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emberfrostlovesloki · 5 months ago

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Teacher's Pet [Aaron x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@littlecarmine) Center (@penandpaper-love) Right (@f4iryesss)

Prompt: When the reader, Jack’s teacher gets injured during the school day keeping her students safe, Aaron goes to check on her that evening. The unlikely pair get closer, but it's up to both of them if they want to make whatever they have more.

Pairing: Aaron x Non-BAU!reader, teacher!reader, ally!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 12K

Content Warnings: Homophobic phrases [from anti-LGBTQ+ protesters (the bad guys)], brief mention of religion, mention of being hit in the face and body and a split lip (reader) distress, mention of food and drinking alcohol, mention of an accident [not specified what (reader)], Haley’s death is brought up. If I missed any, please let me know.

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! This fic is for amazing @imagining-in-the-margins's Pride writing challenge! I made up my own prompt for this one which is: The reader puts herself in danger to keep her students away from anti-LBGTQ+ protesters. Aaron finds out about this and makes sure she’s fine (aka protective Hotch.) I hope you like this more fluffy and cute style of fic. It’s a bit different from the angst I write. It takes me back to my early Aaron writing style! I want to note that I know that not all school districts deal with this kind of stuff, but as I live in the South, and my sister and I are both in Education, I get to hear about this kind of thing more often than I’d like. Anyhow, please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories

y/n = your name

y/l/n = your last name

a/r = age range

a/d/r = any dietary restrictions (if none, please ignore)

Aaron got the call from the school shortly after he’d finished an early lunch. He was seated at his desk, the soft glow of the lap lighting his space which was covered by the team’s files. He was going to do the boring parts of the files for them, as he always did, but his phone ringing had disrupted his workflow. He glanced at the caller ID and quickly picked up, saying, “This is Mr. Hotchner.” There was a brief pause before the woman on the phone said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Hotchner. This is Rachel Jenkins, the school receptionist.” Hotch nodded his head; he knew the woman well, as he had gone to the school multiple times this year already because Jack had gotten into some kind of trouble, or needed him. Rachel continued, stating “Sorry to disturb you during the work day, but there’s been an incident with Jack, and the nurse thinks it’s best that you come and pick him up as soon as possible.” Aaron stifled a sigh. He wasn’t angry at Jack. He didn’t blame him for acting out, a trait that had started once his son had started processing his mother’s death. The family counselor said that was a natural part of grieving for a child, and Aaron was sympathetic to his son’s pain and emotions. Sometimes he wanted to scream or lash out too, but he had more faculty over his emotions. Even with all that being said, Hotch did find it a bit troublesome that Jack got into scuffles on days that would have been easy for him. But that was neither here nor there, life, nor emotions waited for anyone’s schedule -- Aaron knew this like all parents did.

Hotch asked a follow-up question: “Was this Jack dealing with bullies, or was this him doing something he shouldn’t be?” Aaron liked to know these things heading into the Principal or Nurse’s office beforehand, so he could set his tone appropriately. There was a pause on the line which made Hotch nervous. The silence was broken as Jessica replied, “No, Mr. Hotchner, it’s not that. I… I think it’s best that you just come down to the school.” This response made Aaron even more tense.

What could have happened that the woman would hesitate like that? He sensed that an answer had been on the tip of her tongue, and she’d stopped herself from speaking because she thought it was better. Hotch furrowed his brows, got out of his chair quickly, and grabbed his suit jacket. He flipped the screen of his laptop down, then grabbed his shoulder bag from the couch. No matter what Jack might have gotten up to, not knowing if something bad had happened to his son, nothing would stop him from getting to Jack.

Hotch hurriedly locked his office door behind him and as he started striding toward the stairs that would get him to the elevators, Rossi exited his office and offered a quizzical look at his friend. It was unlike Aaron to flee the office, even on days that felt like they were drawing on for an eternity. Hotch beat Dave to the question forming on his lips, someone would need to know where he was in case something serious came up in his absence. “Jack had some trouble at school and they said I should head over there.” Rossi frowned and said, “The bullies again? Remember my offer of teaching Jack how to punch is still on the table.” The worried look on Aaron’s face prevented Dave from joking further. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “I don’t think so, I hope to be back in a half hour or so. Look after the team while I’m gone, please?”

Rossi nodded his head in understanding and watched as Aaron took the stairs quickly down to the bullpen and out of sight. Dave closed his eyes for a second. He knew things had been hard for Aaron and Jack after Haley. There was no avoiding the hurt that lingered like a shroud around the two of them. He knew that Hotch had done his best to help and support Jack, but that didn’t make Aaron’s pain any less. If anything it made it worse because the guilt still haunted Aaron like a spector. Jack’s anger had grown and manifested at anything that it could get its teeth into, and often its victim was Aaron, who was trying his best. Dave bowed his head and saw the grief with Aaron. Rossi knew grief, it had been his companion for many years. And it hurt to see it on Hotch, but there was little he could do but support Aaron to the best of his ability and let time do its healing. And healing was a slow seamstress. Dave looked over the bullpen at the team working and smiling and turned back to his office, he felt like he needed a drink, but for now, bitter coffee would have to do.

Aaron drove at a speed that was technically street-legal. The churning of his stomach and the constant red lights had him worried and agitated at the same time. Jack’s school wasn’t too far away, but he’d hit the lunch-hour traffic which made the drive at least twenty-five minutes long. Hotch jacked up the air conditioner to silence his stressed-out thoughts. If something very bad had happened, then he would have been told. And there was nothing on the news, no lockdowns, or active shooter drills. However, sending Jack off to school every morning knowing that that was a possibility didn’t make him feel good.

It was the fear of the unknown that made Aaron press his foot down on the accelerator further. Hotch arrived at the school and everything looked normal from the outside. With hurried footsteps, he made it to the front office to check in. Jessica could see how nervous he was and the intensity of his expression. Aaron’s eyes, when they were dark and worried, had opened many doors for him, and broken many unsubs in the interrogation room. The receptionist swallowed and said, “Just grab a visitor badge and you can head to the nurse’s office, Mr. Hotchner. I’ll sign you in. The Vice Principal is already there.”

Aaron grabbed one of the laminated passes and said, “Thank you,” as he headed out of the glass office and toward the nurse’s office which was located at the end of the central hall adjacent to the janitor’s closet. Knowing the Vice-Principal was present with Jack told Aaron more information, but not enough to know exactly what had happened. If he found out that his son was being bullied again, he was going to send some strongly worded emails to those boy’s parent’s this evening. As he was drafting the letters in this mind, he made it to the nurse and opened the door. As soon as he saw Jack’s tear-stained face, and that he was clutching a Kleenex in his hands, Hotch stepped further in the door and the nurse and Vice Principal moved aside and let him go to his son. Aaron knelt next to the bed that Jack was sitting on and embraced him firmly. Jack let out some sniffles and Aaron reassured him before asking for any information, “It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay.”

After a few moments, Hotch attempted to move away, but Jack’s hands gripped the fabric of his shirt. Aaron moved his right hand from Jack’s soft hair that reminded him of Haley to under Jack’s legs as he stood. Unamused at how he’d been kept waiting, Aaron asked in a cool tone, “Would you tell me what’s going on, Vice Principal Westbrook?” The silence that stayed in the room as the Vice Principal picked at the hangnails on his fingers and looked at the floor had Aaron hot under the collar. Jack didn’t look bruised or hurt in any way, just very upset. Upset enough that he had wanted him. Before Dr. Westbrook could come up with a scripted answer, Jack said, “They hurt her, Dad.” Aaron frowned, pulled Jack back from his chest a bit, and asked, “Hurt who, bud?” Jack sniffled and replied, “Ms. y/l/n. He punched her in the face and her shoulder.” The words tumbled out of the boy's mouth and only had Aaron more concerned. Jack was crying again, and Aaron handed him back his crumpled tissue and pressed Jack to his broad chest again. Jack set his head on his dad’s shoulder and took comfort in the solid presence and scent that was always there for him when he needed it.

Jack had done a lot of growing up in his short years. He’d discovered a few things about life that he wished he hadn’t. How people you loved sometimes went away, maybe just for a bit, or sometimes forever, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still there loving him. His dad was a prime example of this -- and even if Jack couldn’t articulate this, or might change his mind later, it was still true in the moment. As his little fingers clutched at Aaron’s shirt collar, Hotch turned to face Dr. Westbrook again.

The slim man seemed to be trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with Aaron, and giving a straight answer to anything, but Hotch wouldn’t let him get away with this. Ms. y/l/n was someone who had become very special to Jack this year when he got into her class. Aaron also had a kind of parasocial relationship with y/n, as she had been very helpful with Jack and dealing with his grief and the bullying he’d been dealing with that year. Jack had brought her up early in the year and when Aaron had met with Ms. y/l/n for the Meet-The-Teacher night, Hotch could tell why. She was so bright. Her presence illuminated her cozy room which she had decorated with bright posters and lights. It seemed even the sharp corners of the room were softened by y/n’s presence. She had given Jack such praise for his manners, his reading skills, and how he treated his classmates with kindness. Aaron had almost felt like a lost that night, as he could only listen and nod. He had to really pay attention when some of the other parents started asking questions. Apart from the fact that y/n was clearly an adept teacher and classroom manager for her age, she was also pretty. Pretty in a quaint way. He’d left the school that night feeling oddly lighter than he had in months.

The next time they met was at the first parent-teacher conference. That was where Aaron had learned that Jack was dealing with bullies. The administration hadn’t even informed him of this issue. y/n was very kind about it and wanted to make sure that Aaron had the right support for something like this. y/n hadn’t meant to question his parenting skills, but as a single dad, she wanted to get a better feel of how emotions were handled around the Hotchner household. Not just sad feelings, but anger and resentment too. It wasn’t until a month later when the bullying had gotten really bad, that Aaron realized, thanks to y/n, that he wasn’t equipped to handle this alone and had brought in the help of a family counselor. He had more contact with y/n after that, as she checked up on Jack and kept Aaron informed about his son’s grades and other issues that popped up in the classroom.

Hotch could understand why Jack would be upset that y/n had been hurt somehow. He was also angry, and asked in a firm voice, “What happened to Ms. y/l/n?” The VP sighed and said, “Well it was just an unfortunate situation, Mr. Hotchner, but no one was seriously hurt and we’re launching an investigation into the situation that happened.” This evasive answer didn’t satisfy Aaron and he replied, “Great, but what happened to Ms. y/l/n, and why is my son so distraught about it? What happened?”

Dr. Westbrook realized that he couldn’t talk his way out of not answering Aaron as he had with the other parents he’d had to have had this conversation with. The man relented and said, “Well this morning a group of Anti-LGBTQ+ protesters amassed at the front of the school and held up degrading signs and shouted at anyone coming into the building through the front entrance.” Hotch already didn’t like where this was headed. The political climate had many up in arms due to the acceptance of others, and they made it their goal to try and complain and intimidate those who didn’t agree with them and their views. The VP continued, “Well they were blocking the flow of traffic and harassing the faculty, so we had some city police move them off campus. Unfortunately, they set up on DeGhatty Street on the sidewalk by the area for recess.” Hotch nodded, getting a better picture of what had happened. But there were still missing pieces. The next bit Dr. Westbrook rushed through, but Aaron caught the story even if the VP was trying to make it hard to. “Well it was the second shift of recess, the time that Jack has, and the protesters became more agitated. They weren’t getting the engagement they wanted, and they started yelling at the kids. Ms. y/l/n was on recess shift and tried calling the school’s two SROs, but they were dealing with an incident in the cafeteria. The screaming was distressing to some of the students and one student started moving toward the group by the fence…”

Hotch stopped the man and asked, “Was it Jack?” The Vice Principal nodded his head no and replied, “No Mr. Hotchner. It was another student, but other monitors and students did say that your son was watching from a pretty close distance.” Hotch narrowed his eyes but didn’t detect that the man was lying. Dr. Westbrook swallowed thickly under Aaron’s gaze and shaky continued, “Well Ms. y/l/n saw the student moving toward the protesters, and she moved forward to cut the student off. The group was unhappy about that, and they accosted her and made some false statements and allegations about her. She did her best to verbally defend herself and move back to protect the students and get them all inside, but one of the men in the group, allegedly, grabbed her shoulder, screamed at her, and then lost his composure and hit Ms. y/l/n in the face and chest.”

The image that the man was painting made Aaron feel his anger flash up in him. Not only was the VP using protective language for the protesters, he, nor the school had done a proper job of protecting their students or teachers. No wonder Jack was distraught. Thinking of Jack, his son had settled and Aaron knew they would have to leave in a bit. This was still a school and there were other things that had to be done, but Aaron asked, “Are the protestors gone now? I drove down DeGhatty to get here, and I didn’t see anyone. Also, how is Ms. y/n? Is she alright?”

Dr. Westbrook nodded and seemed relieved that the conversation had turned away from the events of that afternoon. He cleared his throat and straightened his blue striped tie which didn’t match his grey suit before replying, “The local police came down and dispersed the crowd and told them they didn’t have a right to protest on the school’s block without a permit, which is true. As for Ms. y/l/n, Nurse Patty here looked her over and we decided it was for the best to send her home for the day. Ms. y/l/n seemed shaken up.” Aaron refrained from letting out a long sigh. Now was not the time nor the place. But the feelings and questions that flooded Aaron were that he wondered why the police hadn’t been called earlier, why the school didn’t seem up on its legal code, and the utter condescension that came with having to send y/n home for the rest of the day. What did the Vice Principal expect from her after being punched in the face? y/n had “appeared shaken up?” How the hell would he have reacted in that circumstance?

Aaron didn’t want any of this frustration at this situation to make Jack feel like he was angry at him, but he would have a conversation with his son later about when to step back in a situation. But he’d worry about that later. For now, Hotch said, “Okay. Thank you for explaining. May I take Jack home now?” Dr. Westbrook seemed to deflate and nodded his head yes. The nurse moved over to Jack and gave him a pat on the head and handed him a lollipop. The older woman said, “Have a good rest of your day, Jack. If you’re at school tomorrow and you feel bad at any time in the day you can come and see me, okay?” Jack nodded softly and Aaron shot her a thankful smile before tightening his grip on his son and moving out of the door and back toward the front office. Hotch quickly signed out with Jessica and returned his visitor badge to the counter.

Once he was back out into the warm, almost, summer sun, Aaron dipped his head down to Jack's ear and said softly, “Hey, Buddy. Would you be okay with hanging you with Dad’s friends for a while while I work in the office? You could camp up with me or you could see Uncle Spencer, Uncle Morgan, or Aunt Penelope?” The prospect of seeing his friends had Jack perk up and his distress diminish as he said, “Hm-hm. I wanna see Aunt Penny and Uncle Derek.” Hotch smiled and replied, “Okay. We’ll just be there for a few hours and then, if you’re good, we can go to ice cream after Daddy’s done with work.” That last piece of information really made Jack happy, and Aaron relaxed for the first time since the school had called him. It didn’t take long for Aaron to get Jack strapped into his car seat and head back to the Quantico Field Office.

Hotch spent the rest of the afternoon working and looking after Jack; mostly making sure Jack wasn’t getting into too much trouble with the team. Derek showed Jack around the bullpen, and Spencer did some physics magic which the whole BAU oohed and ahhed at, even Aaron and Rossi, from a distance. Then Penelope took Jack into her office and they spent around an hour together laughing and talking. There was something about Garcia’s energy that matched Jack’s so well, and his easily distracted self could be entertained for hours. Hotch made sure to set up a fancy coffee delivery for tomorrow morning for the team out of his pocket. He knew all of their orders by heart now. He did this as a thank you to the team. Not that any one of them would complain about having Jack distract them, however, being a babysitter was very much not in their job description, especially when they were in the office, so wanted to make sure they knew how appreciative he was of their support. Each one of them had been there for him and Jack on numerous occasions when Hotch thought that he couldn’t go on. He realized how lucky he was to be surrounded by this support system. Jack had them too, and also his friends and teachers at school. Ms. y/n came to mind as he finished scheduling the coffee order. The thought of someone laying hands on her gave him a constricting feeling in his chest.

Aaron let out a breath and looked outside his windows into the bullpen where he watched Prentiss, Morgan, and JJ kneeling next to Jack who was speaking animatedly about what looked like soccer practice. Hotch moved his eyes back to his laptop screen and pulled up his personal email. With a few clicks of his fingers, he had gmail pulled up. He hit ‘new message.’ He typed in y/n’s email into the ‘to’ box. It felt so strange to be the one initiating a conversation, especially a new one, but he cared about Ms. y/n, and he knew his nerves wouldn’t settle down until he’d checked in on her.

y/n was the one to normally start a conversation either to check up on Jack or let Hotch or Mr. Hotchner, as she called him, what had happened with Jack at school. Aaron had only once emailed y/n for details about Jack’s day when he’d come home upset about something that he couldn’t quite decipher. She responded promptly and told him everything she knew about the situation. Essentially they had only emailed in a professional capacity before, and this felt different. For a moment Aaron wondered if anyone else had called or messaged her. If her friends from school or elsewhere were getting a story about the wild day she’d had, or how she was hurting. The thought made Hotch’s heart clench for some unknown reason. He typed out this message:

To: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD

From: [email protected]

Subject: Checking-In

Good afternoon, Ms. y/n,

I heard from Jack and the school today that you were hurt today while trying to keep your students safe. I wanted to thank you for putting yourself in that position for the sake of the students, especially Jack. He is very worried about you and keeps asking if you’re okay. He and I both share that sentiment. I hope the school fully supports you in what you need at this time. If there is anything I can do to make your life easier these next few days, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I would be happy to drop off food or just be a support if you need it. Wishing you the best,

Aaron Hotchner

Hotch hit the send button and listened to the little swoosh of the sent sound. Although he did feel better after sending the email, it was also odd. He didn’t want to come off as a parental figure to y/n. Not that he wasn’t older than her by a good few years, he was, but the idea of him coming across that way made him uncomfortable. And the fact that that idea made him uncomfortable only made him question what he wanted to come off as instead. Mostly, Aaron didn’t want to seem patronizing. He knew y/n was tough and could handle things, but his concern and care had overrode those thoughts. Hotch pushed those thoughts from his mind; he had good intentions sending the email and if it came off in another way, then at least he’d tried his best.

Aaron looked at the clock at his wall and it was five minutes to five. Unlike a normal day, where Jack would have an afterschool activity or Jess would pick him up for a few hours before he would swing by and get Jack for the rest of the evening, tonight was different, and he started packing his things up in his briefcase. He took some of the important files and the rest he left for tomorrow. He’d come to the office early if Jack felt up to going to school tomorrow. Once Hotch had most of his things ready, he moved outside of his office. Jack was playing a game with Spencer, and Aaron called out, “Jack, come up here and get your backpack and lunchbox, please. We’re about to go home.” Jack looked up at his dad and said, “Just one sec, Dad.” Aaron gave his son a look, and Jack sighed, got out of his seat, and made it up the stairs to Aaron’s side. As Jack moved past Spencer, Reid gave his head a little pat and once Jack had passed the lithe agent, Aaron gave Spence a smile before turning to his son and moving with him to the office.

Jack only had one binder and one maths assignment out on Aaron’s office couch. Jack had promised his dad that he would be good in the office, and being good meant doing five minutes of a math worksheet and complaining about how hard it was before the little boy moved out into the bullpen to see the team. Aaron didn’t blame him. Jack had had a hard and stressful day, but he did expect his son to pick up and get ready to go on his own.

Jack was getting old enough for those things now, but Hotch still packed his lunches every day or made sure his son had money for his lunch account. By the time Aaron had his suit jacket back on and his briefcase and shoulder bag in hand, Jack had put his paper and notebook away and was struggling to zip up his small Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack. Aaron leaned down and helped him close the bag and handed it back to Jack. Aaron led his son out of the room and locked the door behind him for the last time for the day. Hotch nodded to Rossi who was also locking up his office and then followed Jack down the stairs. The pair made it through the bullpen, and Jack waved at the team as he passed them. Aaron said, “Thank you” to each of them as well in his low voice. As Hotch got to the edge of the BAU’s area, turned, and said more loudly, “Thanks for today, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Morgan, Prentiss, Reid, and JJ nodded and said bye.

True to his word, Hotch took Jack to get ice cream at a local spot not far from their house. Jack was ecstatic to be having sweets before dinner. Aaron had to remind his son that he still had to eat some other food once they got home and settled. Jack agreed excitedly as they walked into the pastel-colored storefront. There weren’t many people inside and no one in line, so it took only a few moments for Jack to order his chocolate swirl scoop with add-ins of Oreos and strawberries. Aaron got a scoop of brown butter vanilla for himself and then paid as Jack got them spoons and napkins, then found a comfortable table in the corner of the building near the window. After paying, Hotch sat down across from Jack who said, “Thanks, Dad.” Aaron smiled and reached over and patted the top of his head, replying, “Of course, Buddy.” Hotch cherished these moments. There would only be a few more years that ice cream before dinner was a big thing, and time in some things, such as kids growing up, moved so quickly. Not only was this time for them to have a bit of fun, but it was also a teaching moment for Jack. But Aaron was going to enjoy his ice cream first.

Aaron dipped his plastic spoon into the slightly yellow-colored ice cream. There were specks of vanilla bean in the scoop that was slowly melting in the afternoon sun. Hotch took his spoon and slipped it in his mouth, sucking off the sweetness. Hotch let the cold ice cream sit in his mouth and melt with the body heat inside. The taste was sweet, but not cloyingly so which he enjoyed. The aftertaste of the browned butter hit as he swallowed. Aaron didn’t allow himself to have anything this indulgent very often, so when he did, he tried to enjoy and appreciate it. For many years, Hotch knew that his faster metabolism had gone in his early thirties, and treats were a thing he sought out less and less for himself. However, as he watched Jack enjoy his ice cream and as the soft music played in the space while the cars drifted by outside, he realized that this was something not only Jack needed, but something he needed as well. Aaron was brutal on himself and his body, and maybe he was trying too hard. He wanted and tried to be the best version of himself for the team, but more importantly for Jack, and he might have been taking it too far on his end. He relaxed a bit into his bench seat and took another bite of ice cream, this time just enjoying it for the sake of the experience.

After their paper bowls were empty, Aaron took a breath and looked at Jack who was playing with his spoon and asked, “Jack, did you know what those people who were at your school today were talking about?” The boy stopped fiddling with his cutlery and made a face that said he was thinking before saying, “I think so. They were mad about gay people and shouting. They were really angry and I don’t know why…” Hotch nodded his head and tried to think about how to best respond. He had talked to Jack about the LGBTQ+ community, not so much like that but in the more simple and kid-friendly way of emphasizing that anyone can love anyone else as long as it’s not hurting anyone. That there could be two moms or two dads, and that not everyone felt like a boy or a girl. Jack looked up at his dad and asked, “Why were they so angry?”

Aaron swallowed and replied, “Well, sometimes people don’t like something, or don’t believe in something. And they can think that, but the thing is that they try and want to make other people think it too. And when people don’t agree with them, they get angry. Because if you can’t make someone agree with you, then you can at least make them scared. And what do we know about being scared, Jack?” It took a second before Jack replied, “It’s okay to be scared but being different doesn’t mean being scary.” Aaron nodded proudly and Jack added on, “So they were just big bullies?” Hotch knew it was more complex with that but for now, it was a good analogy and he nodded yes.

This conversation gave Jack a new thought and he asked, “You told me that I shouldn’t give bullies time, but Ms. y/l/n went up to them and tried talking to them.” Aaron nodded and replied, “Yes. You’re right. That’s what I’ve said to you. Things are different with Ms. y/l/n because she’s an adult, and she was trying to keep you and all of the students safe. But you’re right, for you, Jack, I would say to stay away from a situation like that, but there are some other things you can do too.” Aaron knew that Jack was a helper, and always had been. So in a situation where his son might feel helpless, he wanted to give him an option to do something that would give him power in the scenario and to do something that he was good at.

Aaron stated, “So what you can do, Jack, is to find the other kids like you who might be upset. Because those people were saying upsetting and hurtful things. So you can find those kids who are hurting and make sure they’re doing okay.” Jack nodded along, this was something he could do. Aaron also added, “And if things seem bad, like if you feel unsafe or the other kids feel unsafe, the best thing you can do is get help from an adult. From someone you trust or know. Does that make sense?” Jack nodded and sat forward, mirroring Aaron’s posture as he shook his head yes. Hotch smiled and said, “Good, If you have more questions about today you can ask me anytime, okay?”

Just as Aaron and Jack were getting ready to head home, Hotch’s phone pinged with an incoming message, and he checked it. The email was from y/n and he tapped on the screen opening the message which read:

To: [email protected]

From: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD

Subject: Re-Checking-In

Good afternoon, Mr. Hotchner,

Thank you so much for checking in on me. That is very kind of you. I’m just sorry that Jack or any of the students at recess had to see and hear what they did. As for what the administration thinks about what I did today, I think I’m going to find that out tomorrow, but don’t want to know really, nor should I speculate about it in an email. You are niceto offer your help. I think I’m just going to order a frozen pizza from the store and call it a night. I’m a bit banged up, if it was any more than this I think I’d have to go to the ER (that last bit is hyperbole). Thanks again for checking in Mr. Hotchner. I hope Jack isn’t too upset. Tell him I said hello, and that I’ll see him tomorrow at school! I hope you have a pleasant night,

Ms. y/n.

Aaron frowned slightly. There was a hesitancy in y/n’s tone here. Especially with how the school might react to what had happened. That, and the fact that y/n seemed to be in a lot of pain didn’t make Hotch feel good. It made him want to go over and see her even more. He paused to make sure this was still being done with good intentions. That his desire wasn’t just trying to find an opportunity to see y/n again. The feelings in his gut were still one of concern, even if his heart was doing something different. Hotch pushed aside the new feelings in his chest, something for him to contemplate later, and composed a reply to y/n:

To: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re-re-Checking-In

y/n, I’m glad you can bring some humor into this situation. That’s a relief. It sounds like you’re in a good bit of pain. Are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER? Also, would you let me pick you up a pizza? It’s no big deal at all, and that way you can save money on the delivery. Sorry, I don’t mean to overreach, but I am willing to give a helping hand if you want.

Aaron Hotchner

Hotch really hoped he wasn’t sounding too desperate, or that y/n would think his offering to help her save money made her feel poor. He didn’t mean it that way. He’d tossed a few options out for her to reach out if she needed, or wanted help, or just some company. From what Aaron could tell about y/n was that she was fiercely independent. She’d seemed so put together for someone in their mind a/r. From what he could tell from y/n’s weekly email updates, she made a lot of her own classroom content and tried very hard to connect with each of her students. Not only that but from the two times they’d met at school, there were no indications that she had a partner or parents close by to help her with things. Aaron assumed this mainly because she’d told him how she’d had to learn how to fix the leak in her bathroom faucet from YouTube just so she didn’t have to call in a plumber. That was another time when Aaron had wished he could just whisk himself over to her duplex and lend y/n a hand. Before he could overthink what he’d sent there was another reply:

To: [email protected]

From: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD

Subject: Re-re-re-Checking-In

Ummm, you’d do that, really? I don’t want to be a bother, Mr. Hotchner. I know you have to take care of Jack and everything…

y/n y/l/n

Now a hint of a smile turned up the corner of Aaron’s mouth. He and Jack had made it to the car at this point and Hotch typed out:

To: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD

From: [email protected]

Subject: [Re]-Checking-In

y/n,

I’d be happy to take even a small load off of your shoulders. After what you’ve been through today it is the least I can do, and I can get someone to sit with Jack for an hour or so while I come over. To make communication easier, here is my cell Number: (804) 572 - 4459. If you’d like, however, to keep this over email, that’s fine as well. It might be a moment before I get back to you as I have to get Jack home and get him dinner, but I’ll be open after that and talk to you again then. Do you have any allergies or dietary restrictions I should know about before I go grab your pizza?

Aaron Hotchner

The drive home was quiet as Jack thought about what his dad had said. The sandy-haired boy had a few more questions which Aaron did his best to explain. When the questions turned toward religion, it had been a church group protesting, Hotch did his best to turn the conversation back to the key points. He rarely talked to Jack about church or religion, wanting his son to be able to make his own choices in faith, or not to have any at all. That hadn’t been a choice for Hotch as a child, and he wanted Jack to not have the burn of guilt that faith could bring unless it was something his son came to on his own terms. Plus religion had become a bit of a sore subject for Aaron after Haley’s passing. How could a fair God take away someone as good and pure as Haley? It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t have the will to study theodicy. So he pushed those thoughts to the background and focused on getting home.

It didn’t take long for Aaron to get dinner ready for Jack. While he reheated some leftover pasta and veggies, Jack did his homework, and they both had a small dinner. Hotch also texted Jess to see if she was open to swing by for an hour to which she replied, “Yes. I never miss a chance to hang out with my coolest nephew. Are you going on a date or something?” Aaron rolled his eyes at the text, he suspected sarcasm and replied, “Something like that. Making a house call to a friend in need. I’ll tell you more later.” A moment later Jess sent a thumbs-up emoji and said, “I’ll be over in about forty minutes once my boys are settled, probably playing Fortnite or something *sigh*” Hotch liked the text and checked his messages to see a text from a new number which he correctly assumed was y/n. She had sent a simple, “Hello, it’s me, y/n. For your pizza question, I have a/d/r so knock yourself out with that. I’m not a picky eater. Also here’s my address, ________. I’m not doing anything tonight, I couldn’t even if I wanted to, so you can come over anytime, but before nine would be great as I have to wake up early. Thanks so much again. This is very, very nice of you. - y/n.” Aaron liked the text and replied, “Sounds good. I’ll make sure to make it to yours before nine. - Aaron.”

Jess arrived promptly at 6:30, and Hotch let her know it was the normal bedtime routine that night. A half hour of TV, upstairs, teeth brushed, and in bed by 8:30. Jessica nodded and said, “Gotcha. You owe me a story for this one.” Aaron chuckled and said, “I’ll let you know. There’s an open bottle of Pino in the fridge if you want some. I shouldn’t be gone long.” Jess couldn’t help herself from saying, “That's what she said,” and Hotch flushed crimson. Unlike Haley, Jess had gotten the more crass humor of the Brooks family.

Aaron left the room, keys in hand before any more jokes could be levied at him. He really didn’t plan on staying at y/n’s long. However thanks to the recent comments, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like he was a teenager sneaking out of the house to see some girl after curfew. Hotch shook his head at the silly notion and reminded himself that he was an adult man, and such thoughts were above him. However, he couldn’t stop the small thrill that ran through him as he entered y/n’s address into his phone. He swung by the local store and picked up two frozen pizzas that he thought y/n would like and matched her allergy and dietary restrictions she’d sent him earlier. He also moved to the pharmacy section and picked up some pain relievers, liniment oil, and cotton pads, just in case y/n didn’t have any of those things at her apartment. After all, she had said she was going to get stuff delivered to her, and he didn’t know if those were things she had planned on getting and then just didn’t tell him because she hadn’t wanted to be a burden. At least, that was how Aaron justified the extra purchases.

Hotch texted y/n that he was on the way and the closer he got to her place, the more nervous he felt. It was strange. He hadn’t felt this way in ages. He had to keep attempting to suppress the feeling, but it kept creeping up on him like frost on the ground in the morning; an inevitable thing that he knew would change and probably go away with time. It was a week away from summer, there shouldn’t be frost on the ground at all. Hotch felt exasperated at his state and realized that maybe he was just too cold of a person and the frost stuck with him. Outside of y/n’s place, Aaron said, “Get ahold of yourself Hotchner, and be helpful for once, goddammit.” His little pep-talk got him to the door with the groceries. The lights were on inside and Aaron knocked lightly on the front door. There was a very muffled, “I’m coming” and all of a sudden the piercing darkness was broken by a stream of yellow light that poured from y/n’s open door. Aaron blinked for a second as he took in y/n. She seemed pretty relaxed in an oversized t-shirt and shorts that were nearly swallowed by the length of her shirt. She was barefoot and leaning against the door frame taking him in as well. Apart from the angry bruises on y/n’s face and her split lip, she looked comfortable here. ‘This is her home, of course, she’s comfortable’ Aaron reminded himself.

While Hotch’s eyes had been adjusting to the light, y/n’s eyes were getting used to the dark. Jack’s father had always been an attractive man even though she’d only seen him briefly in the drop-off and pick-up lines and even less for any extended period of time. But Mr. Hotchner had a face, and attitude one didn’t easily forget. There was an intensity about him, a fierceness that could easily draw one in or scare one away.

y/n wondered why the other teachers didn’t talk about him more. Maybe it was all the things he and Jack had gone through, horrible horrible things that kept people away. It made sense that Mr. Hotchner was in the FBI. He had a high-intensity job. All that energy had to go somewhere, and when he wasn’t being a parent to Jack and doting on his son, he must be doing dangerous and exciting things. Far more exciting than her job at least. y/n noticed his jeans and polo, a new outfit on him, and most certainly not his normal pressed suit and tie. y/n wasn’t complaining. His arms filled out the sleeves and his waist seemed a little less trim. y/n felt like a total fool for just standing there, realizing that he was also waiting to come inside, or maybe just drop off the bag of groceries he’d brought her so kindly using his own money and taking time out of his night.

y/n snapped back to reality and berated herself and thought, ‘You’re fun little thoughts are getting out of hand. Please like he’d care about you like that.’ It was true, y/n had allowed herself to think, just a bit about the mysterious Mr. Hotchner. It was harmless, just small vignettes of them laughing about a joke, or holding hands -- kid's stuff, or at least it had been until he showed up outside her doorstep. y/n shook her head and said, “I’m so sorry Mr. Hotchner. I get hit in the head and my manners fly out the window. Would you like to come in, or just hand those things over? I can pay you back for them. Do you have PayPal or Venmo?” The words came out quickly, more quickly than y/n had hoped. There was no hope in sounding nonchalant now. A flush started forming on y/n’s face and she wanted to put her face in her palm, but had enough dignity left to not do that in front of the parent of her student.

Aaron let out a little sigh of relief knowing that he wasn’t the only one who thought meeting like this was a bit, different. He wondered for a second why y/n had accepted his help, but pushed that aside and said, “Please Ms. y/n, you can just call me Aaron. I’d like to come in for a moment. See if you’re alright if you don’t mind?” y/n nodded and opened the door wider for Hotch. Aaron slid past her into the warm comfort of her space. It was lit mostly by lamps and the furnishings seemed soft and cozy which would match y/n’s personality. It was a bit more sparse and minimal than Hotch would have imagined, but maybe the chaos of a classroom called for order at home. The lights in the kitchen were on and the brightest. Hotch heard the soft click of the door behind him as he looked over the space.

y/n stepped forward and said, “Well, please just call me y/n. Unless I’m in the classroom, Ms. makes me feel like a 19th-century spencer waiting for Harlod Hill to come into town.” y/n rolled her eyes at her choice of words. ‘Yes y/n, let’s talk about The Music Man in front of Mr. Hotchner, why don’t you?’ In an attempt to recover and hide her embarrassment, y/n stated. “I was just pouring myself a glass of wine when you knocked, um, would you like one? I can also take those groceries from you.” Aaron offered y/n a soft smile that only made her heart beat faster as he extended the bag of groceries and said, “I’m good for now. Thank you. Have you had anything to eat yet tonight?” y/n took the paper bag and their fingers brushed, the warmth of their skin spreading despite the frozen contents inside the bag. y/n cleared her throat and turned toward the kitchen in an attempt to hide how flustered she was. The cool linoleum tile of her kitchen managed to cool her down, and she placed the pizzas in the freezer. She tried to say casually over her shoulder, “I haven’t eaten yet, no. You can sit down anywhere if you like…” y/n didn’t know exactly if Mr. Hotchner wanted to stay long and she felt silly for having offered him a drink in the first place. Maybe he didn’t drink. By the time y/n had situated the food, Aaron had taken a seat in one of the chairs sitting catty corner to her tan couch. Trying to play it cool, y/n moved to her counter and poured herself the glass of wine she had been planning before she’d put her foot in her mouth. y/n contemplated that maybe this was why she was good with kids. The nuances of adulthood could pass over children’s heads so easily. They didn’t feel the awkwardness that y/n did right now. Nor the racing of her heart as Aaron filled one of her seats.

She moved over to the couch and asked again, “Can I please pay you back for the groceries? It was nice of you to bring them, and for you to check in on me. I got a few angry emails from parents saying that I exposed their children to danger today, so yours was a nice change.” Aaron’s eyebrows pulled together. The comment about payment passed him by. He wasn’t going to let Jack’s favorite teacher pay him back, even if she asked a hundred times. But the more pressing issue was the emails from other parents. If y/n’s actions didn’t look good, then he didn’t know what they were. He asked in a low voice, “Why were they upset?” y/n bit her lower lip and cringed as the pain stung from the split in her mouth. She had forgotten it was there for a moment. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought up the other emails. Depending on how the district’s admin took her situation, it wouldn’t help her to spread information.

y/n chose her words carefully as she replied, “Well some were mad that I got hurt in front of their children and some were angry that their kids were exposed to those protestors in the first place.” y/n looked at Aaron and his slightly annoyed and sympathetic gaze made her feel better, safe. She hadn’t really processed what had happened to her yet, and she’d been alone since she’d been sent home. It was good to have someone here, and y/n took a sip of her wine and set her glass down on the table before leaning her head back on the couch and sighing deeply deflating slightly.

In a smaller voice, a voice that gave away the pain she was feeling y/n said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have done anything. I just didn’t like the things they were saying. Kids are much more cognizant than people like to think and for those who have gay parents, or siblings, or might be part of the community themselves, they shouldn’t have to hear that stuff.” y/n pinched the bridge of her nose and continued, “This had to happen the week before summer break?” As y/n had her eyes closed, Aaron took the chance to give her face a better look. The bruise under her eye was turning a nasty purple that would fade to an even more ugly yellow color in the following days. The split on her lip looked nasty as well. The tender pink skin must hurt as she talked. He got what she was saying about kids knowing more than others expected. Jack was a prime example of that. Of course, Jack had been through more pain and grief than many his age. It would only make sense that he was more perceptive. The claims from the other parents sounded like bullshit to him though.

y/n turned her face to him and said softly, “Sorry for unloading on you. I haven’t really had anyone to talk to about this yet. I don’t mean to hold you up.” Aaron nodded his head no and said, “You’re not bothering me, and you’re not holding me up. What were the protestors saying exactly, had you seen them before?” y/n’s eyes softened. She hadn’t really allowed herself the opportunity to picture Aaron like this in person, so kind and concerned. She’d just let herself think silly little snippets, but this gentleness hadn’t filtered into the equation. y/n moved her gaze to the ceiling and said, “Oh they were saying all the homophobic classics. Fags go to hell, god hates queers, and they were accusing the teachers on the staff of being groomers and turning the students gay, all that jazz.” Hotch rolled his eyes. These points were so tiring at this point, and he was annoyed with y/n for having to deal with this. y/n looked at Hotch and said, “And I haven’t seen any of those people before. Not like I’d be looking for those types of people on a daily anyway. They must have come down from upstate.”

Hotch let out a small huff, his lawyer side kicking in as he asked, “You seemed hesitant about the school’s response to what you did today, and some other parents showed concern. Do you think the district might not support your actions?” y/n sat forward and took another drink of wine, more this time. It was helping her calm down. Not that she normally needed wine to unwind, but it had been a long day, and there was a very attractive man unexpectedly sitting in her home. That last fact was still a wonder to y/n. Like a dream. y/n considered that she might have gotten a very bad concussion and was being wheeled right now to a hospital. But she was brought back from her wayward thoughts when Hotch cleared his throat. y/n shook her head. She was letting her brain get away with itself far more than normal. But she blamed it on the pain, painkillers, and stress of the whole situation. That stress was slightly intensified by Mr. Hotchner’s question, but y/n realized it was better to say it out loud instead of keeping it in to eat at her.

y/n sighed and said, “It really depends. You’ve heard about that Mom’s for Student Purity campaign at the beginning of the school year, I’m sure?” Hotch nodded his head slightly. He had heard of it but hadn’t thought much of it. Only that there had been some issues and poor behavior at the school assemblies. Aaron had assumed that the district had taken care of the situation and that’s why he hadn’t heard more about it. As hard as Hotch tried to be involved in Jack’s academic life, and he did show up to every game, play, and parent-teacher conference, he didn’t have much time for the school board meetings. That had been Haley’s forte and the thought pained him momentarily. Aaron wished he could live up to the expectation that y/n must have had of him as he said, “I’ve heard of them, but not much. I’m sure they’d have something to say about today.”

y/n let out a little snort and replied, “Tell me about it. The district has been having a constant battle with them. Ever since the president and the vice-president of their organization got elected to the school board it’s been hard to keep them at bay. They’ve tried implementing book bans, vetting curriculum, and getting the librarian fired. Right now they’re not in the majority and their ideas are unfounded and impractical to implement, but they’re making things hard. Every time the district shoots them down, they start a new campaign and it gets more troublesome. I know this will come up in a performance review and if they don’t like it, they’ll find a way to make it hard for me. They’ve done it to others already. I can imagine the comments, ‘Teacher causes brawl in front of students leaving them disturbed.’”

Hotch took a moment to think about how hard that must be. To have to be so careful that making a choice to do the right thing could get y/n in trouble. How the system was setting her up to have to make hard choices at the expense of her employment possibly. All of these loopholes reminded him of his own work in a way, though he didn’t have to deal with kids all day. Even though some of the police and sheriff’s departments the BAU worked with acted like children. y/n sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain. I love my job. I love working with my students. I love to see their joy and to have concepts click in their heads. They bring me so much happiness every day. It’s just the other part of the job, having to tip-toe around people and admin, it kind of dims that excitement I had when I was a new teacher.” y/n finished off her wine as Aaron took a moment to think. y/n had a great way of telling stories, it wasn’t a surprise that Jack was drawn to her tone and humor. It drew him in. He turned his head back to y/n who was now longingly looking between her wine bottle on her counter and her empty glass, as if trying to decide if she should risk another glass.

Hotch asked carefully, “Have you taken anything for the pain?” He didn’t want to say that she looked rough, but her face looked like it hurt, and from y/n’s small grimaces, it clearly did. y/n nodded and said, “I did. I had some painkillers when I got home. I think I have another hour before I can take another round.” Aaron didn’t make a comment on y/n’s choice to mix alcohol with painkillers, nor the fact that she was drinking on an empty stomach. He’d recommend that she have some dinner in a minute, but for now, he said, “Well, I think if you iced your face for a bit and used some liniment oil on your lip it would reduce the swelling. It’s still going to hurt for a few days, but the bruising should be a little better, and it might tide you over until you can take your next dose of painkillers.” y/n nodded and said, “There’s a bag of ice in the freezer. I was doing that earlier but then fell asleep. I woke up in a nice puddle.” y/n grunted slightly as she got to her feet and made her way toward the kitchen. Aaron followed her with his gaze and he asked, “Can I refill your wine glass, and maybe you can try that oil, it’s pretty soothing. I know from experience.”

y/n turned her head toward Aaron, he was being so nice to her and she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t come across people who were just nice for the sake of it often, and it filled her with warmth. She nodded her head yes and tried to imagine Aaron, who was always so put-together and composed, not bruised and bloody. The thought sent a pang through her. She wondered how often his getting injured happened, and if he’d let her help him like he was helping her. y/n shook her head. This was already feeling like a fantasy, she couldn’t possibly hope for more than this. Things like this didn’t happen, not to her. y/n grabbed the bag of ice that had refrozen after her nap, and grabbed a towel from the drawer next to the fridge, cradling the cool bag in her hand. y/n moved back to the couch and sat back down. The butterflies in her tummy had fluttered their wings like they did when they stopped to get warmed on the gray pavement outside of her house in summer. She wished she could still them, but at the same time, it was such a rush, they almost made up for the pain in her face. She wished she could get a better read on Mr. Hotchner. She knew about his son, and his circumstances, but even so, he was unpredictable like a comet. Why he’d offered to help her apart from out of kindness was hard to pin down, and she didn’t dare ask him outright. Why she’d accepted was another mystery. Did wanting to be in the company of a good man make her a bad person? Was she sexualizing him, taking advantage?

Before her thoughts could take her further, y/n pressed the bag to her face, covering her and dimming the flush that was blooming on her cheeks. y/n pressed a little too hard and grimaced at the cold and the pressure. Just as she did this, Aaron sat down with her wine and the grocery bag. Hotch softly said, “Gentle now.” y/n looked up at him, half of her face covered, and smiled. She felt like I might cry, but she didn’t know why. How pathetic she must have looked to him. Not able to take care of herself. But she’d been trying. She’d been trying to prove she could care for herself forever. Now one had trusted her, not after the accident. Not after her life had been turned around. But she didn’t talk about that. She didn’t even talk about it with herself anymore. There was no point in self-pity, she’d lived, externally unscathed. For as perceptive as Mr. Hotchner was, he couldn’t know everything inside her, maybe that was what she was waiting for. Someone who could explain why bad things happened to good people. y/n swallowed back her emotions and wiped away one stray tear, and Hotch sat in silence watching her with concern. Wondering why her mood had shifted so suddenly.

After a few minutes, y/n pulled the ice pack off her face and set it on the table. She then picked up her fresh wine glass and took a smaller sip, savoring it this time, as she did this, Aaron put his hand into the grocery bag and pulled out the cotton wipes normally used for removing makeup, then the liniment oil which was in a small dropper topped bottle. He opened the bottle and took off the paper cover keeping the clear liquid inside. Hotch screwed on the cap and then dropped a few drops of oil onto the pad. He considered that if this was for Jack, he’d use his hands, and let the warmth of his skin soothe the hurt. But this wasn’t Jack, and Aaron remembered that as he started raising his hand to y/n’s mouth like she was someone he could just tend to like family. Hotch froze mid-movement and turned noticeably red. He cleared his throat and said, “Sorry,” as he set the pad into y/n’s waiting hand. She was as shocked as he was at how he’d reached out for her. y/n murmured a barely audible, “Thanks” as she took the pad and, this time, more carefully pressed it to her split lip. Aaron filled the silence with what he hoped were some helpful reminders. It felt too awkward if he didn’t speak after his slip-up with his hand, plus, he was going to have to leave in a few minutes. He didn’t want to stay out late and the darkness outside was only getting darker.

“If the school or the district ends up giving you any serious trouble, make sure your union rep is with you when you have to explain the situation. And, heaven forbid, there is some complaint and the union can’t do anything, I have a few lawyer friends I can get you in contact with.” y/n nodded her understanding, Her eyes widened at his lawyer comment. Who doesn’t this man know? Aaron continued, “You should ice your face on and off until you go to bed, and make sure you get some dinner before you sleep. You can also use this oil in other places if you’re aching elsewhere, just make sure not to get it in your eyes.” y/n watched him list off these things so collectedly. Not even having to think about them. She considered that he would make a good teacher if he was inclined toward that profession, but then again, he was the leader of an FBI Unit, how much more of a teacher can you get than that? y/n snapped her head up, realizing Aaron was saying something to her. Hotch smiled and repeated, “Can I see?” He gestured toward her lip and y/n let out a little breath and said, “Okay,” as she removed the pad from her lip and looked into Aaron’s dark, thoughtful eyes.

Hotch sat forward in his chair. y/n’s face was in the light of a lamp and he could see her full-looking lips which were pretty except where they were marred by the scar and scab of dark clotted blood. It didn’t look bad enough to need stitches, but just barely. He’d seen so many scars like these on Morgan, Reid, Emily, and his own mouth that it didn’t bother him. What did bother him was that what was a painful and annoying injury being inflicted on y/n. That would sting for at least a week. Sure it sucked when it happened to him or a member of the team, but they’d signed up for that, the most y/n should have to expect in terms of harm on the job was a paper cut. Clearly, he had been mistaken.

Since they had both returned to their seats, y/n and Aaron had started drifting closer together like moths drawn to a flame. Hotch was about a foot away from y/n and could feel the ghost of her breath on his face and the hint of her barely touched second glass of rose now forgotten on the table. Without thinking, he moved his large hand up to the side of her face. The warmth of his hand on the side of her face had y/n rest her chin in his palm, and she closed her eyes. Not exactly sure what or why he was doing this, Aaron brushed his thumb over y/n’s top lip and then softly over her bottom lip. She winced as the pad of his thumb brushed over her scab, but didn’t pull away from his touch. y/n opened her eyes and Hotch dropped his hand. He leaned in slightly, entranced by y/n, her presence, just wanting to be a bit closer to her. y/n did the same.

The moment was shattered when y/n’s phone loudly went off. Aaron dropped his hand like a lead weight, and y/n’s head snapped toward her phone on the side of the table. She turned her gaze back toward Aaron, but the moment had been broken. He looked silly, almost ashamed of himself. He’d pulled back and away and his posturing also made y/n feel like a fool. What had she been thinking? y/n got up grabbed her phone and answered, stepping farther away, but not so far away that Hotch couldn’t hear. What did she have to lose after acting so immature in front of him anyway? She could hardly think how she’d act when she saw him again, especially in the classroom.

Putting the phone to her ear, she listened as her doctor asked if she’d picked up the refill of the medication that she had needed since her accident. y/n dipped her head. She’d completely forgotten about going to the pharmacy after her day and replied, “No not yet. I’ll pick them up right after work tomorrow.” There was a short reminder that those meds were helping y/n and she shouldn’t go without them. y/n nodded and said, “I know. I’ll pick them up tomorrow. I have enough to make it till then.” Hotch watched y/n cave in on herself as she walked away from him. He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad, or silly. He felt silly. Like someone who hadn’t been thinking about what he was doing. He shouldn’t have put y/n in that position and he was sorry for it. He’d have to find a way to apologize and leave y/n to her night before making some other kind of monumental error in judgment.

Hotch heard y/n wrap up her call and her footsteps came back toward him. He stood and moved into the open space of the living room. The front door was just a few feet away and he felt like running out of it. But he stayed in discomfort and said, “I’m sorry for what I did earlier, y/n. That was inappropriate. I, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” y/n dropped her eyes again and said, “It’s alright. You were really kind to come over here and listen to me ramble and complain for half an hour. Not even my friends did that, and I’ll make sure to heed your advice. It’s clear you have a lot more practical life experience than I do. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” Aaron nodded, trying to accept her words for a situation he’d created. He wished he could explain what he’d been thinking, but he couldn’t because he hadn’t been thinking. The final nail in the coffin was when y/n said, “I hope you have a good night, Mr. Hotchner.” The change back to his last name, y/n hoped sounded regretful, but to Aaron, it only sounded hollow. Now it was Aaron’s turn to drop his head and he moved toward the door, stopping for one second as his fingertips brushed the cool metal, so unlike y/n’s warm skin.

y/n didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all. She hadn’t really known why she’d said yes to him coming over other than she wanted to see Aaron. She had enjoyed feeling his hand on her face. It was fast and strange like a dream, but she’d liked it, and part of her wanted very badly to understand why she’d wanted him here. And she didn’t think she could do it alone. She assumed that Aaron was as lost as she was. It seemed like he was. The words of y/n’s therapist rang in her ears, “Sometimes being strong is letting people in instead of keeping them out.” Just as Hotch’s hand latched onto the door knob y/n said, “Mr. Hotch… Aaron. I can’t exactly tell you why I asked you here, apart from the fact that I wanted you here, and I really enjoyed having you here, for all of it. I mean, like, before the phone call. I don’t know what this is,” she gestured between them, and continued, “But I’d like to understand it more. Maybe when the semester is over we could get coffee or something. Or if you don’t want that, I understand too.”

There was a moment of silence that felt like an eternity before Aaron turned. His expression looked lighter, and maybe there was a ghost of a smile on his face that said, “I’d like that y/n. I enjoyed tonight too. You have my number now, so you let me know once you have the headspace to come up with a day for our meeting. I look forward to it.” y/n smiled too and raised her hand and waved. Hotch then moved outside and closed the door behind him. As he walked down the drive he felt better. Much better, and happy he’d come, even if he hadn’t been sure why, he had a better picture now, and he felt less guilty about it. He’d have something to tell Jess when the time was right, but for now, he could look forward to getting to know y/n better, and get to know himself too.

Inside, y/n looked at the door for a second before she moved to it and locked it. She then moved to the couch and dropped into the cushions with a sigh. Once she’d grounded herself, y/n grabbed her glass and took another sip. The bag of ice was once again going unnoticed on the cushions and melting. y/n pulled the glass from her lips and contemplated how her face didn’t hurt so much anymore. Perhaps it was the painkillers, or the wine, or maybe, just maybe, it was the courage to tell Aaron the truth, and the possibility to know more about that feeling between them.

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5five5five5five5five5five · 2 months ago

Note

Pls headcanons of a flirty dolores [human] and five .

Trying to forget "that season".

Denial stage activated.

Pls and thank you.

Good day/night.

OOOHH YES! but first i want to write a human Dolores of my own then we can get to the flirty stuff. * she is in her mid 30's and works as a librarian who LOVES books and is very smart and pretty and perfect.

she is MADDENINGLY in love with the Noir detective novel series " Five "max" Hargreeves and the Umbrella of Time. a long running series about a Old man who turns into a young man some times and solves crime with his dog Mr. pennycrumb. * she hated that when they turned the books into movies, they hired a actor that looked NOTHING like how she sees him in her head. Five looks like how she sees him in her head. she cant pinpoint why it bugs her so much. its just wrong. thats not him??? * one day well sorting books, she no clips into the backroom subways and gets stuck. idk how. s4 logic aka make shit up. but she thinks "what would Five do?" and copy his mapping and travel style. * and then they meet......Jesus my kinnie ass heart melts even thinking about it lol. * "five?!" "Delores?!.....are you..real this time....." "wait how do you know my name??....and yes i am very much real? are YOU?" "how do you know MY name?? and yes??" then they nervously chuckle and tell each other how they know each other. * they get a bit sad that the others Delores and five were not real and five admits he got the better end of the stick by being a cool book character....she didn't deserve to be just a......mannequin. but Delores reassures him that his life needed her and that's what gave it so much value. "and at least you got to physically hold me~ i just had....really embaressing art of you...." *Delores drawing him then she thinks he's not looking. she wishes he was a bit older but her self shipping ass is used to his age "powers" but knows this Five cant turn back. at least he's not 13 Five lol. *he's tried to explain his age situation a few times.... shes so understanding about it and five, for the first time, feels seen....and got does his face get red. she knows he's a old man. she loves him BECAUSE he's actually an old man. ANYWAY TO THE FLIRTY STUFF. MY BRAIN IS JUST ON FIRE WITH HUMAN DELORES. * they CAN NOT stop looking at each other. five feels so stupid being THIS flustered. its not his wife. he knows this. but god....shes so stunning. younger then his Delores but he doesn't mind. * she's taller then him no matter what. she was taller then him when he was old, young doesn't matter. shes a tall women and he loves that about her. *her always behind his shoulder correcting his math. and him huffing and admitting shes right. *she likes to head to him. he likes listening. hearing her voice with none of his own voice fused in is so refreshing. he would read his head in her lap and just relax for once in his life. *them slow dancing and mumbling soft words of comfort to each other. *she loves booping his nose. at first, it bits him because the handler used to but ends up finding it nice. its a trait she would have. *he loves watching her move. dance. walk. talk. shes in front of him. again, their eyes are glued to each other and its hard hard not to. just knowing their loves are real keeps them going. *that art meme of all the lovestruck chibis surrounding a very flustered person. that's Delores if she walked into the deli. imagine all the fives looking over and melting in surprise. crumbling in their seats because they are filled with "i miss my wife,tails" energy. the five we are following for this post has to fight them back and give protective glares well she admits the attention is nice and oh god! so many fives! *when five finds a way to return, he doesn't fucking hide it and want to introduce her to his family so bad. she is worried about ending up in a different timeline. he understands the risk but at this point, he just wants the love of his life. and Shes so starved for adventure that she agrees wholeheartedly.

sorry if this wasn't all flirty themed stuff, i just really wanted to write Delores.

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #tua #delores hargreeves

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kimetsu-chan · 9 months ago

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Hello! I was wondering if I could make a request, I hope you’ll be able to find this request in a good place, and please take your time! I’m also new to Tumbler, it’s terms and requesting as well! Though I have been reading fanfic for a while🙃 I was wondering if I could make a request for KIMETSU NO YAIBA? The character I specifically would like to request would be MUICHIRO TOKITO. I’ve requested a similar story for a different writer (But you could probably tell I’m impatient, but please take your time with this when you can get to it!)

The reader is a Hashira-specifically they filled in the role Rengoku had left after the he died

Before that, they were a Kinoto who was taken under the care of the Insect Hashira, and was her second Tsuguko along with Kanao.

(Reader) was picked for the Hashira role since they were a couple higher ranks than Kanao

Shinobu and (Reader) had a sibling relationship with each other. Shinobu had found (Reader) a couple years back in a forest, covered in dry blood and dirt all over themselves. No matter how much Shinobu pried at (Reader) they never told her where they were from, or what had happened to them the day Shinobu had found them.

(Reader) is around Muichiro’s age, and (Reader) tends to take after Shinobu a lot. Sometimes with her personality, Breathing style and more. Though (Reader) is their own person as well.

Though ever since (Reader) joined the Hashira, they seemed relentless when it came to bothering Muichiro. At least that’s how he saw it

Mind you, Muichiro is the only other person here who is working (Reader)‘s age-all they want is a friend!

In a way, you could say their relationship dynamic is like Shinobu’s and Giyuu’s

(Reader) always finds a way to at least bother Muichiro once, wether that’s when Muichiro is cloud gazing, and (Reader) is pacing around him while talking ecstaticly about their day. Or while their on a mission, and Muichiro sees them floating down to the ground right in front of him, elegantly landing in their tippy-toes (Think of the scene where Shinobu finds Zenitsu injured- Yeah that’s how Muichiro always sees (Reader) descending down)

When asking about his impressions about the other Hashira, Muichiro said that “(Reader)’s like a flower falling from a branch on a Blossom Cherry tree. They’re always so chatty too.”

Though one day, it felt strangely quiet for Muichiro. While he may have his head in the clouds 90% of the time, he felt like something else should be there, a sound or presence of some sorts- bothering him at all times. Though he couldn’t put a finger on it.. He shrugged it off and went about his day.

Muichiro was walking by when he saw (Reader) talking with three new Demon Slayers, one of them known for traveling with a Demon Girl… Muichiro’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Strange.. He felt this-twisting- feeling in his throat, like he could breath anymore. And his heart raced ever so slightly, accompanied by a burning feeling. This feeling.. Didn’t feel good. It felt prickly and sore, he wished for it to go away, as he remembered- That’s right! (Reader)! They haven’t bothered him- Not once all day! But- because of the new Demon Slayers?.. What’s so special about them? They’re just a bunch of Mizunoe’s.. He couldn’t see himself wasting his time by talking to them-So why would (Reader) do such a thing? Was he.. Jealous? No-no why would he be jealous? Over (Reader)? How childish! He scoffed to himself

Okay I’m going to stop writing here, sorry I tend to get a bit carried away😔 You can decide whether this be platonic or romantic, maybe both?😙 I hope you’ll be able to take this request, have a good day!

-Anon

~Unknown Feelings~

A/N: of course! And you know what, I would get on one knee for you anon, THANK YOU for making your request detailed :) hopefully this lives up to your expectations, I’m still learning so I apologize if it doesn’t in any way :)

This was written to be romantic

TWs: None, Mui bby is just jealous :>

[Last Name] [Name] and Tokito Muichiro. Not a duo many would expect. Since [Name] was so much like their sister, at first glance you wouldn’t bat an eye at them trying to befriend the air headed mist hashira. But one would assume they would give up after a while of being ignored. But they kept going, and the loss of the flame hashira didn’t seem to stop or even slow them down.

[Name] and Muichiro’s paths would cross occasionally even before they became a hashira. Muichiro would see [Name] either training or running around the butterfly mansion to help Shinobu.

He found them… curious, for that was the emotion they made him feel. He found himself slowly becoming entranced by their attempts to befriend him. At first he would scoff and say they were wasting their time. After all, a hashira had better things to worry about than mere friendship.

But the more time they spent together, the more Muichiro found himself missing them while they were on mission, and the more he found himself thinking about them. When asked, he would describe them as a blossoming cherry tree that was pleasing to the eyes. He would also say that they smelled like a cherry tree too, so maybe that is what fueled the idea.

That brings us to today.

Today, Muichiro was waiting by a pond in the back garden of the butterfly mansion. He had made it a habit to come there, by the cherry tree, daily to enjoy a lunch with the strange person he couldn’t wrap his head around.

He took in a deep inhale, which did not help the way he was currently feeling, and was reminded, once again, that [Name] was late.

Well, maybe late isn’t the right word since they didn’t officially say that they were going to spend lunch together every day. Muichiro even skipped on the days he had missions or was training after a recovery. But [Name] wasn’t on a mission, he had seen them earlier that day. And nor were they injured. So why were they late?

Muichiro gave up on waiting and stood up with a sigh. He straightened out his flowy uniform and took a quick scan of his surroundings for the person who had invaded his mind.

He sighed once more when he couldn’t spot them, and decided to walk around in hopes of bumping into them.

He wandered for about ten or so minutes, kicking rocks that rested in his path as he did so, when he heard the distinct sound of [Name]’s excited voice. His head perked up at the sound and his pace immediately quickened.

He was about to call their name and ask why they weren’t at the pond today, when he spotted three other slayers. Rookies no less.

Without knowing it, a scowl found its way onto the mist hashira’s face. A severely uncomfortable feeling enveloped his chest and mind at the sight of [Name] with someone else. His scowl disappeared as his focus was shifted to this new feeling he was experiencing. He looked down at his chest, nothing seemed to be wrong.

So why did it feel like his heart was going to leap out of his chest?

He gripped the cloth right in front of where his heart should be as the feeling returned in waves.

He didn’t understand what was going on, but he felt as if there were more pressing matters.

He lifted his head to look at the group of people once more and it felt as if his heart drop.

One of the rookie slayers, the one who hauled his demon sister around, had his hand on [Name]’s shoulder as they talked and laughed.

He felt a new serge of emotion that felt like anger and betrayal. Muichiro took a deep breath, finding it silly that he was letting mere emotions control him in the moment, and made his way towards [Name]. He walked up behind them and pulled a bold move. He wrapped his arms around [Name]’s stomach and rested his chin on their shoulder. He glared at the rookie slayers and the one who previously had his hand on [Name]’s shoulder quickly retrieved it.

Muichiro felt satisfaction when that happened and quickly turned his attention to [Name].

“[Name]-San, why are you wasting your time on these lower ranks? As a hashira, you should be focusing your attention on something more worthwhile.”

[Name] was a little confused. Why couldn’t they talk to lower ranks?

Muichiro quickly continued speaking before [Name] would even have a chance to shut him down. He unlatched himself from them and grabbed their soft hand in his. He stepped back and began pulling him towards the direction the pond was in.

“[Name]-San, let’s go have lunch.”

As Muichiro pulled [Name] along behind him, they couldn’t really do anything about it. They shot the other slayers an apologetic smile and the boy who had his hand on her shook his head with a smile of his own.

Muichiro was desperate to make himself the sole subject of [Name]’s attention. They quickly arrived at the pond and Muichiro sat down in his usual spot whilst he tugged [Name] down with him.

[Name] tilted their head at him with a small smile as they tried to figure out what the cause of Muichiro’s sudden behavior was.

“Muichiro-Kun, what was that? Are you quite alright?”

Muichiro nodded his head as he folded his arms with a pout.

“You forgot lunch. You never forget lunch. Also, why were you taking to them? You’re a hashira, you mustn't waste your attention on those lower ranks.”

[Name] chuckled softly as they straightened their posture.

“Muichiro-Kun, were you jealous?”

A/N: hopefully that was a good way to end it! This was not proofread, please let me know if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes!

Taglist: @tokito-dulya20 @larz-barz

#🍁#hehehe #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #muichiro x reader #demon slayer muichiro #kny muichiro #muichiro tokito #kimetsu muichiro #reader x character #anime x reader #x reader

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rei-ismyname · 3 months ago

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New X-FORCE #1 is FIRE 🔥🔥🔥

Keeping it spoiler free for now, but if the book stays good I'll write on it regularly. Issue one was excellent! Really really cool. Forge and Sage were two of my favourite characters from the Krakoan era - they got a lot of page time and solid development but they were always supporting players. That dynamic is flipped here, as well as the attitude to war crimes and the mission statement, it seems. Percy's X-FORCE this is not. As Forge is the leader (assumption based on his narrative prominence and driving the plot) expect wondrous machines and ingenious upgrades to current tech. It looks like the solicited character of Tank is named quite literally - not a mutant at all but the non-biological equivalent of calling in heavy support. That's the impression I get from #1, though they could be a person in a suit or who knows? That's the beauty of having Forge around his limits are undefined and there's hints of his gift getting a serious level up at a cost. He did jack shit in Heir of Apocalypse except get a confusing compliment from Big Blue, it's nice to put that travesty behind us and see what the man can do.

When I think about Sage and Forge's mutant gifts and what they're capable of, especially when working together, I can't help but get excited for a book where the promise is exploring that potential in service of saving the world. Add Askani to that and it feels like miracles are in the future, or at least some Krakoa-style mutant circuits with Technopathy, Computer Brain, Chronokinesis, Chronoskimming, Telekinesis, Telepathy, and whatever machines Forge has on hand. Marvel's new(ish) power couple of Rachel and Betsy are the big guns, but everyone goes into the field. I love both characters and enjoy them even more as a couple but I get the feeling they're coming out of a long honeymoon phase. It'll be exciting to see what drama is born of their different values, experiences and motivations.

The other From The Ashes teams have been in Krakoa's long shadow, and the shadow of X-FORCE is longer than most. I'm not sure if they're trying to redeem the name or what, because the name of the brand isn't good for much except perhaps intimidating people. It's spent the last few years in-universe as Krakoa's CIA, complete with a LOT of assassinations, toppling regimes, a cheeky genocide, torture, mind controlling people, running a black site prison where people were held without charge or even having done anything wrong (by Krakoa - a foreign nation to all of them,) surveiling their own people, and so much more. Before that it was more decentralised black ops - preemptive strikes, often lethal, on enemies of mutantkind. It is discussed in the issue, but very briefly and not explained. It doesn't seem to be Forge's primary motivation, but he built a lot of the weaponry and gadgets X-FORCE used so he may be seeking some personal redemption as well. Any degree of complicity in War Crimes is too much for most, especially someone who's as altruistic as Forge. He has his own military history, having been drafted for Vietnam at a young age and working as a military contractor until fairly recently. The 'worst thing he ever made' was a gun that depowers mutants. It was originally built to take down Rogue but ended up hitting Storm instead (see Lifedeath 1 & 2 from Uncanny X-Men.) She's clearly on his mind at the start of the issue so it's a valid read IMO. More recently it's been reproduced by an old coworker with a photographic memory - enslaved by a mutant hate group and then memory wiped once freed. He willingly gave/traded it to Emma Frost in Inferno, who then gave it to Mystique and Destiny to depower Moira. Whether it's all of that or none of it, Forge is certainly the loss of Krakoa like everyone else.

Betsy Braddock has the most X-FORCE experience of anyone on the team, though her membership has generally coincided with times of self loathing and unhealthy codependent relationships. New Betsy, new body, new title - I'm hoping she can keep it together and be happy. It's certainly a healthier team to be on at first glance, but it feels like she only joined bc Rachel did. Less/no murder should help, but we can hope this isn't another phase like that. Bets has had a tough few decades and she deserves some happiness. It definitely feels like her participation is highly conditional, though all the characters have been the conscience of a team before - so if there's moral decay we can expect a very good reason for it. I don't think it's That Kind of Book, though.

A good first issue is often a mission statement and a taste of things to come, and X-FORCE #1 knocks it out of the park, answering every question you could want from the solicits while posing many new ones and hooking the reader. It hits the ground running and doesn't stop until the last page, expertly showing us where everyone is mentally and establishing a team dynamic with promise. I predict internal compromise and growth while they're running from problem to problem. The central mystery especially is fascinating, and something is going on with Forge. We're given hints, but it's been content to show not tell and take its time with information.

It's very clear that the fall of Krakoa affected everyone and made the world a far more dangerous place for mutants. A certain disrespect for borders and governments is necessary, an asset, and a lurking danger - even for a team whose goals are above all that. I heavily recommend it!

Also Forge has a holodeck! It's no danger room but it's super cool that he built it himself. See what I mean that something is going on with him?

#x force #marvel #x men #comics #forge #sage #betsy braddock #askani #surge #spoiler free #x comics #from the ashes #captain britain #rachel summers

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metisket · 1 year ago

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book recs request ❤🖤❤🖤 🙏🙏🙏 in this case, book recs that you feel have inspired your writing style, or inspired your fics somehow?

Hmmm...this is a fun one but a tough one, because I'm not sure I'm really self-aware enough to know the true answer here. But I'll try! A lot of books/authors I believe shaped my writing style did it when I was pretty young, so we're getting some YA over here.

Robin McKinley

I must have read The Outlaws of Sherwood a dozen times between ages 10 and 15. I love me a hero who literally doesn't want to be here and got conned into this by pushy, well-meaning friends. Marian was the most badass Marian I'd ever encountered. Random, complicated, weird side-characters, my beloved. Cecily somehow speaking directly to whatever was unhinged about my own childhood feelings about my gender. Flawless, 10/10, should really re-read to see if it holds up.

This is not to minimize the ridiculous number of times I read The Hero and The Crown, The Blue Sword, Beauty, and Deerskin, because I also read them So Many Times that they've probably become a part of my psyche. Literally none of her heroes want to be heroes. But they've been informed that they are. Apparently. Ugh. Love to hate that for them.

Lloyd Alexander

I also re-read The Chronicles of Prydain at least once a year for many years. It has almost certainly messed with my mind. I was especially unhinged about The Castle of Llyr, because Princess Eilonwy. The best, the worst, the angriest princess. Love and respect. Taran I could take or leave, particularly during his Taran Wanderer phase (I was less sympathetic to his growing pains than I was to Eilonwy's), but The High King was a fantastic payoff, loved everything, no notes.

...Damn, I need to reread this series, also.

Lois McMaster Bujold

I didn't read The Vorkosigan Saga until college, but it immediately hit my brain hard. Fantastic characterization. The way she writes trauma and recovery from trauma, amazing.

Miles. What a character. What a mess. What a problem. He is only a little guy, literally and figuratively, and he's going to do his best to convince you that he didn't mean to offend that guy, set that building on fire, or end that empire. You know. Like a liar.

Sarah Rees Brennan

My number one fanfic influence--her style of writing is so delightful that, particularly when writing Harry Potter fic, I'd sometimes find myself paraphrasing her. I had to Sarah Rees Brennan-proof my fic to make sure I wasn't being an accidentally plagiarist, because her turns of phrase would just go subliminal in my brain. This honestly may still be happening, and if it is, I'm so sorry, Sarah, it's not on purpose.

My favorite of her books is In Other Lands, the story of a boy who is whisked away to magic school in magic land and is extremely annoyed to find himself there. Like why. Why is the plumbing medieval. Why don't phones work. Why is this magical Sparta.

...He's not wrong, is the thing. But he won't bend and he won't break and he won't leave, so apparently he's just going to have to fix the world himself. God help everyone! Love him. Love his friends. Love the entire world and setup and every single side character.

Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

I have been informed that you can see the Pratchett and Gaiman influences in my writing. I think this is a lie people have told me to make me feel better, but you know, I Want To Believe. So I'll include them.

Pratchett: Love for virtually the entire Discworld series, with an especially fondness for the Watch books and Susan. Still obsessed with Vetinari after all these years. What if Machiavelli but chill, though.

Gaiman: Lost track of how many times I've reread Sandman. The characters, the coolness, the weirdness, the meta! Especially obsessed with Death. Just someone being very calm and collected in the face of all kinds of horrifying nonsense. I admire that. Love nearly all of his books, but my favorite is probably Anansi Boys. Bet your stupid family drama doesn't involve gods. Or at least. I hope it doesn't.

Erin Morgenstern

I'm cheating by including her, because she didn't actually influence my writing, I just WISH SHE HAD. She can't, sadly, because my outline game will never be that strong. I know my limits. But DAMN. ENVY.

Both of her books are without flaw, but I did love The Night Circus just that little bit more, probably because I am weak to a circus. I firmly recommend The Starless Sea also, though, because it features an Unhinged Library. The characters and settings and descriptions--delightful.

But the best part is the WAY the stories are told. They're not chronological--they're like little intricate puzzle-boxes, where you open one panel, and there's a story, and you open another panel, and there's a different story, and by the fifth panel, there's a story that connected to the first panel, but also a little to the third panel, and--

LOOK, I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE IT. It should be confusing, but it isn't. It's perfect. Just the right amount of information at the perfect time connecting to other pieces of information in a complex, interesting, deeply satisfying way. I would kill to be able to do this. Kill. I actually tried to do this in 'Mirror Image', and I had to give it up, because the level of incoherence was off the charts. ffffffffffff howwwww does she dooooo eeeeeet.

Anyway, I think those are the big ones. Special mentions to: Tom Holt, a deeply weird writer who strongly influenced one fic in particular (Some Confusion, DGM), Patricia C. Wrede, because Dealing with Dragons in general and Cimorene in particular got to me, and Dennis Lehane, because a) his historical fiction is inspiring, and b) I love his handling of The Unhinged Friend in the Patrick and Angie books. The best unhinged friend. He booby traps his own home. Love him. What is wrong with him? We'll never know.

#book recs #robin mckinley #lloyd alexander #lois mcmaster bujold #sarah rees brennan #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #erin morgenstern

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themarginalthinker · 1 year ago

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Say Nothing at All

(thanks for the inspiration, @enquiringangel lol I hope I did it justice)

One would think that between the pier, the town, the bluffs and their hiking trails, surfing and the beach, the tall, beautiful cliffs, and the Boardwalk itself, a place like Santa Carla would have more than enough for a thirteen year old to occupy themself for two short months of responsibility-less summer.

Idle hands, and all that. Maybe if Sam had been interested in any one of those other things, he wouldn't be here.

Arms hooked over the railing outside the Boardwalk main drag, staring out over the populace with listless eyes while the only two people in the town he could even classify as something close to 'friends' argued like nothing else in this world about....well, it had been fifteen minutes, and Sam still wasn't rightly sure.

"-which is why Luna was actually a better addition at that point than when they tried introducing her in the reboot-" Alan is explaining, but Edgar is hearing none of it.

"She is not! They completely mauled her character arc-"

"What character arc?" Alan scoffs. "they completely cut out the part about her Dad being devoured in front of her by the Red Crescent Pack, and turned everything into a soppy story about her boyfriend almost being turned into one of them and she has to save him with 'the power of love over the beast', which is not how it works-"

"I mean yeah sure, once you've got the tail, it's all over. We all know those comics are bullshit when it comes to the reality, but she-"

Sam's head slowly came down on the rail, forehead thunking against the wooded beam.

Anywhere else, and Sam chose to be here. Granted, he thinks sullenly, eyes darting over to a rack where various bikes (in particular, motorized ones) were parked, he doesn't exactly have the wheels to do much else. The Boardwalk was close enough to peddle, but he'd need something with a lot more power to actually get around town.

"Hey, listen, we've got a third party here. Sam!" Alan turns to him.

He's already warming up his eye rolls.

"Regardless of the shitty writing that ignores so much of how werewolves actually are, do you think it's a better story that Luna Greenfern acts on her own to get vengeance for her father and slaughters the rabid pack of killer werewolves with her bare hands as one of their own, or crying over her boyfriend's passed out body and her tears magically make him all better?" Asks Alan.

Edgar makes an indignant noise. "That's not what happened!"

"It's basically what happened."

"What kind of name is Luna Greenfern?" Sam comments.

Both brothers open their mouths, likely to begin explaining (or admonishing) even further, but they don't get the chance. The sound of high-pitched revving comes their way, and in an instant, both Alan and Edgar cut off their own words, look at each other, and then turn as a unit to face the noise. Sam blinks, and looks with them.

What comes down the way, parting the crowd around them with annoyed glares and grumbles thrown their way, is a group of kids on dirtbikes. None of which looked very new, but certainly imposing enough to command their space against plain bikes and scooters. Astride them was a group of boys. Sam and the Frog's age. they all seemed to share the same style - California mini-punk. Their shirts were sleeveless, de-armed at home with kitchen scissors, pants worn and distressed, their hair was long, or spiked, or made choppy with those same scissors. (If Sam had ever had the inclination and then dared acted upon it, Mom would have had a shit-fit to see him.)

The one in the front, with the best-taken care of bike, with the shortest hair spiked in the front, wore a jean jacket. It had one sleeve, the other purposefully torn off. The sleeve side had a long, black snake twisting around it, terminating in a cobra's spread hood and bared fangs. His eyes were dark, to match his hair, and he looked over Sam and the Frogs with a happy sort of disdain.

How many punks on bikes could one town take?

"Freddy," Alan says, doing his best to square his shoulders. Same recognizes the look on his face, the same he had the first night they met a couple weeks ago. Head tilted back, lips prepare to sneer.

Edgar, with his actually square shoulders, stood silently by his brother, arms crossed, boots at shoulder width, jaw set. Sending back the glare as good as he was given.

The lead boy, Freddy, apparently, scoffed. "Did your folks finally get sober enough to realize they owned a business?"

Alan shoots back, "Did yours finally get drunk enough to forget they have a son who still owes community service?"

There are a couple of gasps that are quickly muffled in the group of rival boys at Alan's accusation, but it's quickly cut off, almost with an understanding of what their leader will do if he chooses to rise to the taunt. Luckily, it seems he's got a little more brains that pride. Or maybe this just happened that regularly, but he doesn't react overmuch. Just continues to glare.

Sam makes the mistake of shifting his footing.

Eyes shoot to him instead.

Freddy twitches his chin towards him. "Who the fuck is this? Cindy Lauper's disowned cousin?"

There are snickers from the gathered, and Alan and Edgar glance back at Sam. Eyebrows raised.

He's on his own.

Sam shrugs, leaning back against the railing. It was a fine, breezy night, the 'Walk was hopping, the sights were seizure-inducing. What could bother him?

"Is everyone in Cali this complementary, or is there something about me specifically?" He smiles, placing a hand on his chest.

Freddy grips the handles of his bike, knuckles white as his glare turns actually quite angry. "Watch it, baby fag."

Suddenly, the air feels a lot thicker, and Sam is hard pressed not to so much as twitch his face. Edgar and Alan are standing at attention, focused on the little gang, who look equally prepared to make the leap forward at a moment's notice. This is neutral territory, outside any shop or home. All's fair, and it's anyone's game. Who will strike first...

"Well that wasn't a very nice word."

And suddenly the air seems too thin.

All eyes, regardless of affiliation or prior engagement, now fly over to the voice. Up, towards the top of the fake cabana at the end of the 'Walk they're all gathered near. Smiling down at them from his perch, like some grinning bird of prey. His jacket shines in a smeared, muted rainbow of colors and beadwork, violent, pornographic patches and embroidery that any of the boys on the ground's parents would beat them black and blue for daring to wear on their persons.

He stands and without taking so much as a second to even look down, jumps and lets himself fall the nearly eight feet from the roof to the ground. He lands with only a small jingle from his belt and the colorful fishing lures on his shoulder, feet firmly on the ground and rising from the crouch as though he'd just taken a step.

Marko raises a leather clad hand, holding a drink from some food joint, and takes a long, slow sip. He looks out, over the gathered group of young teens, lingering on the ones on the bikes. Sam watches each of them look away, down, to the side, anywhere else.

Marko's eyes land on Freddy.

Freddy is silent.

Marko's grin is wide and white. "How's your sis?"

Freddy jerks a little, like Marko's words were something like a knife, being toyed with close by, but not quite used. Not yet.

Alan and Edgar remained motionless, watching Marko's every move. Sam glanced at them for a moment, and their faces were emotionless.

In a voice that struggles to find its footing, Freddy answers, "She's fine. Um. Yeah."

Marko clicks his tongue. "Good."

His gaze suddenly flicks over, to the other side. (Sam can see Freddy actually slump a little in his seat on the bike, as though released from some kind of hold.)

Marko nods his head to Sam. "Sup."

"Hi," Sam says, a little awkwardly. "Where's uh. Everyone?"

Marko shrugs. "I know Mike went with David out past the pier. Not sure about anyone else."

Sam sighs. "If he comes back after three again without calling, Mom's gonna go praying mantis on him."

Marko smirks. "I'll pass it on."

He turns back to the young gang. In his shadow, his measured, careless steps as he comes in close to them, one hand in his pocket, the other still holding his drink, they look a lot less...less. A gaggle of teenagers barely old enough to be worthy of the title, leaning into each other as he comes close, trying to give him space to pass without making it look like they were frightened. It was honestly a little bit funny...if it also wasn't so weird.

They acted like Marko would murk them if they so much as breathed wrong.

He paused at Freddy, smile gone flat, eyes half-lidded. His hand comes out, a single finger pointed to the young punk, who looks at it like it's a loaded gun.

"...I'd watch your mouth. After all, you're so young," he says in a simpering, mocking tone, "and we wouldn't want you to say something you'll regret. Yeah?"

Freddy doesn't speak. He just nods.

Marko's hand shoots forward. The whole gang recoils, Edgar and Alan jolting in their stances, prepared to rush forward, though to do what Sam has no earthly idea-

and Marko's fingers, in an incredibly short, violent motion, ruffle Freddy's spiny hair, mussing the gelled spikes into disarray. Little joviality in the action. He finishes by shoving his head away, almost tilting the kid off his bike entirely. Forcing him back.

Freddy doesn't react to shit.

Marko's grin is back full force, bringing his drink back up to clench teeth around the red straw that darkens with a pull.

"Tell Shelly we say hi, huh?"

Freddy just sullenly nods in silence again.

Marko casts a last glance to Sam, and then is off. Slipping into the ebb and flow of the crowds.

The sounds around them slowly come back into focus, the people, the scents and lights. Like it was all suspended under Marko's encompassing presence. People passed the silent two groups, knowing nothing of what just happened, what almost happened, what...could happen.

In any case, Alan seems to shake it first, stepping forward with a hard stare and a thumb thrown over his shoulder.

"I think you should get lost. They don't like bikes up here. Wouldn't wanna get in trouble again, yeah?"

Freddy hasn't really recovered from whatever the hell scare Marko had instilled in him, because he doesn't even bother throwing a last comment at Alan as he revs up his ride, and his gang of equally silent follows trail away after him.

As they pass, the look he throws Sam's way is...it's hard to say.

It's so fast, but it looks almost sorry.

"What the hell was that about?" Sam asks when they're gone, around the corner, and the sound of their bikes is faded into the normal din.

Alan breathes out, long and hissing through his teeth, and Edgar...well, he hasn't really changed, looking exactly his usual perma-Rambo self, but he is looking to Alan, like he can explain this better.

"...So, you and your brother hang out with those guys, right?" He starts, and Sam shrugs.

"Mike more than me. They don't mind me being around when he doesn't, but uh, you know. Stupid little brother spoiling the real fun, type shit," Sam grumbles. "Why?"

The brothers exchange yet another inscrutable look.

"There are...rumors," Edgar says, leading.

"...Okay?" Sam responds, as he so clearly wants. "I mean. I. I think I figured with the whole..."

He reaches up, and pinches his own ear piercing. It's not like they really tried to hide it, he doesn't think, but when you could defend yourself as well as the quartet could, then he didn't think it was really an issue. Being open.

Alan, however, actually waves that aside. "No. Not to do with that. It's other stuff."

Sam spits out an exasperated noise. "Like what, then?"

"They like to ride dangerously," Edgar says, voice low and really putting on the gruff edge now. "Really fast on the back roads, and they play hopscotch with big-rigs on the highway out of town sometimes."

"Someone said they caught them playing chicken on the railroad tracks with an actual train coming, once. They swear they had to have been hit," Alan adds.

Here it comes. The first big eye roll of the night. Edgar leans in close.

"...Some say they had their accidents years ago, and just forgot to stay dead."

And, there is it. Sam lets 'em roll.

Not that it has any great effect on the pair. Never does. If anything, skepticism seemed to encourage their efforts to convince the civilian plebeians of the town that the world of the night was ever-more populated with ever-more spooky beings.

"I mean, obviously it's bullshit," Alan states, clearly agreeing with Sam. "Ghosts are created from violent deaths yes, but they can't speak to humans."

...Or not agreeing quite as such. Fucking hell.

"Whatever," Sams says with a shake of his head. "Anything else? Are they also responsible for they guy who fell off the pier Grandpa mentioned, who also happened to be off his face drunk? Did they steal the First Street street sign? Should you feed them after midnight or should we be worried about revealing their true forms?"

Sam laughs a little at the last one. It's actually kinda funny, thinking of someone like Marko, small and a little bitey, going Gremlin on someone's ass. Complete with the white hair bit and sharp teeth, cackling laughter.

Edgar and Alan don't laugh.

Not that Sam really expected them to, but they don't even relax at seeing his nonchalant attitude. If anything, they look...more tense.

"...So, a couple years ago, there was this cop," Alan starts.

"No one liked him. He was the sort that gave you a ticket for going a single digit above the speed limit, and around here they don't last long because the home office doesn't like dealing with all the legal tape they end up making," Edgar grumbles.

"Well," Alan continues, "No one...really knows what happened, but you know how the...those guys, don't really have. You know. Plates? Or tags, or anything?"

"Yeah," Sam nods. He'd noticed, but it's not like he could comment. No one around here seemed to care.

"Apparently this cop cared. And they didn't like that."

...Oh no.

Something drops in Sam's stomach. Something real, since Freddy's rude remark.

"He went missing for three days, and they found him in his patrol car, really dazed and sick and insisting that he'd been driving home but couldn't seem to remember where all the right roads were, said they kept changing. He was also pretty beat up, so they figured it was a concussion that did it. He kept like. Flinching when people would touch him, it was fucking weird."

Sam's lips are thin. He doesn't feel so jokey now.

"How old was this guy?" he asks.

"Thirty-something, I think," Alan says, knowing what Sam was trying to insinuate.

"...And they think it was-?" Sam says, gesturing off to the crowds. The people of note somewhere out there, in them.

Edgar and Alan look at each other, and shrug. "It's just a rumor."

Sam look away from the pair again, out over the railing of the balcony. The shoreline was an endless black wall beyond, the stars and moon blotted out by the lights of the town.

In the distance, the sound of motors rose and fell with the acceleration of their riders.

Maybe he'd ask Mike if he wanted to stay in, tomorrow night.

#the lost boys #sam emerson #alan frog #edgar frog #drabbles

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acopenhagenarmy · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing Taehyung x reader

abo!au - werewolf!au - magical!au

wordcount: 1099

warnings: none for this chapter

summary: he is haunted by the white wolf that occupy his dreams, but the mere thought of seeking out his mate scares him. Because what if you only were a dream?

Part one

Comment: What a hiatus huh? I’ve been gone for a while, havent updated, but i needed to find myself and my writing style. This is something I’ve been working for on quiet some time. Both writing and rewriting. I kind of like it. But as always, let me know what you think! Don’t be a silent reader, I really appreciate all the feedback.

Taglist:

He could feel the ground beneath his paws, and the cold winter breeze in his dark fur coat as he ran through the forest, underneath the pale light of that month's full moon. The subtle scent of summer rain and sandalwood was what had made him bail his brothers on their midnight run in the forest surrounding their family’s territory.

He was still a cub. Still not strong enough to pick a fight with rogues or intruders, but his senses were better than most wolves his age and his curiosity was once again stronger than the fear of being killed.

As he ran towards the clearing where he could hear the two wolves, they were closer to him now. They almost danced through the night as they chased each other onto the frozen lake. They were playing, having fun. He watched them as their crystal white fur made them shine as white as the snow around them or the full moon above them.

They looked like two angels, two mythical creatures that shouldn’t be disturbed. So, he didn’t. Instead, he watched them from the shadows.

He was woken up abruptly by the sound of his brother pounding on his door. The dream always ended there, that was no surprise. The memory of that night by the lake was both crystal clear and hazy at the same time. He never knew how he’d gotten home, in fact no one did. His parents had sent out a search team that night after his brothers had returned without him. Only to find him in human form, tucked into bed in the early morning hours.

He stretched his arms above his head and scratched his eyes before yawning loudly. There was nothing in this world he hated as much as early morning runs. “YAH! Tae hurry up or I’ll send Jin up with a bucket” his brother Namjoon yelled when he didn’t get a reply from the youngest of the three. Taehyung shivered by the thought of the ice-cold water that had woken him more than once throughout his relatively short life.

“I’m up! I’m up! No need for that today. Goddess...” he could hear a chuckle from his brother that was already halfway down the stairs. He knew he needed to hurry if he wanted anything to eat before their 50km morning run. He’d of course win no matter what, he always did, but he could use the extra energy since his two elders always tried to beat him.

He walked downstairs, his eyes still adjusting to the bright morning sun as he felt his stomach growl. His mother laughed, a loving and kind sound, as he stepped into the giant kitchen. Him and his closest family all lived in a huge house made by the very trees that had once stood in its place.

Their family had an open door policy, so wolves, both young and old would be coming and going throughout the day both to hang out, but also to get help from their Alpha and Luna.

“Same dream as always?” Seokjin said from the table near the big windows that were overlooking the terrace.

Taehyung sighed as he answered: “you know it brother, nothing’s changed”

His mother looked at her youngest with sympathetic eyes, as Seokjin rolled his own at his statement.

“I told you guys you should’ve forced him to see a therapist. White wolves... he might as well have told us all he’d been kidnapped by fairies” their mother quickly turned as she threw a waffle at the broad-shouldered man. He yelled out dramatically, earning attention from both his father and Namjoon as they walked in.

“You don’t joke about fairies Seokjin, not as long as you live under my roof” his mother said with a stern look in her eyes.

“You never know if they’re listening in, and none of us need that kind of bad luck. As for you my dear” she said as she walked over to Taehyung, “whatever creature, white wolf or fairy, you saw that night, you’re one lucky man. You were touched by the goddess that night, and that is a blessing”

She ruffled his dark locks, showing off the patch of white hair that had appeared in the back of his neck after that midnight run, so many years ago.

“Are the three of you done discussing the creatures of the night? We need to get going if we wanna make time for a good run before we leave” Namjoon asked from the place he had leaned against the dark marble countertop.

Seokjin smiled smugly, as the sun broke the tree line surrounding the house, making him look almost as golden as his eyes. He quickly rose from his seat pushing Namjoon on the way out the door. He quickly followed him, determined to get a head start.

Taehyung on the other hand didn’t rush, he took a bite of the waffle his mother had made for him and gave her a peck on the cheek before he whispered a quiet thank you. He then slowly strutted out the kitchen and down the hall out the front door, with such confidence that made both of his parents’ smile.

The two of them were proud of their boys. They had raised them right. They were respectful to their elders and kind to those younger than them. Every day the three of them made their hearts burst with both pride and love. Their mother sighed before she whispered, a subtle question that only her husband was supposed to hear.

“Do you think he’ll ever recover from that night Ji-hoon? Do you think the dreams of that night will ever stop haunting him?”

Ji-hoon pulled his mate close to his chest as he nuzzled his head in the crook of her neck, the place he had marked her 20 years earlier. He breathed in her scent of vanilla and mango, the only thing in this world that could make both him and his wolf calm.

“I have no idea Jee, I just hope that what ever happened to him that night, will one day bring him joy”

They looked out the grand windows watching their youngest son turn into his wolf form in a millisecond, before he sprinted toward the edge of where the forest began. He was so fast and so determined to once again beat his brothers, that he looked more like a shadow than a wolf. The two parents stood in the window and looked at their youngest disappear, a little sting of worry in both of their hearts.

#bts kim taehyung #taehyung abo #bts abo #bts abo au #bts werewolf au #bts werewolf!au #taehyung werewolf au #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #taehyung soulmate #taehyung werewolf!au #v soulmate #v abo #vabo fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut

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vergess · 2 years ago

Note

What's covered by "prose editing"? Do you mean editor's services for articles and original work, SPAG for school work, beta-reading fanfiction, workshopping shitposts, what kind of services are we talking here?

I've edited for each of those media (primary and secondary school; fandom; shitposting), as well as the following:

Technical manuals (Chicago and Microsoft styles)

Newspapers, including strict character limits (AP style)

Copy and editing for research journal submissions (style provided by journal)

Print and digital magazines (style provided by publisher)

University level creative writing composition for short stories and novellas

Novel editing for slush submissions and indie publishing

The specific skills I have on offer include:

Spelling, punctuation and grammar (English-US and English-UK)

Developmental and structural edits

Content editing only for styles or fandoms with which I am already familiar, or for which a style guide is provided.

Redlining and line edits, with fact checks only for non-technical writing

Proofing, including print and digital proofing

Now, for readers who stared at "SPAG" for a second like "wtf does that even mean," here's some extra clarification on what those services are.

SPAG (spelling, punctuation, and grammar) is the most basic type of editing. It can usually be done by a computer automatically, though MS Word's grammar checker is notoriously bad.

Developmental edits are focused on helping the author decide their audience, conform to or break genre expectations, and develop the broad order of story elements.

Structural edits are focused on achieving the goals from development as effectively as possible. In fiction, this is the point at which cuts tend to start, with smaller characters being merged into single, more prominent characters. In technical writing, this is the point at which you determine things like the order in which data will be presented, what needs to be in the introduction rather than methodologies, etc. For writing manuals and documentation, this is the point at which you determine the specific categories and organization you will be using.

Content edits are what most people think of when they think "editor." This is the point at which the finished draft has been organized to the author's satisfaction, and the editor proceeds to go through it looking for style and factual errors. A style error varies based on the medium: something correct for a software manual in MSWG would be wildly wrong for a school essay in MLA or for a fanfic about Supernatural.

I consider informal manuals like Britpickers' Guides to be sufficient for most things in fandom, so if you have anything like that, then I'm happy to do content edits for unfamiliar fandoms too. However, if I am not familiar with a fandoms' canon, I cannot fact check the piece for canon compliance.

Line edits are sometimes called "punch ups" or "redlining." It is not related to the art technique or financial racism law. Line edit is the more common name. This is the point at which an editor goes line by line or paragraph by paragraph through a completed piece to adjust phrasing for maximum impact. If you've never seen a redline for text, here's an example of a redline I did last year:

None still living know what once sat where Refinement now rises from the Bismuth sea. > None alive yet know what once sat where Refinement rises from the Bismuth Sea. Rumors and speculation abound, but the one accepted fact is that the city sprang from the singular will and vision of one woman: the Founder. > Rumors abound, but only one truth is known universally: the city sprang from the will and vision of their singular Founder. No other figure in Refinement commands the same admiration and reverence. > No other figure in Refinement’s history commands more admiration and reverence. Though her name, age, and even species are argued over to this day, some details of her origins and mastery of the stuff of the Bismuth Sea are yet agreed upon. > Her name, age, and even species are as lost as whatever came before the city. Two pale shadows of her legacy remain: the myth of her origin, and the legend of her mastery over the chaotic tides of the Bismuth Sea.

Proofing is the last possible stage in editing, and occurs immediately before printing (traditional media) or publication (digital media). It's your opportunity to double check the piece for minor typos you missed before.

For print media in particular, it's extremely important to proof thoroughly. Once the book is printed, it cannot be changed. And worse, the process of composing a draft into a printable format can introduce errors, with hanging words on blank pages, or words cut off entirely!

For digital media, this is a less mission critical stage, as you can always correct the piece after it is live. There are two major exceptions to this: news writing, and school work. In both these cases, because the damage done by incorrect proofing is high and the opportunity to issue a correction is low, you should always proof schoolwork and news, even if it is submitted/published digitally.

So!

That's all of the editorial services I can offer!

Honestly, seeing it laid out like this, I think $10/1k words is a steal.

#answered asks #honestlyvan #editing

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the-goblin-cat · 7 months ago

Note

adelaide hog, brother

Well you know what they say, oink oink

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

Adelaide Weiss? Why. you named her! It's a germanic name meaning "noble natured" chosen due to her being bougie.

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

A little older than Cherise. 16 at the start of the series.

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

She thinks she's too busy for romance but will suddenly have a lot of free time when she meets Mindy.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

Chicken cacciatore.

💼 - What do they do for a living?

She is a student at the Paris Scholomance as well as the acting head of the Paris chapter of the Hunter's Lodge. Of course western Europe is pretty well clear of monsters, so the latter is very part time.

🎹 🥊- Do they have any hobbies/what do they hate to do?

She does ballet. She doesn't enjoy it but she's very good.

🎯 -What do they do best?

She's best as schmoozing and socializing, closely followed by longarm marksmanship.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

The first time she brought down a beast on the hunt, a wereboar that had gone on a rampage. Her father patted her head. She was seven.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

Two days before this she had failed to take the shot gainst the wereboar's human form. Her father scolded her harshly.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

Yes, she's very new.

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

I wanted to create a cast of European characters for Cherise to be familiar with before joining up with the mostly American main cast. She was designed to be Cherise's foil; both aristocratic girls with ties to a secret society, but with very different attitudes, fighting styles, and magics. They both eat something they shouldn't have.

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

Once again, a political fantasy.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

She's cis, and definitely likes women

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

none

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

She desperately wants her father's approval. He sees her as a tool

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

My planned arc breaking down her facade and building her back up

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

Only once so far but she is often on my mind.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Probably not. Or maybe I will...

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

She doesn't have phobias but embarrassing herself makes her feel physically ill

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

Cherise

🎓🍥 - Combining these from now on

like two years go dude

#adelaide weiss #filmverse #ask game

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tortoisesshells · 8 months ago

Note

1, 3 and 4 for the writing excerpt meme? :D

1. ... that makes me smile:

Customs doesn't usually have much for anyone to smile about, and they're five minutes away from an extraordinarily loaded conversation about justice, but for now, Nellie thinks Ursa Minor looks like a goose:

“Well, your education was likely significantly more comprehensive on this score than mine, Commodore.” “Undoubtedly. But Nellie, I really cannot see a goose.” She sighed, and glanced up at him. “If you are determined to laugh at me –” “I am not laughing –” “James.” “I am not laughing now,” he amended, “I am curious. What you see is what you see. I cannot tell you that you are wrong there.” “If you promise,” she said, and raised a hand to gesture at the sky, again. “There, the North Star. That’s the head. Those little stars arcing behind it are the long neck. The little box – the one with the other bright star in the lot, I don’t know it’s name but you see it, there? – that’s the body of the thing. I suppose I’ve been imagining that its wings are folded in – that it’s paddling about on some mill pond in the sky.” When described in this way, it did resemble a goose peering into the shallows for food. James said so, and Nellie, limited by the darkness as his perception of her was, fairly preened.

3. ... that encompasses my style:

Answered here, but: I don't usually do kid/adolescent narrators, but this passage from had you not better make One of us does have my usual belaboring of historical detail for characterization, and a character playing chicken and losing with their own emotions and memory. Also, I do think this one of my better attempts at Elizabeth from POTC at any age:

She frowned at this – why on earth would a man not want to travel? Instead of being stuck in a great dreary northern place which (Elizabeth glanced over at her father’s prized globe, finding this Massachusetts Bay by the great ungainly sweep of a cape that always put her in mind of a prize-fighter’s arm) probably had bears and snow. She had not seen the latter in some two years, and did not miss it at all – she had never seen a bear, though, since Papa had a weak constitution and tended to faint at the sight of blood, which meant for all her pleading she’d never seen the baiting-pits in Paris Garden in London – or anywhere else, besides. She had seen a bear skull once, in one of her father’s friend’s curio-cabinets, between curious-looking coins of long-dead Roman emperors and rocks that man had (in a superior tone which immediately made Elizabeth lose interest) called glossopetrae. Someone later told her that those hand-sized rocks they were ancient shark-teeth, which had set her to staring at the inscrutable waves with fear and fascination. But she was ignoring the conversation, which she ought not to do – she was something like the lady of the house, even though she was too young for the position she’d inherited when Mama had – “Then your family is in Massachusetts Bay?” she asked quickly, to stem the unwelcome thoughts she’d just had.

4. ... with dialogue I'm proud of:

Answered here, but! Love a character who says outrageous things with a smile. From another shoreline, in another life:

Roger snorted. “It’s the fire for us, Vicki. You might as well find your comfort where you can.” She glanced at him, chewing at her lip for a half-moment. “Ought I to – take one of the other rooms?” “Don’t be ridiculous. Take advantage of the foresight of our ancestors and stay by the stove.” “I’d like to lie down.” He looked at her, unsure at first, and then – entertained. “And you would rather a door be between us? You are taking this journey into the past very seriously. It’s not 1866.” Vicki demurred, feeling as though she had to explain herself, but not finding the words for what she meant to say. She was his sister’s employee – his son’s tutor – she’d need another job after this one, whenever that was. None of it was very articulate, and she watched miserably as Roger add another log to the stove. “If it distresses you that much,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her, with an expression she could not have parsed even in the frank light of day, “I will take one of the other rooms. Though – I’m not enough of a gentleman not to ask for your coat.”

send me a number and I'll share an excerpt of my writing!

#thank you for the ask kind friend!#ask meme #polkaknox talks

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acefms · 1 year ago

Text

MEET ADDISON !

if you’re hearing DANCING QUEEN by ABBA playing, you have to know ADDISON GAGLIARDI (SHE/HER; CIS FEMALE) is near by! the 26 year old SINGER/SONGWRITER has been in denver for, like, 6 YEARS (on/off). they’re known to be quite FANCIFUL, but being AMBITIOUS seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble MADELAINE PETSCH. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those SCRIBBLING DOWN LYRICS ON ANYTHING SHE CAN FIND, DANCING ON TABLES, ECHOING LAUGHTER, FALLING IN AND OUT OF LOVE TOO QUICKLY, SMILE AS BRIGHT AS THE SUN, FOREVER CHASING A DREAM vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the RINO DISTRICT long enough!

NAME: addison ‘addie’ gagliardi

AGE: twenty-six

HOMETOWN: memphis, tennessee

BIRTHDAY: july 1st

ZODIAC: cancer

GENDER: female she/her

SEXUALITY: bicurious

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single. this week, at least.

OCCUPATION: singer/songwriter barista when money is low

[ tw: none? for once. who am I ? .]

• Addison grew up with a single mother, Bianca, and the two were as close as could be. Of course, Addison spent many nights wondering about her father and there was always a sense of missing out, but it was hard to miss someone you never truly had. And her mother was more than enough. Supportive of every dream, big or small.

• And dreams she had, always, from a very young age. They ranged from normal to downright outrageous, but the one that always stuck was to be a singer. Addison was practically singing before she even spoke. Always ready to put in a musical performance at the drop of a hat no matter the time or place.

• Addison was somewhat popular in high school but she was often made fun of for having such big aspirations. However, she never let anyone bring her down. And it was in her late teens that she really started to keep her mother on her toes, between first crushes and sneaking out with the latest cowboy who made her heart flutter. But she always found herself so easily bored and I’m search of something new.

• Despite staying in one place for the majority of her life. Addison was always struck with wanderlust, and so after she and her mother moved to Denver six years ago, Addison would often pack a bag and take off on a whim, exploring as much of the world as she could and learning new ways of life/finding muse for the songs that she writes.

HEADCANNONS

• If she doesn’t tell you what she’s thinking, her face will most certainly tell you. She is very expressive and doesn’t hold much back. Best to be honest, right ?

• Is super good at impressions. Like so good !

• Song lyrics written on anything and everything ? Yes. On her skin, on napkins, on your muses belongings ? Like I’m so sorry but I couldn’t let it go out of my head without writing it down.

• Her music style is very country/pop ! She can play both guitar and piano very well.

• worked at the green thumb cafe until about a year ago when the music thing took off a little bit. didn’t do a whole lot of serving tbh, her heads too far in the clouds.

• says honey way too much, does not mean it to be condescending at all. she also lives by the Dolly Parton quote “if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.”

• a natural flirt, she doesn’t even mean it half the time, and will be confused at when someone thinks she’s coming onto them.

• sunshine and a wild child rolled into one. forever chasing a thrill/dream. just wants to live an exciting life tbh.

• peach flavoured things are her absolute fave. peach ring gummies, peach tea, peach cobbler, peach popsicles. all the peach. also owns multiple articles of clothing with peaches on them.

• she owns way too many cowboy hats/boots. you can take the girl out of Tennessee but you can’t take the Tennessee out of the girl.

more tba.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Best friend - Either from childhood or from when she moved to Denver. Someone who indulges all of her dreams and vice versa. They have so much fun together ! A lot of laughter but sometimes they make room for a few tears.

Ex boyfriend - Chaotic, probably. Very on/off whirlwind of emotions type thing. The main muse behind all of her greatest breakup/gooey songs. We’re not good for one another but there might just always be a pull/chance type vibe.

You annoy me but I think I also kind of like it — we butt heads constantly but I maybe also think about kissing you sometimes kind of thing please and thank you. Challenge her please, she loves it really.

First f/f experience - truly an awakening. she still very much loves the boys, but girls ? girls are amazing too.

anything, everything.

#chq;intro #intro | addison.

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septembersghost · 2 years ago

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Taylor was also shamed for having a female fanbase despite being a woman. I remember they were all saying fans will stop stanning taylor once they 'grew out of high school phase'. They all reduced her skill as an artist as a 'trick'. People were saying how her albums got successful because of the 'guessing game' yet now noone even cares who she dated. There is a generation of kids who didn't know style is about harry styles yet enjoyed it. When ATW10 released the talk was her songwriting not Jake gyllengal.

2) Now no one questions her songwriting,talent or awards. No one even shames her fanbase anymore except for being toxic(which every fanbase is). Time will really prove to these people

oh yeah, and it becomes sort of a larger discussion regarding taylor (or any female artist) because it's sexism aimed directly at HER as well as the biggest demographic of her fanbase. she drew so much ire for just being who she was, dressing the way she did, presenting herself earnestly. and then the fans as an extension of that. it's exactly what was said in the video from the speak now era that was sent to me not too long ago - if it weren't for that perception, everyone already would've been talking about her songwriting, but she had that hurdle of not only appealing to teen girls, but BEING a teen girl, so her music must not be Serious. and there's this very strange thing (which she talked about in miss americana with famous people being frozen at the age they became famous) where, even though she is 33 and a grown adult and in a serious relationship, having accomplished serious artistic feats, certain people still see her as a silly little blonde girl who writes about boys (which was NEVER a fair assessment). people still think of her fans being that way too despite the fact that most have grown up with her, and many of us are her peers in age. though i do think she's taken much more seriously by critics and the gp overall than she's ever been, that perception does still pop up. (and some fans being deranged/toxic is not her fault and i don't think it's fair to hold artists accountable for stans' online behavior, which none of them can control anyway, and that's why they choose not to address it.) but her songwriting is fairly well solidified at this point and she's proven herself over and over again. it's just an unfortunate aspect of the industry and our culture that those jaded and unfairly judgmental takes cast aspersions on anyone's talent or merit. (and again, teen girls are vital, so, as h said, "how can you say young girls don't get it?")

#anonymous #letterbox #thrown out speeches

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chaosincurate · 2 months ago

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A Guide to The Cure, Pt. IV: The Waning Crescent

At the time of writing, this is the last 3 albums The Cure have released. There are hints of a new album on the horizon, but from the sounds of it that's nothing new. So how did the band get on with their final releases: Bloodflowers, The Cure, and 4:13 Dream? Do they get things back on track and end their discography on a high? Or do they keep struggling to live up to their own name? Let's get into it.

Bloodflowers

Bloodflowers marks a return to the gothic stylings of Disintegration and their earlier albums, but this time with broad alternative rock overtones, and it's a reasonable return to form if you ask me. It's not a 4th Cure masterpiece in my opinion, but it is a great album which restored my faith in the band for this last 3 album stretch, which is exactly what I needed after Wild Mood Swings.

The album, if it revolves around anything, revolves around the dread that Robert Smith feels regarding the first digit of his age changing, which is the second time such a theme has been explored in an album by The Cure, but the first time was with Disintegration where it wasn't really the focus, and if they do it this well, they can do it every decade for all I care. The existential dread is palpable across the album, and it provides the project with a sense of direction that was sorely lacking in not only Wild Mood Swings, but also Wish before it.

It's definitely the highlight of this final phase of The Cure, and is worth a listen as the most successful representative for this alternative rock version of The Cure, but it's comfortably outside the realm of a must listen in my opinion.

The Cure

It's certainly a bold move making a self-titled album this late into their career, long after their peak in terms of both popularity and influence. To define yourself based on a project you are releasing in the midst of your downfall in the public eye is definitely a strange move, but we should be used to strange moves by The Cure by now, for better and for worse.

In this case, it's whatever. It feels a bit wasteful, not necessarily because of it's quality, but because it isn't really that musically representative of any of The Cure's music except the last three albums, none of which are really their classics. It's a nitpick, but for me, I would have expected a sort of celebration of all the band were given the self-title, but it's just the later years alt-rock of the last album and (spoilers) their final album. The alt-rock ranges from below average to great in my opinion, tending towards pretty good, so that's not the issue, I just wish they didn't waste their self-title on just another album.

There's a reason I'm spending so much time writing about the title though. I really don't know what to say about the music. It's fine, perfectly listenable, enjoyable at times, and it sounds like The Cure doing alt-rock. I just didn't really find anything to latch onto that strongly. I guess Robert Smith is angrier here than he has been, if that appeals to you. I don't know, it's fine, it's a fine album that some people might really love, definitely worth listening to if you want to listen to The Cure (the band), so that's one up on The Top and Wild Mood Swings, but beyond saying I can recommend it, I can't really place it above any other albums on the "you need to hear this" ranking.

4:13 Dream

I hate to say it, but I think as I reached the end of this project, both I and the band (at time of subsequent releases) lost steam. Once again, I don't know what to say about the album. It's more slightly experimental alt-rock from The Cure, and maybe it's the familiarity talking, but it feels like it sounds exactly like you'd expect. There are a few songs I really liked from this so maybe it's worth listening to for the sake of them, because the songs I thought were pretty good made up around half the runtime, but again, I wouldn't rush to listen to this album.

I hope that the album they are supposed to be dropping at some point soon is good because as it stands their discography ends with a bit of a whimper, and if it weren't for the fact I was also doing this blog, I would have been entirely disappointed after having listened to their daunting discography only to have it end on a run of albums that, after my early listens, is just... Fine. It's like climbing Everest only to find yourself on the top of a solid hill. Sure, it wasn't for nothing, but the payoff is underwhelming.

Anyway, this album is in the same sort of territory as the self-titled album. It's worth getting around to if you want to listen to more Cure, but not worth listening to ahead of anything else that isn't torture.

Tomorrow...

I'm going to post a roadmap to The Cure for anyone interested tomorrow, 10:15 Saturday night because I'm easily amused. I'll give you a recommended listening order based on a few different motivations to listen to The Cure, so it's not gonna be a one-size-fits-all thing. That strikes me as pointless. This was all a lot harder to do than I expected so I really hope someone finds it useful.

#chaosincurate #the cure #alternative rock #music #Φ guide to the cure

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patrickcharlton-oshea-author · 2 years ago

Text

Waging War: An Age of Steam and Sorcery Novel. Chapter Four.

“Right you,” Pham said as the awe wore off. “The time has come for you to get a proper Traveller experience.” He turned Peter around and pushed him into the seat at the writing desk. “You’re the weirdest guy I’ve ever met so we’re going to try some normalcy for a bit. Look what you’ve done to Woz.”

Both of them looked over at Warren who was rubbing the hem of his cloak in his fingers and mumbling to himself.

“Did… Did I break him?” Peter stuttered.

“He just needs to pwn some mobs. He’ll be fine.” Pham put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. “It’s you that I’m worried about. I knew you weren’t playing the game the way the devs intended from the first time I met you, and sure, it’s worked out for us. Phat lewt coming out our asses. But your Skills are dirt league. You, son, need some grinding. We can power level the crap outta you, but it’s gotta be you that does the work. Right now you ain’t gonna stand up to a particularly determined slime.”

“...ok?” Peter looked away. He knew his play style was at the far end of the bell curve, but he’d learned a lot and most of it had been for a real world purpose. Now that Bully wasn’t a problem he could afford to try playing the game the way it should be. Maybe even relax a bit. “So what’s your plan?”

Pham turned away and looked into the fireplace pensively. Finally he spoke up. “I have… a plan.”

“How much of a plan?” Warren asked without looking up.

“Twelve percent of a plan.”

“That’s barely a concept.” Warren dropped the hem and paid attention for the first time. “We’re not going There again, are we? You know what happened last time.”

“Just take the cloak off if you’re worried about getting muck on it. Peter needs to learn how to fight properly. We damn near got TPKd by the last boss. The forest has enough mini-bosses to practice tactics. You heard the lady, we need to work as a proper team. That means we’re going to need you to pick up the pauldrons again. You ready to be the captain once more?”

“Damnit Pham, you know I can’t. I left that behind when I left the guild. Let Peter lead, he’s the only actual Paragon here.” Warren grumbled and hugged the cloak around himself.

“Fine, but he’s not got the level or the gold for a Guild Charter yet. You know we’re going to need one. How about coaching? You can come up with the plays he leads?”

“Do I get a say in this?” Peter raised a trembling hand in the air.

“NO,” both his companions shouted.

“You got us into this,” Warren growled. “You can damn well get us out.” His shoulders slumped. “But I will help you figure out how. Fjor wasn’t kidding about how long I’ve been here. When I first got hurt they dropped me in here while it was in Beta. There’s been a lot of changes since launch day. One thing that hasn’t changed is that skills take a lot of work to master. I read somewhere that the devs took the saying about it taking a thousand hours to master a skill and doubled it. There’s buffs and other factors that make it easier, and some debuffs that make it harder too. What skills have you got so far?”

Peter took off his bracer and scrolled through the interactive tattoo on his forearm, reading off the results. Warren nodded along as he spoke, clearly making mental notes of the significant points.

“Right. So you’re a pretty decent crafter, but in a different stream to Pham. He’s trap and mech specialised, whereas you’re, well, I guess a mad scientist? Chemistry, weapon forging and a few others. Decent progress on polearms, which you need for melee, but you’re going to need a lot of work on small arms now that your sythe has an alt-fire mode. That said, how the hell are you only level three?”

“Three? I levelled up from the boss fight?” Peter rechecked his arm. Sure enough, he’d read out his level without thinking. “I missed it. Level ups are better than sex.”

“You’ve never had sex. None of us have,” Pham interjected.

“I might have, you never know,” Warren protested.

“Woz.”

“Fine, I was waiting until we’d won the big game. But I might have. I had the opportunity.”

“Have you ever considered that the whole purity culture thing is just another method of control by the patriarchy?” Pham scoffed.

“Yes. But Denise and I had discussed it and we agreed. I’m not going to pressure a girl when she’s not ready.”

“That’s surprisingly not-jock of you Woz. You learn something every day.” Peter clapped him on the shoulder.

“Wheest, awa’ wi’ tha Jock talk. Unless ye wan’ a face fulla heid!” Warren rounded on Peter who cowered in sudden fear.

Pham just fell over laughing. “Yer accent is back ya big lummox,” he managed between gasps. “I swear you’re a part-time Scot. You only ever go full ranga when someone insults your heritage.”

Dani wandered in through the back door with an armful of syringes. Saw Pham rolling on the floor busting a gut, Warren with steam coming out of his ears and Peter looking confused. “Huh, must be a Tuesday. Hey, mate. I’m all out, gimme a hand reloading?”

Warren’s flow interrupted, he subsided and they all helped Dani sort out her ammunition. “So, I collected these because this thing does regenerate them if they’re lost but only at a rate of one every ten minutes or so,” Dani explained. “I did some tests, the first pump just shoots an empty shot. I don’t know the damage numbers but I reckon it hurts. Two pumps and it loads the shot with a specific toxin. There’s presets for health over time, mana over time and stamina over time, which is pretty basic. I found a panel on the side that lets me dial up new ingredients if I know the combination. Which I don’t yet. Three pumps adds an area of effect to the shot. I tried it with nothing in the shot, just three pumps, and the area is about five meters across. Ish. I’m sorry Peter, I kinda left a mark on your shed out the back.”

By the time they’d aligned the remaining shots and packed them back into the magazine Pham, Peter and Warren had explained to Dani how she had missed the visit from Fjor and how their new equipment worked. Dani was curiously unconcerned about missing an audience with the Avatar of Life but that was just how she normally was, in Peter’s experience. He put it down to her having been a long time player uninterested in the politics of the local equivalent of a god. To be fair, I couldn’t tell you what’s happening in the Vatican at any time either, he thought to himself. Some people stay out of the affairs of dragons, for we are crunchy and go well with ketchup.

Pham got to talking to Dani about the possible combinations of reagents, as most chemicals were known in-game, dialling up the code for each in turn to see if it produced a result. It was slow going because they first had to figure out what the reagent was made of, convert it to the rune on the little wheel, set all twelve wheels and twist the valve marked “concoct”. A failed attempt locked the display for forty-five seconds. Not long enough to be a problem in a safe location like this but could be the difference between success and a respawn in a fight.

While they were twisting and poking at the launcher Peter and Warren pored over a map Peter had spread over the writing desk. “So, this is the peninsula as I know it,” Peter said. “Here be dragons.”

“Nay, thar be nae dragons oot here.” Warren’s accent was still in full swing. “What we’re looking for is saprolings anyway. Ye’ve been to the mines, aye? Weel, the forest betwixt is home to these wee buggers like angry bushes and one in ten or so are decidedly less wee. Thick as thieves in that area there,” he pointed. “Right by the Heart of the Forest. We’ll nae want tae bother yon beastie, that’s a raid boss.”

“You’d need to be stacked with fire weapons if you want to take that thing on,” Pham added from the other side of the room. “I have a flamethrower attachment for my offsider, and Woz has his flaming sword, but that would be peeing into a volcano for all the good you’d do. Besides, we’re after saprolings for the very reason that they’re resistant to your kind of damage. They’re weak, so they probably won’t kill you, and you can’t kill them fast. You get to learn how to fight monsters without respawning.”

“Peter not waking up in a box after a fight? D’you think he’ll be ok?” Dani flipped the brass flap closed and shouldered the launcher.

“Oh ha ha guys, very funny. I don’t always die.”

“You know the point is to not die at all, right?”

“Bite me.”

Due to Peter’s lack of a mount and refusal to accept another scooter ride, it took several hours to reach the edge of the forest. It wasn’t an uneventful walk, however, as Dani took every opportunity to take pot shots at all the trash mobs along the road. Her new acquisition made a very satisfying sound as it instantly despawned small groups of monstrous bugs, evil looking birds and terribly threatening rocks.

“I’m telling you, it was a minor earth elemental,” Dani insisted. “Good thing the empty shots do impact damage on the third pump.”

“And I’m telling you that all you did was disintegrate a pile of stones. You didn’t even get any XP for it,” Pham pointed out.

“Of course not, we’re all too high level to get any XP around here. Obvious exception aside.” Dani deliberately didn’t look at Peter who was still fiddling with his scythe.

Twisting the handle back and forth caused the blade to rotate the way it had when Fjor had done so, but Peter found he needed to be careful not to lose a digit as the blade became a shoulder stock. He was too nervous to actually shoulder the weapon and pull the trigger as yet, but was getting used to the heft and discovered that there were small iron sights that emerged when it was in rifle form. Sighting along them he found that he could bring up basic information about the target as though he had used his examine skill on them briefly. He didn’t get a lot of opportunity to test the function longer as Dani obliterated every target as soon as he aimed at it.

“You’re going to run out of ammo at this rate,” Peter complained as his latest attempt turned into pixels and blew away. “They only regenerate slowly.”

“That’s the plan,” Dani looked at the empty magazine. “Now that they’re all gone I put this here,” she slung the launcher onto her back, “and by the time we get where we’re going they’ve regenerated and I have the skills to use it ready to go.”

“Thaaaat actually makes a lot of sense,” Peter admitted. “But I’m still not ready to pull the trigger on this thing. It kinda scares me.”

“You’ll need to be ready soon,” Warren warned. “This is where we leave the road, things start getting heavier from now on and we don’t have time for you to respawn and walk all this way again.”

Warren and Dani jumped the fence beside the road, both landing nimbly on the far side. Peter clambered roughly over it and dropped heavily onto the grass. Pham shook his head, walked back a few meters and opened the gate. They all crossed the fields that bordered the road unimpeded and stepped into the cool shadows of the outer forest. Things in the underbrush rustled and called out but the bushes were sparse enough that it never felt spooky. Peter could clearly see what was making the sounds and they were just slightly higher level bugs and wildlife that they’d seen the whole walk.

Suddenly Warren raised a fist over his shoulder.

“Uhh, whatcha doing there mate?” Dani asked, leaning on a tree.

“It’s a hand signal. It means ‘stop’, but I was trying to do it silently. You know, so we don’t spook the mobs right over there,” Warren pointed off into the trees with a knife hand.

Clearly Dani had never been introduced to America’s Weapon of Mass Instruction, but Peter had always assumed she was from England or something so it was probably different over there. He peered off into the dimly lit forest and saw what Warren was pointing at. Ambling about amongst the detritus that made up the forest floor were two different but similar creatures. One resembled a knee high red capped mushroom with white dots on the cap. Peter had already run into their brethren before and knew not to mess with them. The others were squat tree-like humanoids. They somewhat resembled a cross between a tree and a dwarf, though that would never happen knowing Dwarven attitudes towards trees. Dwarves famously carried axes for a reason.

“Right, huddle up,” Warren stage-whispered. When Dani, Pham and Peter had gathered close he continued. “We’ve got myconids and saprolings here. Both are super susceptible to cutting type damage, though the saprolings are less so. We’re going to try a straight melee run first. Peter in the lead as DPS, Dani as dodge-tank. Pham will run crowd control as needed and I’ll extract if it all goes sideways. The idea here is to get Peter’s polearm skill up, so don’t worry if it takes a while to take each one down. Everyone’s got health pots ready to down?”

“Point of order, big guy,” Dani shook her new weapon. “Pham and I found that this thing doesn’t just do poison. I can brew up heath shots too, so if Peter’s getting hosed I can pep him right up. It’ll let me work on getting used to using it in combat too.”

“Done,” Warren nodded. “You’re now our main healer. Your, what is it even called? Thingy, your thingy regenerates syringes and produces the chemicals for them, right?”

Dani assured him it did. “There’s a name on the buttstock here that says ‘Finger of Pestilence’, but I’m not going to call it that. Just… ew.”

“Great. Dodge tank and main healer until you run out of shots. Once you’re dry, shout it loud and clear and we switch to healing items. That will save us coin in the long run and time in the short term. That group there is our target,” he pointed at a group of myconids nearby, “so Peter, start us off. Melee first, I don't know how loud your alt-fire is and we don’t want to pull the whole forest in one go.”

Peter’s skill with long sticks as weapons had improved out of sight since he’d begun playing The Age of Steam and Sorcery in both virtual reality and meatspace. He stalked towards the closest mob, careful of where he placed his feet to make the least sound, and planted the blade all the way up to the haft in the cap of an unfortunate mushroom monster. He ripped it free with the ease of a ginsu through shiitake and watched the halved mob drop to the ground. The attack had been so abrupt that the myconid hadn’t made a sound so he reached around the next nearest and whipped the scythe horizontally through the stem just below the cap. He felt a ripple of ice cold shimmer through his body and he uttered the words YOUR SOUL IS MINE instinctively.

With the weight of the sun and the sound of a feather falling on a foam mat, a simple hourglass fell to the ground beside the myconid’s body. Peter stared at it in surprise as the next closest monster registered the killer in their midst. Peter reached down and picked up the hourglass, its glass glimmering in the speckled light that fought its way through the canopy just as the myconid sunk its fungal teeth into his arm. He screamed in agony and headbutted the monster in its speckled cap. A second later a sharp pain in his butt gave way to a warmth that washed though his body and the wounds in his arm closed.

Dani double pumped the launcher again, priming another healing shot and shouted at Peter. “Oi, get your head in the fight. You wanna get eaten today?” She stepped past him and kicked the reeling monster into its fellows and sent them sprawling. The more agile ones rolled to their feet and bellowed their defiance before leaping back into the fray.

Whirling the scythe, Peter stepped up and began hacking pieces off any mushroom that came close enough. The pain in his arm had faded as the healing potion restored his lost hit points and he gave the fight his full attention. One sneak attack and crit was great, two was more than expected. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the unexpected windfall or lucky activation of his Paragon effects mid-battle. Looting was for after.

The myconids fell quickly before the sustained onslaught of the two fighters, their squishy bodies parting easily under the slashing blades. Dani did her best to avoid killing as many as she could in order to let Peter improve his skills but some needed distracting so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed by numbers. Any time he looked to be hard pressed she’d stick a blade in the red caps of a few myconids to draw the aggro and step back a bit, kiting them until Peter had the capacity to deal with them. Occasionally that was enough to take them down, but that was just how it went.

When Peter had reduced the final monster to twitching pixels they stopped to take a breath.

“What the hell, dude?” Pham demanded. “This whole day was nearly over in the first few seconds. What was that?”

Peter held up the hourglass for them all to see. “These. They power the house. Before I only got them from bosses and then only when I was in the Paragon state. That’s the first time I’ve ever had one drop from a trash mob.”

“They power the house?” Dani plucked it out of his hand. “They look familiar. I swear I’ve seen them before. How do you use them?”

“The house absorbed them through the writing desk, there’s a basic upkeep and then upgrades on top.” Peter looked at the remaining fallen corpses. “Weird that it fell outside the body though.”

“Might be related to the whole ‘your soul is mine’ thing you do sometimes?” Pham offered. “You might not have been in the Paragon chuuni mode but you did, um, flicker? A bit?”

“Fjor did say your weapon had evolved to its true state, so that’s probably going to happen more often.” Warren folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t let it distract you. If an hourglass pops, leave it and move on. If you live, loot it at the end of the fight. If you don’t, it’s not a problem you need to worry about.”

“Good point, Woz. Thanks,” Peter popped the hourglass into his inventory as Dani and Pham moved over the fallen, looting as they went. “Guys, I’m here for XP and skill points, don’t worry about any loot for me. Call it the fee for power levelling.”

“Oh,” said Pham, “that’s not what we were doing already? Ok.”

The next half-hour went much the same, Peter’s Stealth and Polearm skills making slow but consistent progress. Only two more hourglasses appeared but this time he let them fall where they did and worried about them after the fights. Pham and Dani cleaned up the battlefield, but they were unable to touch the hourglasses so Peter claimed them. The rest of the time he spent with Warren discussing how better to approach a fight from a tactical point of view.

Peter had only needed one more healing shot in that time, and Dani blamed herself for that as she’d let him get rushed by a myconid mini-boss barely discernible from the rest. It was just a little larger, a little stronger and when it was struck emitted a stunning cloud of spores. He’d been surprised, but had fought through the effects to bring the monster down and had only been mildly gnawed in the process. One shot from The Finger had brought him back to full health and he didn’t blame Dani for not seeing the difference.

Warren, however, had called another huddle. “Right, so we’re moving towards the Heart of the Forest, so we’re going to start seeing more mini-bosses and named mobs. Saprolings are getting more common too, as you have noticed Peter. They take a bit more cutting through than the fungi, gives them time to get a few more hits in. So far Dani’s ammo regen is keeping pace with your hits just fine but that might not last much longer. It’s time to try some ranged combat. We have a clear path back to the road, the mobs won’t have respawned yet, so if we’re in trouble don’t respawn, run. Clear?” When everyone nodded he continued. “Right so, this is how it will go. Peter is going to set up here,” he made a cross in the dirt. “He’ll take a shot at that boss mob over there,” Warren pointed at a shambling collection of rocks, dirt and roots that the system had handily designated as a Thallid. “I’m betting it’ll be loud, so we brace up and take the first wave of saprolings defensively. It’s Peter’s first time using a ranged weapon so I’m betting on a miss. This way he gets a second shot. After that, it’s back to melee. I’ll tank the boss if it lives, Pham, you lock down the adds, Dani, you add some debuffs and Peter,” he looked Peter dead in the eye. “Smash.”

Peter sat down on the cross that Warren had drawn on the ground and switched his scythe to alt-fire. He tucked the butt solidly into his shoulder and rested the handle on his knee. Sighting down the haft, he used his foot to raise and lower the point of aim by lifting his toes off the ground. As he watched through the iron sights the distant mob grew more focussed as everything else blurred out. He drew in a full breath, then let half out.

The front sight aligned on a gem in the Thallid’s forehead and he gently squeezed the trigger.

The weapon itself barely made a whisper. Just a fut sound and the gem shattered and the Thallid dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

The round kept going though. It punched a neat hole in the tree behind the Thallid.

And through the mobs on the other side of the tree.

And the trees on the other side of them.

Somewhere off in the distance, something very big, something very powerful screamed. The ground rumbled. The air shook. Peter’s pants filled.

“Um, oops?” Peter stood carefully. “Should we maybe run?”

“ShOuLd We RuN?” Pham mocked. “You just aggroed a raid boss. Yes, we bloody run now!” He took off as fast as he could towards the road.

“Follow the Dani-shaped blur!” Dani disappeared in a cloud of dust, overtaking Pham within seconds.

“We really need to discuss that weapon,” Warren shouted, lumbering into a run. “But, when we’re outside aggro range. Every mob in the forest is after you. If you reach the road, you’re probably safe. If you respawn we’re definitely safe. Your call.”

“I’ll tell Jacob you said hi,” Peter replied, stashing everything he could in his inventory. “Take care of DB for me, he hates this bit.” Peter tossed his rat to Warren. “I’ll see you in town tomorrow night.”

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