#where she talks about 'bringing order to chaos'

[iconac]

revisiting the kotor comics and i do enjoy how sw lore always brings up causality manipulation super casually. visions are one thing, but yeah, sometimes jedi just sorta reach out and give causality a little tip in the direction they want it to go. like?? yeah, when qui-gon rigged the dice in phanton menace he just move the dice with the force, but also, he could've moved probability itself if he really wanted to.

[hyunnie04]

somethin' stupid

"and then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you."

yang jeongin x reader, fluff | m.list

wc: 1.2k | happy birthday innie ♡

“i'm not really interested… i'm sorry.”

you watch jeongin as he rejects yet another girl. you feel sorry for her as she stands awkwardly in the middle of the quaint cafe, fiddling anxiously with the ends of her shirt.

thankfully, the establishment was relatively empty, save for a few people discretely listening in. she goes on to nod and ramble on further until she had noticed your presence.

"-oh, i didn't realize you have a partner. sorry." her eyes dart over towards you, blush wildly painting her cheeks. she was already gone by the time you could correct her, scuttling away and leaving a trail of gossip in her wake. jeongin watches her leave, pursing his lips.

"you could've let her down easily. the poor girl was shaking..." you voiced out, stirring your iced americano and watching the ice melt bit by bit.

jeongin sighs and takes his seat across from you, taking a sip out of his own cup. he brushes your comment off and starts to talk about a different topic altogether, returning to his smiley demeanor.

you knew how jeongin was. he didn't hesitate to say no whenever someone would just come up to him, asking for his number. it happens more often than not, professions of love seemingly happening out of no where.

you were also used to it, getting stopped so frequently whenever you went out with him. dozens of people that had tried to ask him out only ended in disappointment.

he was seemingly disinterested in things like love. the topic had always eluded him, if you didn't know him any better you could have said he was uncomfortable with the idea. but you didn't pry, he must have a pretty good reason. it was understandable too, his line of work didn't exactly allow it anyways.

despite this, you have admired him in silence ever since the beginning. the feelings that had festered inside of you were kept bottled up until they threatened to spill over. and they almost did, but friendship mattered more and shot down the idea before it could ruin everything.

admittedly, there are days where you just want to explode, to confess and just get it over with. you were a hundred percent positive it would end just the same for you. the preconceived notion of him not liking you in that way, you don't think you could handle it. thinking about being rejected so coldly sends shivers down your spine.

the iced americano that sits in your hands start to sting after a while, but you pay no mind to it. the firm grip you had on it reminds you, mulling over the interaction you had earlier as he rambles about another topic. little things like paying for your coffee and bringing you other small items even if it was his birthday had in short, confused you.

maybe you're misinterpreting and just imagining things. but the way jeongin is adamant that he pays for your order every single time, or the way his hand brushes against yours more often than not and how the warmth of them lingered, says otherwise.

you also notice how he didn't correct the girl's assumption about you two.

the wind dishevels his hair upon stepping out of the cafe, rays of sunlight peaking through the leaves start to dim in the afternoon. the two of you walk for a while, kicking pebbles and rocks in comfortable silence. your head is still occupied with thoughts of him.

another thought comes into your mind amidst the internal chaos, "i almost forgot! i still need to buy you a cake." it had completely slipped from your mind, forgetting why you agreed to go out in the first place.

"it's okay, really." he laughs as you tug him along the sidewalk. you need to do something else to distract your mind and fast. jeongin jogs beside you, keeping up with your pace. it seemed like you weren't taking no for an answer and stopped right in front of a pastry shop.

"is this what you were talking about?" he hums with a grin, leaning down to browse the lines and lines of delicious looking cakes displayed in the glass casing. you made no move to go in just yet, letting him choose silently. his hair, still disheveled and tousled from the wind yet ethereal all the same.

"what if i said i liked you?"

the abrupt stupid question escapes your mouth before you could catch it. his face slowly contorts into an expression, one you could not decipher right away upon hearing it. his back straightens up as keen eyes start to focus on you.

"j-just a hypothetical! i was just really curious because of earlier and it's not serious or-" you wave your hands in front as if to physically wave it off.

"-forget i said anything." you turn your head away, voice becoming tiny and unintelligible. you could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of your head. jeongin says nothing as the tip of your ears burn a bright crimson.

you've done it now, y/n.

"hey," he nudges your side with that eye-crinkling smile you've come accustomed to.

"did you ever wonder why i keep rejecting them?" jeongin now had his hands in his pockets, a small pout forming on his lips as he pops his own query to you, staring back at the glass casings.

you said nothing, unable to respond with a reply or conclusion that would most likely be accurate, you've already embarrassed yourself in front of him today.

jeongin flicks your forehead and scoffs, “that's because i like you, idiot.”

"it was always you." his eyes were downcast, looking everywhere but yours.

you have gone unresponsive at this point. incredulous eyes stared back at him as you feel your throat dry up. it was because of you? were you dreaming? you must be.

"w-what? really?" you say quite densely whilst rubbing the sore spot on your forehead. he laughs, finally turning to you. "yes, i'm serious."

the wind blows harder this time, removing the locks that obscured his beautifully dimpled face. jeongin's eyes are still trained on you with such longing that you don't recall ever seeing on him, ultimately reminding you that this was indeed real.

"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for you to say those words." you breathe out in relief, one that you weren't even aware of holding.

the proximity between you two sends electrifying shocks, the mere presence of each other is enough to fluster. "i like you too." the words finally make it out of your throat.

you two burst in abrupt laughter, the tip-toeing around the situation suddenly feeling silly. a mixture look of understanding, relief, and love is shared between you two, smiling like love sick fools.

jeongin starts to drag you away by your coat, mimicking how you did to him earlier. "ah! wait, but your cake..." you see the establishment grow smaller and smaller as he drags you away.

"we don't need to worry about that now."

"can i at least buy you a present?" you reply, picking up your feet and walking alongside him. he has a wide grin on his face as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "got my present right here."

you mousily stop in your tracks as a deeper shade of crimson blooms across your face. the two of you walk side by side upon your recovery, pinky fingers now intertwined shyly around each other.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (4 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff

Word Count: 957

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Checking through his daughter’s backpack strikes up a difficult conversation.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Price has no idea where his daughter’s disorganization from, but it certainly isn’t him.

Opening her backpack, Price cringes at the mess. It’s all crushed papers, broken pencils, scattered crayons, and food wrappers. Sighing, Price turns the backpack zipper-side down, the contents crashing to the dining room table.

She is going to sit down tonight and organize this. No exceptions.

Frowning down at the wreckage, Price begins sorting through the papers, glancing at a few just to find some order in the chaos. He picks up a piece of paper and pauses, his gaze landing on the title.

All About Me reads the top of the page.

Price smiles as he starts to read over his daughter’s answers.

Favorite color? Blue.

Favorite animal? Dragon—all capital letters with lots of exclamation points.

Happiest memory? That one just says “ghostie tree.” Her teacher will have no idea what that means, but Price knows, and he laughs so hard he almost chokes.

Price’s daughter adores Simon, and whenever he’s around, she turns into a koala, hanging off every limb. It doesn’t matter if Simon is standing or sitting down. And how does Simon feel about it? He’ll act bored, like it hardly bothers him, but then he’ll strike, tickling her until she runs away screaming only for her to return minutes later to do it all over again.

Flipping it over, Price continues to read, pausing when he reaches information about parents and guardians. This is where he slows and observers her writing. She already filled stuff out about mom, and Price knows you’d get a laugh out of her answers, but the sections about him cool his amusement.

Her answers are idyllic versions of himself, nearly whimsical in the way she describes what he does and how proud she is that he is her father. That makes him ache, brings a tightness to his chest that pushes out all other feeling. Price is proud of his work, and of his career, but it is not a beautiful thing.

It is not sweet or kind or tender.

It is rough. It is hard.

It is heartbreaking.

He has lost so many people. So many good men and women. He’s done horrible things. Stained his palms with blood. These are difficult truths he faces every day.

But there are softer moments in his career of watching those he’s mentored be promoted, of victories and celebrations, of marriages and births, and of all those he’s worked with who have gone on to lead fulfilling, happy lives.

All of that, and this isn’t what stops him.

It’s her answer to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I want to be like my dad.

Price sighs and sets the paper down on the table.

How does he respond to that? Should he even take the initiative? Should he approach the topic at all?

Price isn’t certain.

“Daddy.”

Price starts at his daughter’s voice. He turns. She’s standing just inside the archway to the living room. She has a perplexed look on her face as she glances between him and the mess on the kitchen.

“What’ve you done with my backpack?”

Price blinks, and then chuckles. “It’s a mess, love. We’ve taught you better.” Her face flushes slightly as she slowly walks up to the table. “You’re sitting down and going through this. No exceptions.”

She nods sheepishly.

Price picks up the questionnaire. “Want to talk about this? I have to sign off on it.”

Her flush grows deeper. “Did you read it?”

“I did.”

She looks up at him expectantly and Price waits a moment to see if she’ll say anything. She doesn’t.

“You said some nice things about me,” he says softly, and she beams. It reminds him of your smile, and that melts his heart down to his toes.

“It’s true,” she says brightly, happy that he’s mentioned anything at all.

“You want to be like me?” She nods. “And what do I do?”

She blinks. “Didn’t you read what I wrote?”

Price barks a laugh. “Yes, love. I did. But I want to hear it from you.”

She squares her shoulders and looks up at him with fierce determination. “You protect people. I want to protect people.”

True. But not entirely.

“How do you think I protect people?” He can see her brain processing the question and attempting to formulate an answer. She chews on her bottom lip, shoulders sagging slightly.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “But I know that you do. You protect me and mom.”

“That’s because you and your mother are mine to protect.”

Protect is not the right word. While his actions and the things that he does might prevent horrible things happening at a global level, doing so often results in pain and suffering. It’s just what happens even when he tries to prevent that.

“Can I not do that?” she asks.

“You can do whatever you want when you’re older.”

But military life? No. He doesn’t wish that for her, and it’s not because she’s a girl. He’d feel the same if she has been born a son. No parent wants to see their child in potential danger. Doesn’t matter what age.

“So I can be just like you?”

He wants to say “no,” but instead diverts the question elsewhere. “You can’t be anything if you don’t organize this backpack.”

She groans and starts rummaging around in the mess.

Price kisses the top of her head. When he glances up, you’re standing in the archway, a soft smile on your face. Did you hear the whole conversation? Or just the end?

You stride forward and reach out. Price meets your outstretched hand, threading his fingers with yours.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @nelladowney @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair

[aboutcustardcreams]

Until next time

Agathario x reader

The scene in the forest where Agatha delivered the baby is living in my head rent free and I just couldn't resist the urge to write an os about it. Rewrite, actually. It's my first Agatha's fic, so I'm pretty excited. Hope you guys like it <3

warning: angst, a touch of fluff

next chapter (time skip)

The baby’s soft cries echoed in the forest, as a reminder that a life has just begun, tender and innocent. Agatha was perched by a tree, only wrapped in a light and crumbled vest. Her cloak dropped somewhere a few feet away. The sweat and the pressure at her lower abdomen finally subsided, making her feel like she could breathe properly again. There was blood between her legs, staining her inner thighs, flooding and then drying out to her knees. Everything kind of hurt, her eyes were heavy, but her senses stayed alert. 

“Move,” the Green Witch muttered in a placid order. 

You looked into her eyes, slowly shaking your head, as you stood in front of Agatha, shielding her and the baby, “No.”

The witch felt a wave of relief wash over her when she heard your simple, yet categorical answer. She was in no condition to fight against Rio on this, despite the fire in her eyes and the weak magic already tingling her digits. 

Rio sighed, “we aren’t doing this. You promised–”

“I know what I did,” you interjected, closing your hands into fists, “But I changed my mind. I am allowed to change my mind,” you pointed out, voice thick with emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye to a child you didn’t even hold in your arms yet. “I-I can’t let you take him,” turning around, your eyes focused on the baby’s tiny head peeking out of the little blanket Agatha wrapped him in. “I mean, he’s innocent. It can’t be his time…”

“My loves–” 

“Just let him live,” Agatha interjected, her voice both exhausted and desperate. She never felt so scared before, “Please, don’t take him from me.” 

When he clasped his tiny hands in her long wavy hair, her lips brushed against his head, “I love you,” she smiled, rocking him ever so gently, “I love you so much.”

Your heart melted at the sight before your eyes. Rio felt a slight indecision tugging at her chest. She never thought the first time she would hold her son would be to carry him in the afterlife. It felt cruel. It was cruel. But he was sick, he could feel his disease, hovering like a shadow around him. 

“I’m not giving up. Not yet,” you insisted. 

“You talk as if I didn’t wish for him to live,” Rio retorted in disbelief. 

“Oh, spare us, Rio!” Agatha snapped. “You’re the Green Witch, it’s not like you’ve got no power at your disposal. And yet you’re choosing the easy way.”

Rio couldn’t believe her ears. “The easy way you say? Are you nuts? He is my son too, Agatha!”

You frowned at their bickering. Last thing you wanted was to indulge in this fight. This moment was supposed to bring joy to your lives. A child was born, your child for fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t you three be happy about it? Why couldn’t you cherish the moment? He was sick, but you could still try to save him. Work together to make it possible. You, Agatha and Rio weren’t common witches after all, and if there was someone able to find a loophole, it would be you. 

“Then start acting more like a mother,” Agatha retorted, voice dropping in a whisper. 

“It’s not my fault I’ve got responsibilities, Agatha. I never asked to be like this,” Rio’s voice wavered a bit, her heart thumping in her chest with painful insistence. 

“My loves, please we shouldn’t–”

The sound of Agatha’s mocking laughter prevented you from finishing off that sentence. “What about the responsibilities towards our son? He should come first.” 

“Our son is sick, and in order for him to live, many will have to die. It will cause absolute chaos.”

“So be it. All I care about is my son.” Her icy blue eyes sparkling dangerously as she said those words with force and a bit of selfishness. 

You considered Rio’s words; a bunch of conflicted emotions passed through you. Rio wouldn’t say those things if she knew there was another way out of this. But maybe if she couldn’t find it, you could, if only you were granted more time to figure it out. 

“If you take him, I’ll hate you forever,” she insisted rather calmly now. 

“Agatha…”

Color drained from your face at those words. You knew she didn’t mean that. She couldn’t. When a muffled sound slipped from Rio’s lips, a mixture between a choked sob and a scoff, you drew closer to her, your hands immediately finding her cheeks. You weren’t supposed to pick sides. You were a family, and it should stay like that. 

“She doesn’t mean it,” you said both softly and firmly, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. She rolled her eyes and you took a firmer grip on her face, so that she would focus on your eyes, “Rio, listen to me, she doesn’t–”

“I do.” Agatha deadpanned, cutting you off.  

You hissed, “Quiet, Agatha.” 

Rio let out a quiet humorless chuckle, when the other witch grumbled something under her breath. 

“We are just scared, my love. We want this child to live, we need him to, do you understand that?” 

When your voice croaked slightly, her hands tangled in your hair and pulled you closer to her, “I know, baby. I know,” she cooed, getting lost in those wet lashes of yours.

You swallowed thickly, “I don’t want to say goodbye.” 

She leaned in and brushed her lips right under your eye, her magic immediately mingling with yours. Your eyelids fluttered close and you let out a faint mewl. 

“I can only offer time,” she said, once she pulled away, so that she could meet both yours and Agatha’s eyes.

You arched an eyebrow confusedly, “what does it mean?”

“How much time?” Asked Agatha. 

She shrugged, as if she didn’t know or she couldn’t really say. Her behavior only served the purpose of making you more nervous. Crossing your arms over your chest, you knew that you’d have to use this time to master your own powers. To make sure that whenever Rio intended on collecting your son’s soul, you’d be ready to fight. Not her of course, but the process of Death itself. You were a necromancer witch, whose powers were completely opposite to Rio’s. While her job was to keep order between life and death, your powers could easily break that balance if you wanted to. Meaning that you could resurrect life forms.

“You know I’ll still try when the time comes, don’t you?”

Rio looked at you and despite your words, she smiled, “I know, love. Thought I’d hate you if you decided to interfere, but honestly, I hope you win.” 

It was your turn to crack a smile in her direction. “It’s not a competition, Rio. All I want is to keep our child alive.” 

She hummed, without voicing her concerns out loud, not wanting to add more to yours and Agatha’s shoulders, “You two will make a good job.”

You and Agatha exchanged a confused look, “you sound like you’re leaving us behind,” she trailed off. 

When Rio averted her eyes, lips pressed in a thin line, you were sure you felt your heart shatter. 

“No, she’s not-” you looked at Agatha, hoping to have got it all wrong. But when you spotted tears welling up in her eyes, you realized the truth. 

“Rio, please, don’t do this–”

“I must. I can’t be seen around him,” her tone was sad, yet you could still feel the love filling each word. You kept shaking your head in denial. “Might be difficult to believe but there are women above me I respond to.” 

“The Fates have no power if you don’t do your part,” Agatha pointed out, hoping to be right.

Rio smacked her lips in return. “It’s not that simple. Atropos, the eldest of the three, could give me a really hard time if I disobey.” 

You clenched your jaw at her words. The thought of handing your son’s life in the hands of those crones made absolutely no sense to you. They shouldn’t be entitled to take the life of an innocent just like that. You were a necromancer witch, meaning that you could change things. For a long time you buried that part of yourself within you, because of the things you’ve been told all your life. Interfering with the natural order of the things was wrong; your power was an abomination, but at that moment, all those warnings sounded like bullshit. 

Rio sensed your distress, her fingers brushed yours, “I’ll keep him hidden for as long as I can.” 

Then she turned to Agatha and pointed at the baby in the silent, almost timid request to approach him. She still had to see him properly after all. Agatha nodded and moved the child so that he would face her, tucking a bit of the blanket underneath his chin to better expose his tiny face. 

Rio brushed a strand of Agatha’s hair first, “you did amazing, my love,” she praised her, causing a light brush on the witch’s cheeks. She couldn’t quite believe she, you three created such a beautiful baby boy from scratch. 

“Hi” she cooed, now focusing on the newborn. You leaned against the tree, the same tree Agatha was perched by, and looked from above the sweet interaction going on. Rio’s fingertips grazed over his tiny, perfect nose. “I can’t promise you a life devoid of challenges and pain, but I confide in your mothers to always make sure you’re happy and loved,” she lifted her eyes to meet yours and Agatha’s. A watery smile tugged at her lips, “And trust me, you’re so so loved already, little one.” 

You wiped the corners of your eyes and so did Agatha. 

“We should name him Nicholas,” she said after a moment of contemplation.  

Knowing the meaning of the name, you felt like you couldn’t agree more on it, “Nicholas Scratch,” you added, “cause we made him from scratch.” 

Rio turned towards you, while her fingers played with the baby’s tender little hands. “That’s perfect, my love. Isn’t it, Agatha?”

Agatha swallowed thickly, already mourning the loss of Rio, despite her being still there. She nodded, and then she tangled a hand in Rio’s hair, pulling her closer to her face. For a moment she only leaned against her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent of flowers. Then the Green Witch took the initiative and placed her lips on top of hers, savoring with extreme gentleness, the plumpiness of Agatha’s. You ran a hand in Agatha’s hair, fingers stroking her scalp to let her feel your presence too, while your eyes darted on Rio. When Agatha let out a choked sob in Rio’s mouth, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened in such a short time, the other hushed her softly, “it’s going to be okay.”

Neither you nor Agatha were sure about it, but you had no other choice than to believe her. 

“Take care of your moms, Nicky,” she later added, placing one last kiss on his forehead and then on Agatha’s. 

Once she stood up again, she focused her attention on you. In an ideal world, you’d be her enemy, because of the powers you possessed. And yet, against all the odds, you became her lover, one of the most important persons in her life. 

“Don’t be sad…”

You nibbled on your inner cheek so hard you drew blood. With your arms crossed over your chest, you struggled to spill a single word because you didn’t trust your voice at the moment. Your entire body was shaking on the inside. Agatha never saw you look so fragile before. It felt like a stab in her chest to witness her family fall apart like that. 

“You’re asking too much of me,” you kept your eyes down, focusing on the tip of your boots. 

“Nena, look at me,” Rio tried to meet your eyes, but you purposefully kept it down, shaking it stubbornly and hopelessly. She smiled, feigning hurt in her tone as she continued, “You wouldn’t let me go without a proper kiss now, would you?” 

Despite your best efforts, you let out a small watery chuckle at her playful teasing, “I hate that you’re doing this.”

“It’s for Nicky…” She said simply. 

Agatha buried her face in the baby’s naked shoulder, finding comfort in his pure and unique scent. 

“And I am sorry,” when you finally met her eyes, Rio cupped your cheeks, “so sorry you don’t get to be his mother. It’s your right to be.”

But Rio’s lips curled into a reassuring smile, despite her sadness. “Don’t be. I’ll get my turn eventually…  and for now, I’ll be his–”

“Please, don’t say shadow,” you muttered, and that elicited a small chuckle out of the Green Witch. If you turned around you’d see Agatha’s lips stretch into a smile too. 

“Guardian, then.”

You hummed and licked your lips, tasting the saltiness of your own tears in your mouth. 

“Now come here, I waited enough–” 

The witch pulled you closer with ease. Your body crashed into hers but it was okay because she was ready to hold you. 

Agatha could see Rio’s face as she hugged you. She spotted a single tear slip down her eye and her stomach lurched. When you two pulled away, Rio took a few steps back, pulling the green cloak over her head. She lingered a few seconds to memorize the scene before her. You dropped on your knees and landed next to Agatha. Her head immediately lolled on your shoulder, and you turned yours to place your lips in her hair. 

Rio waved softly, then blew a kiss to each of you, “Nos vemos, mis amores.” 

You and Agatha nodded quietly, watching the Green Witch disappear before your eyes. Agatha let out a silent sob when she did; your arms immediately wrapped around her and the baby in a protective embrace. 

“We will be fine, Aggs.” 

When Agatha met your gaze, eyes full of hope and vulnerability, you took a mental vow to protect her and Nicky whatever the cost. 

“Yeah,” she echoed with a smile you immediately reciprocated. She closed her eyes when you leaned in to brush your lips against her still clammy forehead. 

When the baby started crying again, you two pulled away and focused your attention on Nicky. He looked rather pale for your liking, a little warm too. You knew what he needed and so did Agatha. You placed a tender kiss on his cheek, Agatha’s lips curling into a soft smile, while you did. Then you stood, hands on your hips, eyes roaming around your surroundings like a predator looking for its prey. You didn’t want to do this, but you were just a mother trying to keep your son alive. 

When Agatha attempted to get up, you interjected, “stay here for now. Let me do the rest.”

Her expression shifted from confusion to worry, “You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

“Agatha,” you merely rolled your eyes at that, “You just had our baby, I think it’s not the end of the world if you sit this one out,” your voice laced with a hint of playfulness despite the things you had to do. It’s not that you never killed before, cause you did. Not in cold blood though. You forced yourself into believing that it wouldn’t be much different. Once a wise person told you, a witch must do anything in her power to survive and there’s no shame in that. You were looking at her now, as her attention remained fixed on you. 

“Be careful,” it was supposed to sound like an order, but the softness in her eyes betrayed her. 

You chuckled lightly, “I always am,” you concluded, pulling the cloak up over your head. 

[ninguitar]

KATSEYE AS YOUR GIRLFRIEND, 𓈒𓈒 1 year since their debut !!

pairing. katseye (separate) x f!r genre. fluff wc. 1.2k notes. ohyeaaaa 1 year since their debut 🗣️🗣️ this was meant to be posted yesterday 😭 ( MASTERLIST. )

now playing ⋆ debut by katseye

— SOPHIA LAFORTEZA ｡｡

girlfriend!sophia who spoils you no matter what; she spends the most astronomical amount of money on you !! just your mere gaze at an item while shopping with her, and she'll be by your side immediately paying for that item.

girlfriend!sophia who is so, sooo attentive to you. she remembers all your orders at certain restaurants like the back of her hand and unconsciously orders them for you whenever she's picking up food !! ><

girlfriend!sophia who is always looming over you—making sure you're okay !! anytime you're upset, she immediately rushes to your side, bringing a "care package" filled with trinkets and snacks in for you. always, always showering you with affection, your heart aching at how infatuated she is with you !!

girlfriend!sophia who carries a picture of you in her wallet, never taking it out ever. she thinks it's some sort of way of bringing you everywhere she goes, even if you guys are miles apart. even goes the extra mile of carrying another picture of you in her phone case too !! she just loves you so much :3

girlfriend!sophia who is the standard—always opening the door for you, leading you through crowds, following the "sidewalk rule," giving you her jacket during cold days !!!

— MERET MANON BANNERMAN ｡｡

girlfriend!manon who is your own personal designated hypewoman !! you name it, and she's always hyping you up no matter how goofy you're being.

girlfriend!manon who always listens to you talk for every second of it, making sure she absorbs every little detail. watching you with heart eyes, she'd make small, goofy comments in response to you. ^_^

girlfriend!manon who is a complete sucker for you—talking about you to everybody, bringing you up even if it doesn't involve you at all. hell she would even get your name tatted on her for you >< sometimes would even post mirror pics with you with hearts as the caption !!

girlfriend!manon who is also your photographer—anywhere, anytime. has photos of you filling up her photo gallery and insists on not deleting them even if she has no storage left !!! she even has photos of you sleeping and causing sheer chaos that she uses against you to tease you.

girlfriend!manon who, whenever you guys try new restaurants/cafes, chooses the worst item on the menu, and ultimately always eats your food, making you protest playfully !! nonetheless, you let her because how could you not when she just looked so cute and sad </3

— DANIELA AVANZINI ｡｡

girlfriend!daniela who insists that she does your makeup for you !!! spoiler alert: she always kisses your lipstick off of you, letting it smudge with her own, and always makes you guys late.

girlfriend!daniela who curates a playlist on spotify with your favorite songs, trying to get into favorite artists !! always, always she plays those songs on her aux whenever you two go on a drive together.

girlfriend!daniela who encourages you to learn dances with her, her hands curling around your wrist, and dragging you along to do random dances. she just can't help but be admired by you dancing, her gaze flickering to you every few seconds. sometimes, she'd even wrap her arms around your waist, guiding you to the music.

girlfriend!daniela who can't help but tease you when helping you learn spanish !! how could she not when you were just so adorable when determined to learn her mother tongue?

girlfriend!daniela whose half of her wardrobe comes from you, wearing them as though they were hers. there has never been a week that went by where she didn't wear at least one of your articles of clothing :3

— LARA RAJAGOPALAN ｡｡

girlfriend!lara who specifically requests for your feedback on any of songs she's producing, always texting you randomly during the day, and sending you demos of her voice that make you levitate.

girlfriend!lara who loves, and i mean LOVES, to mess with you for fun. seeing your reaction just makes her giggle, especially when she sends you random selfies, often making heat curl on your cheeks.

girlfriend!lara who, anytime you want piercings, insists that she comes with you !! even if you're not afraid of needles, nonetheless, she uses it as an excuse to hold your hand, giving it gentle squeezes every few seconds. :3 to add on, whenever you guys are abroad, you sometimes shop for jewelry together, and often she has you choosing jewelry for her belly piercing ^_^

girlfriend!lara who has a small pout forming on her face whenever you buy an album to support the girls and don't pull her photocard !! she immediately gives you one herself, making you tease her, though you nonetheless slipp it into the back of your phone case.

girlfriend!lara who, in order to get a good night's sleep in her book, needs to cuddle with you—whether it's you as big spoon, or her as big soon, it doesn't matter to her !!! summer or winter, she needs you to be cuddling with her !!

— MEGAN SKIENDIEL ｡｡

girlfriend!megan who loves, LOVES doing spontaneous things with you; anytime you guys have an impulsive decision—such as tattoos—together, you always find a way to do them !!!

girlfriend!megan who has matching everything with you—rings, bracelets, necklaces, tattoos, you name it !!! she just wants to have a piece of you on her ^_^ !!

girlfriend!megan who is just a ray of sunshine !! anytime she talks, she just yaps on and on, and you can't help but stare at her with loving eyes, finding her rambles endearing >< her little smile whenever she talks that you js find sooo cute !!! and vice-versa whenever you talk, her eyes are always on you, staring at you intently !!

girlfriend!megan who has movie/show nights with you !! binge watching shows like glee and pen15 is alwaysss a must for her :3 she alwaysss talks during movies, making silly, little comments throughout the films ^_^

girlfriend!megan who is just a bit impatient !! she may love hearing you ramble on and on about whatever, but at one point, she'll just start looking at your lips, fixating on them while mumbling small replies >< soon enough she wouldn't be able to contain herself, meekly pressing her lips against yours softly !!!

— JEONG YOONCHAE ｡｡

girlfriend!yoonchae who, during your school years, would pass you little post-it notes in class with checkboxes like:

"hey u look cute tdy !! date after skl pls" ▢ yes!! ♡ ▢ no :( ”

girlfriend!yoonchae who has a pout forming on her face whenever you visit korea and meet her dog !! how could her dog like you more than her ?? >< her dog somehow always eases into your touch more than yoonchae's whenever you two are playing with the dog together !!

girlfriend!yoonchae who takes pictures of you every time you guys go on dates !! her favs will always be the 0.5 ones of you, making them your contact icon for every messaging app :3 always using them to relentlessly tease you

girlfriend!yoonchae who is capable of sleeping everywhereee; you name it, and she's been asleep there before !! sometimes (most of the time) will even drag you to take a nap with her—who are you to decline her requests !!! burying her head into the crook of your neck, as she quickly falls asleep ><

girlfriend!yoonchae who feels like she could be her true self around you !! you're practically her safety net, knowing that you would never judge her; she always, always opens up to you, showing all her sides. to add on, she'll constantly want to try new things with you, getting sooo excited !!! :3 it means the world to her that she can heal her inner child

love me once i know you'll love me twice

love me once the naughty turns to nice

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

[the-upside-down-umbrella]

Partners? Partners.

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N Hargreeves, formerly of the Sparrow Academy, finds herself virtually alone in the reset timeline. The Umbrella’s bring her in to their chaos and she builds something new for herself while still navigating the grief of losing her family. She’s happy in the simplicity. That is, until the one Hargreeves she can’t seem to win over comes to her with an offer she might not be able to refuse.

Warnings: Some cursing. Some angst.

(Part 1/?)

A/N: This one will be 4 or 5 parts. A bit of a coffee shop AU if you squint

——————

She missed her family. She missed them so desperately that sometimes when she dreamt of them at night, she would wake up in tears as the loneliness set in and she realized that her dreams were the only place she would see them again. They had been dysfunctional and as far as families go, not that close, but they had been hers. She would never understand how she had survived everything, how she had made it through the reset when the others did not. She technically had Ben but he had distanced himself not just from the Umbrella’s, but from her, as soon as they fell into this timeline. Now he was in prison for a white-collar bitcoin crime and he refused to have visitors altogether. She was well and truly the last of her family.

It got easier with time and she fell into a predictable, mundane routine. For the first time in her life, she was forced to slow down and be a normal human being. No powers. No Sparrow Academy. Just living and surviving.

She found an apartment with a roommate who mostly kept to themselves and a stable, if not a bit boring, job as a barista at a local coffee shop just a block from home. It wasn’t much and some months she was barely scraping by, but it was a start and she was happy.

The other Hargreeves children, the Umbrellas, brought her into the fold of their chaotic family and soon, she began to feel less alone.

She had brunch with Luther every Sunday at his club. They spent that time talking about Sloane, keeping her memory alive between them. She shared her childhood memories of her sister and Luther soaked it all in, grateful to receive any little piece of new information about his wife that he could get. She was thankful for that time with him and happy that someone loved Sloane the way she always deserved to be loved. Even if it was just for a moment.

Diego and Lila had her over for family game night at least once a month and she had coffee with Lila every week at the shop. Their children called her aunt and she made sure that they were properly spoiled, much to their parent's dismay.

She made the trek to Victor’s bar often in the evenings not just for the free drinks, but because he was actually wonderful company and he made sure to carve out time to sit and talk with her whenever he could take a break from running things. Like her, she suspected that he also felt a bit lonely.

Klaus and Allison came as a pair these days. Their dynamic was a sight to behold as Klaus navigated his newfound sobriety, and Allison pulled together a life doing what she loved, to support her daughter. She loved being around them.

But there was one particular family member that Y/N could not quite figure out.

Five.

Apart from their initial interaction at Sloane and Luther’s wedding where he had drunkenly accosted her about her powers, he had barely acknowledged her existence. While she was building relationships with his other siblings, he kept her at arm's length. Sure, he was cordial with her at family events and dinners, but that’s where he drew the line. He rebuffed every attempt she made at finding a connection with him.

That is until he started showing up every morning at the coffee shop she worked at. The same time every morning and the same, predictable order.

The first time he walked through the door she was taken aback. She knew he lived on the other side of town but she chalked it up to some work thing bringing him there.

He made his order, indulged her in small talk, and sat down, opening up a newspaper to read while he sipped his coffee.

She thought it was a one-off, but was very surprised when he turned up the next morning at the same time.

And then the morning after that and the morning after that.

He began conversing with her for longer periods of time, asking questions about her day-to-day life after the reset and even sharing some tidbits of information about himself. She knew he worked for the CIA and had recently moved into a new apartment.

A few weeks went by and each day was the same. It reached the point that she would have his coffee made and the donut he liked set aside before he even made it through the door.

But after a while, her curiosity began to get the better of her. Why was he here? Why was he suddenly showing interest in her and what she was doing with her life? It was making her crazy!

“Your black, boring coffee, sir,” Y/N said in the most sugary sweet voice she could muster, setting the cup down in front of the irritating man in front of her.

Five immediately picked it up and took a deep sip, “Fantastic as usual.”

She pulled the chair out across from him and sat down with a huff, “Cut the crap, Five. We both know you have much closer coffee shops to your apartment. Why, may I ask, do you insist on frequenting mine? Is it just to pester me?”

“Maybe I just like your company,” Five shrugged, leaning back to observe her.

This poked at her ire even more. He was always doing that. Just observing her like some sort of animal in an enclosure. Always there at his little table near the window. Rain or shine.

“Oh please!” She scoffed, “You’ve never given any indication that you even like me, let alone enjoy my company. In fact, until you started showing up here every day, I was pretty sure you hated me. So, again, cut the crap and tell me why you’re really here.”

“Fine,” he said, sitting his mug down so that he could give her his full, undivided attention, “I have a proposition for you.”

“This should be good.”

“My boss wants me to take on a partner,” he explained, “but the problem with that is that I don’t really trust…anyone really. But I’ve watched you these last few years, Y/N, and I know that you’re smart, analytical, and incredibly sharp. Your powers fine-tuned all of your senses and even if you don’t have them anymore, that’s still there. And that’s what I want in a partner.”

“Five, I’m not even trained to work for the CIA,” she reminded him, “I’m sure they’re not going to just let some random person join ranks without experience.”

“But you do have experience,” he insisted, “you’re a Sparrow. You’ve literally been trained since birth to be a fighter, a spy, or whatever else Dad needed us to be.”

“Need I remind you that neither the sparrows nor the umbrellas existed in this timeline? So none of that is going to mean jack shit to anyone.”

“It will if I forge a few documents,” he said, leaning forward so that he could get a clear look at her, “How do you think I got this far looking this young? I’ll do the same for you and everyone will think you’re an FBI transfer. They’ll be none the wiser. Trust me, not everyone high up is as smart as they’d like to think they are.”

She doubted anyone was that stupid.

“Five, this might come as a surprise to you, but I actually really like my life here,” she told him, “it’s peaceful and easy and I don’t really need any more than that. After so long of fighting and striving for perfection for the Sparrows, I’m ready to just settle down and live slowly. So, thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

“You say that,” he chuckled, “you say that you want peace and quiet but I know that’s just something you tell yourself. Because I’ve told myself the same thing and it didn’t suit me. But let’s face it, you’re as unhinged as me. You NEED the chaos. You thrive on it.”

“You’re really not doing yourself any favors here, Five,” she hissed. “Besides, why me? Why haven’t you asked Diego? Hasn’t he been bugging you about bringing in his resume? Make him your partner.”

“Diego and Lila have enough going on in their lives,” he waved her off, “And Diego is a skilled fighter but he lacks in the brains department. Trust me.”

With that final statement, Five stood up and pushed in his chair before downing the last dredges of his coffee, “Just think about it, okay? And until then, I’ll be here every day, as usual. No one makes a cup of coffee quite like you.”

With a wink he left her sitting at the table alone, wondering why on earth she was actually considering his offer.

[emacrow]

So you know the movie Ponyo

What I'm really trying to ask is do you know the mother and the father are like a little thing where the mother looks like an epic Sea Goddess cuz she is and he looks like a sad sickly old man

I'm just imagine that Klarion and Danny

Like Danny looks like an epic beautiful star Death god powerful in the way he moves but it's subtle like he's slowly comforting you to death

And Klarion looks like a crazy witch boy with a cat who look like he's out right feral and about to throw a pipe bomb at you just because he can

I'm just imagining what happens is Young/Dark Justice is worried about Klarion he's been gone for a while and they're wondering what he's planning I imagine they're surprised when they see him with a Lazarus pit

It's a specially surprising when electric entity sticks their head out of the Lazarus pit and starts talking to Klarion as the JLD and YJL hide there waiting for Klarion into demand help our power they watch this being completely start flirting with Klarion

I imagine Klarion and Danny's conversation going like this

Danny: Hello there my amazing chaos what have you came to talk to me about this time

He puts his hands up to pick up Klarion and bring him closer to his face

Klarion: It's that stupid Doctor Fate it's like he doesn't understand too much balance can ruin the order of the world I might love chaos but that would cause a chaos I couldn't even control

Klarion sits down and Danny's hands rubbing his head on one of Danny's fingers as comfort

Danny: Oh my love I could always talk to him and get him to try slow it down a bit if that's what you need

Danny's face turns into one of concern as he says that slowly starting to move around in the bigger than normal Lazarus pit that Klarion found for him

Klarion: No starlight me and Teekl have that old fart handled how about you tell me about your day instead did you find any more stars how is the balance between life and death doing for you

Danny puts him back down as a twinkle goes in to his eyes as he lays down in Lazarus water slowly starting to swim around as he say

Danny: oh Klarion life and death has been amazing and there's a new Star nursery that I found out there it's just wonderful

After Danny says that he pauses for a moment and presents to go underneath the water he comes out looking smaller with white hair and still wearing the same clothing he was wearing when he was larger surprising Klarion by grabbing his hands

Danny: oh Klarion my dear I have an idea how about we let Dr.Fate have what he wants for once in his miserable life let him have order without the balance that he needs that should show him that he needs you should it not

Klarion takes a second to think through It after he does he grabs Danny's hands right back

Klarion: that's an amazing idea Danny I'll stay with you in the infinite realms let's see how Dr Fate work without chaos helping him keep the balance

After that Danny kisses Klarion on the cheek using the the Lazarus pits to take him and Klarion to somewhere called the infinite realms

I'm sorry this is my first time really writing out Klarion I don't know how to write out characters that well I hope it was good that is what I really like is YJ and JLD was just reacting to this conversation since like the plan was listen and find information

You bet damn right that Dr Fate would have trouble keeping the balance, and would probably have the justice league trying to find Klarion because he thinks he up to something but in reality Klarion is in the middle of deep space, playing around with the stars as Danny is molding and feeding the baby star nursery to build a new universe in the making.

Dani is probably with him doing looping loops playing with star dust while Dan beat up any asteroids that had bad bacteria and let some of the good meteorites in that has good bacteria, and frozen water inside of them.

By the the time Justice league figured it out, probably the Green lantern, Hal. He probably gobsmacked and godsmacked straight back where he came form accidentally by Danny's star fueled cape.

[cinnaleaf]

「 Rouxed Up | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: you bring your man home for an american christmas while you try to survive your chaotic family | MDNI 18+

warnings: smut, dom/sub dynamic, dirty talk, language, chaotic family, cultural specificity (black southern american), southern slang, food mentions, mentions of alcohol, humour 🎅🏾: my writer elf worked very hard on this to make it special for the american girlies | pt 4 of my ficmas series wc: ~5.9k

You should’ve known things were going to be chaotic the minute you turned onto the street where you grew up. Houston suburbs were excessive, especially during Christmas. There were overly large brick houses lined with lights that doubled the electric bill, inflatable Santas, reindeer, and other decorations fighting for space in every yard. Your parents’ house wasn’t any different: it was a sprawling 4 bedroom home with a front yard cluttered with holiday decorations, lights, and an inflatable football. Your mom swore it was festive enough to win the homeowner’s association holiday contest this year, but they lost to the neighbors across the street for the second year in a row. 

“I guess they do it big in Texas, huh?” Aurélien asked while sliding out of the car to stretch his long legs.

“Always” you answered back, reaching to pull a foil pan full of red beans and rice from the backseat. “This isn’t real Texas though baby. You’re about to step right into Louisiana as soon as we get inside the house.”

You weren’t exaggerating. After the hurricane, your entire family packed up and started over in Houston. They may have swapped New Orleans shotgun houses for oversized Texas bricks, but the food, accents, and chaos all came with them. Now, you were dragging your French footballer boyfriend into the chaos so he could see what a Creole Christmas looked like. He was hype for weeks, asking you nonstop questions about the food, NOLA bounce remixes, if your family had any relation to Beyoncé, and if anyone in the family still spoke French.

When you walked inside, the house was alive with uncles yelling at an NFL game on a large tv in the living room. Your cousins were running around playing hide and seek in rooms they knew they weren’t supposed to be running around in. The smell of seafood stock cooking hit your nose first – shrimp shells, water, and various aromatic vegetables and herbs were bubbling in a pot so big it could feed a small army. The kitchen was at max capacity as your grandma barked orders while your aunt Beverly was busy icing a pound cake.

“Y/N, baby!” Your grandma spotted you before you could even set the tin pan down. She quickly washed her hands and waddled over to you to pull you into a hug that smelled like a mix of cajun seasonings and White Diamonds perfume. “You finally brought him back with you! What’s his name..Leon??”

“Aurélien.” you corrected her politely, enunciating it so she could get it right.

Aurélien stepped forward with a polite, meet the family smile while your grandma looked him up and down quickly and then put on the glasses that were sitting on top of her head to get a clearer look. “Hmm..he’s tall. Very handsome too. Your taste ain’t too bad, I’ll give you that. You must’ve got that from me because your mama never picked ‘em right when she was your age.”

“I told y’all he was fine,” one of your aunts added while checking the pecan pie in the oven. 

“Nana..auntie..please don’t start” you muttered, trying not to laugh while Aurélien stifled his laughter next to you.

“I’m just saying!” your grandma gave you a dramatic shrug and then turned her attention back to him. “So do you know anything about real football? Not that soccer stuff.”

“Nana!” you hissed, feeling embarrassed by your family already. “He’s literally a professional footballer.”

“Uh huh” she said unimpressed. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

Aurélien grinned, leaning into his perfect boyfriend performance with an almost too good to be true charm. “I know a little bit about NFL. Y/N taught me a few things.”

Your grandma waved him off with a scoff. “Mhm, we’ll see. Don’t let my son hear you say that or he’ll have you on the couch talking about the Saints all night.” Then she turned her attention back to you with a no nonsense look. “Y/N, you’re making the gumbo this year.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait what?”

“Gumbo. You heard me” she said, already making her way out the kitchen. “You’re always in the kitchen when I make it. Show your boyfriend you know how to cook so he doesn’t go back home thinking we raised you wrong.”

“Nana I’ve never–”

“Better figure it out!” she snapped over her shoulder, dismissing you with a wave. “The stock is on the stove and everything else is over yonder (nearby) in the ice box (fridge). Don’t mess my kitchen up.”

Aurélien looked down at you, amused by your predicament. “You didn’t tell me you were the chef tonight.”

“That’s because I didn’t know” you muttered while the panic set in. You knew your entire family would clown you for years to come if you fucked your grandmother’s gumbo recipe up. They were still talking about the mac and cheese you messed up three years ago by adding cottage cheese, so you couldn’t take any chances this year. 

“Okay..” you sighed and tied your braids into a bun as you made your way over to the sink to wash your hands. Before you could even start getting anything accomplished, one of your little cousins, Myles, came yelling and running through the kitchen out of nowhere.

“Y/N! My mom said your boyfriend has money for Robux. Can he buy me some? Pleaseeee?”

“No!” you snapped, holding up a wooden spoon. “And why are you running in here? You know you’re not supposed to be in the kitchen playing!”

“We’re just playing hide and seek,” Myles said while full of sugared adrenaline. “But I’m not hiding in here..I just wanted to see if I could get some robux.”

“Robux your ass out of this kitchen please” you commanded while wrangling him and the rest of your cousins out of the kitchen.

Aurélien cocked his brow, watching you as you ushered your cousins out of the kitchen area. 

“Baby.. I can buy them some robux, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No. He’s always begging for something” you muttered, shoving flour and oil onto the counter.

“Y/N!” your other cousin, Gianna, yelled from the hallway. “Can you fix my hair? My mama bumped the ends and I don’t like it.”

“Girl, I just got here! Ask Nana!”

“She said no,” Gianna pouted, slowly dragging her feet toward the living room.

Your mom appeared from another room with her hands full of empty tin pans, scowling. “Why are y’all yelling in my house like this?” Her eyes landed on Aurélien and she softened immediately. “Hi Aurél. You hungry?”

Aurélien flashed the same smile he used on your grandma, but it worked a lot better on your mom. “No ma’am but thank you. It’s good to see you again.”

“Is my daughter treating you right?” your mom asked with a smile on her face while setting the pans down beside some plates. “I know she can be a little feisty…”

“Wooow…” you rolled your eyes, not believing your ears. 

“Is she treating me right?” Aurélien repeated with a laugh, glancing at you as he leaned against the counter. “I have no complaints. She’s perfect for me.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, amused by his smoothness. “You like that? I guess there’s someone out there for everybody…”

“Mom!” you yelled, reaching for the knob on the stove with an exaggerated huff. “Can y’all chill on me?”

Your mom laughed as she walked toward the living room with the others. “Alright, I’m gone. Don’t mess up the gumbo.”

“Don’t burn the roux Y/N!” Myles shouted from wherever he was hiding.

Aurélien snickered, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Yeah. Don’t burn the roux baby.”

You gave him a glare, pointing the wooden spoon toward him. “I don’t need your commentary. You’re here to chop vegetables and shut up. Got it?”

“Got it” he raised his hands up dramatically, but was still grinning like he was about to get on your every last nerve.

You turned back to the counter, yanking the fridge open to pull out the holy trinity. Just as you set the onion, celery, and bell pepper on the cutting board, your Aunt Beverly waltzed in with a glass of something that probably had way too much Crown Royal in it.

“Now why do you have this young man standing here looking like a guest?” she asked, plopping her glass down on the counter. “Aurélien you better start chopping! This ain’t Madrid.”

“I was just waiting for my instructions,” Aurélien replied, grabbing a knife. “I’m ready to work auntie.”

“Aww look at him” she cooed, giving you a look. “You better not mess this one up Y/N. He’s fine and he listens. That’s rare.”

You groaned, already regretting bringing him with you for Christmas. “Why is everyone acting like he’s the only man on earth?”

“Nobody said he was,” Aunt Beverly replied, sipping her drink. “But he’s the finest one I’ve seen you bring around.”

Aurélien didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Thank you auntie.”

“Don’t thank her” you scoffed, shoving the cutting board closer to him. “Just chop.”

Before you could get into a good rhythm of chopping and stirring, Gianna came storming back in the kitchen, looking even more dramatic than before.

“Y/N!” she whined. “Pleaseeee fix my hair. Look at me!”

You glanced over at her, narrowing your eyes over the bumped ends while you tried not to laugh. “Gigi, you don’t need your hair fixed. It looks fine.” You were lying, she really looked like she worked in management at a call center.

“No it doesn’t!” she cried, stomping her foot. “I look like James Brown!”

You almost burst out laughing so you turned your head back to the stove, tucking your lips in to hide your smile while waving her off. “Just go sit down somewhere.”

“Fine” she huffed, stomping back toward the living room. “I’m telling Nana you’re being mean.”

“Tell her! I don’t care!” you yelled back, very unbothered.

Aurélien was at the counter chopping celery while all of this went down, but you saw him chuckling quietly to himself during the ordeal like this was the most entertaining family he had ever seen. “Do you talk to all of them like that? Is that normal?”

“Only when they act like this…” you muttered, dumping a pile of chopped onions into a bowl. “Which is every time I come home.”

“Your family is funny..I like them.”

“Just chop” you repeated while shaking your head. You were anxious your family would have scared him off by now, but knowing he was enjoying every second gave you butterflies.

While chopping, the sound of the NFL game blaring loudly in the background was interrupted by your uncle shouting, “Y/N! You know what you doing in there? It smells like something’s burning.”

You hadn’t even started cooking yet, and somehow your uncle was smelling phantom scents. You rolled your eyes again, ignoring his comments while you poured oil in the pan. A slow grin crept up Aurélien’s face when he saw how annoyed you were getting. “Burning the gumbo already?”

You whipped your head around, pointing the spoon at him. “Don’t start with me.”

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention back toward the pan and swirled the oil around under the heat as you slowly added in flour. The roux was a life or death situation; you were either going to be a Creole princess, or your family would be on your neck for the rest of the night.

Aurélien stood close to you, leaning in with curiosity in his eyes. “So how do we do this? What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to stir this until its the color of dark chocolate” you said while moving the spoon in a steady circular pattern. “If I stop stirring it’ll burn and get all clumpy. After that, we add the veggies we just chopped to let it sauté, and then we add everything else and let it simmer.”

He nodded, leaning against the counter to watch you. “That’s simple enough.”

“It’s really not” you replied with your eyes locked on the pan. “And you’re distracting me already, so stop.”

“Baby I’m just standing here.” he smirked. “You’re that easily distracted?”

“No.” you shot back, side eyeing him for a split second. You were that easily distracted when he was around, but you weren’t about to admit to it.

“Are you sure?” He dropped his tone, teasing you. “Why are you gripping the spoon so tight?”

“Because I need to keep stirring..” you muttered while refusing to look at him.

“Hmm.” He paused, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I know something else that grips like that. And it tastes good too.”

You froze for a second and then snapped your head toward him with your eyes wide. “Aurélien!”

“What?” he asked innocently, but his smirk was far from innocent. “I’m just being honest.”

“Stop” you voiced in a tight tone.

“Stop what?” he asked, sliding his hand to your hip.

“That.” you hissed, smacking his hand away with your free one. “I’m not fucking the roux up because you wanna play around.”

“I think you like it though..”

You were going to fire back but then your dad’s voice cut through the kitchen. “What’s it looking like in here?” Both of you stiffened when your dad walked in the kitchen with a drink in hand, eyeing both of you.

Aurélien straightened up and moved his hands back to his sides like he’d been caught. “It’s going well sir. She’s doing a good job.”

“Hmm” you dad walked up to the stove with his brows knitted in nothing but judgement while he stared at the roux. “Still looks too light to me.”

“It’s not ready yet!” you answered back defensively, tired of everyone getting onto you about the roux.

Your dad took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “I don’t know if I want to eat what you’re cooking…”

“Then don’t” you said under your breath so he wouldn’t hear you. Eventually, he wandered back toward another room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Aurélien leaned on the counter, smirking. 

“You look good in that dress, baby.”

“Aurélien....”

“What?” he teased, dropping his voice. “I can’t compliment my girlfriend?”

You huffed a breath and continued stirring the roux as it turned from a caramel color to a rich dark chocolate shade. “Not now.”

He stood behind you, towering over you as he brushed his lips up against your ear. “Later then?”

“Maybe…” you kept stirring with a vengeance, trying not to reveal how flustered he had you. 

When the roux finally finished, you let out a small sigh of relief. You had one hurdle down, but the gumbo was nowhere near being finished. You pushed the spoon against the sides of the pan to check the consistency to make sure it was smooth and velvety instead of clumpy.

Aurélien hovered over you, smiling like he was the one doing all the work this whole time. “You said it’s supposed to look like dark chocolate, right? Looks like it’s done.”

“Mmhmm.” You grabbed holy trinity mixture and tossed it into the pan with a satisfying sizzle and the aroma hit immediately.

He leaned in closer. “Smells good already.”

“It’s not even half done yet.” you said, pushing him back with your hip as you reached for the seasonings. You added cajun seasonings, thyme, and bay leaves into the pot. You reached for garlic powder, but Aurélien grabbed it first and held it out of your reach with another smirk on his face.

“Really?” you asked, giving him a look.

“I’m trying to help” he replied while sprinkling garlic powder in the pot like he was a pro chef before handing it back.

You rolled your eyes, dumping the rest of the ingredients into the pot while stirring. Aurélien watched you like he was mesmerized.

“Baby you look so good right now.”

“I’m literally sweating and I probably smell like filé powder so why are you lying?” you tried to keep your tone light but the look in his eye had you ready to bend over the countertop.

“I’m not. You look good.” He stepped closer to you and brushed his hand on the lower curve of your back. He tilted his head and traced small patterns against your dress. “And you keep bending over that pot like you want something else…”

“Aurélien.” you warned again, but it sounded more like a whine because his hand slid up to your hip at the same time.

“You’re doing such a good job baby.” he coaxed while gripping your hip to pull you up against him. If he wanted to play, you could too – so you lightly grinded up against him while the gumbo simmered on the stove. 

You could feel his breath hitch against your neck as he kissed you there, lightly nibbling on the skin. “Keep doing that.”

You pressed against him even more while his hands roamed over your dress. Just as you were about to push him off of you, the sound of your aunts’ voice drifted into the kitchen from the dining room. They were in a very loud and animated gossip session, so naturally both you and Aurélien froze in place to start eavesdropping.

“Girl have you seen Linda lately?” Your Aunt Kim’s voice cut through the kitchen.

“Who ain’t seen her?” Aunt Beverly shot back. “She’s all over town riding around in every man’s car but her husband’s. Makes no damn sense.”

“Chileeee…” Aunt Kim said with a dramatic drawl. “She has the nerve to be in church every sunday talking about the lord is her shepherd while she’s creeping with half the deacons.”

“Half?!” Aunt Bev cackled so loud it made Aurélien’s eyebrows shoot up. “Girl she’s hitting the men’s choir and the ushers too. And then she has the nerve to come in there with her wig sitting like a top hat. Baby, secure that wig first, then worry about your next man.”

“Not a top hat!” Aunt Kim howled. “She looks like she’s leading a marching band!”

“Mhm. I might tell you a joke but I’ll never tell you a lie” Aunt Bev continued cackling.

Your hand shot up over your mouth to keep from laughing as Aurélien leaned closer to you, confused. “What are they saying?” he whispered.

You leaned back into him, trying to explain without bursting into laughter. “They’re talking about the pastor’s wife. Apparently she’s been messing around with men who aren’t her husband. And her wig game is real bad.”

Aurélien’s face twisted with disbelief. “So she’s cheating and her wig is crooked? That’s crazy.”

You nodded with tears threatening to spill from how hard you were trying to hold back your laughter. “I swear nobody is safe in this family. They come for everybody.”

“She’s gonna end up in somebody’s sermon if she keeps it up” Aunt Kim said, taking a sip of her drink. “And I’m not saying a damn thing when it happens.”

“Nothing?” Aunt Bev smacked her lips. “Please. You’ll be the first one to say something. You haven’t been quiet a day in your life.”

Both women burst into a fit of laughter and you finally shoved Aurélien off so you could work on plating the gumbo over a bed of white rice. When you were finally done, you called everyone into the dining room. The table was already overloaded with food, but the gumbo was the star of the show. You set the bowls down in front of everyone, ready to hear everyone’s reactions.

“Alright” your grandma said as she sat at the head of the table. “Let’s see if my grandbaby did my gumbo any justice.”

Everyone started digging in and you heard the occasional “Mmm!” of approval from mostly everyone. You noticed your dad had his bowl of gumbo off to the side and he reached for some oxtail instead.

“You’re not gonna try it?” you asked.

He shrugged, unphased. “I don’t eat gumbo unless your Nana makes it. Especially if it has seafood in it. You know that.”

“Wow.” You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “You’re really going to do your daughter like that?”

Your dad glanced up at you with a smirk. “The last time you made a main dish for Christmas, you put cottage cheese in the mac and cheese. I don’t trust it.”

The whole table erupted in laughter, including Aurélien as he tried to cover his mouth. A look of defeat appeared on your face and you slumped in your chair. “I saw it on tiktok.”

“Tiktok doesn’t belong in the kitchen on Christmas day. Do that on your own time.” your grandma shook her head, cracking a crab leg to retrieve the meat inside.

When Aurélien dipped his spoon into the gumbo to take his first bite, his eyes widened. “Mmm” he hummed low and deep in his chest, dragging out the sound as his tongue darted to catch a stray bit of broth on his bottom lip. You froze mid bite, hovering your spoon over your bowl as he let out another groan of appreciation.

“This is so good,” he murmured in a smooth voice. His eyes were locked on yours the entire time, and the corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. “Baby you really did this.”

“It’s just gumbo” you tried to keep your voice even, feeling heat creeping up your skin.

“No,” he said, dipping his spoon back in for another bite. His gaze stayed on you as he savoured it, swiping his tongue across his lips in a teasing way. “This is perfect. I see why you were gripping that spoon now.”

You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together while your family was oblivious to the way your boyfriend was dismantling every bit of composure in you.

“Aurélien” you hissed low enough so no one else could hear. “You need to chill.”

“I’m just enjoying your cooking baby” he said, leaning in closer and dropping his voice just for you. “And thinking about what else you’re good at.”

Your spoon clattered on the bowl and you reached for your glass of water, downing it like you were dying of thirst. Aurélien’s hand slipped under the table, brushing against your bare thigh. “You okay?” he asked while continuing to rub your thigh in gentle strokes.

You glared at him, feeling the pool of heat in your core increase from his touch. “No. I’m really not.”

Aurélien didn’t stop his torturous strokes on your thigh as his fingers slipped a little higher. It was taking everything in you to control yourself and push his hand away, but you really wanted to grab it and pull it closer. Your family was still as loud as ever, conversing around the table and had no idea what was happening. Your uncles were arguing about the NFL game with one of your aunts, your grandma was fussing with Myles about trying to sneak a piece of cake before finishing all of his food, and your mom was going on about how she needed better lights next year in order to win the HOA decor competition.

Literally nobody was paying attention to you, and Aurélien took it to his advantage. He brushed his lips against your ear and whispered, “You’re tense baby. Maybe I should help you relax in a bit.”

“Let’s go.” you said under your breath, unable to take it anymore.

“Now?”

You shot him a look. “Now.”

Aurélien didn’t need to be told twice and stood up first, excusing himself from the table with an exaggerated excuse about how he needed to stretch his legs so his muscles wouldn’t get too stiff during the holiday break. It was bullshit, but either way nobody cared. You followed a few seconds later, pretending you needed to refill your glass of water.

When you met him in the hallway, his hand immediately hiked your dress up, gripping your hips from underneath while his lips met yours in a messy kiss. His tongue slid against yours as you arched your body into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Your room?” he whispered against your lips, already leading you down the hall. You nodded but you could barely think straight when his lips started trailing down your neck. When you reached the door of your bedroom, you pushed it open quickly, expecting an empty bed but you froze in place when you saw someone’s random baby was asleep.

“Who.. whose baby is that?” Aurélien asked in a hushed tone, baffled.

“I don’t even know” you whispered back, shutting the door as quietly as possible before you started laughing.

You wasted no time grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the bathroom. Once you were inside, you locked the door and leaned back against it with a seductive smirk on your face. “We have about five minutes before someone starts looking for us.”

“Then we better not waste it” he said, sliding your dress back up around your hips. You palmed his dick over his jeans, stroking it against the fabric to make him hard while his hand found their way between your thighs. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped from you when his fingers started teasing you through your panties. His lips moved from your jaw, then to your neck and you tilted back against the door to give him more access.

“Auréliennn” you whispered in a voice shaky as you dug your nails into his arm.

“You need to be quiet for me baby” His voice was low and filled with lust. “Shhhh.”

You nodded, but his fingers slipped under your panties and met with your wetness, causing you to let out a soft, desperate moan. He smirked against your neck, teasing your skin with the warmth of his voice.

“I said be quiet for me.”

You bit your lip to hold back but he wasn’t making it easy for you at all. He had two fingers inside of you while his thumb rubbed your clit, teasing you until your legs started to shake.

“Please” you whispered, still clutching his arm while you struggled to keep it together quietly.

He pulled back enough to look you in the eyes with a smug expression on his face. “Please what?”

“Please” you repeated, voice trembling with want. “Just hurry.” You gripped the belt loop of his jeans with your hand, quickly unzipping his jeans so you could speed the process up. You really didn’t have much time and you were not about to risk not having the orgasm that was pent up and wavering, ready for release.

Aurélien leaned into your ear, arrogantly whispering in your ear. “You were clenching that spoon like you needed something else to hold onto. I’m about to give you something better.”

“Shut up” you muttered, already struggling to keep composure.

“You don’t want me to shut up” he whispered, brushing his lips against your neck as he spoke. “You love this too much. Tell me how good I feel.”

You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. “You feel so good,” you whimpered. “But we don’t have time.”

“I don’t care” he cut you off, thrusting his fingers inside you with calculation. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he filled you with his fingers, curving just right in a certain spot that made your legs week. “Take it, baby. Good girl.”

You bit your lip to keep quiet but he was driving you wild. His thumb pressed against your clit, swirling with just the right amount of pressure to make your breath quicken into rapid gasps.

“Aurélien I can’t” you hissed quietly.

“You will” he growled, pulling his fingers out and flipping you around so the front of your body was pressed against the door. His hand smacked your ass and you gasped, feeling the sting disperse from pain to pleasure. “Don’t cum until I say so.”

“Okay” you breathed with your cheek pressed against the door as he yanked your panties down. You heard him pull his jeans down and the anticipation made you shake a little. Aurélien lined his dick up against you, pushing inside you in one deep stroke. You clenched around him the minute he was inside and a mewl escaped your throat.

“Damn. You’re squeezing me already? You don’t even want me to move yet?”

“Move.” you pleaded in a barely steady voice. “Please move.”

“In a rush?” He smirked against your shoulder, pulling out slowly before deep stroking back in. The door rattled under his force and he grabbed your hip to steady you. “You want it like that?”

“It’s too loud” you whined, still trying to catch your breath.

“You’re too loud” he shot back, gripping your neck to tilt your head back. His lips brushed up against your ear as he whispered in your ear. “Be quiet or you won’t get to cum tonight.”

The pressure in your core was building fast and he hadn’t even fucked you like he meant it just yet. You bit your lip hard, trying to quiet your moans. His thrusts were deep, hard and merciless with each one hitting deeper than the last. When he reached around to rub your clit again, your legs started shaking.

“I wanna cum” you whimpered in a broken voice. “Aurélien I can’t hold it.”

“Yes you can” he commanded with his grip tightening on your hip as he stilled his movements to an infuriating pace. “You’re my good girl, right? Hold it for me.”

Your whole body was shaking from the intensity of it, you could feel the coil threatening to spring free with every second. “I can’t,” you whispered with tears in your eyes. “Please let me–”

Your orgasm hit you before you could warn him again or finish your sentence. Your body spasmed and a rush of wetness made a mess on your thighs and his. He froze and looked down before letting out a filthy groan. “Aah, fuck” he hissed, smacking your ass again which made you cry out. “Look at you making a mess all over me. Didn’t I tell you not to cum?”

“I’m sorry” you gasped, still trembling from the aftershocks. He didn’t stop and gripped your hips tighter, thrusting into you harder to drag you to another wave of pleasure that had you reaching behind to try and warn him again.

“You like that? You like being punished for not listening??” His voice was raw as he fucked you into a dickmatized state. “I want you to cum again but you gotta wait for me baby.”

At this point your legs were nearly giving out and your body was barely holding it together as he pushed you closer to another orgasm. His hand slipped around your throat, squeezing lightly. “Tell me you want me to fill you up.”

“Fill me up,” you begged, barely audible. “I want it.”

He thrust into you erratically, burying himself deep inside you as he came while trying to keep his groans quiet. You felt the warmth of his cum and the sensation sent you spiralling into another orgasm even more intense than the last. Your whole body shook as you clung to the doorknob next to you, gasping. When he finally pulled out, you were both a sweaty, breathless, wrecked mess. Your legs were still shaking and some of your braids had fallen out of the bun you tied earlier. Aurélien smirked, brushing a stray braid out of your face and leaned in to kiss you softly.

“I love you” he smiled, looking at you in a teasing way.

“Um..are you sure??? I can’t believe you just fucked me like that…” You were still trying to catch your breath and get rid of the ringing in your ear after all that. You wiped a stray tear from your eye as you freshened up the best way you could. Aurélien’s quickie had you exhausted and ready for a nap after just one tiny round. When you exited the bathroom, you tried to keep it together, but you couldn’t even walk properly.

You stepped out of the bathroom first, trying to act as normal as possible while adjusting your dress. Aurélien followed behind you, looking way more put together than you did. Judging by his smirk, he knew exactly the type of predicament he put you in. The moment you walked back into the living room, all conversation stopped and several pairs of eyes locked on you. You barely made it to the couch before your family started pouncing on you like you were prime entertainment. Aunt Bev tilted her head and squinted at you like you owed her an explanation.

“Y/N, why are you walking like that? What’s wrong with you?”

You tried to wave her off as you sank into the couch, crossing your legs like that would make you any less of a target. “I’m fine auntie. Just tired.”

“Tired?” Your grandma’s voice cut through the room. She peered at you over the rim of her glasses, full of suspicion. “You sick or something? You look sweaty.”

“I’m not sweaty!” you shot back, running a hand over your face out of instinct.

“Uh, yes you are” Gianna piped up from across the room with her bumped ends still unbumped. “Why are you shiny like that? You was in there doing push ups?”

“Gigi!” you snapped in a cracked voice as Aurélien strolled past you to grab another bowl of gumbo. Myles came skipping over, still fueled with sugar. He stopped right in front of you and scrunched his face up in confusion. “Why your hair look like that? You look a mess.”

Your hand flew to your head, gripping the loose braids that fell from the bun you thought you tied carefully. “Myles, mind your business!” you yelled, trying to tuck the braids back in while your family cackled.

“I told y’all she was sick” your grandma said while shaking her head as if you had offended her. “Sweating. Hair messed up. Tired. She’s acting like she just ran a marathon and she hasn’t done anything."

“Could’ve climbed a big, tall mountain” Aunt Bev added in with a knowing smirk while sipping her drink.

“Or fell out of a tree” Gianna chimed in, snickering like she was hilarious when it really wasn’t all that funny to you.

“Or got hit by a truck” Myles added with dramatics, which earned a loud laugh from your Aunt Kim.

“Leave her alone” she said, waving her fork at the group before she turned to you. “Seriously though, what were you doing back there? You’re sweating like a whore in church.”

You couldn’t even formulate a proper defense before someone else chimed in, but this time it was your dad who was sitting comfortably in his recliner. “She probably fucked the gumbo up just like I said. I ain’t even touch it. I wasn’t in the mood for one of her little experiments today.”

Your jaw dropped as the entire room started laughing at you. Aurélien was silently enjoying every second of it and finally decided to save you, or so he thought. He leaned against the wall while eating his second helping of gumbo.

“Her gumbo is the best I ever had.”

Aunt Bev raised a brow, slyly smiling as she looked between you and Aurélien. “Mmhmm” she hummed, dragging it out while leaning back in her chair.

“I bet it is.”

[almostgenerallyalways]

mamas (don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader Category: angst / fluff / run-on sentences Word count: 3,1k CW: language, I’ve been to Texas once okay forgive me, divorce Author’s note: this was supposed to be a holiday fic but I got stuck on it and almost abandoned it, but here it is rescued from my drafts, shoutout to all the amazing tgm fic writers your writing truly astounds me

Summary: Every year around the holidays, you hear from your ex. This year when you don’t respond, he decides to show up at your door. 

2022

Jake UT  [November 23, 2022 at 10:24 PM]

Hey stranger

Visiting my mom for Thanksgiving

How’ve you been?

You ignore the message. How you’ve been in the last twelve months is not something you feel up to discussing with him.

You spend the next weeks dealing with crisis after crisis at work, leaning into the chaos like you have been all year. Your personal life? Garbage fire. Reconfiguring your entire pump setup two weeks before going to production, because the DoC slapped an import ban on one of your key suppliers in China? You’re on top of it.

But then, the week before Christmas, another message comes in:

Jake UT  [December 17th, 2022 at 3:47 PM]

Hey

In town for the holidays

Would love to see you if you’re free

Brett welcome too, of course

A pang in your chest, but curiosity gets the better of you, so you text back:

Thanksgiving and Christmas? Judy must be thrilled.

You’ve met Jake’s mom all of one time, ten years ago, but she made a lasting impression. Fiercely protective of her only son, she’d been wary of you at first (you were, in order of importance: Too non-Texan, too vegetarian, and too focused on trying to rescue an almost-due group project for your sustainable water management class in which no one was pulling their weight).

And yet, over the Thanksgiving weekend you’d spent at Jake’s mother’s house in Colton, she’d slowly warmed up to you. You’d asked her endless questions about her job as a project manager at Austin-Bergstrom, and she’d poured you half glasses of wine (still exotic, to you, back then) at the kitchen island, shooing Jake back into the living room.

She’d even called you, after you guys broke up, to say she was sorry to hear it, and to tell you to call her up any time you needed someone to talk to. You’d tried your best to keep your voice even, not to break down in tears for the seventh time that day, and never called her again.

* * *

“Dude. Put your phone away for two minutes.”

Jake looks up apologetically at his friend, and pockets the device. “Sorry. Just expecting a text.”

Sandeep holds out his bottle of Lone Star, and Jake clinks it with his own. “It’s good to see you, man. Sorry I wasn’t around at Thanksgiving, we were visiting Jed’s family in NC. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

Jake takes a swig of his beer, the cold liquid feeling like a balm to his throat. “Yeah, well. It’s been a big year, work-wise, so they owed me one. I wanted to spend some extra time with my mom.”

Bringing up his drink to toast again, Sandeep says: “Here’s to you, bud. And to getting that permanent assignment in California. At least we knew where to send our holiday card this year.”

Condensation drips down the neck of his bottle, and Jake spins it slowly in his hand, stopping himself from peeling off the label. He feels on edge, unmoored, despite this 6th Street dive bar being as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Sandeep’s got his number. “Seeing anyone else while you’re in town? I don’t know, Myers?”

Jake doesn’t look up, but feels his cheeks heat up fractionally.

His friend takes another swig of his beer. “I guess I should stop calling her Myers. You know, with the divorce and all.”

The bottle escapes Jake’s grip, and amber liquid sloshes across the table, into Sandeep’s lap. “Shit, Seresin! Grab some napkins, will you?”

* * *

 2012

 You’d always known there was an expiration date on this thing with Jake, which is why you’d been reluctant to meet his mom to begin with.

You wanted fundamentally different things. He, the Navy: Adventure, excitement, a chance to serve his country. You: Stability. A family. A place where you belonged.

Both of you: an opportunity to prove yourself.

It’s civil, as far as breakups go.

“You always knew I wanted to fly.” He says, over breakfast at Magnolia Café. There’s a hard set to his jaw that makes you soften in contrast, because of course you do, everyone who’s ever been near Jake Seresin for longer than ten minutes knows he’s always wanted to fly.

From your first date he told you about how Judy used to park him in her office at the airport when her summer childcare fell through; little Jake happily spending the day watching commercial jets taxiing and taking off in quick succession.

How her coworkers, the civilian engineers who’d stayed on after Bergstrom Air Force Base was decommissioned and commercialized, would regale him with stories about generations of F-4 Phantoms. Or the British Airways Concorde, one of only twenty of the ill-fated aircraft ever made, bringing the Queen to Austin in a little yellow hat. The Reconnaissance Air Meet bringing in the best fighter pilots from across all divisions of the military and abroad, to compete and show off their skills.

Jake would listen to them with stars in his eyes.

You pick at your migas, your appetite gone. “I know, Jake. I would never stop you.”

But you look at him, and you know your face mirrors his determination. “But I can’t come with you, Jake. I can’t start my career following you around from camp to base year to year. I’m forty-thousand dollars in debt getting this degree, and I need to follow my own plan.”

You haven’t moved in together, though Jake spends most of his nights at your tiny off-campus apartment, where you’ve made him countless cups of black coffee trying to fuel weekend study sessions. Where he would come in past midnight, back from the late shift at his part-time job at the H-E-B, and bury his face in your neck, waking you up even though you’d been asleep for hours. Where you would hold his sleeping head to your chest, his deep breathing somehow felt inside of you, and run your fingers up and down the bare skin of his back, trying to memorize him.

You’re twenty-two, you tell yourself. This is not the end of the world.

So you see him off at the front door, a box of his things clutched to his chest, and you force yourself to be strong. “You better be,” and you try to smile up at him, but you’re not sure you’re doing a convincing job, “You better be the best goddamn pilot the Navy has ever seen, Jake.”

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just puts down the box, and pulls you into a last embrace. You sink into it, the fundamentally safe feeling of his arms around you, then make yourself pull away after a minute, pretending you don’t see the wet stains on his shirt.

Later you look at all the spaces in your apartment he is now conspicuously absent from (no dog-eared volume of Game of Thrones on the nightstand, no boots by the door), and it hits you then; the crevasse he’s left in your life. It may run deeper than you thought.

* * *

Jake had gone to Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island, then designator-specific training in Pensacola, Florida, and done his best not to think about you.

It helped that his days were intense and exhausting. It helped that, on liberty weekends, girls would flock to him and his friends in bars.

It helped to be several states away from you.

It helped to be living his dream.

* * *

There is a bit of a backslide, that first Thanksgiving after, where you both think it can’t hurt to see each other for one drink, for old time’s sake, which ends in him taking you up against the door in your new apartment, your legs wrapped around his waist because he does not have the willpower or presence of mind to figure out the way to your bedroom.

He knows it was a mistake, at about five AM the next day, when the blue light of morning starts streaming through a gap in the curtains, illuminating your tousled hair fanned out over the pillow, the steady rise and fall of your chest so familiar to him he could cry.

Untangling himself from you hurts, and he does perhaps the most cowardly thing he ever will: he sneaks out before you wake up. But next week he’s shipping out, and the thought of the same dead-end conversation over coffee made just the way he likes it is unbearable, so he makes himself walk away.

Somehow it’s worse, the second time around.

* * *

You’d met someone else, like he’d known you would. He sees the engagement announcement on Facebook, browsing on his phone between drills, and likes the post. It’s the third year he’s been away, and he’s at TOPGUN by then, so he has a lot on his mind. He has a girlfriend, even, a local: cute as a button, beats him savagely at pool.

It doesn’t fully hit him until the first time he sees you with your then-fiancé, at a little holiday reunion of college friends. He sees you with that ring on your finger, another man’s arm around your shoulders, and he gets an acute sense of the alternate reality that could’ve been his.

It feels a little like losing altitude too fast.

Your initial reception of him is understandably frosty, but you seem too genuinely happy to hold a grudge. By the third round, when he sidles up to you at the bar, you give him a quick hug, looking up at him with a smile that squeezes his heart: “I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

He nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, and pulls you back in, just for a moment, tucking your head under his chin. You smell like apple and magnolia, like nights spent with his nose pressed into your back.

You don’t invite him to the wedding, and he’s all too glad not to have to make up an excuse not to go.

* * *

Things settle, after that. Jake gets deployed and reassigned, breaks up with his girlfriend and eventually gets another. You get promoted to senior engineer, then project lead. You see each other, not every year but close enough, sometimes with your husband there, sometimes without.

He braces himself for the next Facebook post; that you’re pregnant, but it never comes. Over time, even that seems to lose some of its potential emotional impact on him.  

Until three weeks ago, when you don’t text him back.

* * *

 2022

 You kick your shoes off in the entryway, then head into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Before you can reach the tap, the doorbell rings, and for a second you think somehow, some way, your terrible Bumble date has followed you home.

Grabbing the biggest kitchen knife you own off the magnet strip over the sink, just in case, you creep back to the door, barefoot, to press your face up to the peephole.

You don’t really expect to see the guy you just left, the ice in your glass not even melted before you were thinking up excuses to get out of there, but you sure as fuck don’t expect to see Jake either.

The door feels heavier than usual as you slowly slide it open, or maybe you’re just a little stunned. The night air hits your skin, and you can make out the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

For a long moment, Jake just looks at you, but then he says: “What were you planning on doing with that, sweetheart?”

You follow the jut of his chin down the line of your arm, and contemplate the knife for a second, Jake’s sudden appearance having made you forget all about it.

“I thought someone might have followed me here.”

“Ah.” He says, a spark in his eyes, clearly suppressing a smile. “If you were going to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat, a knife is a terrible choice. I could give you some tips, though.”

Putting the damn thing down on your entryway console, you turn back to look at him. It’s not cold, exactly, in December in South Central Austin, but he looks underdressed: a long-sleeved light grey t-shirt, hands shoved in the pockets of a faded pair of jeans.

He looks good, you can’t deny it: he’s always had an immediate effect on you.

Jake, your somewhat gangly, sweet college boyfriend had it. Jake, ten years of military training later: older, filled out, fine crinkly lines starting to appear at the corners of his eyes (helped along by the California sun and God knows what far-off places), irrevocably still does.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

At that, his expression sobers, and he looks at you for a long moment before he says:

“You didn’t tell me.”

* * *

Fucking Sandeep, you think, rubbing the back of your hand across your eyes, because that fucker has not been subtle with the hints lately, tutting like a Victorian matron while you pass the time evaluating your Bumble matches with his husband during Monday night football’s ad breaks.

The granite of your kitchen countertop feels reassuringly cool beneath your thighs, and you take a deep breath, keeping your eyes on the tile below:

“I wasn’t ready.”

Jake huffs, or so you assume by the little sound that escapes him, as you determinedly face only his sneakers: “It’s been a year. You sure told everyone else we know.”

That makes your head snap up, emotion rising in your chest in a way you don’t like, have always had to tamp down when it comes to him, these last ten years. “Fuck off, Jake. You know it’s different when it comes to you.”

He leans back against the fridge, arms folded, just slightly lifting his right eyebrow at you in that irritating way of his: “I could’ve been there for you.”

Fuck it, you think, all cards on the table then. “I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, and trying to figure out how to exist on my own again after being married for five years to someone who didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was, Jake. Sorry my first impulse wasn’t to come cry on my hometown hero ex-boyfriend’s shoulder.”

His eyes soften, and he pushes off the fridge to come stand next to you, running his fingers over the edge of the countertop. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter than a moment ago. “I’m being a dick. It’s just, you have to know, I would’ve been there for you.”

He pauses for a second, takes a deep breath: “It’s always been different when it comes to you too, sweetheart.”

You start to shake, a little, or maybe it’s your imagination. But your voice wavers as you say his name, everything about your tone a warning: “Jake.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head: “Our timing sucked, and I don’t regret our decision from back then. I’m proud of who I’ve become in the last ten years, and I’m proud of you. You think I don’t keep up with what you’re doing? The articles you’ve published?”

This stuns you, momentarily. “No, Jake Seresin. If I’m completely honest, I didn’t think you gave a shit about the latest advances in Texas drought management.”

Just being near him, the familiar smell of him bringing up memories you’ve had years to unsuccessfully repress, is overpowering.

He makes it worse by turning to you, face so goddamn heartbreakingly earnest as he says: “I couldn’t give you what you deserved, ten years ago, but I always told myself, if I was ever in a position to…” He swallows. “I tried to forget about it when you got married, I tried to root for you and Brett, I swear.”

His hand settles next to your thigh, not quite touching, and your hand comes down on its own accord to cover his. He straightens almost imperceptibly, uses his other palm to wipe a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

Cupping your face, he draws a deep breath. “I have a permanent assignment now, in San Diego. I know it’s…”

“Jake.” You interrupt, squeezing your eyes shut, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “I’m not remotely the same person I was back then.”

He moves to stand in front of you now, and you draw him in between your thighs. Suddenly it seems imperative that you feel him, that he holds you.

Dipping his head to yours, you can hear the smile in his voice, watery, tentative: “Then let me get to know you again. Get to know me again.” He leans one hand on the counter, the other tracing your cheekbone. “No pressure. I’m totally very cool about this. Whatever you want.”

You laugh, a little choked up through tears, but genuine. It feels liberating. “What if I say yes? How does this work?”

His smile broadens, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so goddamn close, nudging your nose with his. “Come visit me, for a start. I’ll show you the sights.”

You draw him in a little closer still, legs wrapping around his waist, one hand finding its way into his close-cropped hair, and you could cry for how familiar he still feels after all these years.

But when you close the gap between your lips and his, it’s like coming home and yet not at all: he’s different and rougher and sharper and it floods you with emotion, something big and terrifying and old and new.

He leans into the kiss, grinning, cards his fingers through your hair before he moves to cover your chin, your brow, the space next to your ear with kisses, and you remember this with a jolt to your heart – how singularly intense it is to be the focus of Jake Seresin, like the strength of the sun is aimed at you, how he never does anything by halves.

You take his chin in your hand, kiss him again for good measure, before saying, into the stubble of his jaw: “One visit. No pressure.”

The grin he gives you in return could power half this city: “One visit. No pressure.”

He dips his head to yours again, kissing the skin behind your ear as he tells you: “Southern California has a lot of drought problems, you know. I’ve actually been reading some really scary articles about it.”

.

.

.

i hope you enjoyed :):) - if you liked this I hope you’ll check out some of my other work:

where the wild things are (rooster x reader)

cross my heart (hangman x reader) masterlist

[kiatheinsomniac]

𓏲𝄢 ˚ : · Hello! Dunno if youre comfortable with anon asks since it wasnt stated in your requests thingy, but I was wondering if you could do Undertaker (Black butler) with F! Reader who used to work with him when he was still a grim reaper (shes still a grim reaper) and the only times they meet again is trough coffee dates 😭 where they talk about things theyre doing now and sometimes reminisce about their time together back then. So sorry if its too sappy 🥲 –anon ✧ ˚ 　· 　　    .

──── 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐄 ˊˎ - ☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Undertaker | Adrian Crevan x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none

You sit down opposite your old friend, in all black as usual. The two of you still occasionally meet up for tea or coffee and cake despite him having abandoned the profession in which you met many years ago. As of late, he’s still caused quite a stir amongst your colleagues though and you’ve been itching to meet with him in secret again like this. 

“How is it you’ve been gone all these years and yet your name is on everyone’s lips as of late, hm?~” You ask with a smile as you sit in the little corner of the café where you two like to meet regularly, earning a delighted chuckle from him in response. He looks different now from when you first met him: he’s more mindful to keep a low profile, his hair hides his eyes that otherwise pierce with an almost radium-like glow to them. Humans may not recognise it but any reaper like you would know his true nature in an instant. It reminds you to push your own glasses up your nose a little. 

“Perhaps they’re all just reluctant to outright admit that they miss the humour I brought to the job.” He suggests with a sly smile on his lips that seem to ever be upturned in a grin or open with laughter. 

“I don’t know about Will and Ronald but I certainly miss you.” Your reply is fond but tinged with a note of sadness. Despite the chaos he’s stirred in his retirement, he’s still a legend amongst your kind, but before he was a legend, he’s always been your best friend. He was there to put a smile on your face when your longing for death was cruelly returned with an immortal life of bringing death but never receiving it. It was a long time ago and you’ve since grown used to your new lifestyle but you know adjusting would have been far more difficult if not for his company. 

“You know my door is always open to you, y/n.” He replies as he picks up a biscuit which he dips into his tea. As tempting as the offer is, you shake your head. Living forever is difficult, and living forever without a set purpose even moreso; you’re not yet prepared to risk losing what you already have when you’ve lost so much to begin with. 

“Perhaps one day but that day won’t come soon, I’m afraid.” A waiter comes and sets a plate down in front of you which Undertaker had ordered for you ahead of your arrival. It’s your favourite dessert to order from here and that only makes you smile happily to yourself. You pick up the fork to take a bite. He shrugs and leans back in his seat. 

“Very well. I have forever to wait after all.” You can’t help but laugh softly at his words, at how he’ll always be there for you – it’s kind and sweet, so unlike how everyone at work is currently describing him, like a part of him only you seem to know. 

“Besides, I’m doing what I can for you from my side, you know? They’re all looking for you, Grell in particular seems quite upset. Something about her face?” You shake your head. She’s a vain one but all reapers seem to have their quirks, yourself included. Maybe death just does that to you. “Either way, I’ve been doing my best to keep them off your trail.” The Undertaker laughs at the thought of Grell having a vendetta against him for injuring her in a fight. 

“Well you have my thanks.” He replies, taking your hand across the table. His skin is as cold as yours when his thumb brushes over your knuckles. 

“So what’s your grand plan with these dolls of yours anyway?” You quiz as you take another bite of your dessert. “And how do you plan on keeping that brat and his demon off your back? I’ve heard he’s quite tenacious despite his young age.” 

“Well it would ruin the fun if I told you everything. Ciel might have cut my experiment short but it was a success nonetheless. And his demon shouldn’t be too much hassle so long as he’s concerned about the safety of his master.” The Undertaker replies. “But enough about that, how’s Ronald been handling all that extra paperwork?” He laughs at the thought of the defeated reaper having to document and clean up the mess he made upon the Campania. You roll your eyes.

“He’s not moving quick enough for Will’s liking and so Will is making it everyone else’s problem. You’re lucky we’re friends or else I’d hand you in myself if only to put an end to the papers on my desk that are giving me a headache.” You huff, a hint of playfulness to your voice, “Even reaping souls isn’t as exciting without you by my side, you know?” The two of you used to work so closely, examining reels and sharing queries about how they worked, observing the lives that faded at the blades of your death scythes. 

“All the more reason to come join me, dear~” He chimes. You sigh. It’s not that you don’t want to, just that it’s not the right time.

“Perhaps once things have settled down and we have a plan in place. If I leave, there;s be no one left to cover for us as I’m doing for you.” The fact he’s brought it up a second time makes you wonder if he misses you more than he’s letting on. You know he’s a man who lives his immortal life for curiosity and laughter, not one to be caught too deeply in sadness – not openly at least. 

“Well, until that time comes-” He lifts his cup to you in a sort of toast, “-we have an eternity of these days ahead of us while we wait.” You smile softly and raise your own cup too. You miss him dearly, your immortality no longer the same without his company.

One day you’ll work side by side again. 

☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ comms. ∘ taglist ∘ follow/reblog

🏷️@writing-noah  @singleteapot @asianbutnotjapanese @kingheinrey @danielle-marie @yourfamilyfriendsatan @firagirl @weasleytwins-41 @the-fandoms-georgie @lunaluvvie @ghxul-x @sarah22447 @midgetdemon17

[kellysue]

Members of the cast of #FMLComix tell you how to pre-order #FMLComix.

FML #1 arrives in November 2024 with main cover art by David López and variant covers featuring artwork by Alvaro Martinez Bueno, David LaFuente, Nicola Scott (1:10 incentive variant), and Pepe Larraz (1:25 incentive variant). One additional variant cover will be revealed at a later date. Each issue will feature bonus material such as essays on music, true crime, interviews, and more that will be exclusive only to the single issues.

“David and I have been talking about doing something creator-owned together since Captain Marvel, but it took years for the stars and our schedules to properly align,” said DeConnick. “Now that we’re here though, it almost feels planned — like we needed exactly as long as it took us to grow and change, both as artists and as people, so that we could come back together for this big swing.

“FML is a challenging book — stylistically and in tone — and I’m not sure we could have pulled it off five years ago, honestly. But here we are—and I’m so proud of and impressed by the work put in by everyone involved. David is drawing like he’s got something to prove, Cris is pulling disparate styles together seamlessly, tying them together with her palette and Clayton of course, our ace and secret weapon, works his subtle magic on lettering to make sure you hear everything in your head exactly the way it was intended. McCubbin developed this terrific logo that evolves with each issue, and I don’t even know where to start with how supportive and inspiring Daniel Chabon’s editorial team has been. They’ve given us exactly what we needed at every step along the way.

“For my part, FML feels of a piece with Pretty Deadly and Bitch Planet; it’s as personal as the former and as satirical and of-the-moment as the latter.”

"This is without a doubt one of the best and most important books I have had the honor to edit in my fifteen years in the comic book industry,” added Senior Editor Daniel Chabon. “I have been a tremendous fan of this creative team for a long, long time; and I cannot wait for everyone to pick up this series and to see what an amazing achievement it is."

Riley is a 16-year-old heavy metal kid who draws down his anxiety with a ballpoint pen. His mother is an aging punk cartoonist slam dancing with a true crime obsession. Bound by threads of magical realism, they navigate the absurdities and horrors of our modern lives.

Issue one introduces Riley’s daily life: terrorism diaries, school shooter drills, and social pressures under the constant shadow of encroaching wildfires that rain ash like a morbid snow. His refuge? The Forest Park Witch’s House, where tales of chaos magic and trickster gods promise some semblance of sense in a senseless world.

Echoing the comedy of “Bottoms,” the nostalgic pull of “Stranger Things,” and the coming-of-age journey in “Stand By Me,” DeConnick’s first return to creator-owned comics since Bitch Planet is an apocalyptic odyssey that speaks to the resilience of the misfit and the power of art.

FML #1 (of 8) arrives in comic shops on November 6, 2024. It is now available to pre-order at your your local comic shop for $4.99.

Be sure to follow DarkHorseComics on social media and check our website, www.darkhorse.com for more news, announcements, and updates.

Praise Kelly Sue DeConnick and David López: “DeConnick has always combed top-notch lyrical text with a knack for bringing out the best in the artists she works with.”—Polygon

“Kelly Sue DeConnick either writes with a King Midas pen, is one of the few remaining wizards in the world, or, most likely, is just that damn good because Bitch Planet is yet another amazing series with her name on the cover.”—Word on the Nerd

“Pretty Deadly pushes at the limits of medium, challenging our ideas of what comics can be.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick’s Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons may just be the best thing to come out of the Black Label line to date.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick is a force in comics.”—Book Riot

“Kelly Sue DeConnick—a powerhouse in the comics world.”—Salon

“A primal scream in exquisitely worked gold.”—Polygon on Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons

“López’s pencils are like a breath of fresh air. His style evokes a classic superhero aesthetic while still bringing subtle emotional vulnerability to these characters through strong storytelling and page design.”—Nerds Unchained on Captain Marvel (2014)

[iliketangerines]

Tangerine, can I request angst?

One wherein the reader is Shang Taung's minion who was sent to Liu Kang's timeline to disrupt their peace but fell for the Fire God instead because he helped her find herself. Like originally, the reader was like Harley Quinn towards Shang Tsung but Liu Kang helped her heal. Angst ensues when her origins were revealed and she was defeated by Titan Shang Tsung and was taken back to her original timeline where she was killed by that timeline's Liu Kang.

Sorry if it's too long, and it's alright if you don't want to write it!<33

you're not him

a/n: ahhhh, yes, let me flex my angst writing muscles real quick, haven't done this in a while, changed some stuff around but it still fits the basic permise

pairing: liu kang x gn!reader

warnings: canon typical violence

this wasn’t right, none of this was right

he was kind, nice, warm, everything Shang Tsung wasn’t, and you felt yourself drawn to the god despite your orders

you really had tried your best to create chaos, to find this timeline’s Shang Tsung and Quan Chi and harness their ambition and sorcery to create death

but then, you had gone and found them and saw that they were already taken in by Liu Kang, to be reformed and taught to harness their powers for good

you had tried to infiltrate Empress Sindel’s court, to whisper thirsts for power to General Shao and Reiko nand cause an uprising to kill Outworld’s champions

but the suggestions seemed to fly right over their heads, and they remained fiercely loyal to Empress Sindel

you didn’t even try with Mileena, and when you had gone in search of anyone that could and should have wanted to usurp the throne for themselves, you found nothing but peace and tranquility and happiness

every problem that they might’ve had were already solved or mitigated, and your mission was on the trajectory to fail

you could not fail Shang Tsung, he would kill you if you came back fruitless and without disrupting the peace of Lord Liu Kang’s timeline

and so, you went straight to Liu Kang, to go straight to the source of all this peace and kill it at its source, except that he had already been expecting you

he had seen you through the sands of time, granules not meant to be in this hourglass, and he sat you down and drank tea with you

not an ounce of stress or worry marred his features as you picked at your fingers in nervousness, had he poisoned the tea? was he planning on killing you? was he going to send you back to Shang Tsung with no results?

he didn’t do any of those options, instead he talked about idle things, about how he solved his realm’s problems before they got out of control and how he knows you’re here to disrupt his timeline

and yet, even after that conversation, he offers you reprieve, to train underneath him and get away from Shang Tsung from your timeline

you hesitate for a moment, confused by the warmth he extended to you, but you take his hand after a moment

one of his monks escort you to a personal room, gives you clean training uniforms that fit you, and leaves you alone to gather your thoughts

you want to kill him, you need to kill him, to please Shang Tsung, because Shang Tsung would slit your throat, would kill you, would torture you, would spare no mean to make sure you suffer

then you thumb the soft material in your hands, the clean training uniform, a personal room, an adjacent bathroom just for yourself

Liu Kang had managed to bring peace to all of the realms here, and he must be a powerful god to do so, perhaps the god would be able to protect you from the wrath of Shang Tsung

and so, you train at the Fire Temple with the other monks, you meet his champions and become friends with them, you grow closer with Liu Kang as he talks to you over tea

he doesn’t poke or prod, just listens and hums, filling in the empty silence with his own words to keep the conversation going

day by day, you relax, you stop checking every corner for danger, you stop guarding your food like it’s your last and only meal, your stop pushing and straining your body until you collapse during training sessions

you feel your spirits lift, your body feels lighter, the world seems brighter and warmer and better

you sit next to Liu Kang, talking to him about a flower you saw yesterday, how beautiful it was and how it bloomed in the sun

it was something you had never really seen, no Shang Tsung’s realm was just full of death and anger and husks, nothing alive was there, nothing beautiful existed

he asks you more about the realm you’re from, how different everything is, if the counterparts of his champions live with Shang Tsung

you clear your throat, fingers gripping onto the teacup as you think and dredge up the memories

you tell him about Shang Tsung’s champions, about how Lord Raiden and Fujin still exist but do the bidding of Shang Tsung to clear and conquer the realms

you tell him about how screams constantly fill the air, how blood stains the ground and leaves the permanent sickly smell of iron in the air

you tell him how Liu Kang also exists in Shang Tsung’s universe, how he is much crueler, angrier, fast to fuse and killed without remorse

Shang Tsung’s Liu Kang was the perfect lap dog and weapon against any unruly civilians or protests or civil wars in the realms

he was Shang Tsung’s best fighter, and if Liu Kang wanted to, he could snap your neck easily, break you in half and not even bat an eyelash

you flinch as you feel Liu Kang place a hand on your thigh, drawing you out of the memories, and he smiles at you, a little concerned

he tells you you do not have to worry about that, that he will keep you safe from Shang Tsung, that you do not deserve to wilt in such an environment

it makes your heart warm as you blush and tilt your head away to hide your face and sip on your tea

after that day, the relationship between you and Liu Kang shifts

he’s much closer to you, much more handsy and touchy, and he always finds time to bring you bouquets of flowers from his personal gardens

you find yourself leaning into his touch, seeking him every time you walk into a room, reaching out to brush your fingers against his when you two stand close to each other

you lay in a field, an off day to relax from training, and you read a book, something that you hadn’t learned how to do until you came to this realm

it was fascinating, the characters, the words, and it was quite entertaining

you don’t even have to look up to know Liu Kang approaches you, and he sits next to you and glances at what you’re reading

he passes you a cup of tea silently and lets you read in a comfortable silence as he skims the pages while you go over the sentences

finally, you reach the end of your chapter and set the book down to look at Liu Kang, and you hadn’t realized how close his face was to yours

you flush but don’t move away, and he doesn’t either

instead, he leans in a little closer to you, bringing his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, and you bring your hand up to cup his and bring it to your cheek

he holds onto your face gently, carefully, as if you would break

you tilt your head back, and he leans his head down, lips only a breath apart, so close to touching you, kissing you

the alarm bells ring in the courtyard, and the both of you jolt from your hazy daydream and back into reality as you stand up and rush to the main courtyard

you find Shang Tsung standing in front of a dark portal, clutching onto the neck of a monk and draining them of their power before dropping them to the ground as a husk

the titan spots you and gives a wide smile, but you can feel and hear the malice in his voice, how he’s going to make you regret for you decision to turn against him

you ready your stance, ready to fight him, but Liu Kang pushes you behind him, shielding you away from Shang Tsung’s maniacal glare

he laughs at how protective Liu Kang has grown of you before he starts to insult you, calling you a dirty traitor, a good for nothing harlot, how you’re useless and a pathetic excuse of a warrior

Liu Kang scowls at the words and his fists light into flame, and Shang Tsung smiles and continues his insults

you see him ready his claws, his powers glowing in his hands, and you know that this not an encounter Liu Kang will survive if you don’t intervene

as Liu Kang lunges forward, you grab onto his clothes and pull him back, using your body weight and momentum to throw him to the floor and yourself forward into Shang Tsung’s body

you push him through the portal, and the titan grabs onto you tightly, bringing you through the portal with him

you catch a glance backward, and you see Liu Kang reaching out for you, his words forming a sound of anguish

and then the portal blinks away and you’re back in your own dimension

Shang Tsung throws you onto your back, causing your breath to disappear into the air, and he stabs his claws through your stomach, and blood spurts from your mouth

but you grit your teeth and bear through the pain as he slashes and claws and beats you within an inch of your life

your blood paints the ground in a twisted canvas, but Shang Tsung stops just a few seconds before dealing the landing blow

he calls over Liu Kang, and you see him come over to you, eyes no longer warm, hands cold and painful, and words sharp and jagged as he beats you to death

he smiles at you wickedly as he deals the final blow, and you hope that your Liu Kang has found a way to protect the peace of his realm as your last thought

[yourplaywright]

About the BabyBee au, could you write something about Bee and Sentinel, I mean in your fic they have a weird relationship, I mean “warm colors”, before he was sent to sub level 50 for digging a little to deep.

P.D: your writing is so good

Thank you Anon! Yes, they do have quite the strange relationship. It’s the focus of one the Warm Colour prequels (and also an entirely different AU) I have planned, but that will have to wait :3c

Here is your requested piece! If anyone else wants one, my requests are open and a free-for-all <3

~~~

Sentinel is very easily disinterested in a lot of things. Any kind of paperwork, for one, and dealing with annoying bots.

“That meeting was slag,” he groans, flopping into his berth. 

“Do you need to talk about it, sir?” B pokes his helm around the corner, setting down his cleaning supplies. “The berth has also been freshly laundered.”

“I feel it,” Sentinel says, relaxing. “It’s just more hoops those senators want me to jump through. Primus, if they weren’t integral, I’d have them executed—“

“Maybe steer away from thoughts of violence,” B says. 

“Fine.”

B smiles, tilting his head before going over to the wall and pressing the intercom. “Prepare supper for Sentinel, please. Something nice.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Sentinel grins, rolling over and shaking out his wings. “Tell them to bring up the bismuth high grade, too.”

The bot hums, conveying the rest of the order, whispering about adding some energon nibbles. Sentinel heard him, of course, but the thought was what counted. He’d pretend to be surprised later.

“I have to finish cleaning the washracks, should I draw you a bath?”

Sentinel stretches out lazily. “Please. You know where my nice soaps are.”

The bot trots out of the room and Sentinel sends a comm to Airachnid about bumping off those senators. 

She, of course, ruins the fun by pointing out how that would destabilize the region and throw that sector into chaos. Boo.

> Can we at least fire them?

> I’ll try, Prime.

“Sweet,” he whispers, listening to the water run in the next room over.

> Do I have an assistant position open?

> With all due respect, Prime, I am your assistant.

> Make a new one. You don’t draw me baths.

> Sentin—

He cuts the comm.

Life is great.

[ssa-dado]

8 - Law & Self-Awareness

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, sad stuff, fluff

Summary: Hotch and Peter confront a tense situation as they rush to Riverhead, where the unsub is expected to strike next, but conflict arises when Peter wants to warn you, fearing for your safety. Hotch insists on following procedure, though both men struggle with personal fears and the ethics of their choices. At Riverhead, you visit your father's grave, reflecting on past decisions and realizations. In a quiet moment later, surrounded by your team, you come to understand a truth you've been trying to avoid.

Warnings: Grief, CM case

Word Count: 6,1k

Dado's Corner: Here's the sister chapter of the previous one! The narration is still inspired by Suits' 2×08. Funny how Aaron making physical contact with you occupies 57 paragraphs while Peter doing the same thing ½ of a line. Also this is probably the first chapter in which Y/N's physical appearance is mentioned sooo let me know if you imagined her in this way (it's still very vague don’t worry). That said, bring out your finest china, we're celebrating!

previous chapter ; masterlist

“Riverhead,” Hotch said, his voice taut, barely containing the urgency that trembled beneath the surface. “He’s going there next.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief, his immediate reaction pure instinct as he reached for his phone, fingers fumbling desperately to find your contact. “We have to call her. She needs to know -”

Hotch’s hand instinctively shot out, grabbing Peter’s arm with a force that matched the fear hiding behind his calm eyes. “No, we can’t. If we warn her, we risk tipping the unsub off, causing chaos, panic. It’s not just about her, Peter. It’s about every person in Riverhead. We have to handle this the right way.”

Peter wrenched his arm free, his anger flaring like gasoline igniting in the confined space of the SUV. “You’re seriously going to let her walk right into this? She’s in danger, Hotch! And you’re just going to sit back and do nothing?”

Hotch’s expression remained steely, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a vulnerability he kept tightly under wraps. “This isn’t just about her. There are hundreds of people in Riverhead who could be at risk. If we alert her and it gets out, we’re not just endangering her, we’re endangering everyone. It’s not fair to warn one person and not the others. You can’t let your feelings dictate your decisions.”

Peter’s laugh was sharp and scornful, tinged with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Feelings? Don’t talk to me about feelings, Hotch. You’re always hiding behind the rules, always standing on the side of the law like it’s some infallible god. But this isn’t just about following orders - this is real, and she’s walking into something she can’t see coming.”

Hotch’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white as the weight of Peter’s words crashed over him, each one a blow to the carefully built walls he’d constructed around himself.

He shot Peter a side glance, his voice simmering with restrained anger. “I’m not doing this because it’s easy, I’m doing it because it’s the only way to stop this from getting worse. If we tip him off, if she gets scared and acts on it, it could cause a domino effect that puts even more lives at risk. We have to be smarter than that.”

Peter turned to fully face Hotch, the intensity between them palpable, a charged current of frustration and fear. “You keep talking about doing the job, about being ‘smart,’ but what about being human? What about doing the right thing for once instead of hiding behind procedure? What happens if something happens to her, Hotch? Are you really going to look me in the eye and say we did the right thing?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He kept repeating the same words, not so much to convince Peter, but to anchor himself - to hold onto some semblance of control as much as possible. “This isn’t just about one person, Peter,” he said, his voice a bit strained with the weight of the impossible choice they faced.

“We can’t put her safety above everyone else’s. It’s not how we do things. If this gets out, if people panic, we lose everything. That’s exactly what the unsub wants: to see us unravel, to watch us make decisions with our hearts instead of our heads. We can’t give him that satisfaction. We can’t let him win.”

Peter scoffed, his anger bubbling over as he stepped closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. His voice rose, each word laced with a mix of fury and desperation. “You’re always so damn obsessed with the law, Hotch,” he snapped, his breath coming faster, as if the force of his emotions was too much to contain. “But what about ethics? What about the people behind the profiles, behind all these damn statistics and protocols? This isn’t just a case file, it’s about real people.”

Peter’s tone shifted as he tried to reach Hotch, his next words softening, laced with an urgent plea. “You know Y/N. I know Y/N. And if she were standing here, right now, listening to us argue like this, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second. She’d probably quote some damn philosopher she loves - Sophocles or whoever - about how there’s more to this than just sticking to the rules. She’d remind us that the law isn’t the only thing that matters, that there’s a fine line between what’s legal and what’s just.”

Peter’s voice cracked slightly, his gaze searching Hotch’s for any flicker of understanding. “She’d be talking about the balance between law and justice, that sometimes what’s right and what’s legal are not the same thing. And you know she’d be right, Hotch. We’re not just here to enforce rules. We’re here to protect people. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’ve lost sight of why we’re doing this in the first place.”

Hotch felt something inside him twitch at Peter’s words, a sharp, painful pull that he couldn’t ignore. The truth of what Peter was saying sliced through his defenses like a scalpel, precise and unyielding. It was as if Peter’s voice had reached into the guarded, unspoken places of his mind, exposing the doubts he worked so hard to bury. He could almost hear your voice echoing in his head, clear and insistent, the way it always was when you spoke up during team meetings.

You had a way of looking at cases that was different from anyone else, this deep, almost philosophical curiosity that refused to settle for the easy answers.

You’d sit there, arms crossed, eyes locked in that thoughtful gaze, and when you spoke, you’d often pose questions that hung in the air, challenging every assumption. You never just saw suspects and victims; you saw people - complex, flawed, human. You’d remind them all that beyond the evidence, beyond the profiles, there were lives and stories that couldn’t be reduced to simple binaries of right and wrong.

Hotch could almost picture you now, leaning forward in your seat, the intensity in your eyes as you dissected every aspect of the case. You were never satisfied with just the black-and-white - you thrived in the gray, constantly urging the team to see beyond the rigid lines of the law.

At how you’d quote philosophers, pull wisdom from literature, history, anything to make your point. It wasn’t about showing off. it was about challenging everyone, especially him, to rethink their approach. You’d often remind him that justice wasn’t just about following rules, it was about finding the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, about doing what was right, even when it wasn’t easy.

Peter’s words hit Hotch hard because they echoed what you would’ve said, what you always said. It was that relentless pursuit of justice, that constant push to go beyond the status quo, that made you such an irreplaceable part of the team. And right now, it was tearing Hotch apart, knowing that you weren’t there to challenge him, to remind him of the bigger picture, to make him question the very things that had once felt so certain.

Peter noticed the crack in Hotch’s demeanor, and he pressed on, his voice softer now but no less intense. “But none of that matters if she doesn’t make it out alive, does it? You can stand here all day talking about rules and duty, but if she’s gone, who’s going to remind us of the difference? The dead can’t debate law and ethics, Hotch. Only the living can do that.”

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat, Peter’s words hitting him with a force that felt physical, like a punch to the gut. He could feel the fear that had been clawing at his insides since the moment he realized you were in danger, the fear he had been trying so desperately to keep at bay.

The fear of losing you - of never getting the chance to understand what this thing between you could be, of failing to protect the one person who had managed to breach the walls he’d spent years building.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch’s voice broke, his control slipping for just a moment. “You think I don’t feel it? But it’s not just about what we want, it’s about what we have to do. You want to protect her, and so do I. But again, this isn’t just about saving her. It’s about stopping him. It’s about making sure no one else gets hurt because we let our guard down.”

Peter’s gaze softened, but his frustration remained, an unresolved tension simmering between them. “Maybe you’re right, Hotch. Maybe we have to think about everyone. But that doesn’t mean you’re not scared. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you don’t care. So stop pretending you’re above it all, because you’re not. You’re just as terrified as the rest of us.”

Hotch looked away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he tried to regain his composure. Peter was right, he was terrified, but not just for you. He was terrified of what it would mean if he let this get personal, if he let himself care too much and it all fell apart. But as they hurtled toward Riverhead, the truth of Peter’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now. But the fear, the aching fear that he was making the wrong call, that he was letting his own walls cost him something irreplaceable, was a battle he was losing with every mile closer they got to you.

And in the silence that followed, the weight of those unspoken fears hung heavy between them, a fragile truce bound only by their shared desperation to protect you, no matter the cost.

---

You had finally arrived at Riverhead.

The cemetery was quiet, shrouded in a stillness that felt heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. Each step toward your father’s grave felt deliberate, slow, as if every movement pulled at something deep within you that you hadn’t touched in years. You hadn’t been here since the funeral, and the sight of his name etched into the stone brought a fresh wave of emotions you weren’t prepared for: grief, anger, regret, all tangled up in the memories you had tried to bury.

You knelt beside his grave, your fingers trembling slightly as you placed a single orchid on the cold, gray headstone, the delicate petals were a sharp contrast to the starkness of the granite. Orchids had always reminded you of the first case you ever worked on at the BAU - a case that had tested every part of you, that had made you realize what it truly meant to carry the weight of other people’s pain.

The purple flower was a fitting tribute, an unspoken apology for not being there when he had needed you most, for choosing a path that had pulled you away from his final moments.

You traced the letters of his name, feeling the grooves under your fingertips, and memories of the past surged forward, unbidden. You thought back to the day you told your parents you wanted to become a profiler - a day that, despite all the tension that often simmered between you, had stood out as one of the rare moments of connection between you and your father.

It had been a rainy Sunday afternoon, the kind that kept everyone indoors and made the house feel smaller, the air thick with the unspoken tensions that seemed to linger in every corner. You had been pacing your bedroom, rehearsing the words over and over in front of your mirror, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and dread. Telling them that you wanted to be a profiler felt like exposing a piece of yourself that you had kept hidden, especially from them.

You finally gathered the courage, walking down the stairs with resolve. Your father was at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his glasses perched on his nose as he scribbled notes on a report.

He was always working, always lost in something that seemed more important than anything happening in the room. It was his way: work was sacred, an escape, and a duty that defined him. You often resented it, the way he would get so caught up that he’d miss dinners, birthdays, the small moments that you had yearned for as a child. But there were also times when you admired his dedication, his unspoken belief that what he was doing mattered.

Your mother was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with an efficiency that matched her exacting nature. She always seemed to be in motion, always doing, rarely resting. She was the professor, the academic who had spent her life studying the human mind, dissecting theories, and teaching students who idolized her. To her, intellect was the highest form of achievement, and anything less was a waste of potential.

You stood in the doorway, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in your chest, but you pushed forward, clearing your throat to catch their attention. “Mom, Dad… I need to talk to you about something.”

Your father glanced up first, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the table with a raised brow, his expression curious but calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, glancing between them, searching for the right words. “I’ve decided what I want to do after graduation. I… I want to be a profiler. I want to join the FBI.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the steady chop of your mother’s knife against the cutting board. Your father’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak right away, just watched you, his gaze heavy with a mix of concern and something you couldn’t quite name. Your mother, however, set her knife down sharply, her brow furrowing as she turned to face you.

“A profiler?” she repeated, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Y/N, do you have any idea what that entails? You’re talking about diving into the minds of criminals, putting yourself in danger every day. This isn’t some classroom exercise, this is real life.”

You braced yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know what it means, Mom. I’ve thought about this for a long time. I don’t just want to study the human mind, I want to understand what happens when it breaks. I want to make a difference, to stop people from getting hurt.”

Your father remained quiet, but his gaze never left yours, absorbing every word. There was something in his eyes that told you he was listening, that he understood the weight of what you were saying.

“Do you really understand what you’re asking for?” your mother continued, her voice laced with frustration. “You’re brilliant, Y/N. You have so much potential. You could do anything: be a researcher, a professor. You’d be safe, you’d be respected. Why throw all that away to chase criminals?”

It stung, but you had expected her reaction. For as long as you could remember, your mother had pushed you toward her path, believing that academia was where you belonged. But as much as you respected her work, it had never felt right for you.

The endless theories, the dissection of literature studies in sterile classrooms, it all felt too detached, too far removed from the gritty reality of the world you wanted to understand. You wanted to do more than just read about what broke people; you wanted to see it, to confront it, to fight against it.

“I don’t want to be safe, Mom,” you said, your voice firmer now, carrying the weight of all the arguments you’d been rehearsing for months. “I want to be out there. I want to see the truth of what people can become, the good and the bad. I can’t just sit back and write papers about it.”

Your mother’s mouth tightened, the disappointment etched in her features, but your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with a quiet intensity. He cleared his throat, and you braced yourself for the inevitable disapproval. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, contemplative, carrying the weight of his own unspoken struggles.

“If this is really what you want,” he said slowly, choosing each word with care, “then you have my support.” He paused, glancing at your mother before returning his focus to you. “Work is… sacred. It’s a calling, not just a job. I know I haven’t always been there, and I know you’ve seen the toll it can take. But I also know the satisfaction that comes from doing something that matters, something you believe in.”

Your heart swelled, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his words. It was one of the few times you’d felt truly seen by him, and the memory of that moment, of his quiet nod of approval, had stayed with you ever since.

Your mother turned away, picking up the knife and resuming her chopping, her movements more forceful now. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart,” she muttered, the bitterness barely hidden in her tone. “There’s no glory in risking your life. There’s no reward for choosing danger over reason.”

But you held on to your father’s words, his silent validation, and in that moment, it had been enough. Even if he wasn’t always present, even if his own work often kept him away, he had understood the drive that pulled you toward the unknown, the need to carve your own path, even if it led you away from everything they had envisioned for you.

As you stood at his grave now, the weight of that decision felt heavier than ever. You had chosen this life, knowing full well the risks, knowing the sacrifices that would come with it. And yet, in this quiet moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would still be proud, if he would still see the value in the path you had chosen.

You stood up, brushing the dirt from your knees, feeling the rough earth cling stubbornly to your clothes. As you turned to leave, something caught your eye near the cemetery entrance: a line of sleek, black SUVs parked in formation.

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the unmistakable outlines of the BAU vehicles, their dark, imposing presence impossible to miss. But what truly made your breath hitch was the sight of Hotch. Even from this distance, you recognized him instantly, not by his face, but by his unmistakable posture, the way he stood with that rigid, commanding presence, his stance was familiar, almost comforting in its certainty, a figure you’d know anywhere, even among a crowd.

It was only after a moment that your gaze shifted and you noticed Peter beside him, standing just as tensely, their expressions hard and urgent. Hotch’s sharp, focused demeanor contrasted with Peter’s more animated stance, but there was no mistaking the tension that hung between them, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Despite the distance, you could feel the weight of their conversation, the urgency that radiated from them both, and it made your pulse quicken. You hesitated, watching them, knowing that whatever they were discussing, it was serious, and you were about to be pulled right into the heart of it.

A surge of fear shot through you as you rushed toward them, your heart pounding with a mix of dread and confusion. As you got closer, you could see the strain etched across Hotch’s face, the urgency in his eyes that told you something was terribly wrong.

“Hotch?” you called out, breathless, searching his expression for answers. “What’s going on?”

Hotch turned to you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a split second, you saw the raw fear that he usually kept buried deep within. His jaw tightened, the weight of everything he couldn’t say hanging heavily between you, and you knew, whatever this was, it was bigger than any case you had ever faced.

Hotch’s normally composed demeanor was strained, his eyes revealing the fear he had been fighting to suppress all day. Peter, usually quick with a grin, looked torn between anger and the overwhelming relief of seeing you safe.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, breathless from both the sudden sprint and the weight of dread that settled in your chest. “Why are you here in Riverhead?”

Hotch exchanged a quick glance with Peter, an unspoken conversation passing between them before he turned back to you, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “The unsub’s been leaving clues at each crime scene, riddles hinting at his next target. The latest message… it mentioned Riverhead.” He paused, the gravity of his words sinking in, his gaze unwavering. “We think he’s planning his next attack here.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his revelation hitting you like a physical blow. The peaceful cemetery, a place you had come to seek closure and quiet, suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, and fraught with danger. You looked around, the once comforting silence now suffocating as you imagined the unsub watching, waiting. You turned back to Hotch, trying to make sense of the layers of fear and determination that flickered across his face, unspoken and raw.

Peter, attempting to cut through the tension that gripped you all, forced a smile, though his voice was tight with the day’s unrelenting strain. “Luckily, Hotch cracked the code before anything happened. Sharp as ever, saved us all a lot of grief.”

You barely registered Peter’s words, his voice a distant murmur against the roar of your own thoughts. Guilt and self-reproach surged within you, crashing over like relentless waves. You were supposed to be better than this: your instincts, your training, everything you had learned should have protected you. But you had been caught off guard, blindsided by a danger that crept too close, too fast. Your eyes flicked back to the gravestones, their cold, silent presence now bearing witness to your vulnerability, each one a haunting reminder of how close you’d come.

Hotch, always attuned to the unspoken, stepped closer, sensing the spiral of self-doubt threatening to consume you. His hand found your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding, pulling you back from the edge of your own unraveling. The contact was startling at first, his touch warmer and steadier than you expected, cutting through the noise in your head like a lifeline.

It was a simple gesture, but it felt like an anchor in the storm, grounding you when everything else seemed to be slipping away. Hotch's touch was rare, almost unheard of, he was always so composed with his steady presence always keeping his distance, preferring words over gestures. But this, the solid weight of his hand on your shoulder, meant more than he could ever say.

His touch was warm, steady, a silent assurance that seeped past your defenses. It wasn’t just a comforting squeeze; it was Hotch’s way of saying what he rarely ever said aloud: I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.

The unspoken promise behind that touch cut through the chaos and fear, wrapping around you like a shield against the overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-doubt. It was as if he was lending you his strength, even for just a heartbeat, and in that moment, it was enough to keep you from completely falling apart.

“We’ve alerted local law enforcement,” Hotch said, his voice lower, more gentle now, the usual edge softened as if he was speaking directly to the turmoil inside you. “They’re securing the area. The unsub’s been targeting public spaces to create fear and chaos, but we won’t let him succeed. Not here, not today.” His words were calm, steady, the kind of reassurance that cut through the panic clawing at your chest.

You nodded, the knot in your throat tightening painfully as you fought to swallow the rising wave of emotion. The breath you drew felt unsteady, like the first real one you’d managed in minutes, but even as you tried to gather yourself, the stark reality of how close you’d come to danger clung to you, gnawing at the edges of your composure.

Hotch’s hand stayed firm on your shoulder, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unnerving. It was a constant, quiet reminder of your vulnerability, a presence that made it impossible to hide from the fear you so often buried deep.

Desperate to shift the mood, you forced a strained smile, hoping to lighten the heaviness in the air. “Since we’re all here… how about we grab dinner?” you suggested, your voice wavering but hopeful. “There’s this local spot I used to go to when I was a kid. It’s nothing fancy, just this cozy little place, but it’s familiar, and… I could really use some company that feels like home right now.”

Hotch’s hand lingered for a moment longer, as if he was reluctant to let go, his touch a silent reassurance that even in your most vulnerable moments, he was right there with you. The smallest flicker of understanding passed between you, unspoken but felt deeply, as if he knew exactly why you needed this, why you needed them.

Peter’s grin was immediate, though it was tinged with the lingering shadows of what could have been. He clapped his hands together, trying to inject some much-needed levity into the moment. “Now you’re speaking my language. Food, friends, and hopefully a strong drink or two. What do you say, Hotch?”

Hotch hesitated, his mind still half-entangled in the day’s events and the potential dangers that loomed. But then he looked at you, really looked - saw the exhaustion etched into your features, the traces of pain you’d been carrying since your father’s grave. He knew this wasn’t just about a meal; it was about finding a moment of respite, about reconnecting when the job tore so much away.

“I’ll join you,” Hotch said quietly, his voice softer than you’d expected. “But I’ll catch up in a bit. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

You watched him turn back toward the cemetery, his figure fading into the sea of gravestones. It wasn’t like Hotch to delay; he was always so determined, so single-minded when it came to the job. But you sensed this wasn’t just about duty, it was about finding his own moment of stillness in a day that had been anything but.

Peter placed a comforting hand on your back, his touch gentle and familiar, guiding you toward the restaurant with an ease that belied the day’s tension. The small, local eatery was exactly as you remembered: warm, inviting, with the kind of worn wooden tables that made you feel instantly at home. The faint hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows, all of it wrapped around you like a comforting embrace.

Rossi and Gideon joined soon after, settling in with the kind of camaraderie that came only from years of shared battles and late-night stakeouts. There was a tiredness in all of you, a bone-deep fatigue that only people in your line of work truly understood, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t just about the job - it was about being together, about finding solace in each other’s presence.

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with a blend of mischief and genuine curiosity. “So, thesis, antithesis, synthesis,” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement. “Come on, kid. Educate us. What’s that all about in these weird Hegelian stuff you always talk about?”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction. “It’s about the constant cycle of conflict and resolution. The synthesis - the so-called solution - doesn’t end the cycle; it just becomes the new thesis. Life is always evolving, always challenging us to adapt. Every resolution leads to a new conflict, a new question. It’s never really over.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flicking between you and the empty seat that Hotch had yet to fill. “Sounds like something we could all stand to remember,” he said, his tone softer now, more reflective.

Meanwhile, back at the cemetery, Hotch stood alone in front of your father’s grave, the silence hanging heavy and profound. The orchid you had placed there was still fresh, its vibrant petals striking against the cold, unyielding stone.

Hotch understood the significance of that flower, the way it linked back to the very first case you’d ever worked at the BAU, the first time your paths had crossed.

It was the unsub’s calling card, a chilling detail that had haunted the case and marked the start of your journey in this unforgiving world. It was the first time he saw you not just as another agent but as someone uniquely brilliant, fiercely determined, and carrying a burden that ran deeper than anyone could have guessed.

Hotch knelt slowly, the memories of that first meeting mingling with the present, a bittersweet reminder of how far you both had come. He thought of you standing in that briefing room, so composed and meticulous, always immaculate in your appearance.

Your hair, always perfectly straightened, framing your face in a precise way that left nothing to chance. You wore black almost every day, the monochrome only broken by subtle variations in texture: sleek, tailored fabrics that gave the faintest hint of depth but no room for distraction.

He knew it wasn’t just a preference; it was armor, a way to command respect in a field that often doubted you because of your youth. On days when you felt a little lighter, a little braver, you’d occasionally allow yourself the small rebellion of a white shirt, a glimpse of something softer beneath the carefully crafted exterior.

He remembered noticing the deliberate choices you made, how you often wore masculine, tailored suits, sometimes even a three-piece, to project authority and mask the youth that others might use against you.

You were always striving to appear older, tougher, less vulnerable, less feminine, crafting an image that demanded to be taken seriously. And while it worked on most, Hotch never needed the sharp suits, the perfectly placed hair, or the carefully chosen colors to see your worth.

From the beginning, he had valued your insights, your sharp mind, and your relentless drive. He had never looked down on you, never needed you to prove yourself in ways that others did. He saw past the façade to the strength and vulnerability beneath, and he respected you all the more for it.

As he placed the small replica of the Guggenheim Museum beside the orchid, the gesture felt heavy with meaning - a tribute not only to your father but also to the history you both carried.

It was an offering of understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unsaid between you. As Hotch lingered by the grave, he couldn’t help but think of the first day he met you, how determined you were to make your mark, and how, even then, he had been grateful for your presence. You challenged him in ways that reminded him of why he had started this journey, refusing to let the darkness win.

For a moment, Hotch allowed himself to feel it all: the gratitude for having met you, the fear of losing those he cared about, and the faint, fragile hope that maybe, he could find a way to let someone in without losing himself completely. As he stood there, surrounded by the quiet of the cemetery, he found a flicker of peace, a rare, delicate solace that, for the first time in years, made him feel less alone.

When Hotch finally made his way to the restaurant, the sight that greeted him was a balm to his weary soul. You were seated at the table, laughing at something Peter had said, your eyes sparkling with a light that had been missing all day. Rossi and Gideon were leaning back, more at ease than he had seen them in a long time, their expressions softened in a way that only moments like this could bring out - rare and fleeting for men who had spent their lives chasing shadows. It was a simple scene, but it was enough.

It was a reminder of why Hotch fought so hard, why he kept pushing forward, even when the weight of his responsibilities felt like too much to bear.

Without hesitation, Hotch took the seat directly across from you, mirroring the way your desks were always arranged back at the office.

It was deliberate, instinctual - a configuration that felt as natural as breathing. There was comfort in this alignment, in the way his eyes always found yours first, no matter how hectic the day had been. It wasn’t just about proximity; it was about connection.

Sitting across from you allowed him to see you fully, to catch those fleeting, unguarded moments when the professional masks slipped, and the real you shone through.

It was the angle that felt right, where he could read the subtle shifts in your expression, the small smiles that hinted at unspoken thoughts. It was where he could feel the bond between you most acutely, a silent acknowledgment of the trust and understanding that had grown over time.

You looked up as Hotch sat down, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that said more than words ever could. In that moment, the noise of the restaurant faded away, leaving only the quiet understanding that had always existed between you.

It was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you, anchored by the familiar rhythm of shared space, the unspoken promises that bound you together. You had always understood each other in ways that transcended words - both driven by the same relentless need for justice, both carrying the weight of lives you couldn’t always save.

“I thought you’d never come, partner,” you greeted him, your voice carrying a mix of relief and something deeper, something that spoke to how much his presence truly mattered. It wasn’t just relief, it was comfort, knowing that he was here, that he always showed up, no matter what.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice softened with sincerity. “How could I miss this?”

The words were simple but carried so much more meaning. It wasn’t just a casual remark, not from him. It felt like a reaffirmation of something deeper, a silent promise that went beyond tonight.

It was a declaration that he was there, not just for this moment, but always. His presence was grounding, steady, the kind of anchor you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but reflect on how everything had unfolded - especially the train journey that had brought you to this point.

Or how the out-of-the-blue conversation with Rossi about Hegel’s thesis, antithesis, and synthesis now felt almost fated, as though the universe had nudged him to ask you once again – to make you acknowledge the truth you kept hidden within you.

Maybe the irony was the point: Hegel’s idea of the synthesis, the resolution that comes from the collision of opposing forces, was exactly where you found yourself.

The journey to self-awareness wasn’t linear; it was filled with contradictions, moments of doubt, and unexpected realizations.

Every step you had taken, every case, every sleepless night, now made sense, as if you had reached a vantage point from which you could see it all clearly for the first time.

It was like standing on the top of a mountain after a long, hard climb, finally able to look back at the winding path that had led you here.

And standing at that vantage point, you could see why you had been hesitant about the date with Peter, why something in you had resisted moving forward with him. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about him - it was because your heart had already chosen someone else.

The truth settled in gently, like a quiet revelation you had always known but hadn’t fully accepted until now.

It was Hotch.

It had always been Hotch.

The connection between you, the understanding, the trust that went deeper than words, it was more than just friendship or partnership.

You had admired him, respected him, but now you could see it for what it really was.

The reason you had hesitated, the reason you hadn’t been eager for anything else, was because the person you truly wanted was sitting right across from you.

You had a crush on Aaron Hotchner.

●

Extras: here are some pics of the Guggenheim Museum by Frank Lloyd Wright! It inspired me to write the case you read in "Thesis" and Aaron Hotchner to show his love support to Y/N in this chapter.

[saint-ajax]

lowkey

“I WISH TO SEE YOUR LOVELY SMILE.” Wanda had heard from the wonderful mind of her clandestine significant other who sat across her. She knew Wanda could read her mind or hear her thoughts, which is why she whispered little cheers for her. While the Secretary of State discussed the accords that half of the Avengers seemed to disagree with.

   She knows what Wanda's going through right now, and she wants nothing but to be there for her. Wanda forced a little smile for her to assure her she was fine. Before she looked away to read a book Ross had handed them. 

   She was solely focused on Wanda. She was watching how her expressions changed as she read the book before handing it to Natasha. She didn’t care about the material everyone was frowning on and passed it to Steve when he asked for it.

  “Everything okay? ” She asked Wanda in her mind. When Wanda looked at her, she met Wanda's gaze with worry. She subtly shook her head, indicating that she didn’t know.

   In a world where saving people could paint you as the hero and the enemy at the same time, where chaos and battles are the muse of the system, they could only find peace and order in each other’s company.

   Perhaps no one in the room truly knows what’s between the two of them. Perhaps it’s forbidden, or it may not be. But the holy truth is that they do not care for it. 

   To feel, to hold, to cry, and to laugh beside one another is all they care about. For as long as the world can only bring anything but unkind nature to them, they will always lean on and seek each other.

   The meeting was left with an indefinite answer, which Secretary Ross and the United Nations wished for them to create a smart and cooperative decision.

   Everyone was gathered in the living room. They were scattered around to discuss the proposal of leaders from different nations. Yet she was only worried that Wanda was blaming herself for an inevitable incident. 

   She sat in between Vision and Wanda. The atmosphere was getting heated the more the group dove into the conflict they were challenged to solve. Meanwhile, Wanda listened to what the veterans had to say, while her girlfriend was busy watching and playing with her slender hands. Entwining their fingers and placing them in between their thighs to hide them from everyone's view.

   Wanda was used to her gestures like this one, and so she wasn't fazed as she absorbed the points everyone had to point out. Finally, she was all caught up.

   “You're saying they'll come for me.” 

   “I wouldn't let them. I will protect you.” Wanda gazed at her as she squeezed her hand three times and gave her a reassuring smile.

   “We all will protect you.” Vision had commented on the side as they continued to exchange thoughts.

   She rubbed Wanda's hands with her thumb as they continued the discussion until Steve left. “I have to go.”

   Everyone followed after Steve to attend their respective errands. 

   The look Tony gave Wanda before asking Vision to talk in private did not escape her sight. They spent the whole afternoon in Wanda's room as she remained suspicious of it. Eventually, she had to chase Natasha to borrow a car for the late-night drive she planned. 

   “Nat?”

   “Yeah?”

   “Where are you going? ”

   “Attend a conference. Why? ”

   “Can I borrow a car? ”

   “Sure.” Natasha tossed her keys before leaving. 

   “Thanks.” She ran back upstairs to see Vision cooking and Wanda tasting it.

   “Spirit lifted.”

   She stood by the hall as she watched the two exchange laughter. Something inside her spiked and poked her, and it felt close to pain. And anger. She shook her head to get those thoughts out of her head before having the courage to steal their attention.

   “Hey, Wands, ready? ” 

   “Oh, yes. I'm sorry.” Wanda immediately went to her. Something about watching Vision frown upon Wanda coming to her instead of him was satisfying.

   “Apologies, but may I know where you're going? ” 

   None of your business. “Don't worry, Vis; I just want to show her something. We'll be quick.” She didn't even bother to hear what he had to say and carried Wanda away with her, hand in hand.

   Wanda didn't protest, and she let her drag her away. “I heard that,” she remarked.

   “Surprising.” She scoffed as she played with the keys.

   Wanda frowned at her attitude. “What's wrong, darling? ”She was supposed to ignore it, but Wanda made them stop walking and made her face her.

   “Talk to me properly. You're not letting me into your head. I can't understand.”

   “Nothing's wrong.” She avoided her gaze as she denied the truth.

   “I'm not asking again.” Wanda took her hand back harshly and crossed her arms. 

   “Fine. It's.. it's Vision..   and you.”

   “What's wrong with Vision and me? ”

   “Nothing! See? Nothing wrong. Let's go.”

   “Are you jealous? ”Wanda squinted at her when she finally put the puzzle pieces together.

   She puffed air as an act of dismissing her accusation. “No. I'm not.” Me? Jealous of a synthezoid? No way.

  “Darling, you are jealous . ” Wanda smiled to hide her laughter at her charming girl.

   She rolled her eyes. “Yeah? What if I am? ”

   “I like it. Even though you have nothing to be jealous of.”

   “I was trying all day to lift your mood, but with him, one paprika, and you're all giggling like a little girl,” she frowned. Now that she thought about it, it actually hurt.

   “Oh, baby, you have no idea how calm you've made me the entire day.” Wanda had cupped her face for her to directly look into her emerald eyes. “I have been on edge all day, and you've kept me sane.” And there it was; her lovely smile had finally shown up, and it was beautifully contagious.

   Wanda looking so pretty and smiling while staring into her eyes made her knees weak and her cheeks pink. “You have to stare at me like that? ”

   “Like what? ”

   “Like you want to kiss me.” Wanda let out a wholehearted laugh. It was a scene to behold. She watched the redhead with shiny eyes, appreciating her beauty when she smiled.

   “Oh, you know very well how to read my mind,” Wanda uttered before pulling her into a kiss that sent butterflies into her stomach.

   She received the kiss well and responded with the strong passion they both possess. Their lips were crashing in sync as their heads angled in a pattern while their hands roamed.

   “Oh, there you are—” They both stopped and looked at the owner of the voice, which interrupted them. It was Vision. “Oh...” He tilted his head as he studied what was happening. He blinked it away and proceeded to state his business. “I'm glad to catch both of you. I'm afraid you're not allowed to leave the building.”

   “Let me guess, Tony's orders? ”She said, making Wanda frown in confusion as she looked at her.

   “Correct,” Vision responded. 

   “That's not happening.” Another familiar voice came from the other side, and when they looked, they saw Clint. “Come on, kids, pack your bags. I'm here to pick you up.”

   “I'm afraid I can't let them go.” Vision begged to differ. 

   “Oh my god! What are you doing here? ”Wanda said in surprise.

   “Disappointing my kids.”

   “In whose orders, Clint? ”

   She questioned.

   “Captain. Cap needs our help. Come on.” She looked into Wanda's eyes to consult their plan. Wanda looked hesitant.

   “What's wrong? ”

   “I’ve caused enough problems.” She and Clint frowned at Wanda.

   “You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you want to mope, can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass. We gotta go.”

   “Come on, Wanda. It'll be okay.” The girl holding Wanda's hand and giving her assuring eyes and comfort was what helped to convince her.

   Wanda nods and lets her drag her along as they follow Clint. “Stop! Clint.. You should not be here.” Vision interrupts and Clint rolls his eyes.

   “Really? I retire for, what, like five minutes, and it all goes to shit.“

   “Please consider the consequences of your actions.” He started to elevate as he turned his guard on.

   “Okay.. they're considered.   Okay, we gotta go.” They immediately turned their backs on Vision while he was held back by a force field. It was sparkling and crackling between the two arrows. None of them had the time to notice when Clint had shot them.

   Just as they reach the exit, Vision catches up to them. As they were caught off guard, he punched Clint, but he quickly recovered. “I knew I should've stretched.” Clint groaned.

   He extended a baton in an attempt to hit Vision, but it was useless as the blows went through him. He resorts to punches and comes back to the baton until it breaks. Clint doesn't give up and tries to kick Vision, but as expected, his kicks pass through him. They ended up with Vision having Clint in a headlock. Completely naive about the existence of the two ladies.

   “Clint, you cannot overpower me.”

   He was still able to speak, but it was crooked. “I know I can't, but they can.”

   Vision's eyes found Wanda's glowing ruby orbs. “Vision.. That's enough; let him go.” As the energy from Wanda's hands falters Vision, Clint manages to slip from his grip.

   A yellow, sparkling circle opened beneath Vision caused by her. The body of water in the area of HQ was seen on the other side of the portal.

   “If you do this… they will never stop being afraid of you.”

   “The thing is... She cannot control their fear,” the sorcerer answers Vision.

   “Only my own.” Wanda buries Vision through the water and passes the ground, and her sorcerer closes the portal just in time for the water to not splash at them.

   She finds Wanda's eyes; their glow is starting to fade as she calms down. She walks over to her and holds her hand. “I'm proud of you,” she whispers as she touches her chin to make Wanda look at her.

   She managed to make Wanda smile lightly and entwine their fingers together. “Thank you.”

   “...Alright, what the hell is this? ”She and Wanda forgot about Clint and looked at him before chuckling lightly. “What has Nat been teaching you two? ”

   “Looking over my shoulder should be a second nature. And I’m starting to think she's right.” Wanda chuckled at her own remark of being caught in the moment and kept forgetting there were people with them.

   “So, you two? together? ”Clint asked to confirm.

   Both of the ladies chuckled as they held hands and followed Clint to the van.

   “Lowkey.”

[blacknedsoul-blog]

Nevermore is a gothic tragedy. Part I: Classical and Shakespearean Tragedy

This essay assumes that you've read the first season of Nevermore. If you haven't, you'll be eating spoilers.

First of all, a disclaimer: you won't find the term "Gothic tragedy" in theory books, because I just pulled it out of my sleeve. But it seemed appropriate to put it in those terms because, hey, beyond theoretical structuring, genres are also used as a guide to content, and that's kind of what I want to express with this.

Partly because I've noticed that I've called this comic a tragedy on more than one occasion, and talked at length about Lenore and Annabel as gothic characters, but never bothered to delve into these matters, and with the hiatus until (possibly) October, I think it's time to rectify that situation.

But also because I think there are a lot of things in this story that fall into place if you read it under the logic of those genres.

Originally, this was going to be a single essay, but it turns out it took over 2000 fucking words just to explain why it's a fucking tragedy, so I'm going to split this shit in two because I don't want to burn anyone's eyes out.

Tragedy and Types of Tragedy

This is the ridiculously abridged version because this is a really long story, if you want more information on the subject I highly recommend reading Aristotle's Poetics, Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy or watching this OSP video for a more proper introduction. If you're interested in Shakespearean tragedy, The Cambridge Shakespeare is a amazing compilation, and here's the essay that talks specifically about what the hell Shakespearean tragedy is.

Tragedy has been linked to the origins of theater as such, found in the festivals dedicated to Dionysus (if you want to know more about the cult of Dionysus, you can watch this video to start), where poetry contests were held, specifically of dithyrambs: lyric compositions dedicated specifically to Dionysus. This later led to the inclusion of an increasingly sophisticated chorus using masks. This was no longer poetry, but the first expressions of theater as we understand it in modern times, at least for Europe and the countries colonized by Europeans.

Nietzsche also points out that tragedy condenses within itself two opposing impulses represented in the gods Apollo and Dionysus, expressed in the terms "Apollonian" and "Dionysian": order, mathematics and music (understood by the Greeks as science) vs. party, debauchery and chaos. The clash between the beautiful and the grotesque (understanding that the "beautiful" can be disturbing and the "grotesque" can be strangely beautiful). This description is not entirely literal, of course, but it must be kept in mind that in order to have the fundamentals of a tragedy, one must have these two elements: order and chaos. A synchronized waltz between the rigid structures and the rupturing.

Yes, those two are enough.

Step by step, I think it is important to point out what are the transversal elements to tragedy - classical or Shakespearean - that are present in the comic.

The first important concept that appears on this page is Amarthia. The tragic mistake, the first domino that topples the whole stack, is the specific event that sets tragedy in motion, and we spectators of tragedy can only stare in horror at the situation, knowing that everything that follows will go terribly wrong.

At least as far as its protagonists are concerned, Annabel and Lenore's Amarthia has been said but not seen: the dinner party where Annabel will wear pearls, indicating to Lenore that she is in on the charade. From then on, every step they take will bring them closer to the fate we know: the arrival of both of them in Nevermore. This story ends with them both dead.

And if I had to point out the Amarthia of the comic's topicality, I would dare to say that this is it:

And this:

Annabel refuses to explain to Lenore why the plan has to be the way it is, while Lenore agrees to be part of it (the fact that she disagrees with the whole situation is a plus).

The interesting thing about this is that the roles are reversed: before, Annabel sealed the tragic fate of both of them by accepting Lenore's proposal, while in Nevermore, Lenore sealed the tragic fate of both of them by accepting Annabel's plan.

Another important term that comes up here is hybris. While it is true that hybris represents ego, this does not necessarily mean that the hero is self-centered in a personality sense; hybris is the tragic hero's (misguided, of course) belief that they can turn their terrible situation around. And, well…

That ends badly in tragedies. Very, very badly.

At this point, it is necessary to start pointing out the elements of each type of tragedy, because something interesting is happening: within the ancient walls of the purgatory that is Nevermore, a classical tragedy is taking place, while in the past, Annabel and Lenore were the protagonists of a Shakespearean tragedy.

Classical Tragedy

One thing to understand about classical tragedy is that these are stories of humanity versus divinity. The predestined fate that comes upon mortals at the hands of beings superior to them, even if those beings do not appear directly. The external forces superior to the characters do not intervene directly (at least not in most cases), but they put all the pieces in place for the tragic hero to fall headlong into his terrible fate "by their own hand". Yeah, that shit is so unfair.

In Nevermore, fate is represented by these two bastards: The Deans act as the ominous shadow of divinity that sets the rules of this battle royale. For all intents and purposes, this pair of bastards represents the tragic fate of the characters: only one will survive to have a second life. And there is (theoretically) no way to escape.

This is where we start to get into thorny issues. If I had to point out the classical tragedy that Nevermore most resembles, I think I'd get a smile out of Hadestown fans: Orpheo and Eurydice.

Okay, let's review: Orpheo is a highly talented musician who, after losing his beloved, goes to the underworld to find her. Hades and Persephone give him a chance to get her back if he doesn't turn around to see her until they leave the place, he does so at the last second, she returns to the underworld, and Orpheus spends the rest of his life in misery mourning her.

That's the thing, the story of Orpheo and Euridice is a tragedy for the most depressing reason of all: love. What seems like a generous gift from Hades and Persephone is actually a condemnation, because they ask Orpheus to do the one thing he could never do: stop looking at his beloved. In some versions of the story, he can't even hear her as they walk; will she really be her, or has he been tricked? Will she be frightened on this journey and he will not be there to comfort her? What if she has trouble on the road or an accident and Orpheus has left her behind? Orpheus loves Eurydice so much that he cannot save her under these circumstances because he cannot stop watching over her long enough to get her out of here.

Now let's go to Annabel and Lenore, the same thing is happening here, these two idiots love each other. It's probably the only thing they know for sure in this bullshit game. And for Annabel and Lenore, to love is to protect, it's to be the shield that will be there to defend their beloved in the face of adversity, she's been hurt in a terrible way and they will do anything to stop anyone from hurting her again.

But tragic fate, represented by the Deans, has set things in motion for this to quickly go to hell:

For Lenore to understand Annabel's actions, she would have to tell her that's why she's so afraid, why they shouldn't get attached to anyone, why she thinks it's necessary to pretend they don't remember each other. But Lenore can't be okay with Annabel carrying everything alone, because she sees how it hurts her, because Annabel is clearly hurting. She goes to great lengths to confide in Annabel, but she can't come up with a plausible explanation for all this crap either.

For Annabel, becoming a villain and enduring all this pain is slightly less horrible than dragging Lenore into the Deans' psychotic game. But Lenore just loves her too much to let her do that. Lenore could protect her if Annabel were by her side, so why does she keep leaving? She was hurt the first time, why do it to her a second time?

The feeling of not being heard, the frustration that the other just won't listen to her pleas and won't stop what she's doing to allow her to be cared for, runs through both of them because it's the exact same situation, "Why won't you let me do this for you?"

The answer is that Annabel and Lenore are asking the other to do the one thing she could never stop doing: stop trying to protect her. That's why they fight.

This relationship has become a power game that neither can win because they are both exactly the same. A tug-of-war that will only be resolved when something breaks. Hopefully not irreparably.

And speaking of the P-word, let's talk Shakespeare, people.

Shakespearean Tragedy

The good Bard took classical tragedy and brought it back, but changed enough elements of it that it had to be renamed because some of its fundamentals were rewritten. The most notorious of these is that while Shakespeare does not ignore the presence of higher forces or supernatural entities, the fundamental basis of Shakespearean tragedy is not the conflict between humanity and the Fates/Gods.

It is power.

Those who wield power, those who are corrupted by it, and those who crave it. These tragedies speak of moral corruption, the victims of power, and those who sink under the responsibility that power brings.

This is the reason why Shakespeare's tragic heroes belong to the nobility, come from opulent families, or hold important positions. In this case, we have as protagonists two women who were born in a cradle of gold: Lenore apparently comes from a family of old money, and while we do not know if Annabel also comes from a family of old money, we do know that there is no shortage of coins around here.

But status cannot protect Shakespeare's protagonists from the society in which they live, whose agency is sometimes literally represented by people with power. This puts them in a situation from which they cannot escape and which screws them from the start (in other cases the Shakespearean protagonist is the figure of power and seals his own fate). Here, the odds are stacked against them from the start because they are women and, as if that were not enough, lesbians.

I think it's no surprise to anyone that the Shakespearean tragedy most similar to Nevermore is Romeo and Juliet.

Let's review: Romeo and Juliet are two young people who meet at a party and fall madly in love. Their families hate each other, so they cannot be together. The two secretly marry, but after an argument Romeo kills a man and is banished, despite a plan hatched by a priest friend so they can run away together, things go terribly wrong and they both end up committing suicide.

This follows a similar logic to Orpheus and Eurydice: the tragedy here is that these two are in love. But where classical tragedy says, "They love each other so much they can't save themselves," Romeo and Juliet, like Annabel and Lenore, works with two layers of conflict.

The first is the social and political. These young people's families hate each other, so they can't be together. In the same way, Annabel and Lenore can't be together because they're both women.

This is also a reference to one of the central themes of Romeo and Juliet: the clash between tradition and modernity. I think if you squint hard enough, you can see the relationship between these two as Victorian conservatism and homophobia screwing up their lives in the same way that tradition screws up Romeo and Juliet's.

The other layer of the problem is the one that has to do with love: Romeo and Juliet love each other so much that they cannot live without each other. This is what drives them both to suicide, even when they are given the opportunity to continue their lives separately. They love each other so much that they cannot live without each other. Just as Annabel and Lenore desperately want to be together, this is what starts the engine of tragedy when circumstances prevent them from doing so.

Another thing it takes from Romeo and Juliet is the role of the parents as a representation of the power that oppresses the characters. In Romeo and Juliet, the Montague and Capulet lords pull the strings of their children's lives, and it is their resentment that creates the barrier between the lovers. In the case of Nevermore, Ira and Thaddeus are the personal jailers of their respective daughters: Ira wants to get Annabel into an arranged marriage by hook or by crook, and Thaddeus first gets Lenore a fiancé and then keeps her locked up in the fucking attic.

Finally, a tragedy that can be read as a reference to Nevermore, though more subtly, is Macbeth.

The plot is simple: a trio of witches tell Duke Macbeth that he and his descendants will one day be kings. This leads him to murder his cousin, King Duncan, and everything goes downhill from there, because Duncan's murder didn't even amuse the prince.

Yes, at first glance it doesn't seem to make much sense, but that's because it's referring to a specific moment. Specifically, the most discussed and controversial scene in the play: the dialog where Lady Macbeth and Macbeth discuss killing Duncan.

This scene has kept the Bard's fans arguing for centuries: is she manipulating her husband so that she can be queen, or is she just verbalizing Macbeth's wishes that he be allowed to commit the crime, and saying that she will support him in it? Impossible to know unless someone gets a working Ouija board.

This is the same logic that follows the flashback scene where Lenore talks to Annabel about the plan. The important thing here is that the comic decides that the answer is: it depends on who you ask.

Given Annabel's attitude toward Lenore, we can interpret that she does not think she was manipulated or anything. Lenore is not a devious woman who put things in her head, it was her knight in shining armor who came to save her from a marriage she didn't want. Yes, she may have had her doubts, but she definitely liked her chances, enough to accept them.

On the other hand, what this tells me is that Lenore thinks the opposite: that she convinced Annabel to be part of this hoax that ended with both of them dead. A crazy woman who dragged the only person she cared about into a dangerous game that cost them their lives, she considers herself as guilty as the perpetrating hand of the crime.

Conclusion

I think the first time I decided to do a review under this particular lens was when I started to notice where Annabel and Lenore's arcs seemed to be going.

On the one hand, given how things are going, it seems that Lenore has to start taking off the blindfold to realize that things aren't as simple as she thinks, and stop letting others make the hard decisions for her because it hurts everyone.

On Annabel's side, you have a character arc that seems to be aimed at being honest with other people, not letting her fears stop her from making risky decisions, and not dealing with all the bullshit herself.

If what I just said leaves a bad taste in your mouth, that's normal. Because it's fucking unfair.

That Lenore should be the one to stand firm - not out of guilt, but out of responsibility - for her actions feels like shit after everything the poor girl has been through. The same thing happens on Annabel's side, that she has to give in to a situation where it makes so much sense for her to shut down, where it makes sense, even without her background, for her to behave that way.

But that sense of injustice is one of the foundations of tragedies. The feeling that, in her situation, it is practically impossible to think that anything different could be done is the basis of catharsis: the pity felt for the character, the fear generated by identifying with their terrible situation.

The expiation of these emotions, which are produced in the spectator by the fall of the tragic hero.

Now, it is interesting to ask how the fall of Annabel and Lenore will be. The simple answer from a tragic point of view is death, a thing we know has already happened once, why not a second time? After all, that's what awaits tragic heroes. Unless you're Medea.

It's impossible to know how the comic will develop, but it seems to me that this is as far as the tragedy goes. For the next part, I want to talk about gothic novels, female vampires, the female writers of the period, and the last gothic. Believe me, buddies, there is no more obsessive romantic bond than that between a Poe protagonist and their dead bride.