#in the canon she's never had that kind of education | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

howlett-n-morgan · 8 days ago

Text

More Than Words

2. Questions

Logan Howlett x OC!Reader

Series Summary: Having lived for over two hundred years and never having the privilege of human touch is the biggest burden imaginable... until someone comes along with the healing ability to withstand the touch of death.

Chapter Warnings: still a lot for now but: mild language, canon typical violence, mention of murder, death, mutant experimentation, and a depressive episode briefly described. Logan is a warning, especially here

Chapter Summary: The bad dreams have ceased, but many questions lurk in their place, and the meaning behind those dreams is still one of them. In the middle of all the chaos, a few things will come to light.

Word Count: 8.4k

“Of everyone here, I didn’t expect you to be keeping a stash,” he sat down on the edge of your bed, facing your back as you were hunched over the desk, writing sloppily a few notes for tomorrow morning. “I asked Scott and Storm, they had nothin…”

You put your headset on this morning. You usually only used it to drown out everything else when you really needed to. Everyone has noticed except those who don’t know what it means. Those who do, remember the times in which you were at your lowest. Back then you were practically unable to function without the damn headphones over your ears. The last time you even remember wearing them was when you first started teaching here, all the noise and rapid energy being quieted by the music in your head.

After last night, and the confessions made to Logan, he seemed to be open to hearing more from you then… but he kept you at arm’s reach now, and you couldn’t say you didn’t understand why. He’s not just been thrust into the middle of an age-old fight between friends, but he also is struggling with his identity.

You did however learn something interesting after hearing chatter when you woke up. Logan and Scott aren't getting along. Why? Because Logan has been relentlessly flirting with Jean. You’d scoffed when you found out. Not because you don’t think Jean is worthy of such advances, but because he was basically shooting himself in the foot by even trying to take her from Scott.

Jean is a rare bird, and a special person. Charles argues the same thing about everyone who sets foot on the property, but with her, it’s especially true. She’s smarter than most people you know, having gone to a college outside of the education given by Charles and the others. She even attended school alongside you for a while, although it only took you a few semesters to realize you weren’t cut out for the medical field like she was. You have to be able to touch your patients, after all.

She had a lot to offer, and anyone could see that. Even excluding her powers, which were enough to level a city on their own. She was kind, nurturing, and very strategic. All of those things combined with the looks of a super model made her one of the most desirable people in the entire mansion, so even though you and Logan made a connection, you don’t find it hard to see why he’s taken with her.

It may bother you just a little, but you would never admit it to anyone who asked, not even Charles.

All of this is not why you put on your headset, but it could be a contributing factor.

You’ve just met Logan, or at least officially. It stands to reason that you shouldn’t have an inkling of feelings yet. You can’t imagine that would be how it goes. In any rational situation, you have to get to know him. That’s how relationships work.

You remember how it was with Charlie, how it took more than one night of talking late when everyone else was asleep. You got to know him, and got to see his kindness and compassionate heart. You’d seen who he truly was, and it warmed your heart and soul, despite not being able to touch him. You don’t know Logan yet, but you imagine he’s not as soft and kind, nor gentle or compassionate. He seems like sort of a lone wolf, and the type to push away everything except for what he’s got his eyes set on. You don’t even know if the connection you made was real, or if he was just looking for company…

He has nightmares, but you don’t know why. It’s only one relation, that’s all. Maybe he’d only asked you to stay because he was frightened of them, just like you are of yours.

You’d gone back to your room near the hours of sunrise, and fell back asleep before your alarm woke you, but you were still exhausted, and wondered if he was facing the same conundrum. It was only when you went to ask him about it that he became colder to you than the night before. He’d given a stiff answer and gone about his morning, which you were confused by, since he wasn’t a student, nor a teacher.

You passed him in the halls throughout the day, and nodded to him with a sweet smile. He doesn’t really return it, just kept walking. You think that maybe he just didn’t see you, or was on his way to do something else and couldn’t pay attention, but then at dinner he refuses to look at you, and you can’t for the life of you understand why.

You decide to block him out, to deal with the more pressing matters. The school, the mutant rebellion, and Rogue, the newest recruit.

She’s like you in a few ways, and you feel sorry for her. You hope that by passing on some stories that maybe she can find hope in her powers. They are a gift and a curse, but she holds them wonderfully well already.

You found her on the back balcony, overlooking the gardens. She’d been sitting alone for about an hour, but didn’t seem to be bothered, just enjoying the peace. You debated whether or not you should disrupt it, but the second she heard you behind her, she turned.

You had been organizing things back where they go, following the mess of mutant children to try and keep the house in good shape, and now that you’d found yourself with her, you wanted to say a few things. You peeled your headset off and sat beside her, offering a smile first. Her energy felt stiff, like she’d been unwelcome where she was.

“You settled in yet?”

She shrugged, unsure of what to say. Even in a place full of people like her, she was an outsider. “I guess I’m getting there.”

It was silent for a moment, and you sensed her energy was low and draining. She must have been sad, or angry, or even flat our forlorn about her powers and the danger they hold.

“Y’know, when I first found out about my powers, it was the worst day of my life,” you started, but quickly followed up, knowing the words were not inspiring. “They are a blessing and a curse, but for most of my life they were a curse… until the Professor found me. Now, I’ve learned to use them to help people. You can, too.”

It should have helped, but her feelings on the power she held didn’t waver, she just wanted to know what she was in for, and you knew better than anyone what she would face.

“Did you ever… hurt anyone?” she asked sincerely, turning to face you but managing the distance. Both your touches were lethal and dangerous.

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking out to the gardens and hoping that the serene ambience would keep you in a good state of mind. “Most of them were the people closest to me. Always an accident, but still a deadly one.”

“I’m sorry,” she dropped her head, unsure of herself now, too. She didn’t know how to control it, or even subdue it. It may not even be possible.

“Don’t be sorry, it was a long time ago… I’m a lot more careful now.”

“They told me how old you were, how long you’ve been around…” she trailed, looking for a good way to ask such a terrible question. “How have you lived that long without being able to touch the people you love?”

You understood why she was asking. Of course, she was concerned about her future, but also her present. She’s a runaway, who’s left her entire family because of her ability. She must be feeling the lonesomeness that all mutants inevitably face at one point in their lives.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying not to become emotional. You’ve loved many people in your lifetime, many people you’ve lost early, or at the right time, but you could never go with them. You can’t seem to die, but everyone else does when you need them the most. “I think that being here is really what saved me. Not only knowing there are others like me, but knowing I can have a family who doesn’t fear me, doesn’t judge me. Even knowing all the things I’ve done.”

“You didn’t do them on purpose, did you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But I’m still responsible for them, for the people I’ve killed.”

You’ve killed people. How many, she doesn’t know, but she feels as though you’re the only person that can understand her. That can understand being afraid of herself and what she can do to others. She knows that you’ve probably gone decades and decades just trying to learn how to be more careful, and that she’ll have to learn, too.

“You said you’d hurt people you love… what happened?”

This was a very soft spot for you. Even after a century, it was still an open wound. Something that would never fully heal, because there was no way to achieve closure over it. What’s lost is gone, and your powers were the cause.

“I was engaged once,” you dropped your gaze to your lap, looking at your hands and the way they were so well fitted with the green gloves. You practically never took them off.

“Engaged?”

“Yeah, engaged. I’d somehow managed to find the single man in the entire universe that didn’t require me to touch him to achieve his affection…” You trailed, trying not to go into detail. Searching for a small distraction, you fiddled with the hem of your sweater, pulling loose threads to ignore the sad memories. “I touched him by accident.”

“And he died?” She widened her eyes, both upset for you and becoming more afraid of herself. She doesn’t want to fall in love, not if she’s going to hurt that person eventually.

“He did,” you wiped your hand over your eyes before any tears could even fall, and then let it rest back in your lap. “But you’re not gonna make the same mistake that I did, I promise. I’ll help you.”

“You will?” Her eagerness to accept the assistance was clear. “Thank you.”

“Of course… and don’t give up hope. There could be someone out there that can withstand your powers just as they are.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to offer such things to her, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Her brow furrowed, unsure if what you were saying was true. From your earlier words, you’ve been around a long time and it’s never happened for you. “Sounds impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” you told her, standing up from beside her on the bench. “Nothing is impossible.”

You left her on that note, and went back inside.

On your way up to bed, you caught Logan in the hallway. You gave a tight lipped smile on the way to your door, expecting him to be cold like he was throughout the day… but he fell into stride next to you, walking to his own door.

“You guys got anything good to drink around here?” he asked, partially as a joke, but usually never going without a drink for more than a day was catching up to him.

“This is a school, Logan,” you turned to him with a laugh and a light smile. Maybe he’d struck out with Jean and was off her coattails now.

“Well I can see that, but I figured with a limited number of adults chasing after a million kids, someone’s gotta be drinking at the end of the day,” he leaned against his door frame, and you had completely turned to face him, neglecting your door knob which you had reached for originally.

You huffed a sigh, shaking your head at him. You may or may not have a bottle of Jack hidden where no one can find it. If anyone in this hell hole had a reason to drink it was you, but you never did it in front of the kids, or nearly anyone else. You reckon Charles or Ororo would march up to you if they found out, voicing their concern.

“Stay quiet, and don’t say a word about this to anyone…” You opened the door, letting him follow you in before closing it and locking the knob. “Under the bed, back right corner.”

You allowed him to go fishing for it himself, going to your desk in the corner to make sure you were caught up on everything and prepared for tomorrow’s history quiz before you settled in for the night. He’d already been ready for bed, seemingly just roaming the halls and looking for alcohol at this late hour.

“I surprised you, huh?” you ask, not even throwing a look over your shoulder. You may have an interest in this man, but since you started teaching here you were always efficient, and that wasn’t going to stop now.

“Yeah, a little,” he chuckled, taking swigs straight from the bottle. It had been more than half full the last time you drank from it, so there was a decent amount. “You just seem like the innocent one.”

This made you drop what you were doing and spin your chair around. “Innocent?”

He smirked at your furrowed brows, but having known of your mutation, he was willing to guess everything and even bet on it. “I believe that’s what I said.”

You tilted your head at him, the look on your face making him grin even more.

“I don’t think I like that word,” you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and thinking of all the reasons why. “I’ve done and seen things that would be considered unfathomable to other people.”

“I don’t mean how dangerous you are, I mean how corrupted you are,” he kept on, another swig taken from the bottle. “And I think you’re innocent.”

“I still don’t like it,” you shook your head, laughing a little and reaching for the bottle, which he was all too happy to hand over, fingers brushing your gloved hands. “I prefer inexperienced.”

“Does it matter? It means the same thing,” he argued, watching you take a nice lengthy drink of the whiskey in your hand.

“It does matter, actually,” you were all too happy to correct him. “Innocence implies that my mind is pure of corruption, but really, I’ve just never been able to do the things I’ve thought about.”

He rolled his eyes, taking back the bottle and trying to keep up with you. He pointed to your head with a swirling finger. “Yeah right, I’m sure you’re just all kinds of perverted up there.”

You just giggled and looked at him for a moment. He was funny, he was handsome, and he was clearly interested in your favorite choice of alcohol. Just more things to connect on, you supposed. Maybe feelings weren’t so far down the road, after all.

You blinked out of it when you realized you’d been looking at his bare arms for too long, the beater he wore left little to the imagination as to how fit he was, and it was a nice view to take in, but not this late, and certainly not with a bottle of Jack.

“I should be getting to bed soon, big test tomorrow…” you trailed, standing up and going to the door. It was late, no one else should be awake, but you still wanted to make sure. “You can take the whiskey for the road, if you want.”

“I’ll get you another one,” he returned, knowing that by the end of the night, the bottle was likely to be empty. He’d not had Jack Daniel’s in a while, so he was grateful for the favor.

“No need,” you shook your head as he met you in the doorway, peering down and clearly shadowing you under his tall form. You had to take a breath and smile to break the tension you felt, as it was thick and heated. “I really should stop drinking here, anyway.”

“I’m happy to pick it up in your place,” he smirked, still standing right in front of you. If anyone had stepped out of their room, they’d see how close he was looming.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked hopefully, knowing full well that he could respond with an empty promise, and still be cold to you as he was today.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.”

And he left without another word.

You awoke in the middle of the night to chaos in the hallway. You were surprised not to be plagued with nightmares for once, but the screams of your next door neighbor didn’t exactly settle you back into your pillows. You heard footsteps outside your door, and when you sat up, Ororo opened the door without knocking, the urgency of whatever situation that had happened started to set in.

“There’s been an accident,” she looked to you with an expression of fear and shock, leaving the doorway as soon as she could see you were scrambling to your feet.

You could feel the energy, it was all over the place. Kids were scared, and so were some of the adults, Ororo being one of them. You ran into the room, avoiding the touch of everyone you passed by, and stared at the scene playing out.

“What happened?” you rushed over to where Jean and Scott were hovering over Logan, his unconscious body thrown over the bed and seemingly in a state of paralysis.

“Rogue, she touched him,” Jean was working the best she could to try and keep him from death’s door, but even with her skilled hands, she looked afraid. “He’s fading quickly, she may have drained too much of his regeneration.”

You tried to think quickly on your feet. She drained his regenerative energy, but you could restore it. The manipulation of energy was clearly something you were all too familiar with, but you were afraid if his regeneration was too low that he might die from your mutation.

If he’s already going to die, you’re going to do the only thing you know how to try and save him.

“Jean, move,” you reach for him, and she practically dives out of the way of your bare hands.

“You’ll kill him!”

“Just trust me,” you said, your hands finding his shoulders. You heard gasps behind you when your skin met his, and they all started whispering, assuming that if he wasn’t dead before, he definitely was now.

You focused your energy on him, using what was inside of you and around you to build back up what had been inside of him. His mutation, his strength and endurance, and most of all, his healing capability.

“Alice, he’s dead,” Scott nearly scolded you, shaking his head. He wasn’t fond of the man, but that didn’t mean he wished him to die… and now he had, by your hand or Rogue he wasn’t sure. “What did you do?”

You ignored him, and all the ones whispering behind you. You could feel his life force, like a branch in the air around you, reaching out just the smallest bit, but not strong enough to hold growth yet. You were slowly building it, letting it stretch out until his own body could take it from there.

When he took a sharp inhale of breath and his chest started to rise and fall again, everyone nearly fell over out of shock. No one said a word yet, because they were too stunned to speak.

Logan was still in bad condition, but you trusted that his healing could help him out from here. You pulled him onto your lap, head resting against your body as you felt for a steady pulse, and saw the color returning to his hands and arms.

“I got you,” you whispered, holding him close. This was the first person that you’d ever been able to save with your touch, as before, it killed everyone who came across it.

“Alice?” Jean called from behind your shoulder, her mouth still agape and her eyes wide. “Alice!”

You looked to her, only slightly fearful that she may tell Charles about this, and then you’ll be in for an earful. He was the hand that guided you along the terrible pathways of your life, but he was also the one who reprimanded you when need be.

“He’s alright,” you promised her, but she still didn’t come closer. Scott however, was completely baffled and had a million questions.

“How did you do that? You can’t touch anyone-”

“I can touch him,” you answered shortly, your arms still wrapped tight around his limp form. “Just him.”

Jean shook her head and snapped out of her train of thought. There was too much to be asked, but this was not the time for it. Logan still needed more treatment, despite the help you gave. You stood up to accommodate her, keeping your eyes on Logan and making sure he was still okay. You could feel his energy restacking, like building blocks in the air around you.

“Start talking,” Scott pressed, the urgent situation now overshadowed by a need for answers. Ororo joined Scott in front of you, her expression holding more than just shock at this point. She looked nearly excited, but you couldn’t say why.

“I know him,” you said, trying to start slowly, but knowing the two of them, it wouldn;t be good enough. “When Striker had us, he got Logan, too. He doesn’t remember it, but he saved my life… yours too, Scott.”

“That…” he trailed, shaking his head. He’d done the same thing that you’d done. He blocked it out of his memory. That didn’t mean that it didn’t happen. You just had a better reason to remember it. “That can’t be possible… he’s touched you before?”

“He practically dragged me out of that cell,” you told him, and he recalled the day of the mutant prison break. He remembers a man helping them, but never imagined it could have been Logan.

“How is it possible? I’ve seen you drop some of the most powerful mutants where they stand, no one survives being touched by you,” Ororo was the one to pitch in this time, her question not so much one of what, but how?

“His regenerative ability. The way Charles used to explain my powers to me, he said to think of my skin like a radioactive energy poison. When such a poison is absorbed into one’s body it can cause it to shut down. My powers work the same way, just a thousand times stronger and faster. The thing is,” you pointed behind you, where Logan was slowly gaining small bits of health. “His regen mutation never allows my energy to be absorbed… I can’t kill him.”

“Scott?” Jean called from the ground, trying and failing to lift Logan on her own. “Gonna need a little help here. I need him in the med bay.”

Scott shook off the conversation, focusing on the matter at hand.

When Jean and Scott got Logan through the crowd of kids, they all dispersed back to their rooms. The only two remaining were you and Ororo.

She stared at you for a moment, wondering if you were going to leave, but then watched as you shuffled around in Logan’s things, looking for what you leant to him. You were hoping by some miracle that there would be some left.

“Aha,” you let out, grabbing the bottle from inside the dresser drawer, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. There wasn’t much, but there was enough to ease your mind at this late hour. “Want some?”

“You really think this is a good time to be drinking?” she scoffed, crossing her arms and watching you fall back onto the foot of his bed.

“I think it’s the perfect time to be drinking,” you held it out to her, wondering if she’d actually take it.

She tried to keep her adult habits outside of the school, but these were tumultuous times, and she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to allow it under the circumstances.

Out of the silence, she turned to you, right as you took your next slow gulp of the smooth liquor.

“So,” her pause and sigh were unneeded. You knew what she was about to be getting on about. “You can touch him…”

“Yep,” you looked at her, a thin lipped smile on your face. You really didn’t have much else to say, but she did.

“I know you never got over Charlie,” she spoke gently, not wanting to pinch a nerve, or bring up bitterness in a moment like this. The calm after the storm, no pun intended. “But maybe this is your chance…”

“A chance to what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she leaned into your eyeline, still careful to stray from any of your exposed skin.

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I know.” And then with the last swig in the bottle, you felt the warmth of the drink, and the tiniest bit of a buzz. “I don’t think Logan’s that kinda guy.”

“You don’t think he’d commit to a relationship?”

“I don’t think he’d commit to me,” you corrected, shrugging your shoulders. You wished you had more to drink after that revelation, but unfortunately, this empty bottle contained the only bit of alcohol on the entire property.

“He seems loyal, maybe you just need to know him better,” she encouraged, bumping her clothed shoulder with yours. Always a kind gesture, one of friendship and to show she held no fear of you like others did.

“He doesn’t even know himself,” you chuckled a little. It may have been a bit of a mean joke to make, because you can’t even imagine how hard it is for him, but still you laugh, because you know him better than he does. “I know who he was that day.”

“When he saved you?”

“Yeah, saved everyone,” you dropped your head, focusing on your hands and trying to keep your mind from falling down any bunny trails. “He was a hero. I think he still might be.”

“You should tell him that.”

“I did,” you chuckled, tossing the whiskey bottle back into the soft pillows of the bed to rid your hands of it. “He didn’t believe a word I was telling him…”

She sighed, knowing that with your stubbornness, and your fear of hurting people, you may opt to keep him at arms length, regardless of his ability to touch you. She knew about Charlie, and what you did to him. She knew you’d sworn off love since that day, over a hundred years ago… but she still had hope that this could turn into a part of your happiness.

“Don’t give up on him so fast, alright?” She asked, her eyes turning to that of a puppy dog, pulling at your heart and nearly making you comply.

“I won’t.”

Rogue went missing the next day, and while you’d been chomping at the bit to find her, you were unfortunately called to the office of the professor. You wondered if you were in for a stern talking to after the previous night’s events.

“Take a seat,” he began, staring out the open window at the setting sun, and the children on property who were playing in the grass before dark.

You did as you were told, not because you wanted to, but because you respected Charles enough to listen to whatever diatribe he was about to drone on.

“I’ve had quite a few people visit my office today on your account,” he turned his chair around, his face not one of disappointment like you thought it would be. He didn’t look upset at all, nor did he look like he was going to reprimand you for being careless with your abilities. “I must say, I was surprised to hear of what happened.”

“I know it was careless of me,” you defended, unknowing if it was even necessary, but wanting to cover your bases, anyways. “But I can explain.”

“There’s no need to put up an argument, my dear.”

“There’s not?”

He chuckled and shook his head, a small smile spreading over his cheeks. “Not at all. In fact, I’m actually quite happy for you.”

“Happy for me?” you asked another question, the reasoning for your visit becoming more unclear.

“I know how long you’ve suffered,” he sighed, his tone returning to something more serious. “I have felt your anger and bitterness towards your abilities. I’ve sensed your hatred of them for years.”

“That was before,” you tried to interject, to tell him how thankful you were for his training. “But you taught me they were not just a curse, but also a blessing.”

“And do you really think I believe you when you say it? Miss Beckett, I’ve known you more than half my life… I can read your mind without entering it by now.”

You knew that if anyone could understand you it was him. You could feel other’s energy, but when he entered someone’s mind he could feel that and so much more. He could feel emotions, think that person’s thoughts, and even see what they see.

“You knew all this time, then?”

“I did,” he nodded, but didn’t stop there. “I knew that no matter what I did, it wouldn’t change your burdens.”

You ducked your head, thinking back to the times you’d lied, telling everyone that things were better. Truthfully, as a person you felt less alone, less hated and less dangerous… but you never felt loved. You couldn’t. No one could, or wanted to touch you, knowing your mutation.

“Scott told me about Logan, how you’d all met once before,” he said, turning the conversation back around to that of a better note. “When you’d repressed the memories of what Agent Striker had done, you’d forgotten him… but you didn’t forget what he did for you, and you didn’t forget a special detail.”

“He touched me,” you filled in the blank, waiting for him to continue.

“Precisely.”

“I think…” you trailed, unsure of where this chat was going to lead. If Ororo had come to him, you were sure the thoughts exchanged the night before had come up, even if it was just meant to help you. “I think he may have feelings for… someone else.”

Charles nodded, he’d not purposely looked into Logan’s mind, but when Jean was stirring restlessly in the late evening, he took a peek inside hers, seeing the struggle to combat Logan and his advances.

“I understand,” he responded, but thought it was worth mentioning what he knew. “But his advances are pointless.”

“I still don’t want to get my hopes up,” you reasoned, a good point to be made considering his behavior towards you. “I’m getting too old for shit like this, you know?”

His understanding went without saying, he remembers your past, and knows of the only person you ever truly loved. It was a story for the ages with a tragic ending that would even make the bravest of men shed a tear.

“Of course.”

You waited for him to dismiss you, and when he nodded to you in finality, you stood up from your seat.

“Stay open minded, my dear, you don’t know where your path may lead.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, giving him a smile as you left the room.

“Thank you, Charles.”

First Ororo, and now Charles. Your biggest cheerleaders since they met you… you love them both, and want to listen to them, but you are older therefore wiser, and must protect yourself from things that aren’t good for you. Everyday you grow older but your face and body stay the same. Your mentality weakens when you realize you’ve still got so much life to live, and it burdens you more when you struggle to live it alone. Having someone by your side would be the answer to your every prayer, the reason you could keep going. But you know you can’t endure another heartbreak, you won’t survive it.

It’s been days, nearly a week. Your mind is frazzled, and you think that maybe it’s time for a break. A quiet time to let your mind rest and restore itself.

So much has happened, and you can’t put your finger on what was the most stressful part of it all. The quickness, the escalation, the chaos… or what it almost cost you.

Erik is temporarily defeated, but you know he’ll keep at it in the future. There were several mutants in his gathering that were unapprehended after the final battle. It will make for an interesting hunt that the X-men get to pursue.

One of which you wouldn't mind letting go about her business for a while. You knew Mystique when she went by Raven.

So much has changed since then, and you've changed with the time gone by.

There's still something on your mind after everything that's happened this week, and of course that something is Logan. His past, his present, and what he wants to do with his future.

He’s an X-man now, a part of the team and a member of the mutant family… but he searches for who he is, and you can sympathize with that, especially because of what he did for you. He didn’t just do it for you, but with the state you were in, he could have passed your cell, given up on you. Instead, he practically carried you out of that prison, never knowing how lethal your touch was. He saved you and gave you the greatest gift you’d received. Hope. A fresh start. The thought that life didn’t have to be such a burden.

The kids were settled in early this evening, after the late night that was pulled the day prior, they needed to catch up on their rest… but Logan was having a hard time sleeping. You were, too.

It was about eleven when he came knocking on the door, softly so nobody else would hear him. Ororo was behind the door next over from yours, her light on beneath the slit in that door, and he mentally kicked himself for even doing this at all, so late at night.

When you cracked open your own door, peeking through to see who it was, you were surprised at the man standing in the doorway.

“Logan? What are you doing up? It’s late…”

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered, just above the level you were speaking at, voice barely audible. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You were unsure of what there was to talk about, really. It had been radio silence since the mission, and you figured he wanted some space after something like that… it wasn’t unusual for an X-man, but you didn’t know him as well, so you didn’t know what you were supposed to expect.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and it was only now that you realized you’d been frozen in your spot, a furrowed brow worn on your face.

“Yeah, sorry.”

You closed the door behind him when he passed through, going back to your bed to sit down. He followed suit, and it was nearly a reverse image of the first night he arrived.

“I wanted to thank you,” he cleared his throat, trying to sound grateful. “For saving my life. Jean told me what you did.”

You smiled a little and scoffed, shaking your head and waving him off. “Don’t thank me… I actually endangered your life.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? Whatever you did, it saved me.”

“I had no idea that it would, it could have gone either way,” you argued, not for the sake of being right, but because you didn’t want him to think you’d done something extraordinary or heroic. You were actually being quite selfish in your actions.

“You like to argue a lot, huh?” he teased, remembering the last one on one conversation you both had. You would admit, you didn’t like being wrong. You’d gotten it in your head that after being alive for so long, you ought to know more than everyone.

“Well, I am a lawyer,” you shrugged, a slight smirk on your face. You’d never practiced in a firm, or even got a law related job, but you liked to remind people of it here and there, it was always entertaining.

“I noticed that certificate on your wall the other night, noticed em’ all, actually…” he trailed, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check and make sure they were all still there. He’d come to the conclusion that you were intelligent the first time you met, your dialect being very formal for the age he thought you were… but above that, you carried yourself in a way that spoke to being knowledgeable.

“Oh, those?” you laughed, tilting your head and making a silly face in their direction. “Those are nothing, just reminders of all the times I’ve been bored.”

“Bored? You’re kidding me,” he mused, crossing his arms and chuckling.

“Maybe I also wanted to better myself a little,” you answered truthfully, rolling your eyes after getting it out. He didn’t seem like the scholarly type. Not a bad thing by any means, but you were sure his abilities far accelerated him in other occupations before he ended up here.

“Well whatever the reason, you’ve clearly done good,” he complimented, and you were certainly not complaining. Getting compliments from your friends, from your mutant family, it uplifted you… but getting a compliment from him? It felt different, more weighted. “And whatever you did to save me, that was good too.”

“I didn’t even know it would work,” you huffed, looking down at your hands. You hadn’t touched him since he came in, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were doing so purposely, or if you just hadn’t gotten the opportunity. “I honestly thought I might kill you faster…”

“Then why would you have tried it?” He couldn’t believe you. A smart girl like you, with the power you held? It seemed out of character to make a decision like that.

“Honestly?” you raised your brows, thinking of a sentence that didn’t sound weird, or selfish. “I was scared you were gonna die before I could know you.”

He tilted his head slightly in confusion. “You want to know me?”

“I do,” you nodded with a sheepish smile. Thank God for the darkness in the room, because you’re sure your face is turning red. “I mean, it’s not everyday that I meet someone I can shake hands with, so…”

He laughed a little, reaching out playfully for a handshake. You smiled wide, taking his hand and giving it a nice firm shake. You’ve shaken hands when wearing gloves, but it’s just not the same. You’ve touched others while wearing them, too. But the skin contact you’ve always been deprived of, it’s something that sends chills down your spine, no matter how simple the gesture is. Even just a handshake.

“I’d like you to know me too, but there’s just one problem with that,” he sighs, shaking his head in a bit of something akin to sadness. “I don’t know me.”

You can’t stand to see that look on his face. His hand was still wrapped around yours, now resting on his knee and near your lap. An idea springs to your mind, and though it’s a terrible one, you think about all the good it could produce in the long run.

“What if I could help you remember?” You suggested, grabbing his attention almost immediately. “You’ve said you don’t remember anything past fifteen years ago… that’s when you saved me from Striker.”

“You think you could help me?”

“I can try, I owe it to you.” Your reasoning made him turn the idea over in his head, but he wasn’t sure of how you planned to help him, exactly. “Something must have happened that day to make you forget… we can go back to the base, look for answers, see if anything triggers your memories?”

It was a bold move, but you had to take it. No matter what happened the other night, you still owe him your life, and this could be a way to even the playing field.

“You’d take me there?” he asked sincerely, a bit surprised that you would even offer, considering what he knew of your time in that prison. You shouldn’t want to return at all, but what’s worse is you want to do it for him.

“I would… If you want me to.”

He grinned, his look of bewilderment still laced in. “I would be grateful, if you could.”

“It’s settled then.”

He nodded to you, and you both gave a glance to the door. It was time to say goodnight, though you wanted him to stay and talk till sunrise. You had so many questions, about him, about his life since Striker, and even about his abilities… but it would have to wait till another time.

He got up, and you followed, getting to the door before you heard voices outside of it.

“It’s Ororo,” you sighed, turning to him and huffing. “I don’t know who she’s talking to…”

“I better not let her see me sneaking around this late,” he said, looking back at you with a comical expression. “I have a feeling that she’ll tattle on me.”

“You’re right, she would.” You stood with your ear to the door, hearing that the other voice in the hall was Jean. They were talking about you, and you figured it was not a good time to let the Wolverine go traipsing out of your room. “You know, you don’t have to go… if you don’t want to. You could just stay here tonight.”

His smirk held a bout of confidence before he spoke, “You sure I’m not crowding your space?”

“I’ve got plenty of room,” You nodded to the queen bed you’d stood up from. In all truthfulness, it was a big bed to sleep in alone, and you’d been forced to for over a decade. “You also just happen to be the only person who wouldn’t die if I accidentally kicked you in the middle of the night.”

He laughed, nodding his head. He didn’t want to leave in the first place, he just felt like maybe he’d been imposing. Tough luck on that, because if you had your way, he’d stay longer than just the night.

“With an argument like that, how can I say no?”

“I might not sleep for a while, though… so if you wanna turn in, be my guest,” you sat back on the bed, shoving your walkman with the headphones to your side so he could settle in next to you.

“Couldn’t really sleep already, that's why I came here in the first place.” He started eyeballing the walkman, scooting in closer to where you sat, legs crossed and back against your pillows and headboard. “You got music?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, just a little mixtape I’ve been listening to.”

You’d just rewound the tape earlier, and almost put it over your ears when you found you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it would have settled the noise in your brain… but Logan seemed to do a pretty good job of that, too.

“May I?” He gently reached for the set, and your heart stuttered in beat when you saw the sweet look in his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” You handed it over with a smile, no hesitation, even though this new mixtape was built primarily on the feelings for him you’d been fighting. “It’s mostly just girl stuff…”

He put the headphones on and started listening, and you felt a bit awkward just watching him listen to the music, unsure if he would piece anything together or not.

The first song played was Fields of Gold by Sting… just a soft ballad that made you think of what life might be like if things were different.

By the second song, you pulled the plug of the headphones, letting the music play softly through the speaker instead so you could both hear it. It felt much better when you could listen to the music yourself. Music always calmed you down, made you feel more at ease.

You helped him fast forward through some of the songs he seemed bored during, but he stopped you on a few, nodding his head and smiling as the music filled his ears.

“You like this one?” You asked, watching him start tapping his fingers to the song I Was Made For Lovin’ You by Kiss.

“This is my kinda music, right here,” he laughed, letting loose a little, breaking down his tough exterior just slightly so you could see the softness lurking behind.

The noise from outside your door had long gone, but Logan didn’t seem eager to leave whatsoever… you did after all invite him to stay.

When the song Wicked Game came on, you opted to skip it, and he grabbed the tips of your fingers to pull your hand away and ask why. The intro kept playing, the somber guitar filling the air between you.

“It’s a sad song, kinda haunting,” you explained, but the real reason you were trying to skip it was because you’d rewound this one a bit too much when thinking about him, the lyrics seeming to match up to every time you looked at him the way you were now. “It’s not as fun as the others.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, taking the walkman and holding it so that you couldn’t skip the song yet.

World was on fire, and no one could save me but you

Strange what desire will make foolish people do

You looked up at him and he seemed to really be into the music, but his brow was furrowed, like he was thinking about it in real time.

I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you

You had to look away from him for a moment, your face turning red and your eyes falling to your lap.

And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

No, I don’t wanna fall in love

No, I don’t wanna fall in love… with you

You took a glance back up, seeing his face and the way it seemed to turn almost upset by the lyrics. You almost thought about reaching for the walkman, but his death grip on it looked too strong to break.

“The next one is pretty good,” you smiled, trying to lighten the mood. He broke out of his trance and nodded, handing the device back to you.

The smooth and laid back energy returned to the room, and you could feel the peace of it engulfing you as you absorbed the energy from the air. It fed you, made you stronger, happier.

You couldn’t even help yourself by the time it got to the end of the playlist, the last song making you quietly sing aloud in front of someone you barely know… which was strange considering you wouldn’t even sing in front of your dearest and closest friends.

The song just did that to you… it used to remind you of a love you once lost, but because of the lyrics, you were starting to associate the beautiful melody with another face. The one looking back at you with a small lip tug of a smile.

The song in question? More Than Words by Extreme.

You didn’t look at him when you sang it, because you were already falling too hard, too fast. You needed to slow down… but just thinking about the lyrics…

More than words, is all you have to do to make it real

Touching someone for the first time is more than words can express… sitting side by side with someone without fear of hurting them means more than words could possibly say.

When the song ended you stopped the tape, setting it to rewind and putting it over on your bedside table.

“Not bad… that last one, I’ve heard it a few times somewhere else. It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, I like it better than the others,” you said jokingly, as if he couldn’t already tell by how easily the words came out of your mouth. “Saved the best for last, right?”

“I’d say so,” he wouldn’t look anywhere else but you, and you felt so powerless under his stare. You were folding in record time, and honestly at this point, you’d count it as a miracle if you made it out of this night without ruining it all.

“You tired yet?” you asked, changing the subject and pulling back your sheets.

“I’m getting there…”

His soft and pretty hazel eyes were starting to make you wish you’d not invited him. He was making this difficult. You wanted to know him, and not just physically. There would be time for that, but you had to wait and make sure he was the one. You weren’t willing to let yourself love him to the ends of the earth if you weren’t going to be able to keep him. It would just haunt you for the rest of your long and burdened life.

“Me too, but uh… I’m gonna try and finish my book,” you smiled, reaching for the novel on your bedside table. Fahrenheit 451. “So, just turn in whenever you’re tired.”

He debated asking you about the book, but ultimately decided that he’d bothered you enough for one night. It seemed like something he might research himself, if it was something you like. You obviously have good taste in music, maybe he ought to give reading the same books as you a try.

He’d never admit it, because it wasn’t like him to do such a thing, but he liked being around you. Liked touching you. The energy you gave off was pleasant, and every time your skin connected, he absorbed a little bit of it from you. Something that would kill anyone else, he got to experience first hand.

He smiled and lied down, giving a glance over his shoulder before he settled in. Your bed was warmer than his, more comfortable, too. “G’night, Alice.”

Your grin compared to his was like a young schoolgirl, completely and utterly lovestruck for the boy you met last week.

“Night, Logan.”

Tags: @ayamenimthiriel @levislegislation @reidsworld @melsunshine @clairealeehelsing

#logan howlett fluff #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #logan xmen #logan wolverine #x men wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #hugh jackman #x men

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thatbirdrestaurant · 3 months ago

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ʚ fairy tail headcanons ɞ

ʚ these all range from canon-compliant to pure fanfiction lala land ɞ

ʚ this ended up being so much longer than i planned ɞ

ʚɞ

the b team from the gmg hang out regularly and are all very good friends. mirajane, cana, and juvia have special "making fun of laxus" privileges that not even bickslow has.

laxus is genuinely embarrassed about how he used to talk about erza and she uses it against him very often. "oh, yes, because how can i - a mere woman - possibly accomplish this task myself?" "fine! i'll open the pickle jar!"

cain instinct is strong in the fairy tail guild. everyone is resisting the urge to smack each other, and most of them aren't very good at it. even laxus can be a target, especially after he chilled out. the most surprising display was when levy smacked him square in the head with one of her books, and he just yelled at her, or when cana stared at erza for a few seconds before smacking her across the face.

sex education was, probably, the worst thing to happen to those who grew up in the guild hall. either makarov didn't give enough details or he gave way too many.

lucy and gray are the biggest gossipers in the guild. they know everyone's secrets and while they don't blackmail people, they never hide something from the other. if they're staring at you and whispering, they are talking mad shit or they found out something about you.

juvia and natsu get along alarmingly well. they're not even sure how it works, just that they're so different that it kind of makes them perfect for each other (as friends).

natsu is sting's celebrity crush and he thinks he's doing a great job at hiding it. he's not. everyone knows. rogue knows, lector knows, all of sabertooth knows, all of fairy tail knows, sorcerer weekly knows, natsu knows. no one has the heart to tell him.

juvia doesn't have romantic feelings for lyon but she wants them to be friends so badly. not to get closer to gray, just because she thinks he's really cool and easy to talk to. lyon is so smug about it and gray wants to throttle him for it.

erza and mira's rivalry is alive in the tiniest of ways. they're always having small contests like "i bet i can wash this cup faster than you," or "i bet lucy says hi to me first." there's no hard feelings involved, they just can't help but be a little competitive with each other.

erza was illiterate for a really long time, way longer than she should have been, and makarov felt awful for not realizing it sooner. she was just looking at the reward numbers and going with the flow. on top of that, she has really bad dyslexia, something that somehow went under the radar.

related to the previous headcanon, lucy eventually realizes that the reason natsu has such bad grammar and reading comprehension is because he was tutored by erza, and erza's so bad at writing and understanding big words because she has undiagnosed dyslexia. so takes the time to slowly teach them how to read more complicated things, showing erza ways to read with her dyslexia, and giving them handwriting lessons. the first time erza writes a comprehendible letter is to jellal, and she's absolutely ecstatic about it. natsu is thrilled that he can finally read lucy's book without feeling stupid.

gray teaches wendy a lot about social cues and how to survive in a city as big as magnolia. she grew up very sheltered in a tiny village, so it makes sense that she struggles with "big city living." she's very appreciative and gray is just happy he can be of use.

gray stopped smoking because he heard lucy say she finds smokers unattractive. (gray, in the manga, smoked for a bit, and it's explicitly stated that, at least for the first handful of arcs, he was interested in lucy).

natsu started having romantic feelings for lucy during their fight against kain, but he didn't realize he was in love with her until he watched future lucy die. lucy didn't realize she had feelings for natsu until she realized she was in love with him, which was after the events with the eclipse gate. (the specific moments i'm talking about: kain | future lucy | post-eclipse gate)

between her and gajeel, juvia is the older one. she doesn't give it much thought but gajeel sees her in a big sister role, and has found himself accidentally referring to her as his older sister. which he would rather die than let her find out about.

when asked who she would go after if gray wasn't in the picture, most people expect juvia to say she could never picture a world without gray, but she will look you dead in the eye and, without any hesitation, say, "erza."

gray and loke had something very gay going on before loke went back to the celestial spirit world. the sexual tension between the two of them in this scene is too strong, they've fucked, kissed at least.

when gray realized he liked juvia back, he had a full mental breakdown for several reasons. a fear of intimacy, a fear of losing her like he has every single woman he's ever cared about, and because he just couldn't believe her very weird and very aggressive flirting tactics worked.

in the same vein, evergreen was inconsolable for days when she realized she was in love with elfman. laxus, freed, and bickslow have never been more worried about her mental well-being.

all of crime sorciere have a betting pool on when jellal and erza will get their heads out of their asses. they've had to place new bets several times because they're still dancing around each other. at this point, the betting pool is getting tense, and someone is going to lose so much money.

cobra and jellal kissed once because they were both extremely drunk and extremely sad about their respective crushes. neither of them remember it but the rest of crime sorciere can never forget watching cobra shove his tongue down jellal's throat.

makarov has said "you're like the son i never had" way too many times for it to be an accident.

elfman wants to be a girl dad so bad. he absolutely loves having sisters and he's obsessed with the idea of having a daughter to spoil and dote on.

gray and juvia have a kid before getting married...whoops.

going against the grain and literally what mashima has said, and saying that natsu and lucy have a son before having a daughter. he's a lot like lucy while their daughter is almost exactly like natsu.

yukino is a raging lesbian and is endlessly distressed by how many people think she's in love with sting. her month was ruined when minerva congratulated them on their relationship. completely ignoring the fact that sting is a gay man and is openly down bad for rogue.

rufus and orga have been dating for almost three years and literally no one knows.

lucy cried for three hours when she found out about anna and ichiya.

laxus and freed are in a queer-platonic relationship. laxus is aroace and has no interest in being romantically involved with someone, but he likes the dynamics of dating someone, and freed just likes having someone to spoil (back massages, compliments, all the things freed does in canon).

natsu has ended up in so many situations where he's put in feminine clothing, that he's actually started to kind of like it. he really doesn't mind the idea of wearing a skirt or letting lucy do his makeup. lucy is obsessed with it, and they sometimes do each other's makeup.

romeo is a trans boy and canon is my enemy. macao is extremely supportive and is always introducing romeo as enthusiastically as he can. "this is my son, romeo. isn't he so handsome? just the most handsome boy out there. i'm so proud of my son. he's the best." it's as embarrassing as it is endearing.

gray gets really bad joint pain after using his demon slayer magic, because the demon ice is so cold that it hurts him. thankfully, juvia is always happy to give him massages and crack his back.

natsu had the fattest crush on laxus from the age of thirteen to the very end of the battle of fairy tail arc. everyone just thought he had too much faith in his guild mates, but it was actually because he was so horrendously down bad for laxus that he couldn't accept that he was kind of a psycho.

gray tries so hard to seem cool and nonchalant that he accidentally flirts with basically everyone he interacts with. he thinks he's being cool and mysterious, instead he's making people fall in love with him.

loke tells lucy she's beautiful all the way into her sixties, and he means it every single time.

jude, technically, didn't take layla's maiden name, they just had the most unbelievable coincidence in the world where layla's last name was "heartfilia," while jude's was "heartphilia," so neither of them really saw a point in changing their last names.

juvia and gajeel were not only introduced to the wonders of genuine friendship and family after joining fairy tail, but also the amazing world of weed by cana and bickslow. laxus will never forget walking into his apartment with the thunder legion for the first time in years, and being met with juvia, gajeel, and cana on the couch, passing a blunt, while bickslow was raiding the kitchen.

gajeel and levy elope, only bringing lily and juvia with them as their witnesses. lucy was a little (a lot) insulted by it, but she eventually understood why levy did what she did when her and natsu decided to do the exact same thing, and only bring along their team. basically, elfman and evergreen, and gray and juvia are like the only couples to have a ceremony.

fairy tail has a lot of lawsuits and property damage bills, and freed, levy, and lucy almost had collective aneurysms trying to get through and organize them all. the guild has never spent more money on coffee.

lucy eventually takes advantage of the fact she has a very powerful kick and gets a black belt in taekwondo, a type of martial art that focuses mostly on kicking. her raw leg power combined with knowing what she's doing AND her heels? deadly.

(cw for child abuse on this one, skip if needed) minerva has such a massive appetite because jiemma would starve her both as punishment but also to "make her stronger." her body just never feels full, like the food will be taken away from her again.

sabertooth members calling minerva "m'lady" started as a serious thing to show respect, but now it's a running joke where everyone is trying to be as obnoxious as possible with it.

it's kind of implied that rogue is (at least) sexually attracted to minerva, and the fact larcade's "find out who's a virgin" spell hits him right after seeing minerva being affected by it, makes me think he lost his virginity to her. it was awkward and objectively bad but he's still glad it happened. sting drank an entire bottle of tequila when he found out about it.

getting 1 v. 2-d by natsu was the biggest ego crash sting and rogue have ever, and will ever experience. they will never be able to live it down. it will follow them to their graves. please never talk about how egotistical they used to be, they will cry from embarrassment.

minerva calls everyone's boyfriend their "boy toy" because, and i quote, "i don't respect men."

juvia is the best gift giver you will ever meet. she just has a way of always knowing what's perfect for someone, and it's a mutual agreement to always make her go last for gift giving so everyone else feels better about their gift for at least a few minutes.

natsu is the kind of guy to remember something someone said to him once in passing and randomly bring it up weeks or months later. his brain is a library of miniscule information about the people around him.

gajeel talks trash about levy's romance novels but will also be sneaking peeks over her shoulder and trying not to react to various moments. he is deeply invested in the plot twists and the main characters' romance.

while he's traveling, gildarts will buy cana a gift from every town his visits, which results in him having about a pound of knickknacks, clothes, and alcohol for her when he comes back. she pretends to be embarrassed about it but she secretly loves being spoiled by him.

gildarts and cana go on daddy-daughter dates and she'd rather drink bleach than let other people find out about it. gildarts is just happy to be there.

natsu and cana have had this conversation: "so, are we, like, siblings now?" "excuse me?" "because, like, gildarts is basically my dad, and he's your dad. so..." "we are not siblings, natsu." "okay, didn't know you liked being an only child so much." "go fuck yourself."

gildarts knows lucy is going to be his daughter in law. he doesn't know if it's going to be from her marrying natsu or from her marrying cana.

wakaba would sneak teenage gray cigarettes. erza, mirajane, and makarov almost killed him when they found out about it.

mira is aroace, feeling absolutely no romantic attraction and being sex repulsed, but she is absolutely obsessed with other peoples' love lives. she thrives on it.

lisanna is fairy tail's resident lesbian and is a little in love with every girl she meets.

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stoat-party · 1 year ago

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Big fan of The Charon Situation being just so incurably screwed up. If ever there were a person equipped to have full control over an adult man’s free will, it’s definitely not the Lone Wanderer. Even the most educated, well-meaning, and genuinely righteous LW couldn’t handle the responsibility. She’s a teenager raised in an insular totalitarian ant farm who’s suddenly been thrust into a world with no authorities, no guidance.

Which creates a wonderful dynamic with Charon. If Ahzrukhal is to be believed, he was raised this way - he never had the chance to be an adult, taking risks, shouldering responsibility, gaining independence. His parents probably weren’t in the picture for long. I imagine his lack of agency causes him to be emotionally immature sometimes - how can you learn to solve problems like an adult if all the adults in your life treat you like a weapon or a dog or a houseplant?

This guy has to be so screwed up in every way. According to the game guide, he just doesn’t sleep?? Or Azzy never let him sleep? He has that idiosyncratic formal speech pattern, he worries a lot, and the only personal detail we know about him is that guns make him happy. He also kind of openly hates the player’s guts sometimes (he’s sarcastic when given certain commands, is joyfully mean about the GECK, and basically sentences you to death in the non-canon base game ending). No matter how hard the LW tries, some damaged part of him will always resent her authority. She could be a thousand times kinder, fairer, and more just than all his previous employers combined, but she’s still one of them. He still doesn’t have free will.

That power is illegitimate for a reason. There’s no way not to misuse it eventually, especially for a teenager with endless stress and trauma of her own. You’re fighting and you tell him to shut up so you can have the last word. You get a significant other and he gets left home with the dog some nights. You take a quest path he doesn’t approve of and he has to grit his teeth and go along with it.

It’s not fair, can never be fair, and that’s the perfect dynamic to explore. Because as much as he hates her, he loves her too. She literally saved him from Hell on earth, gave him the opportunity to be a force for good. He’s not dumb, he knows that the problem is the contract, not her. Over the years they’ll mature together and learn how to fix a lot of these problems. There are so many unique challenges to creating a healthy relationship out of… that.

(A lot of writers have the contract get destroyed, especially for 😉 reasons. There’s nothing in the game indicating that can’t happen, and it works fine for their purposes. I just think it’s more fun for it to be a continuous obstacle.)

#i’m not addicted to longposting i can stop whenever i want #fallout #fallout 3 #charon #charon fallout #fallout charon #fallout 3 charon #Charon fallout 3 #fo3 #charon fo3 #dogmeat #the lone wanderer #lone wanderer #fo3 charon #ghouls

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kiwriteswords · 1 month ago

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Tonight, you're on my mind, so you'll never know...

Chapter One Out of Four (Possibly Five!)

Masterlist || Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 8k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-typical themes, sexual themes, hurt/comfort, angst, pining, mutual pining, spoilers for Criminal Minds seasons 1-12, friends to lovers, first-time, loss of virginity, grief, trauma, timeline of 8 year old!Hotch---Post CM!Hotch--please let me know if I am missing anything!

Sypnosis: Years have passed since you and Aaron Hotchner first crossed paths, but the connection you shared has never truly faded. In the wake of personal loss and career demands, your lives have taken different directions, leaving unresolved feelings and unspoken words lingering in the background. As fate pulls you back into each other’s orbit, you must navigate the delicate balance between duty, grief, and the possibility of rekindling something you thought was lost forever. In a world of danger, distance, and emotional walls, will you and Aaron finally confront the past—or let it slip away once more?

Aaron Hotchner was eight years old when he first met you. You were the new kid in Mrs. Parker’s third-grade class, standing nervously at the front of the room with your backpack clutched tight to your shoulders. From his desk in the middle of the room, Aaron gave you a small, encouraging smile, and something in your anxious expression softened.

As the weeks went by, Aaron made it his mission to make sure you felt welcomed. He was always the one to offer a smile, a joke, or a helping hand when you needed it. He'd pass you notes during math class, full of silly drawings or clever ways to remember formulas, making you laugh when you felt like you didn’t belong. You and Aaron became inseparable, spending recess huddled together, planning your next science project, or making up games on the playground.

When the science fair rolled around, there was no question who your partner would be. You and Aaron stayed up late at each other’s houses, surrounded by cardboard volcanoes and school supplies, arguing playfully over who got to make the 'lava' erupt. Those late nights were filled with whispered secrets and quiet giggles that only the two of you understood.

But just as life seemed to settle into a pattern, everything changed. Aaron’s parents decided he needed a different kind of education—a stricter environment to hone his potential. He was being sent to boarding school, far away from your small town and the life you both knew. The news hit like a punch to the gut, the kind that left you breathless and aching.

On his last day of school, you both sat on the swings, silent, the words you wanted to say trapped in your throat. Aaron finally turned to you, a sad smile on his face, and handed you a small note—his handwriting neat and careful as always. You opened it to see the words, "I’ll come back someday. Don’t forget me."

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "I won’t," you promised, squeezing his hand one last time before he let go. You watched him walk away, carrying that promise with him.

Time passed, and life carried you both in different directions. Aaron went off to boarding school and then to college while you buried yourself in your studies, eventually finding your passion for medicine.

Aaron hadn’t crossed your mind in years—not in the way he used to, back when every recess felt like a lifetime you spent together. Time had a way of making memories feel softer like they belonged to someone else.

You heard bits and pieces about Aaron over the years, mainly through the grapevine. You knew he was still with Haley Brooks, the sweet girl who lived a block away from where he used to live. It seemed inevitable that they would end up together; she was the familiar face, the constant in his life when everything else kept changing.

It was a complete surprise when you walked into the library on your first day at college and saw him. Aaron Hotchner, sitting at a table with law books piled high, his face buried in a notebook, scribbling furiously.

He looked different—older, more serious—but when he glanced up and saw you, his entire expression softened in that way it always had when he looked at you.

“Aaron?” you called out, tentative, like you weren’t sure if he would remember you.

His eyes went wide, and then his lips curved into that same slow smile you remembered from so many years ago. "I can’t believe it’s you," he said, standing up, his voice tinged with both disbelief and a quiet joy.

You two fell into step as though no time had passed, and soon, one cup of coffee turned into hours of catching up, late-night study sessions, and long walks across campus. You'd spend those evenings beneath the soft glow of street lamps, talking about everything and nothing, like you were making up for all the years you'd lost.

One night, during a quiet moment on a bench outside the library, Aaron turned to you, his eyes filled with a kind of wonder that made your heart skip a beat.

“You know, I never thought I’d see you again,” he said softly, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. “I thought that part of my life was over, and then you just… walked back in.”

You gave him a small, shy smile, feeling the warmth of his gaze settle over you.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again either,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “But I’m glad I did. It feels like fate, almost.”

He reached for your hand, hesitating for just a second before his fingers laced through yours.

“I don’t think I realized how much I missed this—how much I missed you,” he admitted, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “You always had this way of making everything feel... right. Even when everything else is falling apart.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, feeling like you were standing on the edge of something that could change everything. “You know,” you said, your eyes flicking up to meet his, “you’re different with me, Aaron. Softer, somehow. Like you’re letting me see the side of you that no one else gets to see.”

He smiled at that, a slow, tender smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “That’s because, with you, I don’t have to pretend,” he said quietly. “With you, I can just be... me.”

You knew why that was. You knew about his family, the chaos he rarely spoke of but never seemed to escape. His father’s harsh words, the impossible expectations, and the way Aaron had been forced to grow up too fast. He’d always been the parentified child—the one who had to hold it all together when everything around him was crumbling.

With you, he didn’t have to be that. He didn’t have to be the protector, the caretaker, the one who was always in control. With you, he could just breathe.

Slowly, those study sessions turned into something more. There were late-night conversations that turned into soft laughter, the kind that echoed in the quiet hallways of the library when everyone else had gone home.

Aaron started to lean closer, his arm brushing against yours, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on your lips. And then, one night, he finally closed the distance.

It was a gentle kiss, innocent and tentative, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment you’d both created. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you again,” he whispered, his voice filled with that same vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. “I just... didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

You laughed softly, your fingers still tangled in his. “You’re definitely allowed to,” you said, your voice cracking slightly with emotion. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that, too.”

Aaron looked at you then with an expression that you’d never seen on him before—like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face, like he couldn’t believe you were real. He cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb gently stroking your skin. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said softly. “You make everything feel a little less... heavy.”

It was a warm evening, the kind where the world felt impossibly still, as if time itself had slowed just for the two of you. Aaron had walked you back to your dorm, his hand loosely clasped around yours. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet understanding that neither of you had to rush—that this moment was yours, untouched by the outside world.

He kissed you again, the same gentle, tentative way he had the first time, his lips brushing against yours like a secret only you two were allowed to share. But tonight was different. There was an unspoken sense that something more was waiting—something both of you wanted, but neither of you was certain how to name.

In the dim light of your room, surrounded by the stillness of night, Aaron’s hands found yours. He held them carefully, as if they were made of something delicate. There was a nervousness in the air, but it was the kind that comes when something sacred is about to be shared—when the weight of the moment is felt by both people, heavy with meaning and laced with the vulnerability of first love.

You were both so young, still discovering the world and yourselves, yet in that moment, everything felt beautifully simple. He kissed you again, this time with more confidence but no less care. His touch was light, and reverent, as though he wanted to be sure every movement was one you welcomed.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, your heart racing beneath your skin. There was no shame in the confession, just honesty, the kind you knew you could share with him because Aaron made you feel safe, like there was nothing you couldn’t say.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand.

“Neither have I,” he admitted, his voice low, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t heard from him before. His eyes, normally so guarded, were open—vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache with affection.

He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, and this time, it felt like you were crossing a threshold together, one you both understood was important. There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet wonder of the moment. His hands traced the outline of your skin with a gentle reverence, as if he was trying to memorize every curve, every inch, not for possession, but for the deep respect he held for you.

When the time came, it wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It felt natural, like an unspoken promise made long before this night. Aaron moved with the same care he’d shown you in every other moment—thoughtful, kind, attuned to you in a way that made you feel like he was giving you all of him, not just physically, but in every sense.

There was no awkwardness, no fear—just warmth and quiet intimacy. Every touch, every soft sigh between you felt like a conversation, like a love letter written in the language of gentle movements and shared breath. It was the kind of first time you always hoped it would be—filled with tenderness and respect, with Aaron looking at you as if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to share this moment with you.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you close, your bodies tangled together, his forehead resting against yours, his breath soft against your skin. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the kind of peace that comes from knowing you’d just shared something sacred.

“I’m glad it was you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with a quiet certainty that made your heart swell.

You smiled, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Me too,” you replied, and at that moment, you knew—no matter where life took you, this night would always be something you carried with you. Not because it was perfect, but because it was real.

But even in those moments, when it felt like it was just the two of you against the world, you could see the shadows that lingered in his eyes.

Traces of Haley, the girl who had once been his entire world, the love he wasn’t sure he could ever let go of. He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well. You saw the flicker of doubt, the unresolved feelings that haunted him.

One evening, as you both sat on the steps of the library, your fingers still intertwined, you knew you couldn’t ignore the truth any longer. You turned to him, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Aaron,” you said gently, your voice tinged with a sadness you couldn’t quite hide, “I need to know that you’re sure about this—about us.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at you, confusion and fear flickering across his face.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

You forced a smile, trying to be brave even as your heart felt like it was breaking. “I know you’re here,” you said, squeezing his hand. “But I also know that part of you is still with her—with Haley. And I don’t think I can keep doing this if you’re not completely sure.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you gently placed a finger against his lips, stopping him.

“You deserve clarity, Aaron,” you said softly. “And I deserve someone who’s all in—someone who isn’t torn between two loves.”

His eyes filled with something that looked like pain, like he knew you were right but didn’t want to admit it. He reached up to hold your face in his hands, his touch trembling slightly.

He sat silently for a moment, his fingers brushing over yours in a quiet, subtle gesture. There was no outpouring of emotion—only the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between you. His gaze dropped to the ground, jaw tightening slightly as if he were battling something deep inside.

“I’m not good at this,” he said quietly, voice low and measured. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, steady but guarded, the calmness in his tone hiding the storm within. “I never have been.”

You held your breath, waiting. He didn’t pull you closer, didn’t let his voice betray the depth of whatever he was feeling. Instead, he allowed a small, rare vulnerability to slip through, in the only way Aaron Hotchner ever would.

“I made choices,” he continued, his voice carrying a quiet resignation. “And I’ll always stand by them.”

There was a pause, heavy with the years of unspoken history. His eyes softened, but his words were deliberate, cautious, as though each one had been carefully chosen before he spoke.

“But there are moments,” he admitted, barely above a whisper, “when I think about the path I didn’t take.”

The confession was understated—so much so that you almost missed it. But the weight of it was unmistakable. He didn’t need to elaborate. In his world, actions and silence often spoke louder than words.

You felt the familiar ache settle in your chest, knowing how difficult it was for him to even hint at such a thing. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness, nor was he asking for anything at all. This was Aaron’s way of telling you the truth, as much as he ever could, without unraveling the layers of control he’d spent a lifetime building.

“I’m not losing you,” you said softly, echoing his restraint. “I just need you to be sure.”

Hotch gave the smallest nod, his fingers brushing yours one last time before he let his hand fall away. He didn’t argue, didn’t try to convince you otherwise. It wasn’t in his nature to ask for what he thought he couldn’t have.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly, the walls slowly coming back up. And then, without another word, he stood, leaving behind only the lingering sense of something left unsaid.

Time flew by, but it also remained very still.

Aaron sat at his dorm desk, the bright glow of the bulky computer monitor reflected back at him. His finger hovered over the “send” button on an email he had drafted to you—an apology, a confession, something to explain why he had been distant these past few weeks. But the words felt hollow, weighed down by a decision he wasn’t even sure he had made yet.

The memory of late nights with you, laughing and sharing secrets, tugged at his mind, but it was Haley’s voice he heard on the phone, her quiet concern as she asked when he’d be home for the weekend.

He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. The truth was, he didn’t know how to do this—how to love two people at once, how to give pieces of himself when all he ever knew was how to give everything.

With you, things were easy, and natural, but Haley was his anchor. She had been with him through every transition, every change, and she made sense in a way that was rooted in the stability he so desperately needed. She was safe, familiar. And in the midst of law school deadlines and the ever-present pressure of his father’s expectations, safety was all he could cling to.

In the end, it wasn’t just about Haley. It was about the life he was building—one with clear lines and fewer unknowns.

The future with her was already mapped out, and his career was beginning to demand more of him. With each step he took toward becoming the man everyone expected him to be, the further you seemed to slip away, like a path he couldn’t walk anymore.

So, he stayed with Haley, not because the choice was easy, but because it was necessary.

As the years passed, you poured yourself into your medical career, using the long hours and the intensity of trauma surgery to distract from the parts of your life that felt unfinished. The grueling schedule left little time for anything else, and that was just the way you preferred it.

Each day in the hospital was a whirlwind of emergencies—broken bones, life-threatening injuries, and critical surgeries that demanded your full attention.

The moments of quiet reflection, where Aaron’s face would drift into your thoughts, were few and fleeting, quickly swallowed by the next crisis.

Your dedication earned you respect among your colleagues, promotions you hadn’t even sought, but with every success, there was a growing realization that you had built this life to keep yourself too busy to remember the one you left behind.

There was a fire lit under you, one that the long hours and, at-times, gruesome themes of your day seemed to fuel. There was an intensity in your line of work, one that you knew if Aaron was still a part of your life, would understand and want to soak up every aspect of each detail.

You would occasionally bump into each other over the years—at alumni events, around town, or at the rare social gathering you both happened to attend. The encounters were always polite, your smiles a little too tight, the conversations clipped and guarded.

You both kept it surface-level, never daring to dig deeper into what you truly wanted to say. You’d ask how each other’s studies were going and exchange updates about life, but never once did you talk about what had happened between you, about the unspoken feelings that still seemed to linger in the air. Haley often would be by his side, you could tell she was supportive of his dreams and choices.

The hardest moment was one evening at a crowded bar, the air buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. You were there with friends, trying to unwind after a long week, when you saw Aaron walk in.

For a split second, your heart leapt at the sight of him—until you noticed Haley by his side, her arm looped casually through his, her smile bright and untroubled. The sight of them together was like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the choice you’d made to let him go.

What ached even more was the glint of matching gold bands on each of their ring fingers. It felt… final. The kind of final that left no room for second chances or what-ifs. You couldn’t help but think about the moments you’d shared with Aaron—the late-night conversations, the way he used to look at you like you were his safe harbor in the storm of his messy life. And now, here he was, seemingly settled, with someone else wearing the title you’d never been brave enough to claim.

Before you could make a quiet escape, they spotted you. Aaron’s eyes met yours across the room, widening slightly in surprise, and then he offered you that familiar smile—a smile that was polite and practiced but carried a hint of something you couldn’t quite read. Regret, maybe. Or a sadness that neither of you would ever speak aloud.

“Y/N, it’s so great to see you!” Haley said warmly, her voice genuine and open. She didn’t know, of course—didn’t know about the brief, intense history you’d shared with Aaron, didn’t know how much seeing them together was breaking your heart all over again.

You exchanged pleasantries, smiling and nodding at the right moments, trying to keep your composure even as your insides twisted into knots. Aaron’s smile was there, polite and distant, but in his eyes, you saw something different—a flicker of the past, a glimpse of the man who had once held your hand like he was afraid to let go. He looked like he wanted to say something, like there were words caught on the edge of his tongue that he couldn’t let fall in front of Haley.

Haley, ever the gracious host of the moment, excused herself to grab their drinks from the bar, leaving you alone with Aaron for a brief, excruciating moment. The noise of the bar seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in this small, fragile bubble of shared history.

Aaron’s gaze held yours for a second longer than it should have, his expression softening as if he were letting his guard down, if only for a heartbeat. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he hesitated, his jaw tensing slightly. It was as if every word he wanted to say had gotten tangled in the space between his heart and his voice.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper. There was a distance in his tone, but also a trace of something he couldn’t quite hide—something raw, something aching. “You look… happy.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“You too, Aaron,” you said, your voice faltering just a little. “You and Haley… you look perfect together.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to protest, to say something real, something that wasn’t covered in layers of politeness. But instead, he just stood there, looking at you with eyes that seemed to carry the weight of everything left unspoken.

Haley returned with their drinks, her presence snapping Aaron back to the moment. He turned to her, his expression shifting instantly to something softer, more familiar—a version of himself that you hadn’t seen in a long time. As they walked away, laughing at something she said, you felt the sharp pang of regret settle deep in your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder—did you make a mistake all those years ago? Letting him go when you still had so much left to say?

Later that evening, in the quiet of their home, Haley turned to Aaron as they got ready for bed. Her smile from earlier had faded slightly, replaced by a hint of uncertainty that she tried to mask with a casual tone.

"She’s really beautiful, you know," Haley said, her voice light but carrying an edge that Aaron didn’t miss. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze fixed on him as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Aaron paused, his movements slowing as he met Haley’s eyes. “Who?” he asked, though he knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Y/N,” Haley said, her voice a touch sharper now. “You two seemed close tonight. It was... almost like I was interrupting something.”

He let out a small sigh, more to himself than to her, and sat down next to her, his hands resting on his knees. "Haley," he started gently, “it’s not like that anymore. We’re just old friends.”

Haley turned to face him, her expression a mix of vulnerability and something else—fear, maybe, or insecurity.

“Old friends?” she repeated, her voice barely masking the doubt. “Aaron, the way she looked at you—it didn’t seem like just ‘old friends.’ And I know you, Aaron. I know when you’re holding back.”

Aaron didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands, the silence between them heavy and complicated. He’d thought about this moment before wondered what it would be like to confront these feelings.

“We had a past,” he admitted quietly, finally looking back at Haley. “She was important to me, and part of me never really let that go. But I chose you, Haley. I always chose you.”

Haley’s eyes softened for a moment, but there was still a flicker of pain in them, a hint of doubt that wouldn’t quite fade. “I always felt like I was competing with her, even when she wasn’t there,” Haley said, her voice quieter, more vulnerable. “Like you were with me because it was easy and safe, but with her... with her, it would’ve been something else.”

Aaron didn’t deny it; he couldn’t. He reached out and took her hand, holding it firmly.

“You were never second best to me, Haley,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “But back then, I wished—part of me wished she’d fought harder. I might have chosen differently if she’d asked me to. If she’d really asked me to stay,” Aaron paused, “But it never would have worked…it would have been a rash--impractical choice.”

Haley looked at him, a mixture of relief and hurt crossing her features, her grip tightening on his hand, like she was afraid to let go.

And in that moment, Aaron knew that while he had chosen Haley, a part of him would always be haunted by the path he didn’t take, the one where you had asked him to choose you. And he would always wonder if you were the love that got away.

Years later, you found yourself deep into your medical internship, pulling grueling shifts at the hospital that left you bone-tired but determined.

The last thing you expected was to cross paths with Aaron Hotchner again, especially on a day as monumental as the birth of his child.

You were on your way to check on another patient when you noticed a familiar figure pacing outside one of the maternity rooms. It was Aaron, but not as you remembered him.

He looked different—older, more tired, but also lit up from within like he was holding the entire universe in his hands. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his tie was loosened around his neck, but there was a brightness in his eyes that you hadn't seen in years.

He stopped short when he saw you, his face a mix of exhaustion, surprise, and something softer—like he was relieved to see a familiar face in the chaos of the moment.

"Y/N?" he said, almost as if he couldn’t believe you were standing there.

“Aaron,” you said, offering him a gentle smile.

The last time you’d seen him was under such different circumstances, and now here he was, a thousand emotions flickering across his face.

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours as if he needed to anchor himself to something real.

“Haley just had the baby,” he said, his voice filled with awe and a hint of disbelief, as though he was still trying to wrap his mind around it. "It's a boy. His name's Jack."

Your heart softened at the mention of Jack, imagining Aaron as a father, this new role that seemed to suit him so perfectly. You knew how much he’d always wanted a family, how much he valued loyalty and protection, and now he had both those things wrapped up in this tiny new life.

A genuine smile spread across your face despite the tightness in your chest. “Congratulations, Aaron,” you said, your voice warm and sincere. “How’s Haley? How’s Jack?”

“They’re both perfect,” he said, but even as he said the words, you could see the turmoil beneath the surface—the way his mind was racing, already thinking of everything he needed to do to be the best husband and father he could be. He was still Aaron, always planning ahead, always trying to protect those he loved.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him in a gentle hug. For a split second, you worried he might pull away, but instead, he let out a shaky breath and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly.

His grip was firm, like he needed this moment of connection as much as you did, like he was drawing strength from the familiarity of your embrace.

“You’re going to be a great dad, Aaron,” you whispered softly against his shoulder. “Jack’s so lucky to have you.”

He held you for a moment longer, and you felt the way his shoulders relaxed, just a bit, as if the weight of the world on them had lightened for a second.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go immediately. His hands lingered on your arms, his eyes locked onto yours, and there was something in his gaze that made your breath catch—a mix of gratitude, vulnerability, and something unspoken that neither of you dared to voice.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He looked at you like he was memorizing the moment, like he didn’t want to forget the way it felt to have you close again.

You gave him a small, sad smile as he finally let his hands drop, the connection between you two still lingering in the air. For a moment, it felt like no time had passed, like you were the only two people in the world standing in that hospital corridor.

“I need to get back to them,” he said, his tone shifting instantly to the steady, composed one you were so familiar with. “Haley and Jack are waiting.”

The moment was gone, and his focus had returned to where it always was—his family. Even as you offered him a small smile, knowing that this was the man he had become, you could see that his world revolved around something far more important than any lingering emotions between you two.

He gave you a nod, something unspoken passing between you—an acknowledgment of the past, but nothing that could shift the priorities of the present. Without another word, he turned and left, his strides purposeful as he made his way back to his family, to the life he had chosen to protect above all else.

As you watched him walk away, you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he slipped back into his role—the one that mattered most. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t a man to be distracted, not when it came to the people who depended on him the most.

As you stood in that empty corridor, you tried to tell yourself that letting him go all those years ago had been the right choice—that he was exactly where he needed to be, with the family he’d always dreamed of. But even as you reminded yourself of that, you couldn’t shake the feeling of bittersweet longing, the ache of knowing that sometimes, the right choices still hurt the most.

A few days later, after yet another long shift at the hospital, you found yourself alone in the on-call room, your mind still buzzing with the image of Aaron holding his newborn son. The way he looked at you, the way his touch lingered—it all played on a loop in your head, refusing to let you rest.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you powered on your computer and began typing. You weren’t sure what you hoped to accomplish by reaching out to him, but the words poured out of you as if they’d been waiting all this time.

To: [email protected] Subject: It Was Good to See You

Hi Aaron,

I know it's been a while since we last spoke, but seeing you at the hospital the other day brought back a lot of memories. I just wanted to say that I'm so happy for you and Haley. Jack is lucky to have you as his dad—I always knew you’d be incredible at that.

I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say here, or why I’m even writing this, to be honest. Maybe it’s just that seeing you again reminded me of a time when things were simpler, or maybe I just wanted to reach out because I didn’t get the chance to say everything I wanted to that day.

I know our lives took us in different directions, and I’m glad you’ve found so much joy with your family. But I guess a part of me will always wonder what might have been if things had turned out differently.

Anyway, I hope you’re doing well, and that fatherhood is everything you hoped it would be. I won’t keep you, I just—well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m really glad we crossed paths again, even for a moment.

Take care, Aaron.

Best, Y/N

You hesitated for a long moment, staring at the words you’d typed, debating whether to hit send. There was a part of you that was terrified of what this email might mean—how it might complicate things, reopen old wounds that had never fully healed. But there was another part of you, the part that had seen that familiar look in Aaron's eyes at the hospital, that knew you couldn’t keep silent any longer.

With a deep breath and a leap of faith, you clicked "send" before you could second-guess yourself. As the email disappeared from your screen, you felt a strange mix of relief and vulnerability wash over you, like you’d just opened a door you weren’t sure you were ready to walk through.

You didn’t know how Aaron would react when he saw your name in his inbox, or if he’d even reply at all. But you knew that at that moment, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to reach out, even if it was just to say that you hadn’t forgotten, that you never really let go.

What you didn’t know was that when Aaron read your message later that night, sitting alone in his dimly lit office, the weight of your words hit him harder than he expected. He read each line with a mix of longing and regret, feeling the past rush back to him in a way that made his chest tighten.

He wanted to respond, to tell you that seeing you again had stirred up all the emotions he’d buried for the sake of moving forward. But he hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, because he wasn’t sure he could say what he really felt—not when his life was still so complicated, still so tied to the promises he’d made to Haley and Jack.

There was a part of him that completely shamed himself for even wanting to keep the door open with you. It was not if he was still waiting by the open entryway, but something was comforting knowing it was ajar.

But he knew one thing for certain: seeing you at the hospital that day had made him realize that some doors never really close. And no matter how far life pulled you both apart, there was always a part of him that would find its way back to you.

And so he saved your email, tucked it away in the corner of his heart where he kept all the things he wasn’t ready to face. But he kept it, just like he kept that old photo of you two on his bookshelf at the BAU—a reminder of the love that never really went away.

And though he didn’t reply, he knew, deep down, that one day he would. He had to.

Because this time, he didn’t want to let you go.

Time passed and you’d finally established yourself as a respected doctor, life had taken you far from the familiar places where you and Aaron once crossed paths.

You were working at a renowned hospital across the country, building your career in a place far from the echoes of your shared past. You'd settled into this new life, convincing yourself that the memories of Aaron Hotchner were just that—memories locked away in a chapter you’d closed long ago.

But late at night, when the world was quiet, and you found yourself alone with a few too many glasses of wine, the memories would come rushing back.

You’d think about Aaron—about the way he used to smile at you, the warmth of his touch, the late-night conversations that felt like they could change everything. You’d wonder where he was and what he was doing if he ever thought of you the way you still thought of him--why he never answered your email.

In those moments, you couldn’t help but feel like the universe had let something slip through your fingers, like you’d lost a piece of yourself you could never entirely replace.

It had only been a few months since his divorce was finalized, but Aaron Hotchner’s mind wasn’t just on the past he’d left behind with Haley. It was on you—the email you’d sent, the memories that kept resurfacing late at night when the world went quiet.

One evening, after hours at the BAU, Hotch found himself in Garcia’s tech-filled lair. She looked up, surprised to see him, especially at that hour.

“Sir?” she asked, her cheerful tone softening as she picked up on his serious demeanor.

He hesitated, fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her desk. “Garcia... could you look someone up for me?”

Garcia blinked, her curiosity piqued. “Of course. Just name the person.”

"Y/N L/N," he said quietly, the name falling softly from his lips. “We went to college together. I’m just... curious where she is now.”

Garcia’s hands hovered over the keyboard, her usual enthusiasm tempered by the weight of his request. She could tell from his tone that this wasn’t a casual inquiry. “Got it, sir,” she said, quickly typing the name into her system. “What do you want to know?”

“Just... how she’s doing.” His voice was quieter than usual, laced with an undercurrent that hinted at more than mere curiosity.

A few moments passed as Garcia sifted through information, her screens flashing with data. After a beat, she spoke, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “Looks like she’s doing really well, actually. She’s a doctor now. Trauma surgeon. She’s worked at some big hospitals.”

Hotch’s eyes flickered, something tightening in his chest. You were no longer close by--off across the country, living a completely separate life. One he was fully realizing he knew nothing about.

Garcia continued, sensing the weight of her words. “No social networking accounts, but a few mentions in medical journals and hospital reports. Seems like she’s been doing some important work. Looks like she’s running the show over there.”

Hotch nodded, trying to process the flood of information. A part of him felt a strange sense of pride at how far you’d come, but there was also a quiet ache—a reminder of how much time had passed, how much you’d both changed.

Garcia glanced up, watching him closely. “I could dig deeper if you want,” she offered gently, unsure if she should ask more.

“No,” Hotch said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s enough. Thank you, Garcia.”

As he turned to leave, Garcia watched him, biting back the questions swirling in her mind. She’d never seen Hotch so affected by a simple request. Whatever history the two of you shared, it was clear it still lingered in the quiet corners of his life.

“Sir,” she called after him, her voice softer than usual. “If you ever need to talk about it... you know where to find me.”

Hotch gave her a small nod, acknowledging her kindness but not yet ready to let his guard down. “Thanks, Garcia.”

As he walked away, he couldn’t shake the thoughts of you from his mind. You were close—closer than he’d ever imagined—and yet, the years between you felt like a chasm he wasn’t sure how to cross.

It was a cold, rainy afternoon when he walked into your life again. You were deep into your rounds when you saw him standing at the end of the hall—tall, composed, his FBI badge clipped to his belt and his expression sharp with focus.

He looked different now—older, more world-weary, with a gravity about him that spoke of everything he’d seen, everything he’d endured. He’d been through a divorce; you knew that much. You'd heard whispers about it through mutual acquaintances, the news traveling back to you like a ghost from the past.

He was there to interview one of your patients, a victim in a high-stakes investigation, the kind of case that left a wake of devastation.

You watched as he spoke to his team, his words calm and precise, every movement controlled. But then his gaze shifted, and when his eyes met yours, something in his expression softened.

For a moment, it was like you were back in college again—two people who once knew every secret of each other’s hearts.

“Y/N,” he said, the sound of your name on his lips pulling you out of the haze of memory. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, relief, and a warmth that chased away the storm clouds that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Aaron,” you replied, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “What brings you to this side of the country?”

He let out a small, almost rueful laugh, a sound you hadn’t heard in years. “Work, as always,” he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Seems like it never stops.”

You nodded, searching his face for traces of the man you used to know. “You look... different,” you said softly. “Older. Tired, maybe. But it suits you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “That’s not exactly a compliment, but I’ll take it,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with the faintest hint of mischief. Then, more seriously, he added, “You, on the other hand, look exactly the same. Like time hasn't touched you at all.”

A small laugh escaped your lips, and for a second, the years seemed to fall away.

“You always were a terrible liar,” you said, shaking your head slightly, but there was a softness in your voice that hinted at something more—something neither of you was quite ready to name.

There was a moment of silence between you, the kind that was heavy with words left unsaid. He looked like he wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between the person he was now and the person he used to be when he was with you. But then, just like always, duty called, and he had to turn back to the demands of the case.

When the investigation finally wrapped up, you found yourself alone in the break room, the hum of the vending machine the only sound in the otherwise quiet space. You were reaching for a cup of coffee when you saw it—Aaron’s business card tucked carefully under your mug.

His number was scribbled on the back in neat handwriting, with a simple note: Call me sometime if you want to catch up. –Aaron

You stared at the card for a long time, tracing the letters of his name with your fingertips, the feel of the paper grounding you in a reality you hadn’t quite expected. Your mind was a whirl of memories—of late-night study sessions, of the way his hand felt when it held yours, of every stolen glance and every smile that hinted at something just out of reach.

You felt a pang in your chest, a longing you’d tried to bury long ago but was now resurfacing with a vengeance. You knew that if you called him, it wouldn’t just be about catching up. It would be about opening doors that you thought you’d closed for good. It would be about facing the fact that, even after all these years and all the distance between you, some part of you had never really let him go.

As you slipped the card into your pocket, you felt a mix of hope and fear, like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that if you jumped, there’d be no going back. You looked down at the number, knowing that one call could change everything, that this could be the start of something or the end of whatever you’d been holding onto all these years.

Before you could overthink it, the door to the break room opened, and Aaron walked in, his eyes locking onto yours like he was searching for something—some kind of answer.

“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” he said quietly, his voice low and intimate in the small space. He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving your face. “I meant it, you know. About calling me.”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. “You think about the past often?” you asked, your voice gentle but with an edge of vulnerability you couldn’t quite hide.

He looked at you, the kind of look that seemed to strip away all the years, all the distance between you. “More than I probably should,” he admitted, his voice a little rough around the edges. “I think about you more than I should.” His words were simple, but the intensity behind them was anything but.

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse quickening at the confession. The yearning in his eyes was unmistakable, a mirror of your own feelings that you’d been too afraid to voice. And in that moment, you both knew that this wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning of something that had always been waiting for the right moment to come to life.

It was now, when the world was so chatoic for Aaron--Haley and Jack in protective custody and a killer out there tormenting his every move, he could use an anchor like you. He meant every word he said. He wanted you to call. He couldn’t share this information with you, but he hoped this card was the olive branch…the white flag waving for where he couldn’t place words.

Before he turned to leave, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Take care, Y/N,” he said softly, and the way he said it felt like a promise, like he was telling you that this wasn’t goodbye, not really.

You watched him walk away, and this time, you felt different. This time, you knew you held his number in your pocket, the promise of a future that might finally align with the pieces of your past.

Tag List:

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@estragos

@todorokishoe24

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@khxna

@rousethemouse

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #kiwriteswords #tonightyoureonmymind

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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

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Bouquet of Violets (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You are happy in your marriage, even if your husband can be quite hellish. It all starts to go wrong when a secret admirer shows up.

Warnings: Angst! Fluff! All the feelings! And yeah, mature language and topics. Canon character death (Not Aemond)

A/N: Hopelessly romantic (delusional) reader! meets Aemond. Based on a song I grew up listening. The girls that get it, get it.

Aemond, unlike you, remembers the first time the two of you met. You wore your hair down, back then. It cascaded down your back in the ways girl's hair often did before they flowered, unstyled and wild.

You must have been nine, or ten years old. He was twelve and having a temper tantrum, hiding in the corners near the throne room. Your father was in an audience with King Viserys, while you and your mother explored the Red Keep. Aemond had never found out what the meeting was about, nor did he care.

Your mother was dressed in brightly colored robes, matching your father’s. You were still dressed in the frocks of childhood. Your small, bony shoulder, had hit him right on the ribs as your mother walked you down the hallway, and Aemond had been ready to give you the tongue lashing of your life. Yet, something had halted him.

When you had bumped into him, you had raised your gaze, to meet his. Back then, he didn’t wear the eye patch, the scar tissue too raised to do so. Instead of flinching back at the gruesome sight of the marred flesh, as most people did, you had offered him a kind smile.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.” Your sweet smile lit up your whole face. You were not the prettiest girl he had ever seen, all awkward limbs and missing a tooth. But you were the kindest. As you fell back into step with your mother, clutching your doll, Aemond could not help but be charmed by you.

So many years have passed that Aemond does not recall what your mother and you were talking about. What he does recall are another two things: First, that you were sheltered. You referred to a pet of some sorts as your friend. Second, you were clearly hung up on the notion of marriage.

Later, he would realize that The Stranger had not touched your family yet. While you might have been familiar with the notion of death, as many children were, but had not fully grasped the troubles of mortality. That was why you were concerned over the thought of what would happen to your pet when you married.

Your mother replied something along the lines of them going with you, but the doubt was clear in her tone. She was uncertain about the prolonged longevity of your childhood companion.

Sometimes Aemond thinks of how much you must have wept when they passed. The idea of you being so distraught over something you loved makes his heart ache in a weird way.

Darkly, he thinks of how you will react once he is dead. He knows his chance of surviving this are low, especially now. Will he merit as many tears as your pet did?

The words your mother last spoke before the two of you disappeared down the hallway were forever etched in his memory.

“The man who loves you will respect everything you love and hold dear. Remember that.”

You came to him with no pet. But he would have taken in an entire farm if you had.

The next time the two of you had crossed paths, Aemond had liked you even more. You were beautiful. Having long left behind the styles of childhood, your hair was worn up as a proper lady. It made it easier to admire your eyes, magnetizing and intelligent.

You were fond of reading and writing. When he saw you again, your nose was buried into a book. It was not philosophy, or history, or any useful subject, really. You read love stories, fairy stories and all sorts of things. Literature and poetry and children’s tales all rolled into one.

It was your mother, who encouraged that passion of yours. Despite being married to a man who was much older than her, and less educated, she had found happiness in him. She looked at the world in a rather unique way. One you had inherited.

You had been taught to read at an early age. According to your mother, education was the greatest equalizer between men and women, even if she didn’t voice it around your father. He didn’t know his letters very well, and so, had little clue about what books you choose to bury your nose in. If he had known, he would have disapproved.

Most men would have, truly. No one wanted young maidens to get unrealistic ideas about how marriage was supposed to go. Yet, when Aemond himself had the chance to put a stop to it, he found himself unable to.

If Aemond was to be honest with himself, he would have said he enjoyed it. The way your face would get all dreamy, your sighs so sweet, as you progressed on your reading and imagined a love like the ones in your books. Perhaps it had been the reason, in some misguided attempt to appeal to that side of you, he started doing this.

Your second meeting, which you thought had been the first, had not been due to chance. When Aemond was told it was time to marry, the choice came to your family or the Baratheons. He had never been one to protest his duties, no matter how opposed he was to it. But on this, he put forth his own selfish conditions. Aemond would marry you and no one else.

His mother had had to insist to your parents, unwilling to give up their precious daughter in times of political unrest. It was no secret to anybody that upon the death of King Viserys, things could turn ugly. It made your family wary of marrying you to Aemond.

Never before had he cursed his parentage so much. By then, Aemond had not seen you in years, but he knew you were the only choice for him. Kind and unafraid at ten, you could have only grown into a wonder.

And you did. The more he gazed at you, during that second encounter, the more he discovered. Unfortunately, Aemond had not been taught how to speak with maidens, much less one he wanted so badly.

Unused as his lips were to speaking kind words or flowery speech, he found himself in absolute terror of doing or saying the wrong thing. When he had wanted something in the past, he simply commanded it. Aemond was not used to wanting to keep a woman, but he guessed it took more effort than that.

His mother berated him all the way home. In his fear of his words upsetting, he had ended up not saying anything at all.

“You picked her yourself, Aemond, and barely showed excitement over it. The poor girl must think you hate her.”

And you probably did. Aemond could tell that you felt your encounters were awkward, but you slowly started getting used to him. What charmed him the most had been that never once you were afraid.

It ended up becoming a routine. Sort of a play date, but for adults. Set up by your hopeful parents, you would meet each other weekly and sit in silence. Each time, you would walk in with a pep in your step, wearing pretty gowns and smiling.

You would try to engage him in conversation, but he felt too self-conscious for it. It didn't phase you. You suffered through exactly two rounds of awkward conversation before starting to bring books. Sometimes, they were two, one for him and one for you. But his favorite times were when you brought only one and read aloud to him.

You had a very pleasing voice. You pronounced your words carefully, and in an even tone. And you would always ask for his opinions on the chapter when you finished. It made conversation much easier.

Any other woman would feel unhappy at having to go through such efforts. Astoundingly, not you. Overall, you seemed happy, and it puzzled Aemond to no end. Asking you had not proven very enlightening either.

“Of course I am happy.” And you had given him a smile so bright, he was convinced you were not actually your parent's daughter, but rather, the daughter of some old god of the light. “We are a good match. We like books. And you are a Prince, good with the sword, and very learned. Why wouldn't I be happy?”

Practical. No matter how romantic the books you read, or how magic the stories you enjoyed, your answer had been purely practical. You deserved more. A loud love story, like the ones in your books, and not a quiet life, spent in the shadows of a man who could barely pay her a compliment.

You gave a little spin, awed at the way your skirt moved and spread. It was the softest cloth you had ever felt, in cream and gold. Queen Alicent had gifted it to you along with many other pieces for your trousseau. You were to marry a Prince, and so, no expense was spared in updating your garments and linens.

What an honor it was, to have such a caring mother-in-law. Having witnessed the poor relationship between your mother and grandmother, you were thrilled over it. You had heard Queen Alicent had asked for you specifically, believing your temper to be a good match for her son. Since the announcement of the betrothal, she had been nothing but doting, if a bit overly worried about his treatment of you.

And Prince Aemond. You truly had no complaints. He was a tad too stoic for your liking, but he was never unkind to you. Despite the rumors about his fearsome character, you had found him to be very handsome.

Your first impression of Aemond was that he was tall. He was all long vertical lines in black and white. A study in contrasts, if you wish. One that, were you an artist, would have your hands itching for some coal. The only pop of color was his eye, a pale blue that shone on his handsome face.

He lacked the boyishly handsome features most men your age had. Instead, much like art, he was divisive. The eye patch that should lessen his appearance, only contributed to his uniqueness. There was something in the way he smiled, too. Something that hinted to something darker, dormant under the surface.

It was both attractive and intimidating. His stoic, aloof nature reminded you a lot of the leading men of the books you read. Your knowledge of that sort of man, through literature and observation, hinted to you that your betrothed must be more than met the eye.

What sort of passions and secrets must be hiding under his cool facade? You could not wait to find out. You imagined growing old with him, slowly learning his secrets and tells, just like your mother had done with your father.

The story of your parents' betrothal and marriage was one you knew well. As a child, you asked to hear it every night before bed. Your mother had been engaged to him being quite young, while he was already a man. He had been patient with her, but not very affectionate. Slowly, she had worn down his defenses, and gained his trust. It had taken years, with your father being a very gruff man. But they were the most loving couple you had ever met.

You yearned for something like that. A love that was built on mutual respect and trust, something that grew with you and filled your house with children and laughter. And with Aemond, you could not help but think that it would be possible. Wasn't he, too, a cold man who treated his bride kindly but never with affection?

You smiled at your reflection. You made a lovely bride if you said so yourself. Eyes full of hopes and expectations for your future marriage and the family that you would soon start, face glowing in happiness. One day, you said to yourself, as your Lord Father came to escort you towards the Sept, I will tell this story to my daughter.

Prince Aemond waited for you at the altar. It was a small gathering, your wedding. There were his siblings, mother, and grandfather and your parents. Your stomach tightened up in nervousness and excitement. You hoped he found you as beautiful as you found him.

When his eyes met yours, he gave you a small little smile. Secret, and barely there. You felt tears starting to well up in your eyes. You were so nervous, but so happy. This was the beginning of your new life, you could feel it.

You finally reached him. Aemond seemed startled at your tears, his hands coming to clasp yours almost in instinct. You gave him a bright smile. How kind, your betrothed was. He might have trouble expressing it, but for this, no words were needed.

You could see your nerves reflected on his face. Your hands squeezed harder. Aemond mimicked the gesture. There was a sense of understatement there that had previously been absent from your encounters. During the whole ceremony, neither of you let go or stopped looking at the other. As he leaned in to kiss you, you met him halfway.

This kiss had featured in your dreams for quite a while. As a young girl, when your lessons with your Septa got particularly boring, you daydreamed about the day you would marry. In your head, it was always perfect, and the kiss felt magical. You were a bit embarrassed to admit it, but once you met Aemond, your daydreams turned a bit less innocent.

The kiss fulfilled one of your fantasies, and left the other lacking. Aemond gently cradled your face in his hands and kissed you, very tenderly. His lips felt slightly dry, but he kept his motions gentle and sweet. It was a perfect as your childhood self had imagined, with the guests even clapping at the end. Unfortunately, it was just as innocent.

Considering that, and the fact that Aemond had demanded there not to be a bedding ceremony, you had correctly guessed your wedding night would be spent on your own.

The consummation of your marriage would be a challenge in itself. Aemond didn’t seem too keen on touching you with a ten-foot pole, and you weren’t sure of how one should bring up the topic.

Despite it, you were happy. Your only task was hanging on his arm at important feasts, which were few and far in between. His father’s declining health meant there was little to celebrate.

Your days often went without even seeing your husband, but you were never lonely. There were gardens to be walked, and books to be read. There were even tiny, blonde children, that you could chase around in the gardens and tickle. They were not yours, but Princess Helaena's and Prince Aegon's, yet they shared the striking silver hair your husband had. Looking at them, tiny sticky hands and still smelling like babies, you could imagine the future with your husband.

You could spend hours playing with them, or having tea with the Queen. You enjoyed trailing after her, she was always very kind. Frequently, you wondered how she and Aemond could be so alike yet so different.

The only thing that broke your routine were the times Aemond requested your presence.

“Milady.” Your handmaid said, stepping lightly inside your chambers. “The Prince has requested that you go to him.”

Instantly, dread and excitement pooled in your stomach. As a young lady, you were both fearful of the act and excited by it. Too often, you had heard it was something hurtful, but that it marked the change into womanhood. When Aemond called, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the night he made you a woman.

You rushed to take out a nightshirt from your trousseau. You had separated them into three categories. There were ones that you wore nightly, others that were slightly bigger that were saved for an eventual pregnancy, and the ones that were for Aemond. Those were the prettier ones that your Lady Mother had purchased to help you entice your husband.

It was always one of the latter that was chosen. You hated not being prepared, so you always made sure to look pretty and be clean. Just in case. It had not happened yet, but it didn't mean it never would.

Your handmaid aided you to put your robe on, followed by your slippers and a thick cloak. The Red Keep, despite being inhabited by dragons, was always cold. Your handmaid always walked you to his chambers, and this night was not the exception.

She left you at his door, after you were announced. Aemond himself opened his door, welcoming you inside.

You had gotten better at not staring at him. Despite his state of undress, in only sleep pants and his hair down for once, he was a delight for the eyes.

“My lady.” He kissed your cheek. The door closed after you. He aided you out of your cloak. “I was hoping you would read for me tonight.”

You tried not to let your disappointment show on your face. Aemond, as if sensing your mood, merely shoved a book in your hands. He didn’t even offer you a seat, but you took one on the bed anyway. By the weight of the book, you would be here a while.

“On a far away land, whose name I am unable to recall…” Aemond settled down on the bed next to you, eye closed. You didn’t understand why he did this sort of thing, but you weren’t bothered by it either. It was a small price to pay for all the luxuries you got to enjoy.

Despite ending up with a sore throat, it was fun too. He picked the books now, in a stark contrast to the days when you had been a couple courting. And as a man, Aemond had access to many more books than you had. You had recently started making your way through some chivalry tales, with a lot more blood than you were used to.

It was enough for you. Perhaps he was not very affectionate, but he clearly enjoyed your company. Why else would he keep summoning for something as menial as reading books?

You settled into a comfortable routine, grounded by the rhythms of court life. For a while, everything was extraordinarily normal. It was not until you were three months into marriage with the Prince that things started to get weird.

It was the ninth day of the tenth moon of the year, and the date felt slightly ominous. There was a restless energy in the air, something unusual. Perhaps, it was you. As of late, you had been feeling a bit blue. The lack of letters from your family and the twins starting their lessons had left you with more spare time than you thought you would have.

Deciding to go have a bath to try to shake that restless energy from you, you headed toward your rooms. When you entered, the first thing you noticed was the smell. It was strong and floral like, permeating the surrounding air. Your maids used sweeter smells for your rooms, on the Queen’s advice. They were the sort of smells that Aemond favored, and so, she had hoped surrounding you with them would endear you to him.

Then, you saw them. It was a big bouquet of violets, laying on top of your bed. Delighted, you ran towards them. You were unable to resist the urge to smell them, breathing in their scent. This close, you noticed they were slightly bluer, closer to dark blue than purple.

You toyed with their petals, wondering where they could have come from. Perhaps your husband? Aemond was not very inclined towards romantic gestures, but there was no other explanation for it.

You were nearly bursting in excitement to see him. The flowers had been such a kind gesture, you could not help but feel a wave of affection. But no matter how much you wished for it, you had seen nor hide nor hair of Aemond.

Denying it was stupid on his part. Aemond will not protest against it. But what else could have he done? He had panicked. It's not like he meant to do so.

His mother held a weekly meal with all her children, and had taken to including you. Having often berated him about his treatment of you, it was not surprising that she had decided to take you under her wing.

Aemond did feel a bit guilty over his own coldness, but he wasn't really sure how he ought to behave. Apart from his sister and uncle, he had not seen many loving pairs during his life, and anyone would agree that Rhaenyra and Daemon should never be held up as examples of anything.

You were lonely, as of late. The twins had gotten old enough for lessons, and so, they had limited time to play with you in the gardens. You were far enough from home that the letters took a few days to reach you, too. As a young woman, almost too young to be forced to leave everything you knew behind, isolation must have been taking its toll.

Let's not forget you were not only two years his junior, but also a woman. You were of a fragile disposition, with your constant daydreaming and romantic thoughts. Aemond ought to have been paying more attention, but his mind had been busy elsewhere.

His father looked more and more close to death with each day that passed. His grandisre was constantly plotting. Without needing to be a seer, Aemond knew that things were not looking good. There would not be a peaceful reign for Rhaenyra.

He had been so caught up on his worries and duties, that Aemond had forgotten to take care of his woman. Aemond had not summoned you to his rooms that week, too wired to project the calm you would need in the days that would come. You would not do well if a war broke out.

Aemond had been quite lacking on his duty of taking care of you. Pretty little flower that you were, he could almost see you starting to wilt. You spent more time indoors, and stopped your daily walks in the gardens.

Despite fairness being regarded as a desirable trait for a lady, Aemond did not like the way your skin had lost its sun kissed glow. It just didn't fit you. Blue was more of his thing than yours, gorgeous golden woman that you were.

Hence, the flowers. Choosing the violets was an impulse. Aemond liked the colors and the smell was tolerable yet distinctive. He would know immediately when you received them, being able to smell them on your hair and clothes.

Sweet natured as you were, you had thanked him for them. The fact that you had liked them and associated them with him had been enough to warm his heart. The fact that you had decided to do so during the dinner with his siblings, enough to stomp on it.

It had not been quiet enough.

“Aemond?” Aegon frowned. “Aemond gave you flowers?”

Knowing his brother as he did, Aemond knew he was struggling hard to contain his laughter. He had been the butt of the joke too many times to confirm or deny anything. He would rather not be embarrassed in front of you.

But in truth, the idea of being weak, of being mocked, was not one that scared him. He had been humiliated many times during his childhood. What bothered him more was the thought of his feelings for you being exposed in such a manner. He was not prone to sudden bursts of affection, or doing thoughtful things for those he loved.

Aemond preferred to love in silence. There was no need for grandiloquence, or big gestures. Marriage was a sacred thing, between husband and wife. It was not something that had to be shared loudly. His love was spoken quietly, in the same way he had been taught to.

His mother loved quietly. His grandsire did, too. Their eyes spoke when their lips did not, their love a discordance with the words out of their mouths. Aemond had grown like that, loved but never told, learning it as a secret language that tied them all.

The flowers, though. The flowers had been a betrayal of their code. Something they would not understand because while everyone in the Red Keep was fluent in the art of loving and not saying a word, you were not. You were a foreigner, with your tales of romance and princess from a far away land.

This had been Aemond, clumsily speaking your language. Shy about it, as many people were when speaking one that was not theirs for the first time. It was hard. It was private, and certainly not something he wanted to be outed in front of Aegon, who would not know love for his wife if it hit him in the face.

His expression must have been deadly because Aegon had started squirming on his seat like his pants were on fire. Your face had fallen, turning into a terrible, sad thing, that made something funny to his heart.

“It wasn’t you. Of course.” Your voice was softer still. Aemond continued eating his dinner without a word. Because really, what could he say? Anything that he did now would be mocked by Aegon.

The way your face had fallen, brows pinching together in a sad little frown, had haunted him later. He wanted to fix things, but was unsure how. You were not used to his brusque manner and speech. Aemond felt it might do more harm than good, if he were to speak with you. He might end up offending you more without noticing.

Besides, how did one even start to explain that he had denied tacitly to gifting you flowers fearing not being understood and mocked? He would sound like a fool.

Instead, he had penned you a note. Instead of apologizing, Aemond had hoped to butter you up with a few compliments. You must have realized it, then, because you had walked the whole day as if floating in a cloud.

Come the ninth day of the next moon, you had nearly forgotten all about the incident. You had thrown away the flowers before they even had a chance to wilt, and the note had been burned to a crisp in your fireplace. You had convinced yourself having a secret admirer was improper for a married woman, and refused to give it more thought.

It was a bit strange, that your husband was not angered by it. Yet, at the same time, you supposed he was thankful for your discretion over the entire affair. Aemond was very sensible and smart, so it was logical he wouldn't blame you.

Aemond had kept summoning you to his chambers, be either for you to read to him or just to sit in silence. Your happiness persisted. Until your breakfast’s tray was set on your vanity.

You noticed it when you were sipping at your tea. Groggily, and confused, you found a piece of paper under your napkin. On a neat handwriting, there was a quote from one of the poetry books you favored.

You gave a tiny gasp. Your hands clenched on the paper, your cheeks heating up. The penmanship was not one you recognized, but the words made your knees nearly buckle. No one had written you sonnets before.

Ninth day, you realize. Same as the flowers. If not your husband, then who? The idea of the secret admirer came back, stronger this time. The dates could not be a coincidence, this had to be the same person. Ninth day of the ninth moon, then ninth day of the ten.

You started over analyzing each interaction you had with men. When the knights opened the doors for you, your eyes would linger on theirs. When a Lord would greet you, you would try to remind if he had something to do with violets.

You found yourself daydreaming of this man. Would he be an older man? Would he be prone to smiling, or would he share the stoic nature of your Prince? How would his hands feel on your skin? All the daydreaming made you feel guilty, for fantasizing about a man who was not your husband. Yet, at the same time, you knew that you would not act on it. You loved Aemond too much.

It was flattering, to be wanted in such a manner. You liked the idea of it because it was different from the love you were used to. But you would rather not meet the admirer, knowing you would have to reject him. You enjoyed the attention, not the person it came from.

There was only one person in Westeros that you wished would lavish you with attention and love. And you knew already he was not your secret admirer.

Secretly, sometimes, you thought of telling Aemond. What would his reaction be? The thought made butterflies flutter in your stomach. Would he get jealous? Would he turn more affectionate? You imagined he would want to claim you in some way.

Alone, at night, you pictured his eye, narrowed in anger. Those hands, gripping harshly at your hips, leaving bruises. His body over yours, his lips on your throat, your chest, your stomach. Your hands would follow the path that the imaginary Aemond's hands would take, caressing and groping until they reached their destination. You would arouse and tease yourself until you reached your peak, a scream of his name dying in your throat.

The wondering does not last to meet a third moon. No, because King Viserys passes away and Prince Aegon is crowned King. The whole Red Keep is in a state of disarray, and you feel oddly fearful, watching the constant movement the family seems to be in.

Even Queen Alicent, usually so kind and calm, is on edge. She seems on the verge of a neurotic episode, pacing frantically around the halls, muttering to herself. You can't help but feel something bad is about to happen.

Your husband is in a terrible mood. He seems to have a constant headache, and so, you have taken to being even more kind to him. Some nights, he will summon you to his chambers. He keeps asking you to read to him, but you can tell his mind is far away.

You try grounding him, placing your hand on his thigh or shoulder every chance you get. If you were more confident, you would try something more bold. Aemond seems to enjoy your touch, but he doesn't encourage you to do it. His face remains unmoved, and he keeps telling you to keep reading.

His only tell is that he always reciprocates. If your hand is on his shoulder, his goes to your hip. If you touch his back, Aemond caresses your hair.

It leaves you feeling a bit out of balance. It's entirely innocent, as if you were two children discovering love. Yet at the same time, you can't help but feel like you are burning up in your need for him.

He starts requesting for you to stay the night with him. Aemond never touches you beyond holding you to him, body pressed close to yours in a long, vertical line. Sometimes, you wake up to his manhood prodding you from behind, but he promptly excuses himself out of the bed you share. It makes your thighs clench up in need.

It's unbearable. You feel like you are going insane, your center pulsating in need each time you are near him. The simplest touches can set you on fire. You decide to be bolder, soon. You can't keep this state of affairs.

Before you can explore this new side of your connection, Aemond is pulled away. A mission for the King, he explains. You stay behind, feeling restless. Not having been told what his mission involved, nor where he was going, you can't help but worry. Aemond had taken Vhagar, and that, at least, gives you a slight sense of safety. You were familiar enough with his mount to know she could be his fiercest protector if she felt someone was threatening.

You spend your hours praying for his safe return, along with the Queen. While not part of the Small Council formed around Aegon, but you imagine quite well what they discussed. Alicent is as scared as you are.

You go to bed late that night. With Aemond away, you can't sleep, already used to his body pressing against yours. You had hoped exhaustion would help you overcome that problem.

It's even later when heavy footsteps and the slamming of a door rise you. In the dark, you can barely make out a silhouette. A tall man, holding a dagger.

You scream. The man grabs you roughly by the shoulders and pushes you to lay down on the bed. This close, you can feel that his clothes are strangely humid, as if dried in a rush. You had not considered it before, but the letters and violets do not seem so romantic anymore. Instead, they scare you. You find yourself faced with the possibility that this man might this be your secret admirer. Has he felt encouraged by your happiness? Is he dangerous?

There is a heavy candleholder on your nightstand. You reach for it in the dark, and swing at his head. The man yelps. You start to struggle against him. His tone is familiar to you.

“Seven Hells.” He curses. It's then that it hits you. This is Aemond. Aemond is back. You don't get to rejoice on it, or pull him to you, though. He keeps speaking, in a confused tone. “You… I… I made a mistake.”

Aemond gets up and away from you. His clothes still reek of humidity and sadness. You remain there, laying on your stomach, as you feel an uncontrollable urge to cry. There is something inside you that has been rattled until it broke, something that tells you that this Aemond is not your Aemond.

The next morning, you find out he has killed Lucerys Velaryon. Instead of going to his mother or grandsire, he had come straight for you. Aemond had been trying to forget on your skin, lose himself in you.

When you see the violets covering every inch of your room, bouquets over your bed, on your vanity and even the windowsill, your eyes sting. It's bittersweet to realize that, now that you look at them, their color is surprisingly close to a sapphire.

Dividers by yours truly. Por supuesto que la canción era Ramito de Violetas. Grande Zalo Reyes.

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n30nwrites · 6 months ago

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Rewind (Bridgerton)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma, Penelope Featherington x Colin Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Kate Sharma x Reader, Penelope Featherington x Reader, Colin Bridgerton x Reader

Soulmate AU, Polygamy, Reader is autistic

Warnings; Mentions of homophobia? Mentions of absent parents, Christianity but the Reader doesn't believe in God, Talks of Unwanted touching, Talks about canonical child death and sickness

This is just a small excerpt because no one else will fulfill what I need because I am very much in love with the people surrounding Bridgerton. IDK if I'll continue it.

You weren't the eldest son, nor were you the youngest. A Classic middle child, having your older brothers torture you and your younger ones followed in their footsteps soon enough. But all of your siblings wanted one thing.

Your parent's attention.

Your father, The King George, was a mad men, at least he was considered one. Your mother was too busy ruling England and keeping everything picture perfect to really care about you guys.

Well you didn't really count yourself as one of your siblings.

Simply because you weren't meant to be here.

When you were first taken to this universe, you had been a babe, just freshly born. It was strange, to have full consciousness when being a young'en. The minute you could, you were walking and talking, far earlier than any other babe, but you had too.

By the time you were five, you had been considered a spectacle. The prodigal son, they claimed. You had your wits, you were respectable, truly the perfect gentleman.

You played your cards right, up until you couldn't.

Growing older meant more siblings, and you took care of them the best you could. But you hated these new rules. You couldn't be alone with a woman who wasn't a relative, your brothers were rude and loved it, and your sisters were innocent. Naive really, which you felt was a strange thing. To know about Sex but they couldn't. You tried to teach your sisters as well, education was the future.

But it was all useless.

Eventually you became a recluse. You stuck to yourself, in your room with instruments. Your English guitar, harp-lute, piano, and even the improper ones like a violin, cello and flute. You had to make the best of a situation, and that was what you did.

Even well into your adulthood, your brothers were still your biggest bullies. They thought you were a prude for never having Sex, which frankly if women couldn't without being criticized and shamed, then you shouldn't either. They said you were secretly a woman, or queer.

Well you could attest you weren't a woman, and well you kind of were queer. Bisexual, but they wouldn't know that word.

But you were brought into this universe for some odd reason. You weren't sure why, you didn't really get into Bridgerton like everyone else. Not that you were different from others, you just couldn't commit to watching a tv series, but you had seen the edits.

It just made no sense for you to be the one. It wasn't until the marks appeared that you understood.

Soulmates. That was a new adaption. Apparently they were rare, rare enough that out of all your siblings, you were the only one to have one. Your mother said it was a gift from God, though you thank she only said that because the bishop was there when you got them.

Them as in multiple, that put the bishop out of his head. He said it was blasphemous, you were too entranced with them to care. A matching soulmark would tie you to these people. 5 people.

That was a lot of people to keep happy. Especially when this century wasn't very happy with queer couples and polyamory. After that, your mother had insisted you hide them, and you weren't willing to risk a Romanov situation because people were too religious.

Your mother didn't like that you weren't religious, but she didn't bring it up again after one intense arguement that caused you to leave for a few weeks.

But you agreed with her, you wouldn't tell others. You were here to find a way out, you already had some ideas, one being a specific spot in the woods where you found something from the future.

A portable Radio/Cassette player. Wasn't that far in the future where you were, but it would work. You had headphones with it, and you finally felt some sort of sanity. Music in this era wasn't nearly as relaxing as yours was.

Keeping to yourself was easy after that. Every servant was ordered to knock on your door loudly by you, and to stop any sibling that would come your way just in case they caught you. Your servants were almost your friends, you knew they were reqired to be there, to be kind to you, but it was the closest you had to an actual relationship.

You stayed away from your mother on days like this. She's irritated, you don't know why, you don't care to ask. Your siblings are stomping around the palace but you don't move from your room, you instead walk around your room, shirtless, listening to your music. Your favorite servant, Zelena, is behind you, just watching you. She's always been touchy with you, your hair, your chest, you assumed it was just the way she communicated. And while you were uncomfortable with it, your mother had told you that you couldn't afford to be rude to people.

Zelena stayed next to you while you played the English Guitar. You knew enough about it in your old life, having made adjustments to the strings to be able to play older songs. The ones you could remember (Which you wrote down because eventually, you wouldn't.)

You ignore the knock at the door, simply nodding your head to Helena, who opens the door gently.

A gentleman is at the door, he's staring at you the minute he walks in. Like he's almost amazed at you, you didn't understand.

You never did.

He seems to look at you yet avoids eye contact. You set the instrument down to the side, gently. "Can I help you sir?"

He says your name, and you nod your head. "Can we be alone?" He asks. Your mother said it was improper to be with women alone, not men. So you nod your head and your maids walk out of the room. You figured this man was a duke or something, he had to be important considering he was in the castle. Perhaps a suitor for one of your sisters.

"My name is Benedict Bridgerton."

"Bridgerton? I've heard stories about your family before from my mother. She enjoys the drama that surrounds your family." You tell him, "Last I heard the Viscount found a wife."

"My brother, Anthony." He confirms.

"What brings you to my room?" You question. "Surely it's not to tell me about your family?"

"I just had to meet you."

"You really didn't." You frown slightly, to be fair, you knew a bit about Benedict. You weren't the biggest fan of his story, kidnapping a bride from her wedding day and tying her to a pole. It was strange, but you couldn't change the writers opinion. At least you think that was his story, TikTok could only tell you so much and it's not like you read the books.

You could only hope that it was different in the tv series, considering that's where you were right now. The actor himself you knew very little about as well, but you didn't really care for actors. You stood from the couch in your room, "Why is the artist here?"

"You know of my work?"

"I know a lot of things Sir." You take a few steps away from the couch. "Can you get to the point?"

He seems unsure now, fiddling with his fingers. "You're my soulmate" He tells you, and you look down at one of your marks.

"Which mark are you?" You question, and he looks hopeful. He pulls up his sleeve, the little feather on your wrist, in matching spots. You looked at your own and slightly traced it.

"Benedict!" The voice is angry and your door opens. You glare at the person who opened it. He didn't knock. It's Anthoyn Bridgerton, looking angry. "Benedict what are-"

"Next time Viscount I would ask that you knock instead of rudely interrupting." You cut him off, glaring at him. He seems to have brought a group of people behind him. Benedict stands up and walks right next to you. You put your hands behind your back, picking at your wrist. "It seems you've brought company." You tell Benedict.

"I was about to explain." He tells you, but you look at Anthony, more specifically behind him. You can see your mother through the crowd.

"If we must speak, we will not do it in my room." You grab Benedict's wrist, still refusing skin-to-skin, and pull him with you. Your glare causes the eldest Bridgerton to move to the side, he walks next to his wife.

Outside your room is a lot of people, it's almost overwhelming. There's the Featheringtons, really you only recognized Penelope but you knew by the yellow dress that they had to be her relatives. You could guess they were her sisters and the eldest-looking was her mother. You then saw your own mother, with what seemed like all of your siblings behind her. You rolled your eyes, your eldest brother seemed to glare at you. He hated you though, and you didn't particulary care. You just hated the drama that came with them. Then the Bridgertons. All of them, it seems. The eldest Bridgerton son is there with his wife, Kate. As is their mother, then Benedict who was next to you, Colin who seemed to glance between you and Penelope, Daphne with her husband, Simon. Eloise, Francesca (you truly hoped she got a better story in this show than the books), Gregory and Hyacinth.

"Brimsley, a pleasure to see you again." You avoid everyone to speak to your mother's right-hand man.

"Perhaps if you came out of your room more sir."

"Ah but if I did I might just die." You smile slightly, "Especially if I see William's face." Your brother takes a step towards you but quickly faltors at your mother's expression. "What have I done to warrant a family meeting without me."

"Being born really." George remarked and you smiled at him, cruelly.

"Brother you make me wish I wasn't and that instead I was with Charlotte, Amelia, Alfred and Octavius." What you said was cruel. Amelia died of tuberculosis, Alfred and Octavius died of smallpox, and the young Princess Charlotte who you weren't really sure how you died, you were barely there during the funeral. George (The fourth?) seemed to quiet down, looking sad. You were being rude, you didn't care. They back you into a corner and you attack, like always. "Edward! If you want to strike me you might as well try, but we both know you lack in that department, and many others."

"Quiet." Your mother tells you, and you wish you could care but you didn't. "This doesn't pertain you." She says your name gently, as if convincing you to calm down.

"Obviously it does if it has my soulmate running towards me." You jest towards Benedict. "What? Now that my attraction to men is out we must kill them all? It's not like it's been a secret."

"It is not godly." One of your brothers say.

"God is not Godly." You dennounce him, "You follow a book that has been rewritten multiple times, through many different languages. I do not believe in your God, you know that."

"Hush." Your mother calls your name and you just stare at her. "This was for the better of the Kingdom."

"Why does the Kingdom matter more than I?" You question, "Frankly, none of this does. But why are the Bridgertons and the Featherington's here?"

"You know who we are?" One of the other Featherington sisters say, she seems hot, considering the red to her face.

"I know of Penelope." You looked to her and nodded. "Who wouldn't? She's absolutely beautiful." You notice the looks that you recieve after you say your words. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, I just think its best-"

"She wants to discourage us from going after you." Benedict says as he grabs your wrist causing you to look at him.

"Us?"

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shadowqueenjude · 7 months ago

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I have no conflict with Tamciens, but when I see some of them saying "Lucien deserves a break" and "Lucien shouldn't rule a court!" I wonder if we read different books. Lucien doesn't want a break. He's proactive. He always wants to do something. He was the discarded son of Autumn, who wasn't forced to rule over some random territory like his brothers were. So did he just sit on his ass? NO! He furthered his education, and when he was finished with that, he went AND LEARNED ABOUT HIS OWN PEOPLE AND OTHER COURTS' PEOPLES!!!! When he was exiled from his own court, he came to Spring and INSTANTLY made himself useful as an emissary. When he ran away to Night, he INSTANTLY made himself useful helping set up the High Lord meeting. The perfect sum of Lucien's character is this one line: “Let me do something. About Elain." A man of ACTION. This is a STARK contrast to Tamlin, who never wanted any of this. He admitted that killing is the only thing he's good at and Lucien bailed him out because he could perform a lot of the High Lord duties that he could not. Tamlin heavily implied that he wanted to be a fiddle player but he couldn't because it's not proper for a man of his stature to become a traveling musician. And real talk here: do you really think Tamlin wants to be ruling over a court post-ACOSF when he barely wants to take care of himself???? Meanwhile, Lucien is doing everything. He is keeping Prythian from escalating into another war. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT HE DOES. HE IS A MAN OF ACTION. HE IS THE PERFECT RULER. He was such a threat that his brothers tried to kill him. NOT because of his magic prowess, though he has that in spades. BECAUSE THEY RECOGNIZED HE HAD ALL THE TRAITS OF A TRUE HIGH LORD!!! Even more real talk: You really think the guy who dominated Cassian with one word is not fit to rule? Riiiight...

Tamlin just wants to chill. He canonically WANTS a break. The whole connection between Feyre and Tamlin was them being thrust into a position of primary provider when neither wanted it. THAT'S WHY FEYRE FELL FOR TAMLIN. BECAUSE HE TOOK CARE OF HER. BECAUSE FOR ONCE, SHE FELT SAFE. I'm not saying Tamlin isn't capable. He has learned and adapted. But acting like he's a better option than Lucien is kind of ridiculous.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamlin #high lord lucien

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tippenfunkaport · 1 month ago

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Today Variety (see above) had an article naming Heidi Schreck as the new writer for the live action She-Ra series at Amazon that was announced back in Sept 2021 and, after seeing dozens of terrible takes and people who are fans of the Netflix's She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2017) freaking out, let's talk about this, shall we?

Disclaimer that I do not have any insider knowledge of this project specifically, this is just my educated perspective from my experience with IP and TV.

First and foremost, I will believe this project is actually happening when it is showing on my TV and not a moment sooner. Let's just say that.

Now assuming it IS happening, here's what you should understand...

IP is usually use it or lose it. If Dreamworks wants to keep the rights to make She-Ra content, they very likely must have something in active development or risk listing it. If Netflix isn't willing to make more of the animated series right now, then the Amazon deal is all they have or give She-Ra up entirely.

If you're an SPOP (2017) fan, you're in favor of Dreamworks retaining the license over losing it because, so long as they have it, the door is always open for more of our SPOP in one way or another. This reboot doesn't negate the possibility of a continuation of the animated version or vice versa. (Fans of frequently rebooted properties like TMNT and MLP would be happy to tell you about how there's been content for multiple gens at the same time.) It's not like the new version erases the old. If anything, a reboot often makes it more likely you get content of a past gen because of renewed interest in the property as a whole.

"But what if it's sexist trash!" The biggest fear people had about this reboot was that it would be some male gaze disaster made to please the worst kind of people who hate all kinds of diversity. Obviously, we'll see what we get, but the fact that they specifically got a feminist playwright as the writer is a big thing should alleviate some of that fear.

"But will it be gay????" I've seen lots of freaking out that Adora's going to kill Catra and marry a man on her grave and other equally unlikely fears. And the fact is: We don't know if it will be gay! With this writer, the gay door certainly isn't closed, but that doesn't mean it's open either. But honestly the real question you should be asking is: will it be explicitly gay? Because the rainbow homo-eroticism is baked right into She-Ra OG so even if we don't get an explicit same-sex kiss on screen... it's likely still gonna be pretty gay.

Even a bad or infuriating reboot will revitalize the fandom and bring new fans to SPOP (2017) AND increase the chances of continuation. Say the new show is terrible. Say they annoy everyone by giving Catra and Adora a supercorp queerbaiting thing and then never make it canon or make Catra and Hordak in love and everyone is mad. (Which I feel obligated to point out is *extremely* unlikely as this is literally still Dreamworks' show. They are the same people that gave you the gay. They are keenly aware of what their audience wants so, even if they are reluctant to make it canon, at the least they are probably going to tease it.) But even in the worst case scenario of the straightest possible version of She-Ra, what are people going to do if the new show pisses them off? Turn back to She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, create more fanworks, interact with what's already there, keep the fandom alive for everyone. You want that!

"Well SPOP (2017) was perfect and they should never be allowed to make another version of She-Ra again unless it's just like the thing we just got!" Wow, where have I heard something like that before? Oh yeah, that's exactly what the nightmare chuds said about Netflix's She-Ra and if they had gotten their way, we wouldn't have had this show we love. So maybe take a nice deep breath, chill tf out and look at that fact that there is no reason yet to see this announcement as anything other than a good thing for both this new reboot and the animated version's future.

#Heidi Schreck #she-ra #she ra and the princess of power #spop #amazon #dreamworks #netflix #catradora #live action #animated #i am on a deadline but I had to pause and write this bc y'all were being bananas about this

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siriuslyobsessedwithfiction · 4 months ago

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Six of Crows did a great job showcasing ordinary people don't care about Grisha. (And Zoya turning into a dragon and the propaganda of new "saints" won't solve centuries of prejudice, lack of education in common folk, and capitalism taking advantage of Grisha.)

Most of the characters in SoC duology have known misfortune and discrimination in their lives. You'd think they show solidarity to Grisha, right? Wrong.

Kaz

Kaz is a businessman. No more, no less. He says so himself. Once again, the fandom is blurring the line between the canon and the fanon persona. Kaz is not a "mother hen" who would do anything for his crows but will grumble about it. If Nina and Matthias crossed him as they originally planned in Six of Crows, he'd notify the druskelle to come catch them without any regrets.

Kaz's defining trait is that he takes everything too personally. Kaz is not some vigilante who protects oppressed minorities. He couldn't give a less of a shit about Grishas' struggles, as he makes clear to Nina on more than one occasion. Kaz had no problem indenturing Grisha and giving them less than favorable terms. The only line he wouldn't cross would be selling their bodies. (His disgust of brothels and their clients, once again, comes from a personal reason of his touch aversion).

Even after everything Nina did for him and his crew, even after she took parem, he was ready to kick her off the job in CK when she protested that they needed to evacuate the Grisha from Ketterdam. The only reason he agreed is because he needed Inej for the job and Inej refused to help him unless he helped Nina.

Inej

The only reason Inej took Nina's side (in standing up to Kaz to evacuate Grisha from Ketterdam to save them in CK) is because she cared about Nina as a friend, not because she was very concerned about Grisha. Inej never directly acknowledges the injustice Grisha face even in her thoughts in her pov even though the Suli and the Grisha are both minorities, are being weirdly fetishized for profit and have not been treated particularly well by Ravkans. Moreover, she refuses to meet the Triumvirate, claiming the Ravkans have not been good to Suli in recent years, even though the Triumvirate has only been formed for two years and its members were ordinary Grisha until then. They were servants, serfs. And even after the civil war, they don't have that kind of political power, they obey the Crown. So, what do they have to do with anything? Why does Inej refuse to meet them? Is she afraid they'll be racist towards her? One of the members and the general of the second army is Suli. Who, btw, is known for her temper and pride and not tolerating disrespect. Shouldn't Inej feel proud that a Suli woman is commanding the second army? If Inej doesn't feel comfortable meeting them even with her friend Nina, is it possible Zoya never really acknowledged her Suli heritage? At least, until KoS duology, that is. In RoW, Inej suddenly remembers Zoya is Suli and tells her they don't abandon one of their own. I'm sorry, but it doesn't make much sense. There are two routes of explanations:

It's the author's mistake. Zoya was never described as Suli in the Shadow and Bone trilogy (maybe even in SoC duology? I'd have to check). She was said to have blue eyes and raven hair and that is that. She is also said to have "perfect nose", which doesn't necessarily mean she had a straight or a small nose, but it feels it's written like that. What gives me that idea? In the trilogy, the Suli aren't exactly written very respectfully, considering the two main "good guys", Alina and Mal, impersonate Suli fortunetellers (which is sacred to the Suli), very poorly imitate their accents and have a laugh about it. Zoya acts like a rich, materialistic brat in the trilogy, calls Mal's commoner mannerisms foreign and enticing and we only find out her father was Suli and she comes from an extremely poor peasant family in KoS. It seems like instead of making her own up to her mistakes and making her grow as a person, the author gave her an excuse in a form of a sad backstory.

Inej is a sixteen year old acrobat, who might not be well aware of political situations and doesn't realize what role do Grisha really have in Ravka. I don't want to diminish her intelligence or make her ignorant, but the author isn't giving me much to work with. It also might be possible that during Nikolai's father's rule, while the Suli were on the Ravkan soil, they were tested for powers and taken to the second army since the draft was mandatory and that's why Inej didn't like them.

Wylan

Wylan is a good person, and he had many, many things to deal with in CK, so I didn't expect him to start drawing a plan on how to make Grishas' life better while hiding in a tomb from his father, but it doesn't take much to spare a sentence to at least acknowledge how messed up their existence was. When they're discussing the Kherguud soldiers, they're only worried about Nina and Jesper, not the grand scheme of things. It's a whole race of people we're talking about. Idk, it just feels weird.

Matthias

Oddly enough, the only person who thinks how certain events will affect Grisha is an ex-druskelle. I cannot write his entire redemption arc here, but he definitely shows more care and concern.

Joost

Honorary mention to the boy who knew how dire the situation was and didn't shy away from it. He couldn't take a girl he liked out on a date because she was an indentured Grisha, knew he couldn't buy out her contract but wasn't planning to give up on her.

Also, he demands to know where Anya is as an authority because she should be working. So, not only the merchants and businesses who own them control them, but the Stadwatch are authorized to find them and drag them over to them if they're not at work.

Do you have to have a crush on a Grisha in order to care whether they live or perish? Grisha are an integral part of almost every profession in Grishaverse, they're written as the primary reason for technological advancements, and yet, the ordinary people never stop to think what their eradication would mean to their world.

As for KoS duology, it's a fever dream. I've read fairytales that make more sense than that. Yes, it's YA, but the author is not acting or writing like it's not supposed to be taken seriously. And once you've established a universe with certain laws, you can't throw it all to the wind, give the readers a half-baked explanation and say it makes perfect sense. The SoB trilogy showed us how Grisha were not accepted even when they fought the Kings' wars for centuries and a Grisha saint destroyed the Fold. The SoC duology told us that the civil war destroyed the second army and Ravka was bankrupt and collapsing. Since the draft wasn't mandatory, no one wanted to go fight and die for a country that has given them nothing. But suddenly, the nation of Fjerda, who has hated and hunted the Grisha for centuries, is swayed by cheap tricks to worship them as saints and Ravka will be fine because Zoya can flap her wings and burn whoever opposes her? Yeah, 'cause that went so well for the Targaryen dynasty.

P.S. I am not calling the author or the characters racist. SoC duology is one of my favorite books ever. But as LB herself wrote in this book: "You can love something and still see its flaws".

#six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz dirtyhands brekker #kazzle dazzle #the darkling #shadow and bone #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #rule of wolves #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nina zenik #grishaverse meta #grishaverse

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dingodad · 3 months ago

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personally the vriska calling him a pedophile bit wasnt out of place for me. Canonically vriska doesnt shy away from saying that scratch is a sexual predator, she does state outright to his face that he gets off on manipulating little girls in the comic.

i think "would it be in character for vriska to say that" and "does it make sense in the context of the story for her to say that" are two subtly but crucially different questions, though.

like, on the one hand: it has always been textually clear that doc scratch is not LITERALLY a pedophile. he's a completely asexual organism. by using that word to describe him, you're making the subtextual textual. and this kind of "saying the quiet part out loud" is something the HICU have done very deliberately since they took the helm of hs2; they are intimately aware, i think, of the fact that they are fans in charge of deconstructing homestuck for the entertainment of other fans, and that in service of that aim sometimes you need to be willing to have mature discussions out in the open. a lot of the time this has worked for them quite well, especially in terms of getting old readers back on board with a story which has in the past been overly subtle to the point of excruciating boredom. but sometimes it teeters close to the edge of "characters talking like they're fully aware they're getting therapy", and i think this example leans somewhat toward the latter. like, is there really anyone reading hs2 at this point who doesn't already have some understanding that scratch is a predator? who exactly did it serve to make that already blatant comparison that much more overt?

on the other hand... i get the impression that vriska is actually aware of this distinction, on some level? like emphasising the fact that scratch is a child predator is almost a sort of shield for her. the name of vriska's game in this chapter is minimisation; while it's super cool and heroic to admit that part of your tragic backstory involves a sick spider monster and a badass lady pirate, by trying to paint scratch as nothing more than a pathetic kiddy fiddler what she's really saying is that because he never actually molested her then she was never really abused, that she was never really a victim and therefore he was never actually a significant presence in her life at all. that's how she lives with it, by role playing as the predator to forget the fact that she was ever prey.

i think what i question about this is possibly that vriska would even know to use that word at all? writing dialogue that actually feels authentically like stuff trolls would say is another thing i think hs2 has had a rough time with ("that is a completely normal human sentence"?). the gay joke in the tavros chapter was funny because it had been a long time since we heard caliborn and jake do the same gag but it feels like they tried to capture that same energy with vriska calling tavros a "pussy" in this chapter and it fell flat. and it felt just as unnatural for a troll to say the word "pussy" as it did for her to say the word "pedophile". i think what makes alternia and its traumatic knock-on effects so effective is that it's often more insidious than it is explicit; trolls barely have the language to describe all the institutionalised neglect and abuse that is happening around them all the time because to them it's just how the world works! yeah sollux has that line about sex offenders and schools, but i think that basically serves to illustrate my point, because for the most part we all seem to understand that trolls don't have what we would be able to identify as "school" either: sexual abuse and education are concepts that, in the world of homestuck, exist entirely in the abstract; tropes to be evoked but not things that ever actually happen.

that being said, alternia is designed to reflect the structure of homestuck as a whole, and the reason alternia doesn't have sex offenders or schools is because homestuck in general does not explicitly concern itself with these topics. we understand that escaping homestuck and settling down on Earth C means settling down in the "real world", replacing the threat of time-travelling demons with real struggles and real problems, and as a continuation of the homestuck epilogues hs2 naturally IS going to continue to touch on sex and politics and all the other stuff that was delegated mostly to the subtextual in the original comic. i think the structure of this chapter even kind of alludes to this; tavros and erisol beckon vriska to relax for a moment and play childish games with them like she used to do when she was a kid on alternia, but by choosing to forge on ahead with her personal growth vriska is immediately confronted with the fact that becoming an adult is NOT like a webcomic, it's NOT all allegories and RPG battles; it can be sick and it can be hurtful and it can stop you right in your tracks just as you thought you were "making progress" toward "winning".

i just feel that by having vriska apply Earth C vocabulary to an Alternian experience right off the bat, we've skipped over a key part of her transition from homestuck to the real world. would this chapter have been any easier to stomach if it had been about vriska coming to grips with the fact that scratch was a predator in the first place? no, of course not LOL. i think my gripe here might literally just be with the word choice. like i believe the writers have it in them to express what they were trying to express here in a much more interesting way than simply having vriska say "lol he's a pedophile". yes, addressing something literally that has only ever been mentioned before in symbols and whispers is part of the impact of this update, but i don't think that has to come at the expense of the dialogue actually feeling like it belongs in the mouths of these characters

#upd8 #god. um. ask to tag #sa mention #?#csa mention #hs2

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marciabrady · 1 year ago

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it's so funny to me that the princess our culture associates fundamentally with passivity offers credos which are among the most active and powerful of any in the fairytale canon

first and foremost, cinderella communicates that we all are what we contribute.

cinderella saves the mice and fosters an environment of collaboration, harmony, and unity that's harbored by her own industrious nature. mind you, she does all of this against her stepfamily's wishes, actively defying them, and creating a counterculture in the process.

as the story team intended the animals to be a reflection of their human counterpart, notice how cinderella's kindred are uniformly hardworking, intentionally kind, and approach every situation with their best foot forward, adapting a problem-solving mindset that collectively aids them all in their shared progression toward the betterment of themselves and the world around them. take the very first scene in which we see cinderella and the culture she's created, for instance:

everyone has a hand in the first chores of the day and they're all choosing to do it with a smile on their face. key word: choosing. because this isn't an idly happy lot whose joy is an accident of their own nature or something that's easy. their happiness is something they have to be mindful of and, in many cases, fight against themselves to achieve. because, guess what? their life is terrible. they've been reduced to living in a dusty attic room of a decaying house. many of them were saved from death by cinderella, herself, and know that if they venture too far outside of the safe quarters she's provided, or if they allow themselves to be seen in some way, they'll be back at death's doorstep. the danger and stress they live under would cause anyone to snap, or anyone to never want to get out of bed, which is why we see them looking like this in one of the most relatable openings of all time:

i mean, cinderella canonically hits the snooze button:

the birds literally have to force her to wake up, initially:

and once she does wake up, she's playful and pleasant and kind, yes. but that doesn't last long- the clock immediately tries her by reminding her of the daily toil she must face in order to maintain the food and shelter that's tantamount to, not only her own survival, but that of this tiny community that she's the unofficial mayor over and continues to be responsible for. she has to sustain herself and the others she's collected around her by choosing to live life the way she does. this kindness is something she has to pay for, every day. and she physically snarls at being reminded of the hand life's dealt her:

and you know what? that's a very human quality that everyone can identify with in some regard because it's hard, even if you are someone who loves life and the people around you, to keep going in spite of the challenges you face. being positive, plainly put, is something that's difficult and you have to keep reengaging yourself to be because it isn't a natural state for most people, and especially not people that have been treated as unkindly as cinderella. let's not forget that she lost both of her parents at a young, formative age, and from that time in her youth when, like all other children, she deserved to be supported and loved and protected, she was literally "abused, humiliated" and "forced" into being a literal "servant in her own house." she had no security- both of her parents were gone, she had no money to fall back on, no education, no means with which to leave the house, and to try to get a job in that world and environment- as unlikely as it would've been to obtain in the first place (which, again is so relatable- look at the staffing shortages and people struggling to find employment today)- would've been contingent upon references of some sort, and we all know that lady tremaine definitely would've either a) ran a smear campaign against cinderella to absolve herself and the family name of any personal fault or b) prevented cinderella from ever leaving in the first place so that no one would ever know that atrocities the tremaines forced her to endure from the time she was practically an infant.

she wakes up after barely being able to sleep, probably, due to all the daily chores she must, alone, accomplish to keep an entire estate afloat. everyone is depending on her, from the stepfamily to the mice to the grounds of her family's home itself. her body's practically aching from the lack of rest, the physical work she's forced to do every day, from sleeping on such an uncomfortable bed. the only place she feels remotely safe is in this drafty attic, which smells of fraying wood and aging artifacts and is in a constate state of decay, with weeds growing in the sides of the tower. that's not even mentioning the emotional turmoil, the ptsd, the grief, the neglect, the physical abuse she's also processing at any given moment

so, yeah, cinderella snaps. and there are times she snaps later on in the film but she always reels herself in and consciously makes the choice to never succumb to her circumstances. this is what makes cinderella extraordinary. she singlehandedly- and actively- ends the cycle of abuse through the behavior and choices she partakes in every single day.

and, again, this isn't something that's easy for someone who has been in survival mode for a majority of their life. but the conscious choices, active efforts, and mindful decisions cinderella makes is what frees the household from that cycle of abuse continuing. i mentioned earlier that the animals are supposed to be a parallel to their human counterparts. remember how we meet gus? he's just been caught in a trap, doesn't have anything to wear, and is literally recoiling in fear. due to his terror and his own need to defend himself out of instinct, he attempts to make himself come off as threatening as possible and is ready to pop off the minute that jaq approaches him:

but, through cinderella's influence, she's able to give him hope once more. she treats him warmly, pairs him up with a buddy to go through life with, comes up with a name- and even a nickname- for him, gives him a community, a safe haven, and clothes him. in that short time, look at the difference she's made in his mood, his demeanor, even his approach to life:

and it isn't just the mice cinderella's this way with. in the opening slides, we see cinderella holding an adorable puppy dog. but as the film progresses, and the narrator details the despair the family estate has fallen into, that puppy dog turns into an old, starved bloodhound who's secretly sleeping on the floor of the cold kitchen to keep from freezing to death. he has to keep even his dreams to himself so as to not be heard by the stepfamily and potentially kicked out. he openly hates lucifer but cinderella encourages him to think of lucifer's good points too, even if she can't think of any herself, to be able to continue successfully cohabiting this environment with him. and when he pounces on lucifer, deserved or not, she puts an end to this:

because cinderella knows what will ever happen if bruno allows himself to give into his impulses, to treat others as life has treated him, to attempt to retaliate in an impossible environment when the odds are already against you. you'll harm yourself the most and perpetuate that cycle.

but, just as bruno is a reflection of cinderella, notice how gleeful lucifer is in falsely incriminating bruno, so that another being who's never wronged him will be unjustly punished and suffer:

this is what separates cinderella from the tremaines. this is why she is the heroine and they will never be, despite how many people you see empathizing with how unfairly life must've treated them for being the "conventionally unattractive" characters in the film, or for having a single mother which to them denotes less resources, or for being awkward, or for whatever other reason of the month they're being rewritten to be the victims.

if we are the sum of our contributions, the tremaines are nothing and that is definitely a reflection of their reality. they only feel alive when they're making fun of cinderella or humiliating her by continuing that cycle of abuse they passively adhere to and never challenge. remember how we met cinderella and her friends, gathering their spirits and putting on a smile, despite how hard it is with the troubles that face them? how they look past that to work together and try to change life for the better?

the tremaines can't be bothered to get out of bed. the truly passive, lazy characters, they grog about in dim rooms, turning around in their fine silks and ornate finery, while a being they literally enslaved is being forced to do their bidding. and they refuse to actively participate in their very charmed and privileged life. they can't even find a reason to be happy- but instead are upset when cinderella enters their room. they want to know why she's taken so long, to hurry up, to continue to wait on them, hand and foot. when she asks them how they're doing, they grumble, "as if you care." because they don't care about anyone else, so why would others care about them? and that type of apathy breeds resentment, which- in the wake of such sedentary creatures- seeks manifestation and results in destruction. the stepsisters get out of their comfortable beds only when they have the opportunity to point their finger at cinderella, to get their mother to punish her. again, they feel alive by inflicting pain on others, it's literally what gets them out of bed:

again, as the parallel, this goes for lucifer, too:

as cinderella nears lady tremaine's bed, her stepmother's eyes blaze with fury, hatred plain on her face:

lady tremaine doesn't move, her hand only lifting to stroke lucifer, who has the biggest grin on his face. meanwhile, the desperation is evident in cinderella. she isn't quite defeated, because she does stick up for herself three times in the scene. but she's tired of this. she's tired of being tormented by her only family, of having the odds stacked against her even when she's doing everything in her power to live as peacefully and productively as possible, of being forced to fight a losing battle that will never result in peace but will only further prompt hatred, and division, and anger. in her expression, there's almost a plea for lady tremaine:

it isn't until she sees cinderella's expression, she hears cinderella try to explain what happened, that she livens up. because she has the opportunity to, again, keep that cycle of abuse alive, to actively try to destroy cinderella's quality of life and to profit off the position of power she's in over cinderella. look at the difference in lady tremaine's expression in the previous cap, and in this one, when she believes she's silenced cinderella and is preparing to tear into her:

one of the best instances through which i can further illustrate this ideology (you are what you contribute) is in a later scene, where we see the stepsisters discard their fine wares, labeling it trash and flinging the luxuries life's afforded them to scorn. it's nothing to them.

yet, to the mice and cinderella, it isn't nothing. because, remember, the royal proclamation declared that every eligible maiden should attend. at first, the stepmother refuses to let cinderella go and even the stepsisters brush her aside with classist comments. when cinderella sticks up for herself by reminding them she's still a member of the family, and by trapping them in the language of the royal decree "every eligible maiden," lady tremaine has no choice but to consent- on the grounds that cinderella is able to make herself eligible through producing a suitable dress. because, remember, cinderella isn't seen as a person. she's seen as subhuman, someone who's reduced to wearing tatters and isn't seen as a person in the eyes of their society unless she has social indicators of wealth via her clothing, in this specific instance. drizella and anastasia never have to think about that, because they exist as people of value in their society due to their good fortune that they had no part in creating. they don't know what it's like to be laughed at, to not be considered eligible or even a person in the eyes of society the way that cinderella's lived experience has reflected since her father died. meanwhile, the tremaines are so deep in their own privilege, that they're literally waving it around like it's a rag and carelessly tossing it away. yet, what does cinderella do, with much less?

cinderella makes do with what little she has, always to help someone else. and because of this active kindness, it changes the mindset of those around her. since she's afforded this to so many of the mice, what do they do for her in return?

what a difference in how cinderella and the stepfamily approaches what's, essentially, the same material? and this community that cinderella has established and continually maintained and influenced comes to each other's aid, time and time again. whether it's cinderella freeing the mice from death, or giving them clothing, or allowing bruno to sleep inside unbeknownst to the stepfamily, or the mice turning into a LITERAL army and battleground in cinderella's honor:

again, this community is just as active and vital as cinderella, herself, is. because those values i mentioned earlier, of helping one another and rising above your circumstances and working together, aren't just whimsical morals cinderella sings about. they're constant behaviors she's actively taking part in and impact the household they all share, to the point where when they help each other take action when the time is right. they're constantly conferring with one another on how to best use their community and the resources this offers to get closer to victory. (meanwhile, the stepfamily is only for themselves; anastasia and drizella literally repeatedly hit each other and compete, even to the point of giving conflicting stories to the grand duke that makes their pathetic attempt seem all the more discreditable at alleging they were the princess at the ball the night before) we see it in how cinderella and her friends accomplish their chores together, in how the mice plan to get her dress remade while she's busy, even in how cinderella's quick thinking leads to calling upon bruno, who must be awoken by the birds with an interjecting call from the horse, and how this leads to all of their escape:

because, this community also knows when it to fight and support one another in times of battle and when the goal will bring about a victory that will ultimately reign peace; they know when it's worth it for a shared goal and the benefit of all parties involved. and the difference cinderella brought into that household is what gave them all glory and helped them, not only survive, but succeed. it isn't just the poor scullery maid we see ascend in the closing chapter of the film. we see the same bluebirds who attempted to wake her up in the beginning of the film holding her wedding veil:

we see those same mice that she nursed from death, and clothed, and fed, and loved; the mice that risked their lives in remaking her deceased mother's dress so that cinderella might, too, have a chance to go to the ball; they're still here, cheering her on and throwing rice in blessing at the happy couple, their own clothing being upgraded to reflect that of the royal staff:

we see that starved bloodhound and the old horse leading the royal regiment, as beautiful and shining and proud as their majestic counterparts:

and this is the world that cinderella, as a character, offers. not a world in which multiple parties are at competition with one another over who's the prettiest, or the wealthiest, or where hatred breeds continual hatred. but she presents us a world in which everyone deserves to be seen, heard and valued; where everyone can find a community they can contribute to and have purpose in and be worthy of experiencing love, whatever you determine love to be whether it's romantic or in the form of a found family.

a world in which everyone can go to the ball:

#mine #marciabrady #cinderella #cinderella 1950 #this was supposed to be 2 credos but i got carried away #maybe i'll write the other one in a future installment #but ahhh it feels so nice to be back #*ahem* if you learned anything from this or were inspired please source or credit #creative larceny isn't cool!

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