up. (Back where you were sitting, Mammon is screeching like a hyena in heat and Belphie, who is laying down, has one eye open to glare at him. The youngest knows Beel would never let you hurt yourself; you’re fine.)

A bunch of assorted demons at the game has started filming while you were sat atop the railing since you were rather noticeable. Therefore, there’s a shit ton of different angles of the adorable events that follow:

You slide off the railing, landing right in Beel’s waiting arms bridal style. You’ve got this brilliant smile on your face as you pull his helmet off. None of the DDDs filming can hear it over the crowd noise, but Beel asks you why you just went through all that trouble and you tell him it’s because you wanted to tell him how proud you are.

Soft boy’s chest puffs up and he smiles this big cheesy smile at you reach up to run a hand through his hair. You feel him practically purr at the contact, and with a laugh you pull him in and plant a big ole smooch on him.

The crowd, at least those of them that can see, scream. Everyone is running high on adrenaline and happy emotions; something that cute causes a ruckus!! When you pull away Beel proceeds to put you on his shoulders and you celebrate with him and the rest of his team.

The videos of you two being adorable go completely viral and there are some threads dedicated to stockpiling every single angle taken of the event. Beel is completely oblivious to the attention but you have a lot of them saved on your DDD.

Belphegor:

If you think Belphegor has any sort of social media presence whatsoever then you are sorely mistaken. (Well okay he actually does run some anonymous troll accounts to meme on Lucifer’s posts but that’s neither here nor there-)

Therefore, naturally, you two go viral off of Asmo’s Devilgram.

Okay so someone in the obey me tag the other say headcanoned that Belphie will go out of his way to nap in ridiculous places and my brain really took that and RAN WITH IT.

So what happens is that Belphie will fall asleep in the fucking weirdest places. I’m talking on top of the fridge, underneath the dinner table, on top of bookshelves...you name it, he has slept there, no matter the effort it takes to get there in the first place.

And, ever since you two started dating, you would join him. Sometimes it involved putting yourself at risk of great bodily harm, but the little smile he gave when you he saw you fucking scaling the countertop to reach him made it worth it.

So anyway, since Beel adores the both of you to no end, he takes pictures whenever he sees you two napping together, whether or not it is in a crazy place. He sends these to the family group chat because he thinks they’re adorable.

Over a span of weeks to months, Asmo has built up a stock of images of you and Belphie cuddles up in seemingly impossible places. Once he has about ten or so, he posts a compilation of them to his Devilgram with some cheesy ass caption like “The things we do for love <3″.

They become a meme SO QUICKLY. Like UNBELIEVABLY quickly.

The picture of you and Belphie sleeping on top of a bookshelf, in particular, is a big hit. Memes abound.

“If my girl doesn’t climb up a bookshelf to cuddle my ass, she don’t love me.” “Get yourself a partner who scales bookshelves just to be with your ass.” Etc etc...Belphie doesn’t give a shit but you laugh at a lot of them so he sees that as a good outcome.

#IM SO HAPPY TO HAVE FINALLY WRITTEN THIS #obey me #my writing #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #posts

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imthebadguyyy · 3 years ago

Note

Loved your first fic of Lewis!💛

Can you make one where Lewis Hamilton and Y/N have a fight and have been living separately and then Lewis comes to meet Y/N one evening and makes an excuse that his toothbrush is with Y/N? And then Lewis confronts Y/N that he knows Y/N still love him but won't admit?

* I know this is a very specific prompt. Bare with me. I just wanted more Angst/ Fluff with Longing for each other and Deep feelings and keep it Non-explicit. *

A/N - I'm so glad you liked the fic 😊

We're Meant To Be

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (female)

Fandom - F1

Summary - After a messy fight, you don't know where your relationship stands. But when love is that strong, an argument can't stand in the way.

Warnings - Angst, fighting, swearing

Angered shouts. Tears of frustration. White noise. Desperate pleads. And then silence. That's what your neighbours would describe if they were asked to describe what they had heard from your house. An argument that seemed to have started over nothing, had blown up into a full scale fight. When had it become this bad? Only yesterday, you two had had a date night at home, with movies and wine. Everything was perfect. But then, suddenly everything seemed to go down a downward spiral.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had always been calm, it had been the type of love where you just loved each other with all your hearts, where fights were an incredibly rare appearance. You were both working, and he was away at races most of the time, so usually, you didn't waste time fighting, something that was an unnecessary waste of time in your opinion. But then, something had just switched for a second. It was after the race in Baku, and it hadn't gone well. Lewis had been heartbroken, after coming P15, and had heavily berated himself for it. To make him feel better, you had taken a couple of days off work. to just be with him and give him company to feel better.

It had been on the third day of you spending time with him that he had made an offhand comment that had struck a nerve with you. "I wish you could be there at race weekends more often. It's like you don't care enough about the races" The comment had pissed you off, to put it lightly. "What do you mean, I don't care about the races? I watch all of them Lewis, I'm always supporting you" you had practically seethed at him. "Don't get all huffy, darling, all I'm saying is that the other girlfriends and wives come quite often, but you only come to like three races a year" he had said, already regretting his words. "Maybe that's because I have a job?! I work for my living, and I love my job. I don't have time to fly around the world to accompany you to your races, and its damn hard to get leave off of work anyway, I was lucky to even get a week off of work, and you want me to be there every weekend? It's not possible for a working person, Lewis" you had said, anger bubbling in your voice, pulling away from him to sit up straight. "I know, I just meant-" "No, I know what you meant. I'm sorry I can't always be there, and don't you think I feel bad when I can't be there for you ?" "I know you do, I shouldn't have brought this up. But can you come for the next race?" He had asked, not looking at your eyes, regretting the answer. "I... can't. I have a really big meeting coming up and-" "And you can't come I get it"

And he had just left. You had felt your heart shatter, hating yourself for being so harsh with him. But it was true, you were a very hardworking person, and you had worked damn hard to get to where you were, successful at your job, one of the best in your field. It took years of hard work and perseverance and you were proud of it. But a part of you also knew that Lewis didn't deserve any of the crap you had given him, and you also knew that he was right, the other guys had their partners to support them during various race weekends, and you only showed up to one or two of them. He was well in his rights to tell you that. And you hated how it had ended.

You all alone, in your house, in a cold and empty bed, in a quiet house with silence that was much, much more deafening than words ever could be. It was heartbreaking, to see a future you had dreamed of just shattering in front of your eyes, dreams of having a family of your own with him fluttering away like wisps of smoke, the burning flames leaving only a heartbroken mess of a human being behind. Was that what it felt like? To be burned and left to turn to ashes, when a person that knew exactly how to ignite your flame just left you to burn away? To have someone who could ignite your all consuming passion, and turn you to putty in his hands, who could mould you back into shape, leave you to melt into a liquid through his fingers to just lay on the ground, a sad, broken, person.

And here you were, lying on your bed, the sheets that had warmed the both of you on cold nights, or been home to your pleasure laced activities now offering only some of the warmth it used to, cold and unforgiving, as you turned your pillow for the fifteenth time, neither side cool anymore. Even the pillow didn't want to forgive you, the sweat settling in on your neck again, beads of sweat running down your forehead again. The pulled curtains shielded you from the over bright sunshine, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes, red rimmed and tired, shut to protect them from the faint light in the room, the tiredness not permitting you to even open them to look in the dim light of your room.

Somewhere near you, your phone buzzed again, for what felt like the hundredth time in three days. It had been three days, three long, painful days since you and Lewis had fought and not seen each other, and those 72 hours had ripped a part of your soul out. You had spent those three days in bed, your leave days still saving you from getting out of bed and dragging your body to office. Was your relationship over? Were you never going to meet the love of your life, the man you were destined to be with again? Sighing, you rolled over, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. Using strength you didn't know you had, you pulled yourself up, feeling your head spin.

Slowly, you made yourself walk into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. Then you splashed some water on your tired face, shuffling over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After finishing your toast, you peeled off the sweaty shirt you had pulled on when he had left, realising with a pang that it was Lewis's nightshirt you were wearing, a purple one he loved. Dropping it into the laundry basket, you turned on the shower, stepping under the warm shower. The warm spray untangled the knots in your matted hair, as you soaped your body and hair, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as memories of your showers together with Lewis came flooding back, as heartbroken sobs wracked your form again.

An hour after the not so great shower, you found yourself in another shirt belonging to Lewis, the bed in fresh sheets and covers, your pillow finally cool on both sides. You were clean and refreshed, albeit heartbroken, waiting on your takeout Chinese food and ice cream. Just as you lay there, scrolling through your Netflix account to watch some episode of FRIENDS to help you keep your spirits up, the doorbell rang. The thought of flavourful Chinese food and ice cream was enough to lure you out of your bed again, bare feet padding across the wooden floor to go to the door. You grabbed your wallet, opening the door, to find not your dinner, but Lewis, at the door, in one of your favourite sweatshirts on him. Did the clothes make you feel better? No. In fact, it just shattered your heart further.

"What are you doing here?" was the predictable line that left your lips. "I um, I left my toothbrush at your place. Can I have it back?"

"I beg your pardon? You left your toothbrush? You came back for a toothbrush, but not for me? Is that all I mean to you?!" you said, anger and a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. "You do mean a lot to me" he replied in a sigh. "Look, I didn't actually leave my toothbrush. That was a lie, and wow, I'm just realising how stupid that sounded, I'm sorry" His words were met with silence. The sadness in your eyes said it all. You were upset. Of course you were. "I don't have any toothbrushes except mine, so please leave" Before you could shut the door in his face, he pushed it back open, stepping into the house on his own.

"No do not come in here, please just get out!"

"No" was his frustrating reply. "What do you mean no? I said get out of my house!" "Not until we stop fighting and talk about what the hell happened!" Lewis yelled back, matching your tone. "Why the hell do you care?!" "Because I still love you damn it, I always have, and this stupid fight cannot, and should not break us apart!"

Your burst into tears. Sliding down against the wall, you buried your face in your hands, the sweatshirt arms covering your face as you sobbed. In an instant, Lewis was walking across to you, strong muscled arms wrapping around your shaking frame. "I'm sorry" you managed to blubber out, "I thought it over, and I don't go to support as often as I feel I should, and I'm sorry"

"No my darling, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that to you. You work so hard baby, and I'm so proud of you. And I know that you try to come whenever you can, and I love you so much for that. I'm sorry, and I never shouldv'e asked you to prioritize my passion over yours" rubbing your shoulders softly, he let his chin rest on top of yours. Sniffling, you let your head rest on his shoulder. The soft hiccups that left your lips broke his heart even further, something he hadn't thought possible.

The last 3 days had been pure hell for him. He had missed you, God, he had missed you. He had missed having you in his bed in the morning, tracing patterns on your bare skin. He had missed leaving kisses on your soft cheeks and hands and on your cute nose, missed smiling against your skin as you giggled. He had missed you playing with Roscoe, the doggo following the both of you around the house. Even Roscoe had missed you, sniffing around the house for your familiar smell, cocking his ears up and looking at his dad questioningly.

He had missed your perfume, the scent filling his senses, intoxicating him in the best way possible. He missed you curling up to him, playing with his hair or tracing his tattoos, leaving little kisses around the compass tattoo, tracing his 'Still I Rise' tattoo, missing the goosebumps that would rise on his skin when you traced Michelangelo's Pieta on his skin, and kissed the family and faith tattoos on his sternum. He missed you everywhere, and it had taken three days for him to realize that your presence grounded him. Your presence was something he needed, not to survive, he had done that before, he needed you for his happiness.

And having you in his arms, crying over what he had said? It shattered his heart. And he wanted to just fix everything, to bring everything back to normal. Stroking your hair softly, he kept his lips pressed to your ear, whispering soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry baby's" and "I'm here for you's" into your ear, feeling his heart lighten ever so softly when your sniffles decreased and your grip on yourself relaxed.

Moving up to meet his eyes, you moved so you were at eye level with him. "So we're both idiots who are sorry?" You murmured, running your hand up to his collarbone. With a soft laugh, he nodded taking your hand into his, rubbing his thumb over yours. "Fighting sucks" he mumbled pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It really does" your replied, moving so you were straddling his waist. "Let's never do that again, and let's just make a schedule. We can figure out when you can come and visit me, and I'll just deal with the fact that my ethereal girlfriend won't grace the race tracks every race weekend-" "It all sounds lovely but all I want right now is your lips on mine" you interrupted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours, hand moving to maneuver your head closer to his, your hands moving up to cup his cheek, as your traced his jawline, his thumb running over your waist. Breaking apart softly, he let his forehead rest on yours. "I love you" he whispered softly. "I love you too" you mumbled back. Before he could lean back in, the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it. That's my chinese food and ice cream" you sighed, smiling when he laughed. "Was it that bad?" He asked, letting you get up to open the door. "Like you wouldn't believe it"

After getting the food and paying for it, you set two plates on the table and put enough on your plates. "You know what the worst part was about fighting?" "What was?" "Not waking up to you tracing my tattoos" "Aww that's what you missed?" You giggled, walking up to kiss the tattoos on his hands. "I really did. You're cute and adorable and you're all mine. That's why I don't wanna fight. Let's keep it that way" "I love you so much" "I love you too"

***

A/N - I'm so, so sorry I took so long to write this, I really suck at angst, and I hope this is what you wanted, the last thing I want to do is give you subpar work 😭😭

Anyways, have a great day 💙

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #sir lewis hamilton #sir lewis #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton blurb #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 drivers x reader #f1 drivers imagines

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scuttling · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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k-s-morgan · 3 years ago

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Hi! I've been in the Hannibal fandom for two years now. Rewatched the show many times and yet Will Graham still confuses me like no one else. Hannibal's design is complex but somewhat understandable after watching the show again again. But Will's design is like a loophole. He can empathise with the killers. That means he can understand them. If he can understand them then why does it feel good for him to kill them? How does it work for him exactly. Does he feel for the killers? If he felt for the killers then what about his violent tendencies towards them?

I've always thought that he is like a God. A God of the killers. The killers offer him their design and he takes sacrifice in return of understanding. But how does his psyche work exactly?

Hello! Oh yes, Will is a very confusing character - it’s his defining trait, and I think that’s because he lies to himself, to others, and to us as an audience. He wants one thing, wants to want another thing, does the third thing, and making sense of it is a complex process.

I think Will’s empathy is a big red herring. I agree with Freddie here: he understands killers because he’s one. He has an almost supernatural gift that helps him recreate the situations almost exactly as they happened. He understands what motivates killers, he might sympathize with them, but I think he might also envy them their freedom to be what they are. They are a reminder of what he is and what he can’t allow himself to have. But most importantly, they are a way for Will to find a compromise with himself and feel better about his true self. Killing bad people is an excuse to justify his darkness, but I don’t think it’s a part of his design per se.

I agree with you that Will is like a God - he and Hannibal both are. That’s one of the things that separates them from others and elevates them above everyone else. Let’s make an overview of Will’s victims.

1) Hobbs. Hobbs was a monster and Will killed him. But it wasn’t about justice and righteousness, not according to him. Killing a person and feeling pleased that you saved someone versus liking the act of killing itself are drastically different things. Many police officers have to kill in their line of duty. Very few of them get off on the act of murder. Those who do are killers, and they are especially dangerous if they immediately try to follow it up with another murder. Will never once says he liked killing Hobbs because he made this world better. When asked, he says that he felt a sense of power. This is a motivation of many actual serial killers. If Will was just glad that he saved Abigail, he would know it's normal. He wouldn't have been almost on the verge of a break-down and haunted by Hobbs. So it’s not about helping others, it's about murder, even if the victim was a monster.

2) Stammets. Will had no reason to try to kill him (which he admits to doing). Based on his and Hannibal’s talk, he understands that he just wanted to feel what he felt after killing Hobbs, and this makes him panic. So again, no someone. He’s chasing the high of killing someone, and Stammets is the most appropriate victim.

3) Ingram. On the surface, it looks like Will wanted to avenge Peter and himself by proxy, hence pulling the trigger on Ingram. However, after Hannibal manages to stop him, days later, Will complains about losing a chance to feel how he felt when killing Hobbs. Murder high is his main motivation again - everything else is background or an excuse, depending on your reading.

4) Randall. Will threw away the gun on purpose to make the murder more intimate. This is not about justice and this is not about protecting himself because by doing this, he reduced his chances. Will also beat Randall up until he wasn't moving. There was no reason to snap his neck. Mutilation, cannibalism that followed, keeping his suit, admitting he enjoyed the murder and calling it his design - this is about murder and WIll’s love for it primarily. The design part is especially important: based on it, we can conclude that Will loves a performance just like Hannibal.

4) Chiyoh and her prisoner who Will set up. Chiyoh was innocent and didn't deserve to die. Her prisoner might not have been guilty - in fact, Will was the one to suggest that, and yet Will still set him up. It was a game and he was an observer - he lied in waiting for Chiyoh’s scream. He then turned the body of a losing party into art. Very creepy and very like Hannibal.

5) Chilton. Will clearly explained his motivation: he wanted Chilton to pay just because he wanted to be famous and messed with Hannibal by writing his ridiculous book. Will showed no remorse and admitted he did it on purpose.

6) Police officers he set up to be killed by cooperating with Francis. The ones he stepped over without a second look. They were innocent and they were a collateral damage. Will is a cruel God who doesn’t bother with mere mortals as long as it fits his purpose. In this case, his purpose was freeing Hannibal. Everything else was still a blur in his mind.

7) Francis. Enjoyed the murder, admired the blood, called the situation beautiful.

8) Bedelia. She's innocent in comparison to Will and his body count. If Will faced no repercussions and continued getting more and more people killed, she had every right to go free. But God doesn’t have to be fair, and Will proves it by targeting her.

What does it all say about Will’s design and philosophy? Apart from Godlike attributes and indifference toward collateral damage, I think Will is led by his bloodlust - he just tends to control it and direct it at specific targets.

Will might prefer to kill “bad people” in the first two seasons, but it’s the process of murder that excites him. So I see his righteous choices as a preference that helps him justify his dark nature partly, not the core reason for his violence. Hannibal seems to be moved by his interest in human nature and his hunter instinct, but Will, I think, is a truer killer because he actually feels drunk on murder. Unlike Hannibal, he looks downright euphoric when/after he kills Randall and Francis. In TWOTL, Hannibal is more focused on the fact that his dream came true and he and Will killed someone together, but Will seems primarily caught up in the murder after-shocks themselves. Hannibal thinks about Will, Will thinks about how beautiful blood looks under the moonlight.

So, post Fall, I believe that at first, Will will stick to killing bad people like murderers, but once some times passes, his need for justifications will fade. He’ll move on to rude people, only his rude will differ from Hannibal’s. Hannibal doesn’t differentiate between genders and ages, but I think Will will. He’s interested in a feeling of power, like he himself says, in a sense of dominance, so he’ll look forward to a fight. He won’t be interested in attacking a teenager like Cassie, for instance, because the power imbalance is too prominent. But as soon as someone more equal does something Will heavily dislikes, something that wakes his bloodlust (a personal insult, physical or verbal abuse toward other people/animals, etc.), he’ll attack. He’ll be careful - he knows how to avoid being caught, but it will still be unpredictable and passionate. Will is a storm to Hannibal’s calm.

Then there is unpredictability. Hannibal tends to plan everything methodically. The only times we see him being impulsive is in Europe, where he’s descending into self-destructive mode, so it’s not a norm for him. For Will, though? Will consists of unpredictability, and Hannibal is fascinated by it.I think Will is going to kill when an impulse strikes. For example, he might go shopping, without having any dark plans, and end up murdering someone because the circumstances pushed some unfortunate soul onto his path. Will might or might not display the body depending on his mood. Today he can be in an artistic mood, but tomorrow he’ll be in a violent and impatient one, wanting to destroy the body entirely and leaving a total mess behind.

How Will would prefer to kill? In my opinion, in an intimate way. It doesn’t mean he’ll be weaponless, but something like a knife would fit his tastes well. He’d be able to feel it plunge into his victim’s body, tearing through skin and muscles, etc. - personal and intimate. Akin to what he did with Francis - his feral half-snarl, the way he paused after stabbing him before opening him up - it was dark and mesmerizing. Will might get into strangling, too, because it takes a lot of time and it is even more intimate. It might end up being his favorite. So, I can see him using his hands or small weapons to fully sense what he’s doing to a victim. This is something that he has in common with Hannibal because from what we saw, Hannibal also enjoys more intimate and prolonged murders that give him a glimpse into a person’s pain and struggle for life.

#hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #meta

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queen-of-the-vampires · 3 years ago

Text

Don’t Mess With The Queen

Characters: Klaus Mikaelson x Hybrid!Reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: none

Request by anonymous: Could u do a imagine where the reader is friends with the mystic falls gang and is a werewolf and finds out that she and klaus r mates?

Summary: People who you want to call your friends are planning on killing the love of your life. It’s your job to show them who’s really the boss.

Author’s Note: This is a female!reader. I did change this request a tad, but I hope you like it! I haven’t written for TVD in a while now, so please bear with me on this. After asking a few people, I have decided to end this on a fluffy note. I did write an angsty alternate ending, but I don’t know if the anon who requested wanted that or not.

No one knows why you’re really here. They all think you’re their friend, so they feel comfortable disclosing their plan right in front of you. You want to be friends with them because they seem like genuinely nice people, but they are so fueled by rage and revenge that they’ll do anything to get it… even plotting against your mate, your sire, the love of your life.

Stefan and Damon have spent their entire life fighting each other and putting their noses in places where it doesn’t belong. Elena and Caroline have always been the people who want to fix others, to make them better even if there is nothing wrong with them. Bonnie is always stuck in the middle of everyone’s problems, putting herself and others in danger for no reason.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Elena asks, taking out the last bit of weapons she has stashed in the Boarding House.

“First thing we need to do is pick a location. When is Klaus most vulnerable?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah, the last time we did that, Elijah betrayed us. That moonrock or whatever was our only chance to get him at his weakest.”

“You were one of Klaus’ bitches. What do you think?” Damon asks and turns to you.

“What?” you ask, pulling back from your own thoughts.

“You spent over two years sired to him before Tyler saved you. You must know things that can help here,” Elena says.

What she says is true. You were sired to Klaus for two years, but not in the way they believe. You were sired to him in the beginning when you were first turned by Klaus’ mother. You were a werewolf that was in the same village as Klaus and his family. You two became fast friends, always leaning on each other whenever his abusive father and your abusive mother decided to make you two their toys.

Everything was going fine until one of your own decided to kill the youngest member of the Mikaelson family. There was a family friend of Esther, Tatia, that she used her blood in a spell that would make them the Original vampires. Klaus wanted you to have the same thing, so without his parents knowing, he gave you some of that wine. You were the first-ever turned hybrid that came from a spell.

You and Klaus have spent every moment together ever since. What the gang of Mystic Falls doesn’t know is just how old you are. They think you were just another hybrid that he made with Elena’s blood, stuck with him against your will. Tyler found your pack in the mountains and proceeded to unsire every single one of Klaus’ hybrids. When Tyler got to you, that’s when you started to catch onto what he was doing.

If Tyler wanted to desperately to save you, then you were going to act like you wanted to be saved. You came to Mystic Falls and befriended the vampires in the town. Now, they all think that you hate Klaus as much as they do when really, you’re just as in love with him as you were when you first met him.

“He really liked hiding out in the woods, though, they’re usually on werewolf territory, so good luck trying to get there. It’s probably why you can never find him. The werewolves will get to you before he does. He hears chatter in the wind and he moves to another pack site.”

“That’s smart,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah, so you’re not going to find him there.”

“Guys, we need to figure out something, or else more people are going to get hurt,” Elena says. Sometimes, you really want to kill her so you don’t have to hear her speak. “Klaus needs to die.”

Hearing them talk about killing the love of your life enrages you a little bit. You could take every single person in here without breaking a sweat, but you don’t turn to violence just yet. You take out your phone to let Klaus know exactly what they’re planning. You’d be a bad girlfriend if you let them attack without warning him.

They’re planning on killing you, my love.

It’s cute if they think they can.

They seem hell-bent on figuring it out.

I’m not afraid of them if that’s what you’re worried about. They can’t hurt me even with their best player.

I’m worried someone is going to get very hurt. What should I tell them?

Tell them where I am. Let them come. If it’s a war they want, I’m only happy to provide.

Are you sure?

I’m always sure, love.

You put your phone away and look at the small group, getting up to join the elite circle.

“I do know where Klaus lives.”

“That would have been nice to know a little earlier, don’t you think?” Damon sneers.

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan butts in. “Where is he?”

“New Orleans. That place is crawling with witches and vampires, but he and his family are stationed there.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because he took me there once. The witches will know once you arrive, but most of them are scared of Klaus anyway that they’ll help you blend in. Everyone from that town knows the Mikaelsons are royalty, but their castle doesn’t have a lot of guards protecting it. If you want to get to him, that’s where you want to do it.”

“How do you know all of this? This seems awfully suspicious for someone who isn’t sired to him anymore.”

“He still thinks I am. He’ll call me every day and ask for something. He figures if he has a hybrid in another state that I can do his dirty work for him elsewhere. You want to get Klaus? That’s how you’re going to do it.”

“She does have a point. Better to take this fight to his turf than ours. He’s more comfortable there,” Stefan points out.

Now that they know a location, it didn’t take long for them to come up with a plan of attack. Of course, you told everything to Klaus as soon as you were on the plane to get to New Orleans. He told you not to worry about a thing because he’ll plan a little something for their arrival.

No one messes with the King and his Queen.

When you land in New Orleans, the gang is eager to carry out their plan of attack. Just like you said, the town is crawling with witches who sense you the minute you landed. Every single witch knows you by heart, so they’re confused why you’re with them and not with Klaus. Your love must have only told them the basic information instead of what was really going on.

“Okay, where is this son of a bitch?” Damon asks.

“The French Quarter is where he likes to hang out. You’ll want to start there. Caroline and Elena will blend in more since they’ve never been here, but you two might stick out like a sore thumb. Just be prepared. If anything, I know these guys so let me do the talking.” You pause right in front of the group and turn to Bonnie. “And Bonnie? These guys know you’re a Bennett witch. Try not to do magic unless absolutely necessary. Klaus has a thing with witches.”

You lead the group into the French Quarter while keeping your head down to avoid conflict. The group follows your lead until you reach the middle of the place you call home.

“Stay here,” you say and leave the group on your own.

You approach the small bar within the Quarter, and lean over the counter a tad, looking at the bartender.

“Is Klaus here?”

“I’m right here,” you hear your lover’s voice. You and the Mystic Falls gang turn to see him standing in one of the many doorways that enter the French Quarter. “I hear you’re looking for me?”

“Where in the world did you hear that?” Damon asks, giving you a side glare. You step away from the group and speed over to Klaus, standing just a tad behind him. He smirks and doesn’t break eye contact with the older brother. “Traitor.”

“It isn’t a betrayal if I was never on your side to begin with,” you state.

“What are you doing? You’re not sired to him anymore,” Stefan tries to appeal to you.

“My sire bond wore off in the tenth century. I’m a lot older than you think I am. I really did want to be your friend, but you’re all so driven by rage and revenge that you can’t leave us alone until we’re fixed to the standards set by you. Next time you plan to kill someone, you should think twice about who you let into your home.”

“We should get going,” Elena whispers.

“Always the level-headed one, Elena. Too bad you can’t,” Klaus grins.

Stefan and Damon try to leave using their vampire speed, but they are blocked by the spell put there from the witches in this town. It’s like a big spell to trap the four vampires and the one witch inside. Caroline steps into the sun and immediately screams in pain, seeking the shade to calm her burning skin.

“My daylight ring isn’t working.”

“Yes, you’re all trapped here. For how long is still yet to be determined. Welcome to the French Quarter ladies and gentlemen,” Klaus chuckles.

“I can’t use my magic,” Bonnie panics.

“The next time you even think about going after Klaus, I won’t be so nice,” you say.

Klaus wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, whispering something into your ear.

“Pardon us, we have other business to tend to.”

Klaus leads you away from the group, and only when you two are alone, does he turn you so that you’re facing him.

“You can relax, Klaus, no one is going to hurt you. Not as long as I am alive.”

“I can take care of myself, love,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, but isn’t it better when I do it?”

“Tenfold.”

“Always and forever, my love,” you whisper.

You lean in and press your lips to his, showing him just how much you love him.

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#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson fic #klaus mikaelson fanfic #klaus mikaelson fiction #klaus mikaelson fan fic #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson angst #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries fic #the vampire diaries fanfic #tvd #tvd fic #tvd fanfiction #tvd fanfic

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