#i know the timing is ironic because of the poll but this is just the first chance i've had to make this gifset
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inbetween | spencer reid
good riddance x spencer reid one shot series master list
summary ; after months over talking over email, you and spencer finally meet in person.
warnings ; reader & spencer fall in love over emails, meeting in person, insecure reader, insecure spencer, worries about not being enough, pretty much just pure fluff tbh.
an ; in between yall. this song. this is the first oneshot in the good riddance x spencer reid one shot series!! while i waiting for the poll to finish!!
part one, part two, part three
âI just can't come between 'em, they got their own thing I wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ring. For more than a couple seconds, oh, I think maybe two. two hearts just fallin' in and out of love for somethin' new. âi wish that you could see 'em, their faces lighten up their past is cold and empty, they know it's been enough of waitin' on somebody, someone who doesn't care but he knows her name, she knows he'll always be thereâ
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The email rang up at exactly 5:30, exactly when you expected it to. You were sitting at your desk at work, knees pulled to ur chest as you spun on the desk chair. Your coworkers paid no mind to your antics, after working in the safe office for years, with each other. They were used to it by now.
You chewed at your lip as you refreshed your email when the clock changed to exactly 5:30, a wide smile dawned your face when you read the email, you heart ached with longing as your eyes traced over the words on the screen, your stomach tightening and your heart clenching.
Sent from [email protected] at 5:30pm
Hi.
I donât know when this will send because Iâm writing it while on the jet, probably as we get lower and more towards landing, Iâll spare you the scientific details. We only got back from a case this morning, early. Which is why it has taken me so long to reply. Im sorry.
We got a case in Maryland, which I remember you telling me, is where you live. I know I should probably just ask for your phone number but I kind of enjoy the emailing thing. Itâs a lot less nerve racking because I can try to pass it off as professional, even though a lot of the time our conversations arenât.
I actually donât think we have ever had a professional conversation. Which is a good thing. I really enjoy our conversations no matter what we are talking about. I really enjoy talking to you.
I hope this isnât too forward but I wanted to know if theres any chance I could see you while Iâm in Maryland for this case. I donât know when it would be or how long Iâd be able to see you for, but I do really want to see you. If thats okay with you.
I guess I should give you my number, so you know Iâm not some creepy old man. That would be ironic since I work at the FBI and my job is to stop people like that⊠I donât know.
Heres my number, 023387677
Love, Spencer.
Your stomach tightened at the idea of seeing him in person. You never admitted it, but you knew he wasnât an old man, you knew exactly who he was. You made the decision to google his name 6 months ago, when the two of you first started emailing back and forth after he accidentally sent a work email to the wrong person and you replied. It started as just telling him he had sent it to the wrong person, then he thanked you and apologised and made a joke and then the conversation just flowed.
You had been having conversations with Spencer Reid for six months and you felt like you knew more about him than you did yourself. He told you about his day, and about things he had been through, He opened up to you about his addiction and his mom and you opened up to him about your own trauma and issues.
Spencer Reid was your best friend and you had never met him. You had never even heard his voice. You only had seen his face on google when you searched up âSpencer reid FBIâ and a photo came up, he looked younger than you assumed in it, seeing the photo was from a few years ago. You felt slightly bad since you knew he could google you and probably come up empty handed â you had the upper hand.
You look at the clock as it inches closer to six o-clock when you finish work. A boring office job, you often complained to Spencer about. It was ironic since his job literally traumatised him, and yet you complained about the boring desk job, although he never ever compared, he would listen and comfort you after a bad day no matter what, just like you did for him.
You donât reply to the email he sent as you typed the number he sent into your phone, saving the contact under âspenceâ The nickname that had developed only weeks into the two of you talking. You send him a text, letting him know it was you, saying hi.
âPhone.â You hear your boss, warning you about using your phone at work, you lift your head an apologetic smile on your face as you close your phone, placing it face down on your desk as you close your email and return to your work after muttering out a sheepish, âSorry!â
Spencer is sitting in a conference room of the police station in Maryland. He didnât know it but he was only two blocks away from the office you worked. He never usually cared to check his phone while working â nothing could be as important as the case.
Until you, until now.
He found himself hanging out to feel the buzz in his pocket, he found himself checking his phone just in case maybe he missed the message. Just in case you did message.
He also checked his email a lot.
âWhats up with boy wonder?â Derek asked as he spun a chair to sit on it backwards, resting his arms on the back of the chair as he looked around at the other team members. Spencer focus on anything other than the case.
âHe gave mystery girl his numberâ Emily said, patting Spencers shoulder softly to get his attention as she walked past him, placing a coffee down in front of him. Spencer noticed how it was his normal order â despite the fact lately he had been getting your order, after he found out what it was. It made him feel a little bit closer to you.
âOo, Okay lover boy.â Derek hummed approvingly, raising his eyebrow slightly as he looked down at the boy. Spencer sighed as he let back in his chair, tossing his phone on the table as he checked to get no message. âNothing yet?â Emily asked, knowing Spencer had been stressing since he sent the email on the jet, nearly two hours ago.
He didnât know it hadnât even delivered until a few minutes ago.
âShes probably just busyâ Spencer muttered as he checked his watch for the time. 5:33pm, youâd be at work.
Derek shared a look with Emily, both with teasing smiles on their faces. They had watched Spencer obsess over the girl for the past 6 months, even after he tried to hide it for the first few. He did a horrid job, they all noticed him smiling at his computer and typing away more often than ever, they noticed his focus slight adverted. It took a bit but they eventually got it out of him when you didnât email him back for a week and he was going insane with worry that maybe you were ghosting him, or that you were hurt.
He confided in his team, you emailed him a few days later saying your wifi went down and none of your emails were going through. He was instantly relieved.
His phone buzzed on the table, 5:35pm. His hand instantly reached out for his phone. His eyes widened and his lip twitched upwards as he read the message that lit his screen.
âAnd lover boy is inâ Derek whispered to Emily, loud enough that Spencer could hear that only ended up in Spencer sending him a glare, before typing out a reply and sending it, asking to call you tonight when he got finished.
âAlright, We got a leadâ Hotch said entering the room.
You leant against the back of your head board, your hair wet and dripping down the back of your neck as you waited nervously for call to ring through your phone. You were almost terrified of what the conversation might hold. You were glad you were calling before you agreed or disagreed to meeting him, you could feel out whether or not it might be awkward or not.
You almost jumped out of your skin as your phone started ringing, anxiety pooled in your stomach as your skin flushed hot, causing the drops of water on the back of your neck feel as if it was burning the skin. You reached out for your phone that rested on your bed side table, answering the call.
âHi.â You muttered out a breath of air. You couldnât even help but smile as the realisation dawned on you. You were talking to Spencer. Finally, actually talking to him.
You heard a harsh breath on the other side of the phone before some shuffling. âHold onâ He mumbled out, you stomach fluttered at his voice as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you bit back a smile.
âOkay.â You said, you heard some more shuffling before the sound of a door closing, then a creek. And then a breath.
âHiâ He settled on, you sat up a bit, crossing your legs as his word came out almost breathy and nervous. It made your chest thump against your ribcage so much it ached. âSorryâ I shouldâve waited till I was in my hotel room to call, I was excitedâ Sorryâ He said.
You could hear the nerves in his voice and all it did was make your cheeks beat a rosy hue. âItâs okay. I was nervousâ You admit softly, you try to hide the slight embarrassment in your voice but it fails you as your words come out small.
You hear him chuckle. You think the sound genuinely makes your mind fall empty of any coherent thoughts. âYou donât have to be nervousâ He spoke so softly as if his words were an exhale he had been holding in.
âBut I amâ You muttered.
âMe too.â He said honestly. You found comfort in the fact he cared enough about this interaction to be nervous about it. You went to run your hand through your hair but paused with you felt the coldness â it was still very wet from your shower.
âGoodâ You sighed out, voice almost a whisper. You didnât know why you were speaking so quietly, there was no one else in your house. There was no reason to be as quiet as you were.
âIs good that Iâm nervous?â Spencer asked, you could hear the teasing in his voice. It made your head spin and the words get caught as you shook your head, before remembering he couldnât see you.
âYes- No- no. No.â You muttered out, âIts uh- Its not good that your nervousâ I- Its just good that you careâ You scrambled out, stuttering over your words as you grew flustered. It made you want to turn into your pillow and scream.
You heard him laugh, making your face screw up. âShut up.â You muttered out as it didnât take a genius to figure out he was laughing at you scrambling over your words, your free hand came up to cover your face as your cheeks felt on fire.
âNo- Im sorry. Im sorry. Of course I care, you know I careâ He said softly as he collected his laughter, his voice dripping honesty for a moment as he spoke genuinely in a way that made your knees feel weak â Thank god you werenât standing. You were silent for a moment as a smile dawned on your face.
âTell me about your day.â He requested gently. You heard some more shuffling you could only assume he was getting comfortable in bed. You pictured it and it made your stomach burn with longing. Wishing it wasnât just an image in your head.
And you did, you told him about your day and he told you about yours; the conversation flowed simply and sweetly from then on. He teased you whenever you stuttered over your words, you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.
You and him spoke until your voice was quiet and drowsy with sleep, until your eyes were fluttering shut and you went unresponsive for a moment before he asked if you were asleep and you would wake up to the sound of his voice, muttering out a no, to which he would chuckle, and tell you to go to sleep.
When you fell asleep, he waited ten minutes to make sure you were really asleep before hanging up. His heart full as he fell asleep smiling.
Sorry I fell asleep. If i didnât throw you off completely and you still want to see me, im free any day after 6, when i finish work.
Spencer smiled at the message. The acceptance. You were accepting meeting him, seeing him. He couldnât fathom the idea of anything you doing ever throwing him off. You had wiggled your way into his chest months ago, and you stayed consuming every part of him everyday since. He didnât see that changing any day soon, or ever.
He sent you an address to a bar Derek suggested the team going to after work. He didnât know if maybe it was too forward, or might be awkward with his team there, but at least if it didnât go well there was people around.
He closed his phone as he waited for your reply, his mind replaying the conversation he had with you last night, how sweet you sounded, how your laugh made his heart clench, how whenever you said his name or spoke a little louder he felt light headed, unable to focus on anything but you.
There was anxiety in his stomach when he realised the two of you never quite talked about what it all meant. What the months of conversation back and forth was. He realised he didnât know what you wanted. What you expected.
Maybe you just saw him as a friend, maybe to you the conversation is nothing more than friendly. Honestly, if that was the case Spencer didnât think he would be able to deny you of that. He would do anything to keep you in his life, even if it caused a slight ache in his chest. He had told you things he couldnât imagine telling anyone else, he trusted you in a way he didnât know possible, and it may be stupid, maybe naive, but Spencer didnât care.
The way he felt for you took over any ounce of doubt in his mind, it overtook the insecurity welling in his mind, that maybe you wouldnât like him, not the way he liked you.
He had never felt so much for a person. He had never felt so much point blank. He could hardly fathom you feeling for him near the amount he felt for you.
Your hands traveled over your jeans softly as your palms grew sweaty as you stepped inside the bar. Thanking the guy you held it open for you as he walked out. You were instantly overwhelmed by the amount of people, the music playing and the people chatting. You probably should have gotten changed first instead of coming straight after work but you were too nervous and didnât want to give yourself time to dwindle in your insecurities then chicken out.
You manoeuvred your way through the people, quiet apologies leaving your lips as you looked around for Spencer, or anyone who looks like they might be an FBI agent.
What does an FBI agent look like? you thought, as you let out a sigh, finally getting out of the crowd of people as you got to the back of the bar, a lot more free of space. A few people around, standing at tables. You skimmed over for a moment as you tried to catch any glimpse of the boy that you could.
You heard your name, making you spin on your heels. You saw a dark haired girl smiling at you. Well that isnât spencer.
âYes?â You said, smiling at her as you tried to hide the anxiety building in your veins. Your hand coming to push hair off your face softly as you try to focus on the girl in front of you. She grins widely, âSpencer is over there, you looked like you were looking for someoneâŠâ She said, my smile instantly widened as you looked over to where she nudged her head.
your breath got caught in your throat as your eyes settled on him, the photo didnât do him justice in any way. His hair was messy and slightly grown out, he was engrossed in a conversation with who you could only assume was Derek Morgan, who Spencer had told you about. His tie was crooked in his suit as he lifted his arm to sip the drink in his hand.
you tear my eyes away as you look at the lady who is smiling at you. âHappy with that?â She asks. It takes you a moment to recognise her as Emily, whom Spencer had also told you about. You can hardly put it into words how your chest feels like its gonna explode as your heart thumps.
âHe is gorgeous.â You breathe out, shaking your head as words fail you, your eyes trail back to him for a moment to see him laughing, you see his head turn towards the door, as if he is waiting for you to walk through them.
Emily smiles, patting your shoulder softly, âCmon Mystery girlâ She said, you pay little attention to the nickname as she encourages you to walk towards the table with her. Your legs feel like Jelly with every step that you take, your stomach twisting in the familiar feeling of anxiety.
When she pauses at the table your breath hitches. âOi Reidâ She mutters, both he and Derek turns their head towards her, âLook who I foundâ She says softly, hand brushing over your shoulder.
Spencers eyes skip over to yours and you watch an emotion pull his features. An emotion you canât quite place and it makes your stomach ache at the uncertainty, insecurity creeping up the back of your neck.
âHiâ You breathe out as you look at him. Theres a moment of silence before he is pushing away from the table and walking around to you. His arms around you the moment you are in reach and it makes your muscles tense slightly before relaxing completely in his hold as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him back.
Emily and Derek watch in amusement for a moment, smiling when they see the look on Spencerâs face. The one you couldnât place the one they knew all too well.
He was in love.
He was in love before seeing you, he knew that but watching you stand there grinning at him made him all the more sure about it. His hand rested on your waist as he pulled back from the hug to look at your face.
âHiâ He whispered back.
You chewed at your lip at you bit back the wide smile that tried to force its way into your features. His hand traveled up to your face before he could stop it hand cupping your face gently.
You eased, leaning into his touch the warmth of his hand feeling gentle against the soft skin of your cheek. âY-You- I- Hi.â He stuttered this time.
You grinned, âCat got your tongue?â You ask, teasing him like he would every-time you stuttered over the phone. He just grins in response.
âNo. Youâre beautifulâ He said, eyes dancing over your face, he looked at you like he was trying to memories every little detail. Your stomach tightens and your knees felt weak as the compliment left his mouth. You had been told that before, but it felt different coming from him. He said it with honesty and sincerity.
âSo are youâ You said back before hugging him tightly again. He didnât complain at all, instead his arms fell tightly around your waist as he held you against him, as if he was scared that if he let go you would disappear.
The night went on, you stayed by spencerâs side, his hand on yours or around your shoulder gently as if he couldnât get enough of the feeling of you being next to him. You never complained â you took it all as a compliment and leant into his touch.
âAre you cold?â Spencer asked as you and him walked outside of the bar, hand in hand. he noticed the way you shivered as the cold hair hit the skin of your bare arms. You turn your head to look up at him, the look in his eye enough to make your chest clench around the fat of your heart.
âA littleâ You admit. It was nothing you couldnât handle, but spencer was instantly pulling off his suit jacket for you, slugging it gently over your shoulders as the two of you walked down the street. You paused in your steps as you looked up at him.
âThank you.â You say.
âIts okay- I donât want you to be coldâ He said softly. You couldnât help but smile at his kindness, but you shook your head. âFor that tooâ But I meant, for asking to see me. Thank you for thinking of me when you heard about where the case was â for talking to me everyday. Thank you for being my best friend Spenceâ You said softly as you lean against your car as you and him stop in front of it.
His lip twitches upwards into a smile as his hand drops yours instead resting softly on your lips. âI always think of you.â He admits, eyes on yours.
Your breath gets caught in the back of your throat. âSpencer.â You say softly.
He looks at you, really looks at you. He is seeing you. He is seeing every little thing you have told him over the last six months, every little detail about you there was to know, and all he could think about was he wanted more, he wanted to know you more.
âYeah?â He says, his voice a whisper.
You feel anxiety pool in your stomach as the question lingers on the tip of your tongue. There was a pull towards him you couldnât ignore, the same pull you felt when you received his email, six months, 2 weeks and 3 days ago. Youâd count the hours but you figured that was more his style.
âYou can say no, I want you to know thatâ You said, you wanted to make it perfectly clear that his response to this was completely up to him and you didnât want to feel pressured. âCan I kiss you?â You ask.
His lips are on yours before you can even finish the question. One hand of his travelling to the small of your back to bring you in closer while the other tangles in your hair, cradling the back of your neck. Your hands instantly cup his face as you press your lips against him. Your lips together saying more than words ever could.
This, right here, him, right now.
It was everything and more.
#criminal minds#criminal minds show#criminal minds x reader#criminalmindsfans#spencer criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x oc#spencer reid x reader#wattpad#criminal minds one shot#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid comfort#spencer reid angst#spencer reid smut#spencer reid criminal minds#doctor spencer reid#dr spencer reid#dr spencer reid x you#good riddance x spencer reid oneshot#good riddances x spencer reid series#gracie abrams
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âDid they really decapitate babies?â my 14-year-old daughter asked me yesterday. She was pointing to a text message on her phone from a friend. âTheyâre saying they found Jewish babies killed, some burnt, some decapitated.â And I froze. Not because I didnât know what to sayâthough in truth I didnât know what to sayâbut because for a moment I forgot what century I was in. All of the assumptions I had made as a Jewish father, even one who had grown up, as I did, with the Holocaust just a few decades past, were suddenly no longer relevant. Had I adequately prepared her for the reality of Jewish death, what every shtetl child for centuries would have known intimately? Later in the day, she asked if, for safetyâs sake, she should take off the necklace she loves that her grandparents had given her and that has her name written out in Hebrew script.
The attack by Hamas on Israeli civilians last Saturday broke something in me. I had always resisted victimhood. It felt abhorrent, self-pitying to me in a world that seemed far away from the Inquisition and Babi Yarâespecially in the United States, where I live and where polls repeatedly tell me that Jews are more beloved than any other religious group. I wasnât blind to anti-Semitism and the ways it had recently become deadlier, or to the existential dread that my family in Israel felt every time terrorists blew up a bus or cafĂ©âitâs a story whose sorrows have punctuated my entire life. But I refused to embrace that ironically comforting mantra, âThey will always want to kill us.â I hated what this tacitly expressed, that if they always want to kill us, then we owe them, the world, nothing. I deplore the occupation for both the misery it has inflicted on generations of Palestinians and the way it corrodes Israeli society; when settlers in the West Bank have been attacked, it has pained me, but I have also felt anger that they are even there. In short, I wasnât locked into the worldview of my survivor grandparents and I felt superior for it.
But something in me did break. As I was driving on Tuesday, I heard a long interview on the BBC with Shir Golan, a 22-year-old woman who had survived the attack at the music festival where more than 250 people were killed, her voice sounding just like one of my young Israeli cousins. She described, barely able to catch her breath, how the shooting had started and how sheâd begun to run. Sheâd found a wooded area and tried to hide. âI got really into the ground,â she said. âI put the bushes on me.â Covered with dirt and leaves, sheâd waited. A group of terrorists had shown up and called for anyone hiding to come out. From her spot under the earth, sheâd seen three young people, whom she called âchildren,â emerge. âI didnât go out because I was scared. But there were three children next to me who got out. And then they shot them. One after one after one. And they fell down, and that I saw. I saw the children fall down. And all that I did was pray. I prayed to my god to save me.â
I pulled my car over because my own hands were shaking as I listened. She then described waiting, hidden in the dirt under bushes for hours, until she saw the terrorists begin to light the forest on fire. âI didnât know what to do. Because if Iâm staying there, Iâm just burnt to death. But if I go out they are going to kill me.â She crawled over to where she saw dead bodies and lay on top of them, but the heat soon approached, so she found more bushes to hide in until she could run again. Burnt bodies were everywhere, and Shir looked for her friends but couldnât find them, couldnât even see the faces of those killed because they were so badly burned. âI felt like I was in hell.â She finally escaped in a car.
Her story flung me back to my grandparentsâ stories. My grandmother hid in a hole for a year in the Polish countryside, also under dirt, also scared. My grandfather spent months in Majdanek, a death camp, and saw bodies pile up in exactly this way. Stories are still emerging of families burnt alive, of children forced to watch their parents killed before their eyes, of bodies desecrated. How was this taking place last Saturday?
But these stories arenât what broke me. What did was the distance between what was happening in my head and what was happening outside of it. The people on âmy sideâ are supposed to care about human suffering, whether itâs in the detention camps of Xinjiang or in Darfur. They are supposed to recognize the common humanity of people in need, that a child in distress is first a child in distress regardless of country or background. But I quickly saw that many of those on the left who I thought shared these values with me could see what had happened only through established categories of colonized and colonizer, evil Israeli and righteous Palestinianâtemplates made of concrete. The break was caused by this enormous disconnect. I was in a world of Jewish suffering that they couldnât see because Jewish suffering simply didnât fit anywhere for them.
The callousness was expressed in so many ways. There were those tweets that did not hide their disregard for Jewish lifeââwhat did yâall think decolonization meant? vibes? papers? essays? Losersââor the one that described the rampage as a âglorious thing to wake up to.â There was the statement by more than two dozen Harvard student groups asserting, in those first hours in which we saw children and women and old people massacred, that âthe Israeli regimeâ was âentirely responsible for all unfolding violence.â And then there were the less explicit posts that nevertheless made clear through pseudo-intellectual word salads that Israel got what it deserved: âa near-centuryâs pulverized overtures toward ethnic realization, of groping for a medium of existential latitudeâthese things culminate in drastic actions in need of no apologia.â I hate to extrapolate from social mediaâit is a place that twists every utterance into a performance for others. But I also felt this callousness in the real world, in a Times Square celebratory protest promoted by the New York City chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America, at which one speaker talked of supporting Palestinians using âany means necessaryâ to retake the land âfrom the river to the sea,â as a number of placards declared. There were silences as well. Institutions that had rushed to condemn the murder of George Floyd or Russia for attacking Ukraine were apparently confounded. I watched my phone to see whether friends would write to find out if my family was okayâand a few did, with genuine and thoughtful concern, but many did not.
Iâm still trying to understand this feeling of abandonment. Is my own naivete to blame? Did I tip too far over into the side of universalism and forget the particularistic concerns to which I should have been attunedâthe precarious state of my own tribe? Even as I write this, I donât really want to believe that thatâs true. If I can fault myself clearly for something, though, itâs not recognizing that the same ideological hardening Iâd seen on the right in the past few years, the blind allegiances and contorted narratives even when reality was staring people in the face, has also happened, to a greater degree than Iâd imagined, on the left, among the people whom I think of as my own. They couldnât recognize a moral abomination when it was staring them in the face. They were so set in their categories that they couldnât make a distinction between the Palestinian people and a genocidal cult that claimed to speak in that peopleâs name. And they couldnât acknowledge hundreds and hundreds of senseless deaths because the people who were killed were Israelis and therefore the enemy.
As the days go on, the horrific details of what happenedâthose babiesâseem to be registering more fully, if not on the ideological left, then at least among sensible liberals. But somehow I canât shake the feeling of aloneness. Does it take murdered babies for you to recognize our humanity? I find myself thinkingâa thought that feels alien to my own mind but also like the truth. Perhaps this is the Jewish condition, bracketed off for many decades and finally pulling me in.
When news broke of the Kishinev pogrom in 1903 that took 49 lives (compare that with the 1,200 we now know were killed on Saturday), it caused a sensation throughout the world. âBabes were literally torn to pieces by the frenzied and bloodthirsty mob,â The New York Times reported. âThe local police made no attempt to check the reign of terror. At sunset the streets were piled with corpses and wounded. Those who could make their escape fled in terror, and the city is now practically deserted of Jews.â In response to that massacre, the emigration of hundreds of thousands of Eastern European Jews to the United States began in earnest; the call of Zionism as a solution also sounded clearly and widely for the first time.
In his famous poem about the massacre, âIn the City of Slaughter,â the Hebrew writer Haim Naáž„man Bialik lamented, even more than the death, the sense of helplessness (âThe open mouths of such wounds, that no mending / Shall ever mend, nor healing ever healâ), the men who watched in terror from their hiding places while women were raped and blood was spilled. I canât say I know what will happen now that this helplessness has returnedâif Iâm honest, I also fear that Israelâs retaliation will go too far, that acting out of a place of victimhood, as right as it may feel, will cause the country to lose its mind. Innocent lives in Gaza have been and will be destroyed as a result, and competing victimhood is obviously not the way out of the conflict; itâs the reason that it is hopelessly stuck. But in this moment, before the destruction of Gaza grabs my attention and concern alongside fear for my relatives who have been called up to the army, I donât want to forget how alone I felt as a Jew these past few days. I have a persistent, uncomfortable need now to have my peopleâs suffering be felt and seen. Otherwise, history is just an endless repetition. And thatâs an additional tragedy that seems too much to bear.
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Pick Your Romance Starter- Dark Fae Addition
Plot/Story:Â Oh no, you've fallen into the Fae Realm through a circle of mushrooms. How convenient, I mean inconvenient! And look, there's some hot Fae men wanting you're attention...how so very clique. But they're not all flowers and sunshine. That would be too damn easy, wouldn't it?
Warnings: Dark Fae, slight non-con touch, blood, 10k words
Notes:Â The dry-spell has finally worn off and I present to you a little morsel of writing.
Poll is 'here' (Patreon) and here (Tumblr)to choose which character is written for first!
Poll has been finished! Hezirus got the pick. Here is another poll to choose what type of spicey story you want with him.
This is all based on a world built together with a friend. The characters are OCs of mine we play with and use in our stories together. And for your amusement, and torture for my friend, I have started a series where you pick which one I write for first.
This will be a heavy female x male character story. I apologize to my MxM and FxF readers. But I do plan on making these three fuck eventually. Just because it's fun.Â
And by all means, give me ideas and feedback. I crave the attention!
Enjoy!
The sharp iron-like smell filled your senses and you felt yourself falling. The warm night air turned bitterly cold and the light from the street disappeared into a wall of black. You blinked. The wind whooshing around you was as loud as a hurricane; before your feet slammed onto stone and you stumbled into something hard and cold. And everything went unnaturally quiet.
You opened your eyes. Blinking rapidly to remove the haziness from your vision as you reached out, calling for your friend. It was dark. Too dark for your eyes just yet.
Your fingers found the cold bars of something circling you. Your hand followed it until you pushed away and stood on your own two feet. Swaying a little, the alcohol still affected your body even as the adrenaline coursed through you.
Finally, after some more blinking and squinting into the dark, your eyes adjusted. And horror filled your stomach as you looked around you.
You were in a cage. An iron cage in the center of a dark room. The floor, the pillars, the walls, all made from gray, smoothed stone. Dust layered the ground like a blanket around your small prison. And thick, but empty, cobwebs lined the corners of the room.
It didnât look like anyone had been in here forâŠa very long time.
Your eyes caught the faintest touch of blue light on the floor and you looked down. Finding a glowing ring of sigils carved into the floor, fully encircling your cage. And everytime you moved, the strange letters pulsed with energy and that sharp smell filled your nose once more.
Something in you whispered that it was the same diameter of the mushroom circle you had jumped into⊠And with that thought, horror filled you. It had happened. It actuallyâŠworked. But not in the way you expected.
You donât know how long you stood in that cage for, calling out into the darkness. It was long enough that the effects of tonight's drinks had worn off and the feeling of dehydration was starting to kick in.
The cold of the room settled on your skin like ice. And you tried to huddle up as much as you could, trying to preserve as much body heat as possible. But the cold iron and the freezing stone was sapping away at your warmth like a hungry beast.
Eventually, just as you started to think youâd be in this dark room forever, a door opened. One you didnât see at the far end of the room that spilled bright, warm sunlight into the shadows. Making the twilight scatter and your eyes hurt from the blinding rays.
âWell, well, well, I thought all my little traps had been sealed off.â A velvety voice echoed from the doorway. The very sound settled on your skin like the breeze of an autumn afternoon. âWhat a surprise, indeed.â
Something shifted to your right but when you looked, only darkness stared back. Hiding behind a stone pillar, escaping the bright morning light.
You blinked until the sunlight stopped blinding you and the stranger approached. His boots echoed in the empty room as he closed the distance. His face silhouetted by the soft glow of the blue circle at his feet.
He was handsome. Very handsome. The type of handsome you would take a second glance at because you werenât sure if your brain properly processed his face. His hair was a slight mess, a dark but silky tangle of blonde and deep brown. Matching a gaze that was fixed, but curious. And you felt every inch of your skin alight with a cold fire when those copper coloured eyes raked over your body. Not an inch of you was left untouched by his gaze. And it left you a little breathless when he smiled.
But your mind was racing. A voice deep within your mind was telling you to run. To hide. Get away from this man and never look back.
âWhatâs your name, sweet thing?â The man asked. The softest curl of a smirk twitching the corner of his lips.
But you didnât give it. You werenât stupid. And you remembered what happened. You jumped into a ring of mushrooms and suddenly you were falling. Even if you could blame this on a drunken dream, you still didnât give this man your name.
When you didnât reply, the smirk stretched fully across the stranger's face. âAh, so youâre smart. Thatâs cute. I havenât had a smart one in a long time. Come along, then. Letâs get you cleaned up. Youâre exactly what I need to make up for my little blunder last night.â
The cage groaned around you and three of the metal bars slid into the ground. Allowing you a doorway to step out of your small prison and into the stream of light from the door.
The stranger didnât look at you as he led the way out of the cold stone room. But still addressed you as you stepped out into the light. âMy apologies for leaving you in that cold room all night. We had a littleâŠaccident, and I was busy until this morning.â
The man led you into a long corridor of more stone. Though the temperature was vastly more welcoming than the room, it was just as empty and just as dusty. You passed many doors like the one from where you landed. Some were left open, revealing more empty areas with a single cage. Others were closed but something dark marked the metal entryway. It looked suspiciously like old blood.
If this stranger saw you staring, he didnât give any move to answer your unspoken questions. He led you up a spiraling staircase and a door of heavy carved wood and granite, creaked open before he touched it. Opening up into a sprawling room of many desks and shelves and cabinets.
âClean her.â The stranger said. And from beneath the desks, dark tendrils launched towards you. Black, clawed hands wrapped around your wrists and ankles. Icy cold fingers latched onto your throat, squeezing just enough to silence the scream of fright from your lungs. Iron strength yanked you forward, making your attempts at fleeing fruitless as you were dragged towards a large basin.
More arms of shadows rose from the stone floor and you watched as steaming hot water was poured into the tub. Buckets of water manifesting from darkness and then disappearing when dropped to the floor.
You didnât get to take a breath before you were lifted and then dumped into the basin. Hot water burned your skin and drenched your clothes. You gasped for air, but a cold hand slammed your head back under the water and you felt harsh bristles scrape over your bare skin. Something sweet smelling poured onto your hair as your head was yanked back out of the water for a brief moment
You coughed and spluttered, barely getting a breath in before you were dunked back into the water.
Your clothes were torn away. Despite your best effort to keep them against your skin, the material ripped apart under the strength of these shadowy limps. You wrapped your arms around your chest, obscuring the manâs beautiful gaze from seeing too much.
His smile was too sweet. Too wide as you were finally released and you turned your back to him. Your skin burned from the brush and soap. Your hair felt silky and smelled like a field of freshly bloomed flowers. But you were completely bare in front of him.
âThatâs much better.â The man said. Leaning against a desk nearby. His molten gaze took in every inch of you before he waved his hand and a shadow presented him with a dress. âWear this. It suits you much better thanâŠwhatever else you were wearing.â
When you didnât get out of the tub, the man sighed and rolled his eyes. Then he turned around so he was leaning against the desk with his palms on the surface of the table. âI wonât look. Go on, try it on.â
You hesitated. But already the water was starting to get cold and you couldnât sit in here forever. Curled up and shivering. You sighed heavily and carefully slipped out of the water.
Another shadow appeared beside you with a towel. But it didnât allow you to take it. Instead, it dried you off, harshly rubbing the soft material against your body until your skin felt sore from the material. But dry.
You grumbled a curse towards the man and snatched the dress from the floating shadow.
Surprisingly, the man kept his word and didnât turn around. Until you were in the dress and staring down at yourself in horror.
The material was thinâŠextremely thin⊠You might as well stand in front of him naked without the gentle glimmer of the sparkly dress. And it was very tight. You could see every curve of your breasts and hips, down to your thighs before the dress spilled out around your feet like a bronze ink spill. The only saving grace to this material was that it darkened around your chest and lower center. Refusing to give a full, clean picture of your body that was hidden beneath the dress.
It didnât stop the perked peaks of your nipples from the cold air. And the stranger hummed a low sound in his throat as he adjusted the sleeve of the dress and picked at some imaginary lint on your waist.
âMuch, much better.â The man said. He started to circle you. His eyes scraped over your body as you stood frozen under his gaze. He picked at the dress and the shadows appeared with trinkets and jeweled chains. Your wrists were wrapped in silk and your neck was decorated by a thin, delicate silver chain with topaz stones resting warmly against your neck. A belt of lace loosely circled your hips and your cheeks were assaulted by a dusting of red. Giving you a small blush before cold hands grabbed your face and the man stepped closer.
His forefinger lengthened, growing a black claw that came to a dangerously pointed tip. And you tried to yank yourself away from him but the shadows held you firmly in place. You could only watch in growing horror as the dark talon descended towards your eyeâŠand cautiously drew a line along your upper lashes. Then the man delicately did the same on the other. Giving you a perfect dark eye-liner flick.
The man then stood back. His other hand held your chin as he tilted your face back and forth, admiring the touches he did to you. The shadows relaxed when you did. And you allowed this stranger to do what he wished with your face.
âWhatâs your name?â You asked him. Finding this close proximity with the handsome face was filling your chest with sharp flutters. You could see the finer details. The sharp, pointed ears. The tattoos under the collar of his shirt and the dusting of gold along his face. Perhaps a decorative choice?
âJackal Borcalas, Royal Archivist and Spy Master of the Wildsâ His smile was predatory. Proud. Cocky. As if the widening of your eyes gave him a sense of smugness. âBut Jackal is fine, sweet thing. And yours?â
He said it so casually you almost willingly gave it to him. Like carrying on a normal conversation. But you clapped your mouth shut and glared up at Jackal. Rewarding yourself with a laugh from the Spy Master.
âAh, well, you canât blame a man for trying.â Jackal said, shrugging. Then his hands moved from your face down to your body. Adjusting chains and bracelets and anything else the shadows had placed on you.
But you found his hand barely touched you. His fingers brushed over your hips but didnât linger for too long. The pads of his fingers glossed over your perked nipples but his eyes didnât stray any longer than they needed. His attention was too focused on his task that you doubted he even knew where he was touching.
âGorgeous.â Jackal purred. And despite the hungry look in his eyes, you sensed the genuine compliment behind his words. Or was that just aâŠFae thing to get you comfortable around him. âNow, a few things before I throw you to the wolves.â
You felt the blood drain from your face with his words. And that wicked smile returned, alongside the cold touch of shadows as they wrapped around your legs and started moving them. You felt like a doll on strings, puppeteered after Jackal as he turned and exited the room.
Your captor led you into more corridors and halls. Many stone steps and coloured glass windows that bathed you in greens and golds and bronze. You didnât get to look around. The shadows had you transfixed on watching Jackalâs back as he walked throughâŠwherever you were.
âIf you want to live through the day, you will follow these rules to the absolute letter. Do not look directly into his eyes. He getsâŠcrabby when you do it for too long. And keep your hands off of him unless he places them somewhere. He doesnât like to be touched. Do not turn your back on him unless he tells you to do so, and for the love of the Moon, do not touch his horns. JustâŠkeep your hands to yourself unless youâre ordered otherwise.â Jackal said all this while he led you towards a massive metal door. The shadows relieved their hold just enough that you could finally look around you. But your gaze was transfixed on the entrance before you.
Towering above you was a grotesque, twisted display of melted weapons and armor. Swords Maces Axes Shields Any and all kinds had been liquified against the doors. You spotted helmets and chest plates carved through with spears. All dented, all worn, from battle.
âOh, and also, for my later entertainment, keep yourself alive.â Jackal whispered, looking over your shoulder at him. âWe havenât had a human here inâŠcenturies. So try to make your stay last a little longer than a few minutes.â
With a wave of Jackalâs hand, the war-torn doors opened with an ear-clawing sound of metal on the stone floor.
A blast of heat slammed into you as a voice as deep as thunder growled from within a dimly lit room. âWhat do you want, snake?â Your very bones vibrated with the voice. And a knot of fear coiled in your stomach as Jackal entered the room.
The shadows had you follow him and you entered a room that was more like a throne room. It was a vast space of furs and blankets. Blazing fires were cradled in braziers along the walls and candles flickered on hanging chandeliers made of bone and skulls. The scent of sulfur and burning meat filled your nose and you tried not to gag as you passed a body laying on the floor. Three deep gashes tore up the personâs back and blood pooled around their limp body. Their face twisted in agony and terror.
Jackal didnât even look at it. He continued to stroll into the heated room towards a pile of furs and hides.
âI brought you a gift.â Jackal said. His voice echoing in the massive room. Mixing with the heavy breathing of something huge in front of you. The shadows didnât let you go. They kept you firmly in place behind Jackal.
Something sniffed the air. And you felt the very air around you shift with each deep breath. You started shaking as the tiled floor trembled. The blast of heat came closer and closer. The heat in the room roared and you felt like your arms were being scorched by a blazing fire. Your ears popped and the tremble through the floor halted, but you heard the distinct sound of bare feet stepping over tile towards you.
And then Jackal stepped to the side and you were suddenly staring at a broad chest of muscle and scales.
The shadows released your head. Allowing you to look up, almost craning your neck all the way back, to meet a burning red gaze of a man. He was massive, much taller than 6ft and broad, rippling with muscle. Scars streaked across his arms and chest, giving a stark pale contrast to his dark complexion. A creature of war and battle.
But what was more terrifying was the plating of black scales that protruded from his dark skin. Horns swept out from atop his head. Splitting apart thick, shiny black hair that was braided amongst the crown of thick spikes. And his gaze was heavy. Watching. Calculating.
Jackal tsked harshly and you quickly dropped your eyes. Remembering what Jackal had said only moments before.
The man in front of you growled, a deep rumble that rippled through you like thunder. âA human?â A voice of stone sounded surprised. And you flinched when a massive hand wrapped around your waist, his fingers almost completely encircling your hips, and yanked you closer.
Black scales filled your vision as the man buried his nose into your hair. You felt him take a deep breath and the growl turned into something like a broken purr as the man laughed a cynical chuckle. âIs this your way of saying sorry, snake?â The scaled man snapped at Jackal. Releasing you before stalking over to the much smaller man.
Despite their size difference, and the display of bared teeth from the other man, Jackal remained perfectly calm. His hands resting behind his back as if he was having a casual conversation with someone.
âThis is my way of mending my mistake.â Jackal replied slowly. âHezirus will want her for himself. But I thought you should get some time with her before sheâs claimed entirely. I thought it would be a niceâŠtreat, Maahes, from me to you. From a friend.â
That word brought a snarl out of Maahes. Like he didnât like how it sounded coming out of Jackalâs mouth. âWatch it, snake. You almost cost me my territory last night. A morsel wonât make up for that blunder.â
âThen let it be the start of my amendment to you.â Jackal titled his chin down in a submissive display. And whatever rage Maahes had, seemed to melt away. You felt the sharp tang of something hit your nose and suddenly the beast in front of you roared.
Claws raked through the marble pillar where Jackal had been standing moments before. Then you felt the shadows retreat and Jackal was standing in the doorway behind you. An amused smile across his lips
Maahes roared again, crimson eyes glowing with a surge of anger. âKeep your filthy magic out of my head!â
The doors slammed closed with a thunderous bang as Jackal laughed. Leaving you alone with a creature that was practically shaking with rage.
Your eyes swooped to the floor when the beast looked at you. You heard the click of claws as he approached. Two dark tree trunks entered your view and you realized he was standing right in front of you. He at least wasnât naked, wearing a loose pair of dark trousers. But the thin dress did very little to make you feel protected at this moment.
âWhat is your name?â Maahes asked. You didnât respond, cowering in front of him. The beast snarled and a rough grip wrapped around the underside of your jaw and forced you to look up at him. You kept your gaze from staring into the pools of rubies, looking at the scar that carved down his neck and to his collarbone. âI am not a Fairy, sweet morsel. I wonât use your name against you. What do I call you?â
You felt him lift you a little. Until you were standing on your tiptoes to stop him from choking you. â(y/n)â You managed to say. And the grip released you.
âGet me a drink, (y/n).â Your name rolled on his tongue like he was tasting you through those words. It sounded awfully sinful to hear it. And you quickly hurried over to the table by the dead body. Where an array of goblets and bottles were laid out. You choose the largest cup and fill it with an amber liquid. You had to carry it with both hands to ensure it didnât spill and didnât strain one arm too much. Hurrying back to Maahes, who had returned to lounge on the pile of furs. Which even his massive frame seemed to be swallowed by the vast mattress of pelts.
The beast rumbled. But it wasnât an aggressive sound. You almost thought he sounded pleased as you carefully climbed onto the furs and offered him the wine. He took the cup from your hands. And as he pressed the wine to his lips, his free hand lashed out and took purchase of your hips before you attempted to step away.
You couldnât fight him. The amount of strength beneath those fingers alone was enough to pull you towards him with barely any effort.
You found yourself flush against his side. His scales, rough and jagged, pushed painfully against your soft skin. And once you were positioned how he wanted, the hand moved down to cup your ass. His talons caught on the material of your dress as he squeezed hard. Making you wince a little.
âHow did the snake manage to catch you?â Maahes asked. Placing his cup precariously on a position of the bed as he moved so he was on top of you. His nose scraped against your neck and you felt his teeth playfully pull at the silver chain around your throat. âTrapping humans was outlawed centuries ago. Did he say some pretty words and you were suddenly here? Or did you fall through a mirror?â
His words were surprisingly teasing for how rough his hands were on your body. The pads of his fingers were calloused and coarse, sweeping along your thighs before moving you so he could settle between your legs. He was massive above you. Obscuring the ceiling and bone chandeliers with his mass.
You explained what happened. Recalling the ring of mushrooms on the side of the walkway on your way home. The stupid decision to test fate and jump into the circle. Laughing, thinking nothing would come of it. And then accidentally said âweâ jumped in, and those crimson eyes pulsed intensely.
âThereâs two of you?â Maahes asked. Glancing at the door as if Jackal was about to come through it again with another person. You said you didnât see your friend in the cage and the man shrugged. Returning his mouth to the hollow of your neck. His lips sending goosebumps along your skin as his hot breath bathed along your chest.
It was a long moment of licking and hard nips along your neck before Maahes changed position. Burying his face against your breasts. Even through the dress, you could feel his mouth hungrily take in your left nipple and rake his tongue over the peak.
âNo matter. Iâll feast on you first before I worry about someone else's pet.â You felt him shift against you and something huge and hard pressed against your clothed core. Then Maahes raised his mouth and a burning hot tongue seared along your neck, carrying the smell of wine and meat along your flesh, up to your cheek before your lips were harshly trapped between Maahesâ.
Your struggling only seemed to amuse Maahes. As you tried to push him off and twist away from him. But just as he forced your lips open with his tongue, the doors to the room blasted open in a cold gust of wind. The flames around you simmered out under the gust and the chandeliers swung wildly above you.
Maahes growled and tore his mouth from yours. He poised above you like a beast protecting a kill. Thick arms caging you against the bed as the sound of his snarl ripped through you. You could feel the vibrations through your core, from where his covered bulge was firmly pressed against your core.
You turned your head, peering around Maahesâ arms to see a gorgeous man standing in the streaming sunlight. Like an angel, wings of bronze and gold framed his tall figure and a thick set of arms were crossed over his chest. Lines crinkled his perfect brow and long chocolate brown hair was kept away from his face by a gold crown of gnarled vines and flowers.
âMaahes,â The man said the beastâs name like a warning. But his tone was playful, teasing. âWhat have you got there?â
Maahesâ snarl crumbled into a softer sound. But he didnât move from atop of you. His talons ripped into the furs as his hands turned to fists beside your body. âSheâs mine.â
âNot anymore she isnât.â The angel said. Stepping into the dark room, closer to the creature that was bent low over your frozen body. âI caught her scent on my way to breakfast. I donât know how Jackal got her, but sheâs a guest in my palace. I wonât have you break her on her first morning here.â
Soft, bronze eyes fell upon you and his smile softened. But those warning bells in your head were singing again. Even more so than they had with Jackal. âGive her to me, Maahes.â The man said, his wings opening a touch to make him seem so much bigger than he was. âI wonât ask again.â
The beast above you growled deep and threatening. You braced for something to happen. Another gust of wind. A fist. Claws. Something.
But then the heavy, hot weight of Maahes disappeared as he crawled off of you. And you scrambled off the bed to stand beside the winged man. Hiding behind him as his wing opened to protect you from Maahesâ heated gaze. âGood boy.â The crowned stranger said. A very careful smile placed over his lips. âDo not let me catch you playing with her again.â
Maahesâ gaze lowered to the furs. But you could see the tension in his body and the thick, throbbing vein that was protruding from his neck. He bowed. âYes, Prince Hezirus.â
That seemed to be enough for theâŠprince. And he turned, his wing shifting to envelope you in a warm embrace against your back and guiding you out of the room.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind you both. And the wings of the prince moved to lazily return to his back. A different type of heat simmered in his gaze when the prince turned to you. A striking difference from the softness he offered you before. âNow, human, you will tell me how you got here. And why youâreâŠdressed the way you are.â Despite the quizzical tone, Prince Hezirusâ eyes were just as hungry and heavy as Jackalâs when you first got dressed. You instinctively tried to cover yourself but a narrowed glare from the person in front of you made you halt.
Your arms dropped to your sides as you explained everything. But this time, you kept the âweâ out of it. Only insinuating that you alone jumped into the very obvious Fae trap.
âBut you know our customs,â The prince hummed. Tilting his head like how a dog did when it was intrigued by something. âYou wonât give me your name. You even called the circle a trap. SoâŠyou knew what it was.â
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. The drunken stupor of a joke was now very obviously a suicide sentence. âI didnât think it would work.â You argued. âI wasâŠdrunk.â
âSuperstition has kept your people alive longer than youâd think. You should start listening to your fable stories, thereâs a reason they exist.â The prince began walking and you hurried to follow. The tall man, possibly as tall as the beast on the furs, didnât shorten his strides to let you keep up. Instead, you had to fasten your steps to almost jog alongside him.
âWhere am I?â You asked. Finally looking at your surroundings. There were large paintings that covered the towering walls. The ceiling looked like marble with many hanging candles and torches to illuminate what the sun couldnât. Massive glass windows bathed your walk with the prince in color. But at least this time you could see the shapes of beasts and battles and fields of flowers as you passed them.
It was all very beautiful.
âYouâre in the Fae Wilds. My kingdom.â The prince replied. His chin tilted up with pride as he spoke. âI am Prince Hezirus of the Wilds. Son of Queen Melusine, the Lady of the Forest. Youâre in my palace in the deepest forest of our kingdom. MyâŠholiday home, I guess you would call it.â
You stalled for a moment to peek through one of the windows. Spying the grounds of the estate that sprawled out in grassy knolls and flowing creeks that sliced through lush gardens and tumbled through the gnarled roots of mountainous trees.
There were people working in the gardens and some walked the earthy paths through the estate. Someone even started flying into the branches of a nearby tree. With wings like an insect.
A soft cough from the prince made you turn. Finding him standing by the cliff of a long stairwell that led down and into the center of the palace. You quickly hurried back to his side and started descending next to him.
âItâs beautiful.â You said. Unable to keep your eyes on one thing at a time. A man walked past you both, bowing deeply to the prince before walking briskly away. His features reminded you of a rat.
âThank you. But you will have time to see everything soon. I want you to join me for breakfast.â The prince said. And you followed him down a corridor and into a grand hall. A long table was presented before you. Its surface was chock-full of plates and bowls of food. All steaming, like the dishes had just come out of the oven.
At the end of the table sat a beautifully crafted chair of twisted roots and vines. The cushions looked as soft as clouds and a plate of sourdough bread, bathed in eggs and bacon with a drizzle of white sauce, was sitting awaiting the prince.
Hezirus waved his hand and a chair pulled itself from the table next to the prince. And Hezirus gestured for you to sit, before he flicked his hand and the chair pushed you snugly against the table. A plate was placed in front of you by an owl-faced woman and the prince seated himself in his chair.
Leaning his cheek on his fist, propped up by his elbow on the table, he watched you curiously. âPlease, eat. Enjoy.â
The smells of everything laid out in front of you was maddening. Your stomach twisted in hunger and the slight hangover that had plagued you with a headache, wished for water. But you didnât reach for any of it. And watched the prince take his gaze off you just enough to take a bite out of his egg smothered bread slice.
âSo now you start to believe in your fables?â The prince asked. An amused smile twitching his lips as he chewed. âI do not need to charm you to keep you here, lovely thing. You may eat freely. This food is not poisoned and untouched by magic. Other than what is needed to prepare certain dishes.â
You still didnât reach for anything. Not even the water. Which sat chilled in a glass pitcher in front of you. Like it was teasing you. You shook your head. âThank you. But Iâll skip breakfast.â
The princeâs eyes flashed gold and suddenly you were reaching for the water. You tried with all your might to stop yourself from pouring a glass, but your hands worked just like they did when the shadows had hold of you.
Puppeteered.
Helpless.
You tried to cry out as your fingers brought the glass of water to your lips. But your body defied you. And you sipped cleanly, without choking, a long draught of water down your parched throat. Once you had placed the glass down you felt your body return to your control and you stood. Almost knocking the chair over as you jerked away from the table.
âLike I said, I do not need to charm you to make you stay.â The prince said. As if you had asked about the weather. So casually glossing over what he just did. âYour tales of us are trueâŠin some sense. But we hold more power than we allowed you to believe. Please. Eat. You look like youâre about to pass out. And I wonât tell you again. You wonât like it if I have to do it myself.â
It was true. You could feel the edge of your mind falling into a dizzy spiral. And the thought of you passing out in front of him made the hunger turn to fear. You shook your head, clearing it, and sat down before your legs gave out. And begrudgingly served yourself some pancakes.
And it was the best thing youâve ever eaten. Whether it was because of hunger, or the Fae chefs, it was delicious. Even the fruit you ate was sweet and juicy. Perfect. Also too perfect.
But if you didnât eat, you were sure heâd probably force you too. So, you gave in. As much as the logical side of the brain was screaming at you to stop.
The princeâs gaze never left your lips as you ate. His eyes were persistently on you, even as he devoured his own breakfast and poured a cup of something that smelled strongly of coffee.
âDid Jackal explain anything to you before he shoved you into a room with a horny Drake?â The prince asked. An eyebrow raising when you told him of the rules Jackal gave you. And you added on that you were meant to be a treat, as a means of amendment from Jackal.âAt least he wanted you to live through the morning. And yes, Jackal made a small mistake last night. Maahes exaggerates, it wasnât so bad heâd lose his territory. Heâs just angry he lost a bet at all. You were lucky I found you before Maahes went too far. I do enjoy it when Maahes is rough with me. But your delicate body would snap apart the moment he pulls down his pants.â
The rush of heat that exploded in your body, crawling up your neck and into your cheeks made the prince chuckle. âThatâs adorable. But also very dangerous. Donât do that around Maahes. If he gets whiff that youâre into things like him, youâll be chained to his hips and riding his cock until your body breaks.â
You tried to argue. Maybe say something that it wasnât arousal, but shock at the princeâs choice of words. But the prince shot you a look that silenced your rebuttal before it began. âI can smell it on you, pet. Donât even try lying to my face. It wonât end well for you.â His words carried a threat that made your skin crawl with a chill. Even if his tone was light and teasing. Something in his gaze had your heart racing.
âWhat are you going to do to me?â You asked. You wanted to know, so you could at least brace for whatever was about to happen to you. How many books have you read about similar scenarios? You had the hot, sexy men part ticked off. A strange, weird place in the Fae realm, checked. But this wasnât a romance. You were just left to the mercy of a creature with scales. Given a hint at the power that could make you do anything the man in front of you wanted.
Your life very much was in danger right now.
âHmm, Iâm not sure yet.â The prince said. Leaning back in his chair as he regarded you with a critical eye. Like he was appraising a piece of art. âBut Iâm sure youâre asking if Iâm going to kill you. Eat your bones. Turn you into aâŠI donât know. What do we Fae do to humans? Itâs been centuries since Iâve talked to one. But you never forget the scent.â The prince breathed in deeply and released it slowly with a long sigh. When his eyes opened, his pupils were blown wide like he was intoxicated.
âSuch a delicious fragrance. It used to drive me mad in my youth. The lust. The hunger. Oh, fuck, the sexâŠâ The prince finally looked at you again. As if suddenly remembering you were there and had asked a question. âNo, dear pet, I am not going to kill you. Some of my court might try. But Iâve already ordered them that you are to be untouched. Left only for me to squeeze.â
He flashed you a smile that made his already handsome face become even more beautiful. âAnyone that tries to force themselves on you will meet my wrath. You are welcome to wander the palace. I do suggest staying as far away from Maahes as possible. And donât go into the gardens until-â
âIf I may, Hez.â The sudden voice of Jackal made you jump as he appeared by your side. Seeming to appear out of thin air as he joined you at the table. Sitting to your right. âI suggest we keep her caged until the staff and court get used to the scent of her in the estate. Already there has been enough unrest that Maahes has had his fill of Fae blood. She will be safer in the dungeons until you solidify the order for her to remain untouched.â
The prince played with the fabric of his tunic as he thought over Jackalâs words. His eyes following the line of your neck to your shoulders and then to the material that smothered your breasts into a perfect soft mound. âYou make a good point, Jackal. HoweverâŠbecause it was your trap that brought her here, she is your responsibility.â
Jackalâs jaw twinged as he glanced at you. âHez, I cannot afford to be distracted from my work. I cannot continuously check on her in the cells-â
âThen have her in your office until you ensure she wonât be touched down there.â The prince smiled. A sense of amusement flashing over his face as he winked at you. âJackal will take fine care of you until I have time for you, pet. Stay close to him and do what he says.â
A sharp scent ripped through your nose and you winced as your mind latched onto the words the prince spoke. An order. An order given by a Fae prince laced withâŠmagic.
âI donât think sheâs stupid enough to try and run from me.â Jackal said. Sighing heavily as he took a sausage from one of the plates and took a bite from it. âCome on then, Lily. Time to watch me do paperwork for hours on end.â
âLily?â Hezirus asked as Jackal stood. You felt your body follow suit. But it wasnât anything like the cold touch of shadows or the constricting power from Hezirus. You wanted to follow Jackal. You were told to do as he said, and damn well you will do it.
âItâs not her name.â Jackal assured the prince. âSheâs as lovely as a lily. So, thatâs what Iâll call her.â
âHmm, I donât think that suits her.â Hezirus said thoughtfully. Tilting his head as he looked you up and down again.
âWell, sheâs your pet. You pick a name for her.â Then Jackal smiled viciously and tapped the tip of your nose. âOr are you going to introduce yourself?â
When your glare was the only reply they got, the two men laughed and Jackal clicked his tongue. You followed him like a puppy on a leash, up many staircases and through many corridors. Until you found yourself back in the room you started in. Where the basin had now been emptied of water but the room still smelled of the shampoo in your hair.
âSit.â Jackal ordered. And your body slumped into a wooden chair by a large desk. One that was covered in many long pieces of parchment and piles of books. A few empty ink pots were put to the side. While a stack of new ones awaited to be used. âYou might want to get comfortable. Youâre going to be here for a while.â
You looked around. Attempting to get comfortable in the wooden chair next to Jackalâs desk. Much unlike the plush, armchair-like seat he possessed, the wood was hard against your ass and the surface cold to the touch.
A few minutes passed as Jackal opened a few books and arranged them to stand in small holders to keep them open. He arranged paper out in front of him and then opened a thick, leather bound book by his left hand. You tapped your fingernails against the wood of the chair. Already insane from the quiet of the room.
âCan I have a book or something?â You asked. And Jackal scoffed a laugh.
âI doubt I have anything here that you can read. Itâs all documents and spellbooks; all in languages you canât read.â Jackal waited for you to argue. But when you didnât give a rebuttal about knowing more languages than one, he left it to rest. âIf youâd like to pass the time, youâre more than welcome to pass the time on me.â The smile was playful. Menacingly teasing as he smirked at you when your cheeks flushed pink.
âYouâre not going to order me to do that?â You asked scornfully. And Jackal shrugged, plucking a quill from its seat in an ink pot and started writing.
âI could. Since Hezirus gave you the order to do whatever I say. Or I could force you to do it with my servants. But itâs not as much fun when the giver uses teeth and tries drawing blood every second.â At the word âservantsâ the shadows from beneath the desks nearby came alive and crawled over the floor towards you. You pulled your dress away from the curious clawed hands and the room filled with whispered laughter as you gasped in horror.
Jackal tsked and the shadows scattered. Returning to being nothing more than dark spots under the desks. âNow hush, I have to concentrate.â
You must have dozed off somewhere after the third hour mark of sitting and doing nothing. The room was bitterly cold now and you shifted in your seat. Trying to find a comfortable position when a touch of fire brushed over your thigh.
You jerked awake. Startling when you came face to face with Jackal. Who had turned his chair towards you and was sitting almost directly between your legs. Both of his hands were coiled around your right thigh. Molding the cool skin with his fingers so gently that it almost tickled.
âGet your hands-â
âShush, Iâm thinking.â Jackal barked back. And the harshness of his voice froze you in place. Or was it the order to do as he says? You had no idea, but you knew that you were helpless in that chair as he squeezed your leg like he was kneading dough into shape. Scraping his palm along your skin through the velvety material of your dress. You had to lean back as he lifted your calf and draped your leg over his lap. You were left completely open to him in this position. But Jackal didnât seem to notice.
He never went any higher than your upper thigh. His eyes were distant, staring at your chest but not actually paying attention to the shape of your cleavage. It was just the last place he looked before his thoughts trailed off.
You kept quiet. At least welcoming the warmth from Jackalâs lap and touch over your chilled skin.
Any longer here and you were going to freeze. Youâd even welcome the harsh treatment of the hot bath just to warm you up. The dress was useless against the breeze that blew in from the open window. And the sun was beginning to go down.
ShitâŠhave you already been here the entire day? No wonder your back was killing you.
Jackal startled you by humming and dropping your leg from his lap. Non-delicately letting your bare foot slap against the stone and you shuffled back onto the chair. He returned to his desk and started feverishly writing something down.
You stayed silent. Kicking your leg over the other to try and savor some of the tingling warmth from Jackalâs fingers. You hated how tenderly he had touched you. Because your core kind of enjoyed the attention.
The sky outside was pitch black and somewhere in the castle, you heard distant screams. It had started some hours ago and had long since lost its pitch. But the volume was still there. Telling you of the absolute agony that was ripping through someone.
âItâs no one you know.â Jackal assured you. Seeing your worried expression. âMaahes told me that there was a second human that jumped in the trap with you. And so far, I havenât found them. Even if someone already claimed your friend, there would be traces of her. When a Fae consumes or fucks a human thereâsâŠchanges.â
That was at least comforting. But hearing such visceral cries turned your blood cold and nausea twisted in your stomach.
They were cut off rather quickly some hours after nightfall. And you werenât sure if the silence following it was worse or better.
Jackal leaned back in his chair and stretched. Your eyes caught a glimpse of the toned body beneath the fine black tunic. But you tore your eyes away just as Jackal glanced at you.
âYouâve been rather quietâŠOh, right, I told you to shush. You can talk now. I donât need to think for a bit.â
âI was going to say to get your hands off me.â You snapped. Suddenly finding an urge to speak now Jackal told you so. âDonât ever touch me again.â
âBut youâre so soft and warm.â Jackal practically purred. His arms hanging over the back of his chair as he stared at you. And this time, he really stared at you. With an intensity that had you looking away and a fresh wave of heat flooding your center. And that little nibble of his bottom lip was an added unfair flare.
âYouâre disgusting.â You mumbled.
âIâm sure you'll change your mind eventually.â Jackal chuckled. The molten copper turned sharp once more as he returned them to the desk full of freshly scrawled paper. âIf you were literate Iâd have you read these so I can rest my eyes. But youâre unfortunately not that useful.â
âI can read.â You hissed and Jackal rolled his eyes. Lowering his arms so they came to rest on the desk.
âCan you read dwarvish?â Jackal asked. Then he clicked his tongue when you huffed a curse at him and turned your head away again. âLike I said, illiterate. ShameâŠit would have been cute having you sit on my lap while you read this over.â
âFuck off.â
Jackal laughed and sighed. The breath was heavy as it filled his lungs. âI better get you to your cell before I let your arousal do anymore to me. Get up, little flower. And stay close. Maahes is wandering the halls looking for a chance to drag you under him again. And Hezirus is busy ensuring the court doesnât devour you through the night. So, Iâm all you have keeping you alive until we get you to your cage.â
You stood before your mind could think of doing so. And then you were walking beside Jackal through the palace, a step behind him. âWhat is stopping Maahes fromâŠgetting in my..cage?â It sounded weird to say. And you dearly hoped it wasnât going to be a cage in the middle of a room like the one you appeared in.
âHezirus.â Jackal replied, as a matter of factly. âOur prince holds alot of power. And not even a Drake as powerful as Maahes can disobey his orders while in his own home. Heâll try to lure you to his bed chambers, or the floor, Iâm sure. But as long as you keep saying ânoâ, youâll be safe.â
âThatâs all that is stopping him fromâŠyou knowâŠâ
âWords hold more power here than your world, sweet flower. And Hezirus has explicitly ordered your words are the rules to your body. So, be mindful when speaking to anyone here. It might save your life.â
You trailed alongside Jackal as he took you deeper into the palace. Down even more stairs and corridors, until he stopped outside of a steel door. You werenât stupid. This was a dungeon, deep under the palace. You could smell bile and filth from the other locked rooms. And the air was cold and thick.
But there were no guards here. Only the flickering torches along the walls and the soft, pained whimpering of the other prisoners.
âI had your cell cleaned before I brought you down here.â Jackal said. As if his words made it all better as the door to the cell opened without him touching it. Revealing a cramped, dark room. A cot was pushed into the corner. Merely a wooden pallet with hay stuffed into the crevasses and a thin blanket covering the splintering wood.
The pillow looked thin and splotched with gray marks.
âIâm going to freeze down here.â You said. Pulling at the stretchy material of your outfit. âThis is barely going to keep me warm.â
âThatâs Hezirusâ problem, not mine.â Jackal replied.
Then a hard cold force slammed into you and you stumbled into the cell. The door creaked shut and you heard a lock click into place. You rushed to the door as Jackal opened the little slit, allowing you to see his copper eyes through the darkness.
âWhenever Hezirus remembers his pet is down here, Iâm sure heâll provide you with all the best luxuries your little human body needs.â Jackal said with a roll of his bright eyes. âI, however, do not have time to babysit you at every minute. So, youâll sit down here, in the dark, like a good girl until things settle. My servants swarm this place, so youâre safe. Just donât make too much noise. Or youâll attract some unwanted attention. Get some sleep, little flower. Youâll need it for tomorrow.â
You beat your fists against the door as the slit slid closed. Calling after Jackal in a colorful array of words and sentences. Some even got an impressed whistle out of the spy-master before you heard his boots disappear.
You retreated from the door when someone screamed from a nearby cell. The whispering laughter of shadows echoed through the darkness in response.
You went to the cot. The wood creaked under your weight as you curled up against the corner of the room. Gathering the thin blanket around you. Ignoring the itchiness from the hay and tried very hard not to think of bugs crawling in your hair or down along your arms.
You tried to stay awake. Something was moving beyond the cell door but it never came any closer. Someone would scream or start crying. Another would start begging. Only to be silenced by a harsh hiss that made your blood run cold.
You curled up tighter and closed your eyes. Hoping the sun would scatter the shadows when it rose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Continuation: Prince Hezirus: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Patreon)
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#monster#monster x reader#monster lover#monster boyfriend#male monster x female reader#dark monster romance#monster fucker#reader insert#lemon#patreon#female reader#Dark Fae#Monster romance#male fae x female reader#fae x reader#writing#monster fucking writing#fae#totally not because I read ACOTAR
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MY MOUTHWASHING HEADCANONS
â
Hello everyone, so I'm writing a little kind of story of a "Reader/Yn" in the world of mouthwashing, so I have headcanons for my story that yall might like! I'm not going to separate them by character so they'll all be mixed up lol
đ Daisuke loves drawing and is really good at it, but he never paid much attention to it because he doesn't think he has enough talent.
đ Anya had a stuffed animal on her nightstand facing the door, when Jimmy's SA thing happened she turned it around and now her stuffed animal faces the wall.
đ There used to be drawings that Daisuke made of Anya, But Jimmy looked at them "weird" and Anya removed them.
đ Swansea definitely only has daughters, so Daisuke was like the son he always wanted.
đ Jimmy definitely knows how to make those knockout cocktails and has used them before.
đ Curly assigned the room to each one, but Jimmy argued that he wanted Curly's room and Curly ended up changing rooms with him so as not have problems.
đ Daisuke was definitely a basketball player.
đ One time Jimmy tried to copy Curly's curls with a curling iron, and he burned his whole hand.
đ Swansea doesn't see Curly (after the accident) because he can't stand the smell (Burned skin or just old blood...)
đ Anya tries not to sleep for fear of what might happen while she sleeps.
đ Daisuke was in his room when the crash happened, despite everything being in tatters he took a risk and took out his gameboy and more stuff without hurting himself due to his good luck. â "You took out your stupid little game and not clothes or something useful, kid?"â
đ Swansea is a dog person.
đ Curly actually used treatments to maintain his hair pretty...
đ Jimmy is a narcissist.
đ Daisuke tried to draw Curly (after the crash) since no one wanted to be drawn. It didn't turn out well.
đ Jimmy is a bad drinker. Every time he drinks he gets aggressive.
đ Even after the accident, Curly continued to suffer from insomnia, so not being able to rest in that condition was even worse.
đ Jimmy has thought about giving Curly some mouthwash to see what happens.
đ Swansea was the one who amputated Curly.
đ Daisuke tried to play the board game with Anya again, but with the stress of the crash and Jimmy, she started crying when she lost. Daisuke never asked to play again.
đ Jimmy has a Polle stuffed animal............
đ Anya wanted to take mouthwash to see if that could help her get an 4bortion, but she was afraid that she would faint and that Jimmy could find her.
đ Daisuke had a hamster that died because he didn't know they hibernated. He didn't know until Swansea told him...
THAT'S IT. It's almost two in the morning, I took off my glasses and I only see dots...Tell me if you liked it so I can make more or post that little Reader x mouthwashing story! Sorry if you don't like my hc or are cringe, I really try!
#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#mouthwashing daisuke#daisuke mouthwashing#mouthwashing anya#anya mouthwashing#mouthwashing swansea#swansea mouthwashing#mouthwashing jimmy#jimmy mouthwashing#mouthwashing curly#curly mouthwashing#mouthwashing headcanon#headcanon mouthwashing#Spotify
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A bitty bit and a poll... cw: post canon typical violence, blood, offer of smuttiness ship: Danny/Jason
âDanny.â
âHood,â Danny said, pushing his hair back as he turned Jasonâs way. His thumb ran over the shaved side of his head. A streak of blood trailed behind by the motion.
âWhat did they want?â Jason asked. He kicked at the side of one of the groaning thugs for emphasis as he strode over to Danny.
Danny just shrugged. âThe usual.â
âNot supposed to be the usual in my territory,â Jason growled.
âYeah, well,â Danny said with that crooked grin of his. There was something all the more feral about the grin that night between the blood and the way the harsh magenta neon that adorned the outside of Dannyâs shop broke through the light rain. âIâm in that grey zone; not in one place or the other.â
âShut the fuck up. Youâre my mechanic so youâre my territory.â
Dannyâs grin widened and he had the audacity to wink. âKinky.â
âWhat did I say about shutting up?â Jason asked as he started to look Danny over for injuries.
Danny pliantly, and almost with amusement, let Jason check him over. When Jason found a cut on the otherâs arm, he huffed, tossed the bloodied tire iron Danny was holding away, and started to roll up the sleeve of the black over shirt.
âItâs fine Hood, itâs nothing,â Danny said as he peered around Jason.
Without letting go of Dannyâs arm, Jason pulled out a gun and twisted enough to point it at the thug who was helping the one Jason had kicked off the ground.
âThis street is off limits.â
âAinât Crime Alley!â the one said, spitting blood. âOld Gotham isââ
âRight over there. This street? Itâs mine,â Jason said. He cocked his gun for emphasis.
âIt ainâtââ
âIt ainât worth dying over! Leave it!â the other thug hissed and tried to pull them away. âIf fucking Red Hood says itâs his then itâs his! Now come on.â
âMake sure you take the rest with you,â Jason ordered. He kept his gun trained on them until they were long out of sight.
âDo I still have to shut up?â Danny asked cheekily into the silence. âBecause I can think of some fun ways for you to make me.â
Jason turned slowly to look at Danny. âWhat.â
It wasnât exactly a question. Jason knew what Danny was implying, but what?
Danny just shrugged, still with that smile. âCanât a man thank his knight in leather armor? I mean, totally feel free to turn me down. Iâm not going to pressure someone into that sort of thing, but I figured it didnât hurt to offer. You seem like youâre a little tenseââ
As if they werenât just in a fight.
ââand could use the release. Iâm not going to pretend that I would mind being between those thighs. So what do you say, wanna let me blow you?â
Danny might as well have hit Jason with that tire iron for how his thoughts scrambled at that offer. Who the fuck did that? Danny had no reason to. Jason already made clear that Danny was under his protection. Jason had also been ramping up the amount of work he gave to Danny versus handling himself. It wasnât like the guy needed to offer sexual favors.
Jason shook his head, as if that would clear his confusion. âNext time or something. Iâve got work.â
âSure, wouldnât want to keep you,â Danny said and took a step back.
âWrap that arm.â
âWhat arm?â
âDanny.â
Danny laughed and tucked his hands into his pockets as he backed up into his shop. âYeah, yeah. Iâll wrap it. Go out there and take on the big bad night, hero.â
âIâm not a fucking hero,â Jason called after him. âAnd lock your damn door!â
Danny gave a cheeky salute before disappearing into the shop.
Brat.
---
AN: NOW, you all know by now, I'm sure, that I love playing around with how balanced Danny is as a half and his hair color and things like that. This is the new idea I was whining about earlier. It's going to be about as pwp as I'm able to get and supposedly a one shot. Danny is very, very forward, Jason is very, very confused (and later very, very satisfied). So all that said...
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I have to get this off my chest because the amount of Curly love on tik tok actually stresses me out and Iâll tell you why:
So to my understanding having experienced the game multiple times, Curly absolutely fails to advocate for/help Anya. She hides the gun to keep it away from Jim because Curly will not allow her to protect herself. He straight up calls her crazy to her face, too: âYou never had to get psych evals like the rest of us. I shouldâve knownâ or something along those lines. When Curly confronts Jim before Jim crashes the ship, he doesnât say ANYTHING in defense of Anya, instead consoling Jim that they would figure it out, and heâd been in rough spots before.
For all intents and purposes, Curly does not see that Jim has done something inexcusable, and rather he has made a series of mistakes. He does not for one single moment consider how Anyaâs life has been permanently altered, how her autonomy has been entirely stolen from her.
Until he experiences it himself.
Curly being reduced to a mostly immobile spring sausage is his way of experiencing the pain he allowed to be inflicted upon Anya, full stop. Even more ironic? Anya canât bare to give him his pain killers, so he is left completely at Jimâs mercy, a fun-house mirror of how Curly could not bare to hold his friend accountable, and therefore left Anya at Jimâs mercy pre-crash.
Curly only becomes Jimâs victim because he allows Anyaâs victimization to go on unchecked. He thought he was exempt from Jimâs abuse, and that is his biggest mistake.
Also, I have to say the idea that Curly getâs rescued and lives happily ever after does the narrative no justice. In fact, it completely undermines Jimâs entire character arc. Curly living happily ever after would, in some sense, redeem a little of Jimâs characterâredemption he did not remotely earn because he did NOT take responsibility. At all.
Jim putting Curly in the pod at the end is no act of mercy. Itâs actually the worst and most selfish thing he could have done. Itâs the exact freaking opposite of taking responsibility. When he has his big talk with Polle before the very end, he is spouting complete and utter bullshit. Why?
The crash and Curly are NOT the things he is supposed to be taking responsibility for. The thing he is supposed to be taking responsibility for is ANYAâS TORMENT. That is the thing which started all of this, which lead to the crash, which fried Curly. That is the inciting incident.
Thatâs the freaking irony!
Anya getâs completely and utterly forgotten in this moment. In my opinion, this is why Polle says:
If all of that is true⊠why are you still so concerned with him?
Because right before that, Jim is about to say âOur worst moments donât make us monsters.â
And Polle knows, then, in that moment, that when Jim thinks of his worst moments, he thinks of the accident, what happened to Curly, rather than the immeasurable pain he inflicted on Anya PURPOSEFULLY. Jim completely fucking ignores his worst moment, and that DOES make him a monster.
So when Jim puts Curly in that pod, not only is he righting the WRONG wrong, but he is actively choosing to believe this is what it means to take responsibility. He is making his amends to a man he accidentally hurt rather than the person who suffered the most at his hand.
Itâs also pretty evil of Jim to put him in there because he knows: a good captain goes down with his ship. He makes Curly out to be a selfish and pitiful. He may even be setting him up for failure depending on how the authorities reason out what happened.
I just think at the end of the day Jim is the villian of the story, and Curly is a freaking bystander. Obviously post-crash this is inevitable, but thatâs almost funnyânot gonna do anything to stop him, Curly? Guess what, now you donât even have a freaking choice.
Anyway please stop glazing the spaghetti man you can love his complexity but he is not a good guy or uwu cutie pie. He sucks. Straight up.
Feel free to start discourse in the comments Iâm okay with being wrong about him I guess I just donât think I am.
#mouthwashing#captain curly#jimmy mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#fandom#tiktok#debate#indie horror game#indie games#please tell me yâall get this
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Batfam Ages:
Okay, there is no such thing as an exact science when determining the ages of the Batfam, but the easiest thing you can do is work of the concrete ages that you /do/ know, and make them fit with canon events to the best of your ability. Now, canon changes all the timeâwhich definitely makes this a challenge, but Iâm going to just explain my process for determining their ages and you can disagree if youâd like, or you can use this to write fic like I do where ages are semi important,
Letâs begin. Iâm going to give you the arbitrary number of 15, this will be important later.
Dick Grayson:
Depending on the canon, Dick is 8, 10, 12, or 15 when his parents die. All of these numbers will have problems depending on which you pick, but I go for the safe bet of 10 years old. Why? Well, a little known fact is that Dick ends up in juvie after his parents die, and heâs not immediately taken in by Batman. Thus, it takes a little while longer for him to become Robin, which doesnât immediately happen after he becomes Bruceâs ward anyway, because Batman doesnât immediately go and spill the beans. Thus, Dick ends up in Bruceâs car at around ten or eleven, but doesnât become Robin until heâs 12.
Now Dick is Robin up until heâs about 18, when Bruce takes Robin from Dick because itâs too dangerous and Dick refuses to quit. Dick joins up with the teen titans full time, and heâs still Robin for a little while longer until we get Nightwing, aka Discowing, for the very first time at age 19. Simultaneously, while this is happening, a little kid is stealing the Batmobileâs tires.
Jason Todd:
Our beloved street rat Robin, Jason Todd, swings a tire iron at Batman and then gets taken out for fast food. Itâs great, itâs cute, it doesnât immediately lead to his adoption though, either. No, instead Jason ends up in an orphanage that is trafficking children. Bruce shows up one day to check up on Jason, and is made aware of this by his soon to be first adopted son (yeah, you heard me, Dick isnât adopted yet). They take down the trafficking ring, and Bruce adopts Jason. Jason then becomes Robin at age 13.
Unfortunately for our boy, he was widely disliked by comic fans across North America, DC did a little telephone poll, and by a few hundred votes, DC changed comic history forever by killing off a high profile character what seems like /permanently/ for the first time ever. No resurrections this time. (Hah, right!). Which is to say, Jason Todd has the second shortest run as Robin at just two years, dying at age 15.
Tim Drake:
So then we get Robin numero 3. Tim Drake sees Batman getting darker and more violent and goes yâknow, someone should do something about that. He tries talking to Nightwing, but heâs in a bad place with Bruce after learning Jason died via a Newspaper (yeah, Bruce sucks for that one), and tells Tim he wonât be going back to Robin. Thus, lil Timmy Drake gets an idea in his head. He looks himself in the mirror and goes, I can fix him, and then, Tim Drake becomes Robin at age 12.
Tim Drake has one of the longest runs as Robin, with only a mild interruption from a lil blond Bat.
Stephanie Brown:
Stephanie Brown starts off as the vigilante Spoiler, whose whole purpose in life is to spoil the plans of her C-list villain dad, Cluemaster. She meets Robin (Tim), hits him in the face with a brick, and then ends up dating him. Unlike most characters who appear a few times and never come back, Stephanie manages to stick around. She gets pregnant at age 15 (itâs not Timâs, and no she did not cheat, this happened priorly), she gives birth, the baby is put up for adoption, and she becomes Robin after Timâs dad, Jack Drake, finds out Tim is Robin and bans him from it. Tim is forced to quit and Stephanie picks up the mantle. Sheâs clocks in the shortest run as Robin, working with Batman for about two months before Bruce forces her to stop. Tim picks up the mantle again, and Steph goes back to being Spoilerâonly to get killed by Black Mask, making her the second âRobinâ to die. DC does retcon her death, and we later learn she was only badly beaten and sent off to live in a foreign country before she makes her return.
Jason Todd, Again:
While all this is going on, stuff is happening behind the scenes. Namely, Jason coming back to life. A common misconception here however is how long Jason was actually dead. While I wouldnât be able to find the panels to confirm it, the true number is a âshortâ 6 months. Yep, while years passed in the real world, possibly decades, actually, Jason was dead all of 6 months. According to the books, he undigs himself from his grave six feet under (because Superboy punched through the multiverse or something?) and ends up wondering around Gotham as a mindless little zombie. Conveniently, Talia al Ghul stumbles upon her belovedâs lost little bird, and she decides to take him home and train him. Heâs with them for a bit, gets dunked into a Lazarus pit, comes back very very angry, is shipped off to the all caste for a bit, and upon his return to the al Ghuls, is informed heâs been replaced by little Timmy Drake.
Jason makes his whole plan, and decides to make a splash by returning to Gotham wearing an old moniker of the Jokerâs and taking over Gothamâs underworld. He beheads a few criminals, tries to kill Tim, tries to get Bruce to kill the Joker, and doesnât really have success in those latter two objectives. That puts Jason at age 19, roughly. We donât really know how to count the months he was dead.
Damian Wayne:
Shortly after Jasonâs unmasking as the Red Hood, Damian Wayne turns 10 years old and beats his mother, Talia al Ghul, in combat. His prize is to be taken to his father and given to him for training. We know definitively that Damian is 10 thanks to this we can measure out the age gaps between the others and get their ages at this point in time. Dick at age 19 became Nightwing, while Jason is made Robin at age 13, so they have a six year age gap. Jason dying 2 years later at age 15 leads to Tim becoming Robin at age 12, they have a 3 year age gap. Tim is Robin for 3 years before Jason comes back and Damian trails after him a few months behind, putting Tim at around 16/17 while Damian is 10. I tend towards 16 instead of 17 because DC stopped aging Tim for a while, so it just makes more sense to pick the lower number. Thus, when Damian is 10, Tim is 16 as is Steph, Jason is 19, and Dick is 25.
Thanks to Damian being quite young, DC has kept an active track of how and when they age him. We know Damian is only with Bruce a few short months before he disappears into the time stream and Dick makes him Robin, and we also know that Damianâs 11th birthday is celebrated after Bruce is reinstated to the proper time. However, DC follows this up by killing Damian and making him the third Robin to die, the second to do so in the suit itself, and heâs dead for a significant number of months. In this time, Dick also diesâas in his heart is stopped by Lex Luthor for a few seconds, and then restarted, after his identity is revealed on live TV. Bruce decides to let the world believe Nightwing died and stayed dead, and Dick is sent off to Spyral to do secret spy stuff for Bruce. There is an issue around here in the âGraysonâ run that claims Dick is twenty-one years old, which is ENTIRELY incompatible with the time line I just painstakingly established, and I go ahead and outright dismiss it because it clearly doesnât work with a majority of canon. While Dick is with Spyral, Damian is brought back to life, and he goes on a year of redemption (which doesnât actually last a whole year, but I digress). He and Dick meet again, and we move into Rebirth somewhere around here with the conclusion of Spyral and Batman and Robin Eternal.
General Events:
Damian turns 12 presumably sometime during rebirth, although not specified, I do believe Truth and Justice issue #6 to be his 12th or 13th birthday, but I lean towards 12 because of the costumes everyone wears in the issue. Steph is spoiler, Cass is Orphan, Tim is Red Robin, Red Hood has yet to don his solo Outlaw uniform, and Barbara is Batgirl.
I canât name a specific issue for Damianâs 13th birthday, but itâs canonical that Damian turned 14 in his solo Robin series, Robin (2021) while he was off finding himself before the Lazarus Tournament, and since then, thereâs been the Shadow War, Batman Vs Robin, Dark Crisis event somewhere around there, the Lazarus Planet event, Gotham War, DC Knight Terrors, and Beast World event, which catches us up to the modern day world.
Since Damian hasnât yet turned 15 despite ALL of that going on, and is still for now at least, 14, that means Tim and Steph are 20, Jason is 23, and Dick is 29.
I know I mentioned Cass and Babs, and I would love to give you a proper age for them but I donât know where to place them in DC canon like I do the others, however people do commonly place Cass roughly around the same age as Jason making her 22 or 23, and Babs tends towards being 6-8 years older than Dick, although that is an age gap DC has been slowly bridging over the years. Still, I put her at 35 years old. I donât have a reference for Duke Thomas either, but heâs commonly placed as being two years younger than Tim making him 18 currently.
Lastly, I bring back the arbitrary number of 15, given that that is the number of years that separate Dick and Damian, I also use that age gap between Dick and Bruceâmeaning that Bruce took Dick in when he was 25, and placing Bruce at 44 years old in main continuity.
Overall Ages Currently:
Bruce Wayne: 44
Barbara Gordon: 35
Dick Grayson: 29
Jason Todd: 23
Cassandra Cain: 22
Tim Drake: 20
Stephanie Brown: 20
Duke Thomas: 18
Damian Wayne: 14
#damian wayne#dc#dc comics#dc robin#damian al ghul#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#duke thomas#stephanie brown#cassandra cain#bruce wayne#barbara gordon#batfamily#batman and robin#batman#batfam#batgirl#red hood#red robin#the signal#orphan#spoiler#nightwing#timeline#ages#feel free to ask questions#i will answer#Juneâs stuff#Juneâs thoughts
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The Call
Movie night was, of course, Penelopeâs idea.Â
AKA - the one where a classic horror film makes Emily, who is freshly back from Paris, panic, and it changes things between her and Aaron forever.
-x-
Hi besties,
Happy Halloween to those who celebrate it! I hope you all have fun and eat all the candy your heart desires.
I did a little poll for what Halloween fic you guys wanted, and the results were so close I decided to do both!! This one won so I've done it first, and the cute family one with them in matching costumes will hopefully go up tomorrow!
I hope you enjoy this, and as always please let me know what you think <3
-x-
Warnings: brief/non specific references to PTSD
Words: 3.9k
Read over on Ao3, or below the cut
Movie night was, of course, Penelopeâs idea.Â
Ever since Emilyâs return from Paris, from the dead, both Penelope and Dave were going to great lengths to bring the team back together, to erase the pain from the last year. Itâs why she agrees to go to movie night in the first place, even though itâs truly the last thing she wants to do.Â
Sheâd only been home for a handful of weeks. She still felt unsteady, the path beneath her feet uneven and paved with the choices of her past, decisions she refused to call mistakes no matter how much she despised their outcome. Sheâd done what she had to - both when she was with Ian, and when she was protecting the team, the closest thing she had to a family, from him. Her lack of regret didnât make any of it any easier to deal with. She hated how her friends looked at her sometimes, how theyâd look at her as if they didnât know her. As if she was still dead and buried to them and they were simply looking at a ghost.Â
Sometimes, she wondered if she was one. The person she was before all of this long gone, with someone else left in her place.Â
The only person who didnât treat her that way was Aaron. He didnât try and pretend everything was okay like Penelope, or look at her like she was a stranger like sheâd sometimes catch Derek doing, a spark of betrayal in his eyes that she knows sheâll have to address one day. Aaron simply just let her be. He would take her lead on everything whether it was at work or in their personal lives outside of the BAU. He was kind to her, achingly so, and it only made her one and only regret in this entire mess hurt even more.Â
Before Sean McAllister had called her, before his warning about Ian had torn her life to shreds, the comfort and safety sheâd found in the last few years ripped apart at the seams, she and Aaron had been close to something more than simply being friends.Â
She helped him after Haley died. Did whatever she could to make him and Jack as content as they could be. Sheâd cook for them, and go grocery shopping so Aaron didnât have to deal with crowds of people all going about their day as if his world hadnât changed forever. Sheâd spend weekends with them at diners that served smiley face pancakes and then at the zoo, holding Jack on her hip as she let him repeat all the facts he knew about the lions, his fingers curled around a necklace that had since been sold in the liquidation of her estate after her death.Â
Sometimes, she would catch Aaron looking at her, a glint in his eyes she thought she knew the name of at the time, the same feelings sheâd only come to terms with when she found him in hospital after Foyet attacked him. She didnât know when sheâd fallen in love with him. It had happened slowly, taking over bit by bit until she didnât remember how it felt to not love him. It was only when he was missing, fear a vice around her heart, that she dared to name it. All pretence that it was nothing more than a crush left shattered around her on his living room floor, the pieces of it mixed in with his drying blood and the smell of iron in the air.Â
She waited. Ignored every moment that felt like it could be their moment, because the last thing she wanted was to be a rebound. A place of misplaced comfort for him after the death of the woman heâd once promised forever to.Â
Eventually, when he was doing better. When his smile was real and sheâd have to clench her fists to stop herself from pressing her thumbs into his dimples, she felt like it might just be their time. Before she could ask him on a date, he beat her to it. His request coming out as a fumbled demand, his eyes wide and cheeks warm with embarrassment as he admitted he hadnât asked anyone out since he was 16 years old. If anything, it made her love him even more, and she kissed his cheek and told him sheâd love a date with him.Â
Sean called the next day, and her life as she knew it came to an end. She pulled away from him, ignored the look in his eyes when she cancelled their date, and she told herself it was the right thing to protect him and Jack.Â
Her one regret now she was home, now she was trying to pick up the pieces of who she was and build someone new out of them, was that sheâd never kissed him properly. That sheâd never pressed her lips against his and found out if it was more than sheâd imagined. If their lips would slot against each other like she thought they would, if their noses could squish against each otherâs cheeks. She regretted it, because sheâd missed her chance. He hadnât brought up the date they never had, the couple they could have been, and she couldnât bring herself to do it herself. Couldnât bear the rejection now he knew the worst thing sheâd ever done, his perspective of who she was forever changed by the person sheâd actually always been, even if he hadnât known those parts of her.Â
She could settle for being his friend. Could accept that was all theyâd ever be, but sheâd never stop regretting not taking the leap when she had the chance.Â
She jumps a little when she hears a knock on the passenger window of her car, and she rolls her eyes when she sees Aaron standing outside, a smile on his face as she unlocks the doors.
âYou were in your own little world,â he says as he climbs into the car, his smile turning into a teasing smirk, âI was stood there long enough I started to think Iâd have to walk to Daveâs.âÂ
She chuckles dryly and raises her eyebrow at him as she watches him click his seatbelt into place, âThatâs still an option if you continue to mock your designated driver for the evening.âÂ
His car had broken down, much to his annoyance, and heâd originally said he wasnât going to go to movie night as a result. Sheâd immediately offered to drive him, a brief reflection of another time when sheâd made the same offer, because she found herself unwilling to spend the evening without him. He hadnât taken much persuading, although Dave had teased him a little and called him a âpassenger princess,â and she was grateful for it, for the comfort his presence brought her in situations where she felt like she had to perform for everyone else.Â
âYouâre right,â he says, his smile not fading, his hands held up in surrender, âI do appreciate you coming to get me.âÂ
She hums as she starts to drive away, âItâs purely selfish really,â she says, smiling as she briefly looks at him, âIf youâre not there, who would stop me from snapping spaghetti in front of Dave just to get a reaction?âÂ
He laughs, the sound beautiful and goofy and entirely him, and she feels her heart grow in her chest. She looks back at the road, ignoring what she thinks might be affection in his eyes, convinced she was wrong. âWell, we canât have that.âÂ
___
He was in love with her.Â
Heâd been desperate to ignore it at first. His attraction to her something that made him feel guilty, the familiar pull in his gut whenever he looked at her, whenever heâd focus on the cut of her jaw and the slope of her neck, quickly turning to irritation aimed at her. He piled it on top of his mistrust of her and her sudden appearance on his team.Â
As that all faded, disappearing along with his marriage with the signing of divorce papers, leaving just the attraction and something more in its wake. As soon as he started trusting her, he saw everything else heâd been desperately ignoring. Her kindness. Her empathy. Her bravery. How she looked after everyone around her, how she cared for people she loved and the victims of the cases they worked. Everything she did enhanced her beauty, made her more incredible to him, and everything he had found out about her time at Interpol, her time with Ian Doyle, had been no different.Â
Just when he thought she couldnât be braver, she had proven him wrong.Â
He wished so many things were different. He wished sheâd spoken to him about it, that sheâd given him the chance to help her. He wished heâd asked her out on a date sooner, and that he hadnât taken her eventual rejection so personally he hadnât been able to see through it to the panic and fear that laid beneath.Â
He wished heâd kissed her, just once, so he knew what it felt like.Â
She was different now she was back. Still her. Still the Emily he loved, but different. Changed by the things sheâd been through, by the things sheâd died for and the things sheâd survived. He knew how it felt to have your life as you knew it torn from under you, how long it took to feel like you were back on an even footing. Sheâd helped him after Haley died. Sheâd looked after him and Jack, been whatever they needed her to be. Sometimes heâd watch her, Jack happy and content in her arms as he spoke at her about anything and everything, and heâd find himself impossibly more in love with her.Â
From the outside, heâs sure they looked like the family he hoped that they one day would be.Â
He so desperately wanted to pick up where theyâd left off. The 9 months without her had been torture, the separation confirming how much he loved her, how much he needed her, but he didnât want to push her, half convinced that her time away had changed her mind anyway.Â
He decided heâd follow her lead. Heâd happily be her friend for as long as she needed him to be, even if that was forever, as long as he could be in her life in some way.Â
Heâd lived without her before, and he had no intention to do it again.Â
âSo,â Penelope says, clapping her hands together to get everyone's attention, making him jump a little as she draws him out of his thoughts, âSince itâs Halloween tomorrow, I thought we could watch a classic horror,â she pulls a DVD out of her purse and holds it up proudly so they can all see it, the words When a Stranger Calls emblazoned on the front. Penelope sighs when no one else shows the same enthusiasm as her, âUnless anyone else has a better idea.âÂ
âNo, that sounds fine,â Dave says, handing her the remote so she can get everything going, âHorror and pasta - the nights in dreams are made of.âÂ
Penelope narrows her eyes at him, âI know youâre making fun of me, but that actually is a perfect evening.âÂ
âI would have thought you werenât into horror, Baby Girl,â Derek says, his smile amused as he watches her set everything up, âIt doesnât seem like your kind of thing.âÂ
âUsually it isnât,â she says, sitting next to him on the couch, making a point of sitting as close as possible, âBut itâs Halloween, so it has to be done. Plus, it was made in the 70s. Itâs not even that scary when you compare it to everything they make these days.âÂ
âI recently saw one set almost entirely in an elevator,â Spencer adds, throwing some popcorn into his mouth, âThe twist was predictable.âÂ
JJ rolls her eyes at him, âYou think every twist is predictable.âÂ
As the others carry on their discussion, Aaron realises Emily is silent next to him, her shoulders so tight he can practically feel the tension rolling off of her. He looks at her and concern blooms in his gut, her jaw also tense as she stares straight ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.Â
âAre you okay, Em?â He asks, his voice quiet so only she can hear him. She looks up at him and nods, a short sharp thing that does nothing to convince him.Â
âIâm okay,â she replies, âJust tired I think.âÂ
He doesnât believe her, but he lets it go, files it away for later, because the others are quietening down as the movie starts. He barely focuses on it, all of his attention on her, how she holds her breath at certain points, anticipating moments in a movie sheâs seen before, the awareness of what is to come somehow making it worse. Her shoulders get impossibly tighter, and he looks down to see her picking at her cuticles. Heâs about to reach out to stop her, unable to prevent his hand from moving towards hers, when she sucks in a sharp breath. It sounds painful even to him, drowned out by the infamous line of the movie he wasnât watching.Â
"We've traced the call... it's coming from inside the house.â
She stands up suddenly, looking as surprised as everyone else, a flash of something close to fear in her eyes as she walks towards the door.Â
âDo you want us to pause the movie?â Penelope asks, and Emilyâs hand grips the door handle tighter than necessary for a moment before she shakes her head.Â
âNo,â she says, a smile Aaron knows is fake painted across her face, âIâve seen it before. I just need the bathroom.âÂ
Sheâs gone before anyone can say anything else, her departure from the room forgotten almost immediately as a jump scare happens on the screen. Aaron gives it a couple of minutes before he goes to check on her, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself or her, and he tells Dave when he asks where heâs going that heâs getting another drink. He heads towards the bathroom, but changes direction towards the front door when he feels a cool breeze and sees the door slightly ajar. He finds her outside, sitting on the top step of Daveâs porch, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. He walks over, makes sure heâs a little heavy footed so she hears him coming, and he sits next to her. He doesnât say anything. He simply sits there, providing the silent support he would want in her situation.Â
âYou donât have to check on me,â she says, clearing her throat as she turns to look at him, tears shining in her eyes that they both ignore.
âYes I do,â he replies, leaving no room for argument, âWas it the movie?âÂ
She scoffs at herself and nods, âItâs stupid really. Iâve seen it maybe a hundred times. I love horror movies,â she blows out a breath, âBut the phone calls. The shadow of the intruder,â she shakes her head and wipes a stray tear from her cheek, âIt all felt a littleâŠâ
âClose to home,â he finishes for her when she drifts off, and she nods in agreement, looking down at her lap instead of at him.Â
âYeah,â she says, swallowing thickly, âEvery time IâŠevery time I think Iâm doing okay something like this happens. Itâs like he keeps taking things from me even though heâs dead.â
He knows she doesnât want platitudes. That she doesnât want assurances that everything will be okay, so he doesnât say them. Holds them back no matter how much he wants to comfort her in that way.Â
âAfter Foyet, I had to take down every picture in my apartment,â he says, his eyes fixed on her as she looks up at him, her brows furrowed in curiosity, âJust before he attacked me, and I mean seconds before, I saw his reflection in a picture hanging on the wall. When I got back from the hospital I couldnât look at them. Every reflection, every change in lighting made me panic.âÂ
âWhat stopped it?âÂ
He smiles sadly, âWell, it still happens occasionally,â he says, his heart aching when her face falls, âBut it got better. I started putting them back up bit by bit,â he smiles fondly, âWhen Jack came home he asked why the apartment âlooked boringâ so I put most of them back up then. Except the one I saw Foyet in.âÂ
She hums, her eyes closed as she smiles sadly, âSo, youâre saying I need to be patient with myself?âÂ
âIâm saying, Em, that healing isnât linear. And you should never be mad at yourself for some things being harder than they were before, even if itâs something like not being able to watch horror movies anymore.âÂ
She chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her throat, âMaybe I should stick to Disney movies with you and Jack.â
He reaches out for her, his hand on her shoulder as he squeezes it, hoping it provides some comfort, âYou know weâll never say no to that,â he says, smiling when she nods, âDo you want to go home?âÂ
âI donât want the others to know,â she says, her lips pressed together, âIt would upset Pen if she knew the film she chose upset meâŠâ she sighs, âAnd I just donât want anyone to know but you.âÂ
âNo one has to know,â he assures her, and she raises her eyebrows at him, something other than sadness flashing in he eyes as she rolls them at him.Â
âAnd how would we get around leaving 15 minutes into the movie?â
âIâll tell them I donât like horror films and that Iâm going to go,â he says, shrugging one of his shoulders, âAnd you drove me here, so you have to go too.âÂ
She beams at him, her lips pressed together as she tries to contain it, as if it feels at odds with the emotions still tumbling in her gut, âYouâd do that for me?âÂ
He nods and squeezes her shoulder one more time, âIâd do anything for you.â
___
When she wakes up in the morning, she has a headache. She groans as she pulls herself out of bed, rubbing her eyes as she blearily walks out of the bedroom. She yawns as she walks through her apartment, desperate to seek out a cup of tea, but she comes to a stop when she smells bacon, her eyebrows furrowing as she steps into the kitchen and finds Aaron standing at her counter, two plates of pancakes and bacon plated up in front of him.
âI was just about to wake you up,â he says, his smile soft as he looks up at her. Heâs still in his clothes from the night before, his polo shirt slightly rumpled and his hair askew, âYou could do with going grocery shopping,â he raises his eyebrow at her, âBut there was enough for me to make pancakes and I found some bacon in your freezer.âÂ
She opens her mouth to talk, but no words come out, the shock of finding him in her kitchen looking so deliciously domestic, stealing her ability to speak. Heâd offered to come to her place with her, able to tell from her behaviour she wasnât sure how she felt about being home alone after the reaction sheâd had to the movie, and he said heâd get a cab home when she was ready for him to leave. Theyâd watched Star Wars together and shared a bottle of wine. Sheâd eventually felt brave enough to ask him to stay until she fell asleep, barely able to look him in the eye as she asked. Heâd agreed without pause, and theyâd said goodnight. Sheâd slept well for once, something she was sure in part was because she knew heâd been there when she fell asleep, and she wasnât expecting to find him still here this morning.Â
âDid you go home at all?âÂ
He looks sheepish as she asks the question, avoiding her gaze as he finishes plating up breakfast, âNo,â he says, clearing his throat, âI slept on the couch.âÂ
Her eyebrows raise at that, âAaron, that couch isnât big enough to sleep on,â she says, looking him up and down, âYou must have been so uncomfortable.âÂ
He shrugs, as if itâs nothing, âIt wasnât that bad,â he replies, and she narrows her eyes at him, âOkay, my back is killing me. But I wanted to be here in case you needed me.âÂ
Suddenly, she can see everything sheâs been missing since she came back. The love in his eyes, the way he was looking at her. The way he looked after her at every turn, somehow always managing to be whatever she needed him to be.Â
They were both idiots.Â
She walks over, not allowing herself to second guess anything, not herself or their feelings for each another, and she cups his cheeks as she kisses him. He tastes like pancake batter and coffee, and something that she knows is just him. It takes him a moment to respond, the longest in her life, but he does. His hands on her back as he pulls her closer, his nose squished against her cheek as he leans into the kiss.
It answers every question theyâd both ever had, and creates more - like how had they lived without this for so long? Why had they delayed what now felt inevitable?
She pulls away when breathing becomes necessary, and she rests her forehead against his, completely unsure what she should say, âIâŠâ
âI think weâve both been waiting a long time to do that,â he says, cupping her cheek as her hands drift down his chest, eventually landing on his hips.Â
âYeah,â she replies, her tongue peeking out to lick her lower lip, chasing the flavour of him, âI think we have,â she stamps he lips against his again, unable to stop herself, the glass broken now sheâd done it, âWe should talk.âÂ
He nods and kisses her, his hand tangling in her hair, âGood thing I made breakfast,â he says, smiling at her like sheâd hung the moon and the stars, as if sheâs the most beautiful thing heâd ever seen in her oversized t-shirt and pyjama shorts, âWe can eat and talk about everything,â he tucks her hair behind her ear, âBut, I think weâll be on the same page about a lot of things.â
She smiles and rests her forehead against his, âI think we will be,â she smiles, happiness flooding through her chest, âI was going to tell you that I have a spare bedroom, in case you ended up sleeping over in future to save your back,â she chuckles when his eyes go wide, internally cursing himself for the unnecessary back pain, âBut I have a feeling you wonât be needing it,â she runs her fingers through his hair, flattening it out, âThe mattress in my room is much better anyway.âÂ
He kisses her to stop himself from saying he loves her then and there, and she does the same, pouring everything she doesnât have the words for yet into it.Â
She loved him, and he loved her too, and for now, just knowing that would be enough for them both.Â
#hotchniss#aaron hotchner x emily prentiss#emily prentiss#aaron hotchner fanfiction#emily prentiss fanfiction#aaron x emily#hotchniss fan fic#hotchniss fanfic#aaron hotchner#hotchniss fanfiction
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It's coming up Dragon Age time!
I streamed the first three games in the series blind and will be picking up that worldstate for this playthrough and, as I did for all of them, will be putting my player character's background up to polls. More info under the cut.
Also Tumblr just hit an error and posted this instead of saving changes when I edited the draft. Thanks Tumblr such good design webbed site
The difference is the first three, most of the people responding had already played themselves while I knew nothing - especially Origins because I knew nothing about Dragon Age at all when I started that. Now though, I probably know as much as anyone about what's in store (barring spoiler avoidance).
So for Origins, I polled gender, race, class and background - or would have had the poll not chosen mage, so there was only one background option - 2 just gender and class and Inquisition gender, race and class.
Race and class are up again, gender is more complex in The Veilguard but because of its complexity I don't know if it'll affect anything. But background is back in the form of factions!
I'm going to avoid having the same race/class/faction combination as any of the companions, so if the winning combination matches one of them I'm going to take the most popular second-choice to not duplicate anyone - for example, if I get a human Shadow Dragon mage, I don't want to step on Neve's toes, but if Elf is a close second for race I'll switch to that and keep the other two winning choices.
Before the polls begin, here's the world my Rook will be trying to save:
My Warden was a female Elven mage, who romanced Leliana, brokered peace between the Dalish and Werewolves, destroyed the Anvil of the Void and saved the mages in the circle tower; Alistair Performed a Ritual with Morrigan so both survived, Alistair went on to be king, after which the warden worked with and spared the Architect.
Hawke was a female mage too, romancing Isabella - Carver's a Templar, Feynriel's in Tevinter, companions all survived on as good terms as they could
Inquisition it's back to being an Elf, still female, but a rogue now. She recruited the mages, re-united Celene and Briala, left Stroud in the Fade, recruited the Wardens, drank from the Well of Sorrows, got Bull excommunicated, Cole despirited, Blackwall put through his joining; Cullen stayed off the lyrium, Dorian told his father where to shove it, Cassandra rebuilt the Seekers, and with hardened Divine Leliana as her witness she disbanded the Inquisition to redeem Solas.
And I romanced Harding. But she deserves better than someone whose response to plotting chaos with Iron Bull is "all right, get it out of your system" so I suspect they've drifted apart by now on account of Harding being someone to knock out an assassin with someone else's beer so she clearly has more in her system where that came from.
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BTS: In the Secret (Idol! Jungkook x Reader) [Chapter 4]
Summary: Big Hit announces a new season of In the Soop with a twist; one lucky Army is going to join the members for an entire summer of filming, picked by a random poll. You were selected, and ready to have an amazing summer. But what happens when you win something else that's a bit more complicated; the heart of the group's maknae?
Rating: M (18+)
Chapter Warnings: None.
Tag List: @cassies-cookies @hoeinthehouse @jjeonjjk7 @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @leetha43 @rrosiitas @whoa-jo @1-in-abillionÂ
The rain tapped gently on the glass of the windows while Jungkook helped you position the large, chunky throw blanket you had brought so that you both could be under it. The room was dim, only lit up by the glow of the television and a lamp in the corner of the room. Your pale pink blanket was draped over Jungkook and yourself while you sat on the couch together, staring at the image of Robert Downey Jr. on the screen.Â
There were so many things Jungkook wanted to do in this moment. He wanted to talk to you, to ask you if you had really slept in his sweatshirt all night just like he hoped. He wanted to touch your hand, which increasingly felt as though it had a magnetic pull, enticing his fingers to come closer and intertwine with yours underneath the cover of the blanket. He wanted to pull you in close to him every time he saw your eyelids start to become heavy, and encourage you to lay your head on him and rest. He wanted to know why you were so tired, and if, just maybe, you had stayed up all night thinking about him, too. Just the way he had thought about you.Â
Forever an idealist romantic, but too nervous to do anything he fantasized about in his head, he settled for the peacefulness he felt. The rain outside. The blasts of the action movie on the screen. And your presence right next to him, that seemed to drown out all of it.Â
âHey, Jungkook?â You whispered.Â
âHm?âÂ
âI donât want to fall asleep, because I really want to hang out with you.â You confessed, looking up at him. âBut for some reason, I couldnât sleep last night⊠So if I do fall asleep accidentally, Iâm really sorry.âÂ
The smile he wore was warm and gentle, showcasing his dimples and beautiful eyes.
âItâs ok.â He whispered back. âI wonât be mad.âÂ
âOk.â You smiled back. Jungkook could get lost in that smile, and he hoped to see it as often as he could.Â
âHey, Y/N?â He whispered, playfully mimicking you.Â
âHm?â Â
âWhoâs your favorite Marvel superhero?â He asked quietly, and you couldnât help but grin bigger at his boyish charms.Â
âMaybe⊠Iron Man?â You thought out loud. âHe always makes me laugh. What about you?âÂ
âBlack Widow, because sheâs hot.â He teased, earning an exasperated eye roll.Â
âShut up, youâre such a guy.â You laughed, playfully âslappingâ his toned arm. âBut, fine. If weâre going off of that, then my pick is Captain America.âÂ
âReally? Heâs your pick?â Jungkook tsked, overtones of a pout lacing his voice.Â
âHe has Americaâs ass, Kookie. Câmon.â You joked. âBe serious.âÂ
You noticed a change in Jungkookâs features, as though they were somehow able to soften even more than usual. His eyes became even more light, gazing at you gently. His pink lips were still upturned in a smile, and his dimples ever present.Â
âI like it when you call me that.â He admitted.Â
âIâll be sure to keep that in mind.â You lightly flirted, just barely testing the waters, earning a grin in return. You both gazed into each otherâs eyes, and you wondered if he could hear the loud way your heart was beating. He was beautiful, in every way. Obviously attractive, but beautiful in his silliness. Beautiful in the gentle way he spoke and looked at you. You wanted to lean in, to touch his lips to yours. The way his eyes flicked down to your lips, as well, hinted that maybe, possibly, he wanted the same...
...But suddenly, his phone buzzed, breaking the moment and bringing you both down to Earth. He sighed and mumbled a quick apology, glancing at the text on his phone.Â
âItâs one of the staff members. They sent a warning about flooding.âÂ
âFlooding? Are we in a flood zone?â You asked.
âNot sure.â Jungkook played with his lip ring. âThey said thereâs a lake nearby and sometimes when it rains, itâs overflows. They just wanted to give us a heads up.âÂ
âOh, ok.â You said before letting out a yawn. Jungkook looked up from his phone and saw your tired state as you went back to watching the movie in a desperate attempt to stay awake.Â
This attempt failed, and rather quickly. Jungkook noticed you had fallen asleep, just like you didnât want to do. But he just didnât have the heart to wake you, especially when you moved in your sleep to rest your head on his shoulder, as though instinctively seeking him out. He refused to move, unable to stop the silly, schoolboy grin on his face while you rested on him. His heart was beating so loud, he was almost surprised it didnât wake you.Â
âOh, Jungkookie.â A whispered, teasing voice giggled, cutting through the quiet room. Jungkook turned his head to see Hobi, smiling widely at the sight. âIs she asleep?âÂ
âYeah.â He whispered back, blushing at being caught. âShe just⊠kinda landed on me? IâŠI donât mind though, yâknow? Just donât wanna wake her. sâallâÂ
Hoseok nodded, looking at the maknae knowingly but choosing not to put him on the spot. Jungkook will be honest the members in his own time, pushing him too much might cause him to run away from them and distance himself from you. He needed to let Jungkook get to know you first, and then encourage him to get closer. But, as it seems, the youngest member is doing quite well at getting closer to you all on his own.Â
He then left the room, giving the two of you privacy, which Jungkook internally thanked him for. Fixing himself food in the kitchen, he was briefly interrupted by Taehyung and Jimin who came in for their own lunch. Hobi held a finger to his lips, alerting them to stay quiet, before motioning them into the kitchen.Â
âDonât go into the living room.â He whispered to them, knowing Jungkook canât hear their conversation over the loud action movie. âJungkook is in there with Y/N, and Iâm giving them privacy.âÂ
âPrivacy?â Jimin smiled suggestively, earning a look from Hoseok. âWhatâs happening in there?âÂ
âHeâs not ready to admit it yet, because he still hasnât said anything to her but⊠Jungkookie has feelings for Y/N.â Hoseok explained, leaning in to make sure Jungkook couldnât hear him. âDonât say anything to him, letâs just let him work things out, ok?âÂ
âOk.â Jimin giggled. âAish, heâs so cute. Even after all this time, a girl can get him worked up like this.âÂ
Taehyung stood silent while the other two cooed over Jungkookâs behavior. He thought back to Jungkook sitting there, watching as you leaned over to kiss him, and he felt awful. Taehyung wouldnât do anything to purposefully hurt Jungkook, who was like a little brother to him. He had never even really felt anything for you, he only was carried away in the moment when you had kissed him. He knew you felt the same about him, when you rejected him at the door of your bedroom. Taehyung hated to think that maybe Jungkook heard any of that conversation that night, and he wondered how he would apologize to him for it once Jungkook was ready to talk about you to the other members.Â
Just then, a pair of heavy footsteps came into the kitchen, silencing all of the members. Jungkook, unaware that they were in the room, had a still sleeping you in his arms, covered by your soft, pink blanket. His eyes widened, resembling a deer caught in headlights at being discovered, yet again, in a soft moment with you.Â
âShe, uhâŠâ He stuttered, looking at the older members. âHer neck would hurt, sleeping on the couch like that too long. So I.. I thought⊠Iâd just bring her back to her roomâŠâÂ
âGood idea.â Hobi smiled warmly, not wanting to put too much attention on him. Jungkook scurried out of the house and held you close, going as quickly as he could to limit your time in the rain.Â
âOh my God, heâs in deep already.â Jimin giggled teasingly. Hoseok only responded with a grin while he shook his head.Â
Next Chapter: x
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#in the soop#bts in the soop#jungkook fluff#jungkook smut#smut#jungkook angst#jungkook fic#jungkook fics#jungkook imagine#jungkook is whipped#bts: in the secret#idol!jungkook#reader insert#fem reader
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I subscribe to the newsletter of an author I like who wrote a book about 9/11 and the War on Terror and the security state in the US and how it led to the election of Trump, and it's all very serious but apparently the author is writing an Iron Man comics series. I don't read the comics, and a lot of what I know about them comes from your fic, so I'm honestly not sure how much fanon vs canon knowledge I have. đ But the series sounds like it might be interesting I think? The author talked about it in his newsletter today. (This link should work. Probably.)
https://www.forever-wars.com/iron-man-how-to-blow-up-a-pipeline-succession/
I am actually really excited about this run! I try not to get excited about new Iron Man runs because chances are high that my hopes and dreams will be crushed, and I know that just because someone writes, say, stunningly excellent non-fiction, it is not a guarantee that they will be great at writing fiction at all or superhero comics specifically (cf. Ta-Nehisi Coates on Cap), but judging by everything Spencer Ackerman's been saying in interviews, his run sounds like it's going to explore a lot of interesting themes.
The post you linked links to an AIPT podcast that he was on a few days ago to talk about his new Iron Man run. For those of you who don't listen to podcasts (this is also me), the Iron Man subreddit has what seems like a fairly comprehensive summary of the interview, and I am really looking forward to the run. Issue #1 apparently hits stores on October 23.
But I will tell you why I am actually now really excited about this run. It's not relevant to anything about the comic itself. I am nonetheless very excited.
Last month, after he was announced as the new Iron Man writer, in order to hype up his run, he posted an offer on his blog: if you add the run to your pull list, and you email him proof that you're pulling his run and include a snail-mail address, he will mail you some cool Iron Man stickers.
I eventually got around to doing this last week. I was assuming he didn't actually pay attention to any of these emails so I dashed off a couple sentences about how I was looking forward to his take on Tony because he'd posted a photo of the Iron Man comics he was reading for research and several of them were among my favorites. And then I went off to get bagels.
By the time I had come back with bagels, twenty minutes later, he'd written me a very nice reply substantively engaging with the content of my extremely off-the-cuff message -- geez, if I'd known he was going to be actually reading them I would have put a lot more thought into it, you know? It was very kind and I was not expecting it.
He spelled my first name wrong in the reply, despite it being in the email header and also the name I had signed the email with.
This happens to me a lot. I have a first name that is very common in a lot of languages, but none of those languages are English. I'd say there's a 50-50 chance that a native English speaker will spell or pronounce my name wrong. This is unfortunate, because I live in the US and mostly interact with native English speakers. (My wife @lysimache immediately knew how to pronounce my name. I mean, it wasn't why I married her or anything, but I feel like it was a big plus on a personal level.)
If I have to give my name for something, I will reflexively spell it. The second-to-last time I voted, they'd switched voter lookup to you giving them your name rather than you giving your street address, which was a surprise that filled me with dread. My wife was in line ahead of me and she was completely finished voting by the time the poll workers had finished correctly spelling my name. (The last time I voted, I just handed them my ID, which is not required in my state, but I really wanted this to go faster.) I went to the doctor last week, and when they called my name in the waiting room, they said it wrong. I corrected them. They said it differently wrong a couple minutes later. I corrected them again. They said it wrong again. At that point I gave up.
(If I could think of a name I liked better that I was absolutely sure that most people could spell and pronounce, I would change my name. I still have not found one.)
So, you know, I'm used to it. It happens. Frequently. I was not at all surprised that he spelled it wrong.
He then emailed me again to apologize for spelling my name wrong. Like, immediately. One minute later. He said he was sorry and he knew a lot of people with a similar name.
Dude. Nobody does that. Nobody actually apologizes. Especially not in an email to a rando like me. He did not need to do that. At all. I was not expecting him to do that. He did that. I was honestly touched. No one bothers to do that. But he did.
I got my stickers in the mail yesterday.
I have redacted the portion of the note that has my name in it, but he absolutely spelled my name correctly.
Mr. Ackerman, sir, I hope your comic sells a million copies.
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There is a trend that I've noticed amongst fandom spaces around games, and it isn't a trend that is unique to Baldur's Gate. I have seen it happen in my other fandom spaces like Fallout, Cyberpunk, Dragon Age, etc. But people have a habit of having very strong opinions about companions/characters that they do not know.
It is comical to watch the abject lies people create about companions and use them as justification to dislike said companion because they know they don't have a valid reason to do so. This isn't unique to Minthara, this happens to ALL companions (ironically, the funniest and most egregious lies I've ever heard actually aren't even about Minthara). It's just glaringly obvious when it comes to Minthara as she is the least recruited and most killed companion in the game and is thus the least known. So the lies and mischaracterizations pop up more often, and there is an abundance of them. And it gets exhausting having to constantly fight these lies all the time. Especially when so few people actually know her and thus there are few who are able to defend her.
I remember there was a poll a few months ago that overwhelming voted Minthara as the least loyal and most likely companion to cheat on you. To me, that just screams that the people who voted for her in that poll have never had a conversation with her outside the goblin camp. Minthara is the most loyal companion. That is not an opinion of mine. That is a fact. That is canon to the game. She is canonically your most loyal companion. And it's not that she's the least likely to cheat. She never will. Again, not an opinion. That is canon to the game. But this is information people don't know, because they've never spent a single moment getting to know her. This is a lie being spread about her that will be used as justification to dislike her and to justify not recruiting her or justify killing her.
I have also seen people admit that their opinions about her is formed solely on social media posts from YouTube, TikTok, Twitter, Reddit, or Tumblr because they just can't stomach having her in their party. As ironic as this is going to sound, but your opinion about a character should never be based on social media alone. The people who do this are missing out on the context of that post and often fail to use it in comparison with the rest of the character (especially since there is a high risk of a social media post containing misinformation or just straight up lies). People will take this one snippet of a character, and use it as if that it is all that character is. Posts on social media, including mine, are meant to be supplementary to your experience of a companion, not the sole foundation.
When it comes to these social media posts, no two people are going to have the exact same interpretation, which may cause confusion for an outsider looking in. Even amongst us Minthara enjoyers, we do not always agree, and that is to be expected. We are all different people who have lived different lives and thus have different experiences informing our interpretations. Even amongst my mutuals we do not always agree, and that's normal. But at least we have taken the time to get to know her and come to our own conclusions and can understand how someone else came to a different one. My posts, or anyone else's, should not be your sole source of information about Minthara or any other characters. You still do need to form your own opinion and that can only be done by actually spending the time to get to know them.
Recently, one of my old posts in which I talked about the relationship with Minthara and Karlach has exploded again. And I see the tags that people are attaching to it. The game has been out for 10 months now. And it makes me sad that people still have the wrong opinion about Minthara. It makes me sad just how little people actually know about her. It makes me sad that people are only now going to go recruit her for the first time, even though the knock out exploit has been here for months. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that my post has changed the way people see Minthara and encouraged them to want to get to know her. But it breaks my heart that I have to use another companion to convince people to get to know Minthara, because to them, Minthara alone just isn't good enough. They have already made up their mind about her, even though they don't even know her.
People are allowed to have whatever opinions that they want. But don't get online and share those opinions about a character you don't even know to people who do. It's like highschool level petty nonsense where people would rather believe and spread rumors about a person, rather than getting to know the person themselves and forming their own opinion. And, no, I don't care if your opinion is a positive one because even positive opinions can be inaccurate and wrong if you don't know the character. Again, this isn't just about Minthara but all characters and companions. And I'm only scratching at the surface level here. This essay would be significantly longer if I actually took the time to talk about how implicit bias, racism, homophobia, and sexism have all had a negative impact on fandom perception of Minthara and the other companions.
I will never tell anyone to do anything with their game they don't want to do, I will only encourage people to try new things. If you truly do not want to recruit Minthara or interact with her, that's fine. It's your game, your world, your rules, your vision.
But, I will say this. If the only conversation that you have ever had with Minthara is the one in the goblin camp, shut the fuck up about her. This cruel, heartless, evil person that floats around is a twisted version of Minthara that only exists on social media and was created by people who do not know her. This bastardized version is nothing like the version that actually exists in the game. And you would know that if you ever spent a single second of your time getting to know her.
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#fandom critical#minthara#minthara baenre#i will forever be laughing at that one poster who falsely claimed minthara has a kink for poisoning you#because they literally did not know the full context of the poisoned kiss#only after admitting that they have never once recruited her because they couldn't handle her#i don't care if she makes you feel bad#i dont care if you think shes mean#i dont care if you think shes evil#i dont care if she doesn't mesh well with your team#if you have never recruited her or ever had her on your team#then shut the fuck up about her
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Phew. So! This is heavy spoiler alert for anyone who stumbles upon this and hasnât gotten to Chapter Six yet, so beware fellow fans!
â
I just wanted to swing by and drop my absolute batshit ramblings because Iâm genuinely eating this fic up. ((Huge horror fan)) I canât help but notice everytime Ducky/Badger/We- go a little off the deep end.
I first noticed it with the fight with Dolly, the way we really do shift into this biting, growling dog, which is ironic considering itâs brought up in the story. There was a second time but this third time, where we go digging through Chet.. the way we dangle that we know whoâs killing them, like itâs a dark little secret. (And so long as the polls are willing-) it is only the councilors right now, we know Sun and Moon are doing these things and weâve, again so far- skipped past with only scrapes and bruises.
The way we got dark when Devin called us Ducky- âare we useful again?â It sounds so mean, like the wrong word being said and it would be *us* doing him in. And I have full, FULL believe that Moon/Sun hadnât left us that entire time. Surely theyâve noticed this too. ((If this is real and Iâm not heavily delusional!))
I dunno, maybe I just think itâs funny if Sun (and Moon?) had a âI can Fix themâ attitude with us instead haha. /j. (Unless?) anywho Iâm cradling their cheeks and putting a thunder-buddy on Sun. đ
You aren't just imagining it! They are absolutely trying to "I can fix them" each other.
Consistent stress can really take a toll on one's mind. It has the ability to make you feel numb, confused, or outright hysterical, and oftentimes when someone has been under heavy amounts of stress for long periods of time, it can blur the line between "right and wrong". What we're seeing now is the result of someone being pushed to â and past â their limits.
It goes deeper than that, of course. The underlining "lesson" to be learned in this story is that everyone â no matter their upbringing, no matter their assumed ethics, no matter the mistakes they've made â has the same capacity to make decisions that are morally admirable and morally condemnable. Not or â and.
Morality functions like a light-switch; there's no locking it to just one side, and every situation is going to be handled differently based on not only one's own perceived sense of moral code but also outside influences. Even Oscar, who only ever treated Y/N kindly for their entire friendship, slowly sank back into old habits and behaviors once reintroduced to the friend group.
Sun, himself, does not think what he's doing is "bad" to begin with. In this scenario, he believes himself the hero.
The problem here, then, is that the two of them are fighting over the moral light-switch, both believing themselves to be in the right, and neither of them realizes that in doing so they're giving everyone else in the room a goddamn seizure.
#SORRY FOR THE ESSAY REPLY#this was as good an ask as any to somewhat explain Sun's current thinking though#I LOVED your Batshit Ramblings(tm)#you're right on the money!!!!#man. twitter would have me crucified for my take on morality LMAO#DFtR au#DFtR au spoilers
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I found this blog through a reblog and decided Iâd poll Tumblr whether Iâm the asshole. And the reason Iâm concerned is because my mother (53 f) doesnât think Iâm the asshole, and thatâs a bit of a red flag.
My sister (22 f) was home from college for break. She was to be traveling out of state to visit her boyfriend (23 m). Meaning, she was going to be flying in the continental US. As such, she needed a 1 qt, clear, plastic bag for her travel liquids. My family has several durable and clear plastic bags (as opposed to ziplocks) for this very purpose.
But rather than use one of these empty bags, she emptied my care bag.
This bag is fairly small. It usually holds my acne medication, including topical creams, tablets, prescribed moisturizer, etc⊠in travel sizes for me to take with me to work. I also include my migraine meds and lactose pills in this bag, among other things. And it fits perfectly within my backpackâs side pocket (which is why I bought it).
I noticed immediately that she had taken it as she had just dumped the contents all over my bathroom counter. So, I called her and told her that she needed to return it to me (at the time, she was only an hour away and her flight wasnât for another week). She tried to play it off at first. âWhat bag?â Then she tried to reason that it wasnât a big deal. Then she told me she didnât want to make her bf drive an hour to return the bag to me as itâd put them an hour back in their drive, so I should just let it go.
And the reasonable part of me thinks⊠maybe I should? Maybe I should just go out and buy a new bag? Like⊠itâs annoying that she took it without asking and dumped everything out of it. Itâs annoying that the bag doesnât even meet TSA requirements as she claimed (itâs black and not completely clear). Itâs annoying that I had asked her if she needed me to get her anything up for her night before and that rather than ask for help, she took something. And itâs annoying that she didnât use the clear bags provided to her by our mother.
But the thing is⊠itâs not just the bag. This happens with all my stuff. It got so bad when I was a teen that my father put locks on all my drawers and doors that only I had keys to (my parents did have a spare set in the event I lost mine that theyâ ironicallyâ âlostâ).
EX: I have a pair of Levi jeans that I bought with a gift card from my grandparents. Leviâs areâ wellâ expensive. Earlier last year, before she went back to school after break, I noticed they were missing. I called her and told her I was angry about this. She insisted I was âinsaneâ and that she would never take them and that I likely misplaced them or lost them (I do have memory problems, combo of ADHD and whatever causes my migraines). My father helped me look for them. He even looked through her stuff. They *were not* in the house. But 5 months later after she came home from college, I found them under my bed (they were not previously under my bed). âSee, I told you that you lost them.â
So, I told her that she needed to find a way to return the bag to me and that under no circumstances was she allowed to leave the state with it (if she did, there wasnât much I wouldâve or couldâve done about it, so I was hoping this ultimatum would work). And I said that if she didnât return it, I would tell our mom about all the unused, unopened pregnancy tests she was stocking and hiding in her room (found when I went looking for spoons as she hides my motherâs spoons after using them). She told me âYouâre insane. Itâs just a bag,â but she did mail it back to me and I got it in time for work that Monday.
My mother says I was justified in demanding it back (she doesnât know about the unused tests), but she is often petty and demanding and blows up or snaps at the smallest things. So, I am concerned that I made a big deal of nothing or that I took it too far.
AITAH? ESH?
What are these acronyms?
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INEVITABLE
din djarin x female!reader
warnings: language, mild self loathing, mentions of the slave trade
word count: 3,679
Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words 'I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in coldâ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.
a/n: The soulmate!AU won the poll (sort of, i know there's 8hrs left but i don't foresee the other competitors having an underdog moment here)! Happy 500/1000 followers celebration!! I'm thinking this will be less than 10 chapters, but it def will be more than the 3 I promised. B/c despite knowing I have no self control and learning from that I continue to make the same mistakes smh. Drabble ideas always turn into full length stories in my dumb headđ€Ą but I'm excited for this one.
01: UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS IMMOVABLE OBJECT
.
"a soulmate isn't someone who completes you. no, a soulmate is someone who inspires you to complete yourself. a soulmate is someone who loves you with so much conviction, and so much heart, that it is nearly impossible to doubt just how capable you are of becoming exactly who you have always wanted to be." †b.s.
.
You werenât sure what was worse: knowing for most of your life that you were destined for a life on the run, or knowing that the universe deemed your soulmate to be a bounty hunter. It was some cruel twist of fate, you supposed. The galaxy was bored and decided to entertain itself by creating the most ironic coupling of all time. Honestly, if you werenât one half of the said coupling youâd probably find it funny.
The cantina you sat in was like any of the other thousand you had sat in before. Messy, loud, and filled with people you had no desire to speak to. This one was especially worse because it was situated in Cratertown on Jakku of all places. It was a scud cantina in a scud city on a scud planet. The only reason you were still here was because you were desperate†desperately searching the entire galaxy for a person who may or may not exist. You just wished this mysterious figure hadnât picked cantinas as their signature hideaway spot.
You tapped the table twice, and the server passed by to fill your drink once more. You shot them a grateful smile and thanked them. Despite having barely any credits left in your pocket, youâd have to leave the server a hefty tip. Youâd been here hours now, and he had put up with you the entire time. With a grumble of annoyance, you pulled a crumpled paper out of your jacketâs inner pocket and began to scratch out the last cantina on this damned planet. Bad news, this was a bust. Good news, youâd never have to step foot on Jakku again.Â
âI can bring you in warm,â A voice spoke from behind you, âor I can bring you in cold.â
There they were. The words imprinted on your left rib cage since you turned thirteen.Â
If this wasnât your twentieth time hearing it then you might be impressed.
You slowly turned in your chair, hands raised, and stood. Now, you faced the Trandoshan bounty hunter holding you at blaster point. He chuckled as if he had already won. You shook your head, feigning disappointment, âWould you really arrest your soulmate?â
The Trandoshan narrowed his eyes at you in confusion. âWhat?â
âWell,â You shrugged, âItâs bound to work and get me out of a mess one day.â
You kicked the chair forward causing it to slam into the bounty hunterâs legs. He stumbled, grunting in pain, and you grabbed his hand to twist the blaster in a direction that wasnât your face. He tried to reach out to hit you with his other hand. Before he could land a blow, you tucked your boot under the chair and kicked it up so it slammed into the Trandoshanâs jaw. He fell back, the blaster coming loose in his hand so you could snatch it away, and then it was you holding him at blaster point.Â
âFirst off, you bounty hunters need to get more creative with your opening line.â You said. The bounty hunter growled and began to sit up. âSecond, Iâll give you only one opportunity to walk away with your life. Itâs your choiceâ€â He jumped up to lunge at you, and without blinking you fired his blaster into his chest three times. When his body lay on the cantina floor, twitching, you sighed and tossed the blaster to the ground. âYou literally didnât even let me finish my offer, you ass.â
You glanced around, dusting off your hands, and realized the entire cantina was staring at you. With an awkward chuckle, you raised a hand and offered a sheepish smile. âMy bad. Sorry.â
Knowing it was past time for you to get the kriff out of here, you bent over and rifled through the Trandoshanâs jacket. You found the holopuck and rapidly blinking tracking fob†tossing both into your pockets. Then you rose only to kneel down again and steal the manâs credits. You threw the entire bag of coins onto the table you were sitting at and waved at your server who stood behind the bar with wide eyes. Itâs not like the bounty hunter needed them anymore.
Hopefully, youâd be done fighting bounty hunters for the night. As you stepped out into the chilly, desert night air you paused to scoop the tracking fob out. The holopuck you would keep to add to your growing collection, but the fob was better off destroyed. You slammed it into the side of the cantina and let the broken pieces fall into the sand.
Maybe the galaxy had actually done you a favor. You stopped believing in the magic of soulmates a long, long time ago. So fate choosing to make your supposed soulmate the worst kind of being who floated around the universe was the best deterrent you could think of.
Din Djarin wasnât sure what was worse: knowing for most of his life that his soulmate was going to be a criminal of some kind, or knowing that it was going to be his job to bring you in. If he really thought about it, took the time to write out a pros and cons list, then heâd have to choose the former rather than the latter. Din didnât like thinking about it for very long though because the thought that fate deemed him the kind of person only worthy of love from someone who had done something to make them deserving of a bounty was a bit depressing. For the longest time, Din liked to pretend that maybe it was all some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe you were an Empire bounty and the reason you were wanted was because you fought against some Imps. It wasnât a solid theory because he had only picked up a bounty for the Empire once and it had been Groguâs. Din didnât plan on picking up an Empire bounty ever again†not that theyâd want him to considering his history with Moff Gideon and the absolute pain heâs caused them since finding Grogu.Â
That didnât leave Din with many better options.
For the longest time, Din had been nervous before a hunt. What if this was the time he ran into the person fate chose for him? After a while, he grew a bit numb to it. Hardened. The longer he worked as a bounty hunter the more okay he was with being on his own. The thought of having to care for a soulmate exhausted him. Din started to hope heâd find you just so he could be rid of the entire situation. After Grogu came into his life, he realized what a lonely existence he had backed himself into. Things changed then, but having a foundling†having a clan†was more than he had ever hoped for in life.
Now, Din just ignored the words carved into the skin overlying his left rib cage.
âPatu.â Grogu cooed from the satchel hanging from his shoulder. Din glanced down to see the little boy trying to wiggle out to reach for a stand where a merchant was grilling some kind of meat. Din chuckled and paused long enough to buy two sticks. Grogu chirped happily when he handed both to the boy, and then he kept on his way.
Nevarro had certainly improved since the shoot out with Moff Gideon ages ago, and according to Karga it was only supposed to get better. Speaking of, he finally spotted the man standing in a plaza where†Din paused and tilted his head. Even Grogu stopped eating to stare up at the statue. IG-11 was coated in bronze and stood tall in the middle of the plaza like decor.
âIh.â Grogu chirped.
âHuh.â Din added. This was a new addition to Nevarro.
âMando!â Karga cheered and he turned to greet the man who was dressed in ornamental robes. Din smirked to himself. It was good to see the power hadnât gone to Kargaâs head. âWelcome!â When Karga was close enough he held an arm out and Din didn't hesitate to clap his arm in a shake for greeting. âWhat brings you here?â Din didnât respond and just tilted his head. âRight. Of course. How about we⊠handle these matters inside?â
Din motioned for the man to lead the way then followed. The building Karga led him into was just as ornamental and fancy as the robes he wore. Din once again had to resist the urge to laugh under his breath. They went all the way up to what he was assuming was Kargaâs office.
âThis is nice.â Din nodded.
âIt is, isnât it?â Karga dropped into his desk chair with arms outstretched. Din stayed silent and Kargaâs grin and arms both fell. âYouâre mocking me, arenât you?â
 Din shook his head, glad to have his helmet covering his wide grin and keeping his tone dry, âMocking the Magistrate of Nevarro is beneath me.â
âHigh Magistrate.â
âMhmm.â Karga waved his simple response away and dug through a drawer to find a few holopucks.
Din nodded toward them. âSo, is it normal for the High Magistrate to still dabble in guild work?â
Karga shuffled through them. âOnly sometimes, and only for my favorite hunters.âÂ
âWell, in that case, Iâll take the one that pays the most.â
âYou always do.â Karga picked one puck out of the masses and activated it. A womanâs picture appeared and Dinâs first thought was that you were pretty†beautiful even. The High Magistrate said your name and Din wondered if he had heard it before. Something about it felt⊠familiar? No, that wasnât it. Din shook his head. It hardly mattered. âSheâs a tricky one, I should warn you. Many hunters have tried and failed, Mando. She works in the slave trade.â
Din huffed. That was proof that a pretty face wasnât everything. No amount of good looks could wash away the sins of someone dealing in flesh. If Din had to pick a flavor of quarry he hated the most, it would be this kind.
The sound of laughter followed you down the shipâs ramp as you trailed out with a smile. The Mon Calamari crew you had managed to hitch a ride with gave you a hearty farewell, and when your feet hit the landing pad you spun to point at them with a smile of your own.
âThanks for the ride, you guys! Stay safe, and keep Horchobua away from the spotchka,â You teased the navigator of the shipâs crew, âHe was one bad round of sabacc away from owing me his first born.â
Another rowdy laugh from the crew, and the captain called back, âStay out of trouble!â
âI always try!â You replied. It just never seemed to work.
The stars had aligned and luck was in your favor when you left Jakku. Circumstances that had startled you as it was far from the norm in your case. You had been able to get a lift from Jakku to Bespin. The city in the clouds that the Mon Calamari crew had dropped you off on was gorgeous. Though maybe you were that much more impressed since you were coming from a shitty desert world that made Tatooine look clean.
You readjusted the small cross body bag you wore over your jacket. The triangular shaped bag held literally everything you owned. A spare set of clothes, a cloth bag filled with a dozen holopucks, a datapad that only held a simple map on it, some toiletries, and a small, silver jewelry box you couldnât get open. Everything else you owned was on your person. A simple, worn down shirt and pants that had seen better days. A thick jacket that you were able to strip on and off based on the weather†though you usually kept it on since the back and arms had some armored padding. Boots that were close to falling off your feet from use. A metal dagger strapped to your right thigh, and a weapon tucked away into a shoulder holster under your jacket that you never used. It was a simple existence, but you didnât mind it. Growing up with absolutely nothing to call your own, this was actually an example of you thriving.Â
Over the last seven months, you had gotten very good at sniffing out cantinas. It was a gift. Some people could sing, some could paint, you could be dropped off into any city in the galaxy and youâd be able to find a cantina in under half an hour. It was a bit of an old talent to claim, but youâd take what you could get. When you stepped into the cantina, eyes drifted to stare at you. Unbothered by the attention, you winked at the closet patron and pressed in further.Â
At the bar, you claimed the attention of the Twiâlek working today and ordered a drink. While he poured it, you leaned forward. âIâm looking for someone. A man named Reaper.âÂ
The bartender set your drink in front of you. His eyes darted to your neck before darting back up to your eyes. He shook his head. âNo.â You tossed the right amount of credits on the bar along with a small tip. Before you could walk away, the Twiâlek stopped you. âHey, that it?â
Rather than cause a scene, you tossed a few more credits on the bar and wandered away while the Twiâlek muttered in his native tongue behind you. You dropped down at a table in the back of the room which would give you a clear view of the entire space. Absentmindedly, your hand lifted to brush against the band of solid gold wrapped around your neck. Anytime people saw it they assumed you had more credits than you actually did. That wasnât even the part that bothered you most. What you hated was the fact that the attention it drew made it very hard for you to forget about it.
You took a large swig of your drink and then leaned back in your seat to wait. The information you had included three facts. The informant you needed to find was called 'Reaper' which you personally thought was obnoxious. He was hiding away in a cantina every day for the same amount of hours waiting for customers. And, he would only offer you the information you wanted in exchange for information of equal value. You had the right kind of tip to trade, now you just needed to find the bastard.
For the first couple of hours, you just sipped on your drinks and people watched. It was how you killed time while in these cantinas waiting for a person who might not ever come. Right now, the bartender was hitting on a human woman who had absolutely no desire to reciprocate the action. Two Rhodians sat at the table beside you gossiping about work. The back booth had a Wookie, who you initially was concerned would be after you, but a Trandoshan had joined them and their interaction had all their attention on one another. Most, if not all, the patrons of this cantina were of the upstanding citizenship kind. The exact opposite of Jakku. In fact, you were the only armed person in the room.Â
It was during that third hour that a new face wandered into the room. Though, calling this stranger a new face seemed redundant considering the helmet he wore left him faceless. A thrill went down your spine at the sight of him. Wow. Mandalorian. You had met a man in Tatooine who wore Mandalorian armor, but he told you it didnât belong to him so you assumed that didnât count.
This man was covered head to toe in polished, silver beskar armor. Seeing the rare metal made you realize why it was valuable. A cloak, shredded and torn at itâs end, hung from around his neck and you clocked every weapon you saw. Blaster on his hip. Incendiary grenades on his belt. Rifle shells on the bandolier across his chest and around his right calf†though you saw no rifle. Vambrace with no visible weapon, but youâd garner a guess it hid one. Floating in behind him was a circular egg shaped pram. It was closed and you wondered what kind of dangerous tool he hid away in there.
The darkened, t-shape visor scanned the room and you realized it stopped right on you. What were the chances this dangerous looking Mandalorian, who wore a pair of binders on his belt next to the grenades, wasnât here for you?Â
You hadnât been the only one to stop and stare at this towering man, and eyes seemed to follow him as he slowly crossed the room. Honestly, you were a bit insulted. He wasnât even trying to be subtle. Did he think so little of you as a quarry? You knew you had a reputation. You had killed and escaped enough hunters to earn one. Yet, this bounty hunter didnât hesitate while walking through a crowded room to arrest you. The absolute gall of this shiny Mandalorian.
He stopped right in front of your table†a silent statue. You shifted on the bar stool and sat forward so your back wasnât pressed against the wooden backing and the balls of your feet were planted on the floor. Your hand lifted out to your glass, and the Mandalorian reached for his blaster at the same time. You raised an eyebrow in question while slowly bringing the drink to your lips. As much as this last drink had cost you, you werenât about to let a drop go to waste. The Mandalorian continued to stand stiff as his hand rested on his still holstered blaster.
Then came the words.
âI can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.âÂ
The Mandalorianâs hoarse voice drifted through a modulator and you felt the hairs at the back of your neck rise in response. It was silly what this manâs voice alone had done. A whisper at the back of your mind said this was different. This was not the same as every other encounter you had with those words. Your stomach churned nervously. Fear clawing its way up into your chest. Please, no. Maker, no, no. Not now. Donât let this be the moment.Â
âWould you really arrest your soulmate?â You replied, and you hated how the words came out hushed and quiet rather than confident and bold like you usually said them. The Mandalorian didnât flinch. He didnât do anything. The fear began to diminish and you let out a sigh of relief. Thank the Maker. He wasnât your soulmate†he was just an intimidating Mandalorian with a very attractive voice. You knew how to deal with that. Pasting a smirk on your lips, you shrugged. âYou scared me for a second there, Mandalorian.â
You shoved the table forward, as hard as you could, while leaping up. It slammed into the manâs abdomen right below where his beskar chest plate provided protection. A grunt of pain left him as he doubled over, and you quickly grabbed the bar stool you sat on and swung it around to hit the Mandalorian. It made contact with his shoulderâs pauldron and helmet. The bar stool exploded into shards of wood†losing itâs battle against the beskar†but it succeeded in knocking the man to the ground. Without missing a beat, you sprinted for the door and then out into the night air. Based on that interaction, Mandalorians werenât nearly as tough as the rumors stated, but, unlike him, you werenât going to underestimate your opponent.
You didnât slow your pace, slipping in and out of darkened alleys, and breathed a sigh of relief.
That had been close.
The pram floated closer, doors open, and Grogu leaned out to stare down at him in question, âBuir?â
Din laid on his back staring up at the ceiling in shock. âWould you really arrest your soulmate?â Dank farrik. Shit. He let every single other curse word he knew ring through his mind and still it wasnât enough. Soulmate. He found his soulmate. Din had a bad feeling the moment he stepped into the cantina and spotted you sitting at a table alone. The bounty puck didnât do you justice, and Din had felt drawn in by your magnetic gaze. It only got worse when he got closer. He shouldâve taken that as a hint and left†called Karga from hyperspace and let the man know that he was turning down the bounty.
But, no. Din made the egregious mistake of speaking to you, and his punishment had been your timid response. Your voice was quiet, and it felt like a soft caress. An intimate whisper. In moments of weakness, he always wondered what those words would sound like, but he never imagined what fate actually gave him. Din had been starstruck. Face bright red in warmth yet frozen in disbelief as his mind reeled for an answer.Â
You spoke once more, this time voice filled with confidence that matched the smirk you suddenly adorned, and before he could even register your words you were attacking him. If anybody Din knew had seen the fight†if it could even be called that†heâd have to hang up his armor and die in shame. It was embarrassing how easily you bested him with a table and bar stool, and if you hadnât caught him so off guard it never would've happened.Â
Grogu had hopped out of his pram and now stood on Dinâs chest so his small, green hand could repeatedly pat his helmet in question. Technically, his son had seen that display, and for the first time he was glad Grogu wasnât fluent in Basic.
âYeah, adâika.â Din groaned. âIâm okay.â
He rolled to sit up and realized the entire room was still staring at him. Din rose stiffly and set Grogu back into his pram. Awkwardly, he gave the room a small wave and cleared his throat. âSorry.â For good measure, he tossed a few credits on the table that had knocked the wind from him and made his leave. Din paused outside the cantina and opened his mouth to heave an annoyed sigh, a curse slipped out with it, âDank farrik.â
Din Djarin had found his soulmate.
Well, fuck.
mando'a translations:
ad'ika: little one /// buir: parent (father)
taglist: @onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl
(i've decided to start a separate list for this story b/c i just can't bring myself to post the AFS taglist in fear that someone on there doesn't want me spamming them with this story sorry i have anxiety lol)
[next chapter]
#the mandalorian#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#female reader#reader insert#mando#mando x you#mando x reader#mandalorian fanfic#mandalorian x you#mandalorian x reader#greef karga#grogu#soulmate!au
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there is a least liked character poll for THK? where? here?
yes, here on tumblr, you can find it here and to say the results are pissing me off would be an understatement. like i wouldnât care about people liking kant the least comparatively if it wasnât by such a wide margin and if i didnât fully know it was because people simply refuse to understand where heâs coming from or have any sympathy for him.
they take the things heâs done to bison and/or the things heâs done to style and hate him for it - which is extremely ironic because style and bison have BOTH done awful things as well. like, arguably the worst thing kant did was drug bison, and bison did the exact same thing earlier in the episode to someone else - that was emphasized MULTIPLE times because youâre SUPPOSED to draw the comparison.
and look, itâs not like i donât get it. if you take the things heâs done at a pure surface level, of COURSE youâre gonna hate him because he seems like an asshole. but as iâve said over and over again, kant isnât just doing any of this for funsies or just cause. he has a mission, he has a goal, and at the end of the day he is going to do fucking anything to accomplish that goal because the alternative is lose custody of his younger brother. what would everyone rather him do? just back off? do the least amount possible to get the information? let captain christ use his car thefts against him and take babe away from him? because thatâs the other option. thatâs the only other option.
kantâs actions arenât of a man thatâs trying to hurt anyone - theyâre that of a man desperate to keep his brother safe. and i donât see how you can hate him when thatâs been made so incredibly clear.
#like as someone that loves and adores fadel theyâre the exact fucking same#and yet everyone is able to love and understand fadel so easily but not kant?#as if fadelâs actions donât also have a negative effect on bison and style also?? like get serious here#the heart killers#kant pattanawat#asks#nonnies#my analysis#mine
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