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ssa-dado · 1 day

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1 - Orchids & Knots

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: A young profiler, recently recruited by Jason Gideon, joins the BAU and works with experienced agents, including Hotch and Rossi, on a challenging case involving a methodical killer. Despite initial nervousness, you start to bond with Hotch through wit and shared work ethic, revealing unexpected personal sides along the intense investigation.

Warnings: Usual CM case described in detail, hideous use of one bedroom trope, Gissi implied as a joke

Word Count: 4.1k

Dado's Corner: first part of the upcoming series! Still have no clue of how many parts it could have, just expect a very slow burn. My other fic - Symposium (definitely not platonic love) - is part of the same universe, hence why reader is still a philosophy enthusiast. You can enjoy this pilot as its own or read it before or after Symposium. You do you. Again, I'm aware there might be some mistakes as English isn't my first language so bear with me.

part zero - reading optional, but strongly advised ; part two

Everyone who knew you had assumed you'd take an academic route in your professional life, perhaps becoming a professor or researcher, but something you couldn’t explain had always pulled you toward the darker corners of human behavior.

You weren't satisfied with just understanding the human mind, you wanted to see what happened when it broke.

Now, you were standing still on the elevator on your way to meet Jason Gideon, the legend who had recruited you after being impressed by your sharp mind during a lecture he held at the academy.

Maybe it was because of your passion to philosophy that made you a natural curious person, always asking – sometimes asking way too many – questions, never taking anything for granted.

After that lecture you understood that profiling was a subject that rewarded what many considered to be one of your most annoying flaws. Hence why another reason you probably decide to follow that specific path, out of all the others: you wanted to prove everyone wrong.

What many didn’t see though - and most of the times you didn’t even realise yourself - is that you questioned yourself and your decisions more than anything else. Although for once, trusting more your instincts rather than your reasoning to decide to work at the Bureau, somehow sweetly felt right.

“Y/N, right?” A deep voice cut through your thoughts. You turned to see Gideon standing beside a tall man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His expression appeared stoic, yet his eyes - sharp and calculated - were the most striking feature about him, even more than the smoke coming from his ears as he was focusing all of his energies on you to read through your façade.

As you entered the barely lit bullpen, the weight of the moment hit you. The room was filled with agents, all seasoned professionals busy with their work, pouring over case files, dissecting behavioral patterns, and speaking in hushed tones about suspects and profiles. Their years of experience were palpable, but instead of shrinking, you felt a quiet resolve. You were aware you had something unique to offer - not to be cocky about it - and Gideon clearly thought so too, otherwise you wouldn’t be there.

You were trying your best to be as neutral as possible but you couldn’t deny you immediately felt a wave of adrenaline coursing through you. Knowing you were standing before one most formidable profilers the FBI had ever known and next to him the one you hypothesised to be the Bureau’s next rising star. There wouldn’t be any other plausible reasons for him to stand so close to Gideon otherwise, you thought.

“Yes, sir,” you responded, willing yourself to keep calm. Gideon had introduced you to the mystery man next to him – SSA Aaron Hotchner – or you-can-call-me-Hotch; For a moment you felt so uncool for not having a nickname yourself.

Hotch studied you further for a moment, his face unreadable, but you could tell he was intrigued. His nod was brief, but it felt like a form of acknowledgment.

Gideon smiled warmly. “Good to see you again, Y/N. I’ve been just telling Hotch here about your academic work, very impressive stuff. I’m sure the mix of philosophy, linguistics and psychology will give you quite of a unique lens for profiling.”

“Welcome to the team,” Hotch said simply, though his tone carried weight. With just a sentence he made sure to remind you that you weren’t just another recruit, you were expected to contribute. You hoped his remark would just point out at the overall high expectations everyone had of you, instead of him questioning your presence here due to your young age, less than a week passed from your 21st birthday.

"Thank you," you said, trying to balance out with professionalism. "I’m eager to get started."

Gideon gestured for you to follow him. "Come on, there’s someone else I want you to meet. David Rossi."

Your heart raced. David Rossi, the legend who had co-founded the BAU with the man standing next to you. The picture of you working with him felt surreal. As you, Hotch, and Gideon made your way to Rossi’s office, you could feel Hotch’s eyes still occasionally flicking toward you, still assessing, still quiet. His silence felt deliberate, as though he wanted to see how you carried yourself before making any judgments.

When you entered Rossi’s office, he looked up from his desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His presence was formidable, the kind of aura that came from decades of experience. For a brief moment, you felt like he was already profiling you, dissecting every nuance of your appearance and demeanor. Then, his face broke into a bright grin, and he stood, extending his hand.

"So, you’re the philosophy kid," Rossi said, his voice gruff but warm. "Gideon’s been talking your ear off about you."

Philosophy kid, as if you didn’t feel odd enough.

You shook his hand. "That’s me. Nice to meet you, Agent Rossi."

You smiled at that, already feeling some of the tension ebbing away in his presence. There was something about Rossi’s bluntness that was oddly reassuring. He was a man who spoke his mind, no pretense, no games.

"Dave," he corrected, flashing a grin. "‘Agent Rossi’ makes me sound like I could be your nonno. You can call me Dave."

"So, Gideon tells me you speak sixteen languages?" Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow. "How come? Ever consider becoming a spy?"

"Bisnonno" He quickly grinned, you had just entered his office and already flexing your Italian, he teased you first though. "Got it, Dave.". If there would have been one thing you had learnt throughout the brief 2 minutes you’ve been working at the BAU, is that profilers were no joke about their nicknames.

You laughed softly. "I was raised in a bilingual household, I have a thing for languages"

Hotch, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. "It’ll definitely come in handy in the field. We deal with a lot of international cases."

His voice was calm, measured. Although you had read his file; Hotch wasn’t just any profiler - he was methodical, relentless, and someone who had climbed the ranks through sheer dedication. His seriousness wasn’t arrogance, but a reflection of his deep commitment to the job.

Rossi leaned back slightly, his eyes now flicking over your outfit, your well-fitted total black three-piece suit. “I’ll say, I didn’t expect someone at 21 to show up looking more polished than half of the bureau. You sure you’re not here to give a lecture?”

You chuckled, feeling some of the tension melt away. "This is just my definition of business casual”

Gideon smiled but quickly shifted back to business. “I brought the two of you here in Dave’s office because we just got a tough case” He says gesturing towards you and Hotch “And I want all of us to be working together in on it”.

Rossi laughed, clearly enjoying your response. "Gideon, I think you found someone who might out-dress me."

Normally at the BAU they would either work solo or in pairs, sometimes they would even assest the case from the comfort of their own desk there in Quantico, if travelling was not deemed crucial to build the profile. Only when crime would be particularly complex, they would quicky assemble a team, a small task-force of sorts, take their go-bag with them and travel all across the country struggling more with the train connections rather than with the criminals themselves.

You ironically told yourself that there wouldn’t be a much better start on your new job, your heart raced with anticipation. "What’s the case?" You asked trying to mask the slight feeling of anxiety rushing through your veins.

In a matter of seconds, Gideon quicky exited the office and had already came back firmy holding a bunch of manila folders. He handed you a thick case file, and as you flipped through it, your stomach slightly churned, reminding you this wasn’t these weren’t just pictures on your textbooks.

The unsub had left seven bodies in three states, all bound with intricate knots, posed in ritualistic displays. Each victim had an orchid placed delicately on their chest, and despite the grotesque nature of the crimes, you found there was an eerie beauty in how the unsub treated his victims.

"The knots," Gideon explained, pointing to a photograph. "They’re not random. Each one is different, and each one requires a high level of skill. The unsub is precise, organized, and deliberate. He’s treating these murders like a performance."

These killings to you were manifest of the deeply rooted paradox in human experience - beauty and pain - where both often coexist or follow each other closely. You always found amusing how beauty, whether in art, nature, or human life, often emergeed through struggle or suffering.

You looked closely at the images, analyzing the intricacies of the knots, you feel the need to add something else. "It’s not just performance - it’s communication. The knots are sending a message. He’s not killing out of anger. There’s patience here. He wants control, and the orchids, those suggest he sees the victims as fragile, beautiful objects to be perfected, but ultimately destroyed."

Even historically, humankind tended to these opposites because they reflect the full range of life’s complexities, as joy often emerges from pain, and suffering can heighten the appreciation of beauty. You kept the philosophical monologue to yourself, you definitely didn’t want to reinforce even more the prejudice your teammates could already have on you, the lack of field expertise overly compensated by the knowledge of human nature.

Hotch leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "He’s someone with discipline, military or maybe maritime experience. The variety of knots points to a deeper knowledge of how they work. He’s not just tying them for show. He’s someone who understands the function of every twist and turn."

Rossi smiled at your analysis, clearly impressed. "Not bad. Not bad at all, philosopher. " You now started to suspect Gideon had overly gushed about this particular part of your background as it seemed to be the only thing your new co-workers remembered about you.

You nodded, your mind racing. "And the orchids, they aren’t just decorative. He’s choosing them for a reason. Orchids are notoriously difficult to grow. They’re delicate but require meticulous care, which suggests he sees himself as a cultivator. He picks his victims carefully, like someone choosing a rare flower, and when they don’t live up to his standards, he... prunes them."

The team continued to build the profile, each member adding layers of complexity. The unsub’s background became clearer: someone with a need for control, a perfectionist likely with some connection to floristry or horticulture. You felt a growing sense of camaraderie as you offered ideas and bounced theories off Hotch, who slowly began engaging with you more directly.

“They do act like an old married couple” Hotch hums in a low voice while pointing at Rossi and Gideon vividly arguing far away from the two of you about something you couldn’t grasp yet. You immediately chuckle at the sight, appreciating Hotch’s efforts to bond with you yet still being very reserved and shielding himself through his rare jokes.

A few days into the investigation, you found yourself paired with Hotch all the times, a tactic you knew Gideon pulled just to make you feel the most at ease, despite the overly reserved nature of your partner.

He continued, “See, they might made you think the fraternization rules exist because of Dave, what they didn’t tell you is that he’s probably secretly married with Gideon and apparently the latter today forgot about their anniversary”. You tried your best not to burst into laughing as the Italian man furiously walked towards the two of you, Gideon quick on his feet following him with an apologetic look on his face. Damn, Hotch might have been right, the similarities in the physical language to the scenario he previously mentioned was uncanny.

“The Bureau changed our accommodation, again.” Gideon sighed “They’ll soon send us the address, we have two rooms, two twin beds each, private bathroom” He ironically emphasised the last part, as if he was offering all of you the deal of your life.

“Budget cut again kiddos” Dave announced, oblivious of the reason why both of yours and Hotch's eyes were almost tearing up trying to hold in the laughters.

“Hood rats.” Rossi flamboyantly replied “So here’s another reason to end this case as soon as possible. Figli di puttana, There's no way I'm sleeping more with Jason rather than with my own wife”. Both you and Hotch gave each other a quick mischievous side-eye that could speak more than a thousand words. As the two of them moved away from you and Hotch enough so they wouldn’t hear your next words, you turned towards him. “Dave didn’t even offer us to sleep with him in his room, you actually might have been right all along”.

“I’m always right” He replied showing the dimples on his face.

“Typical lawyer behaviour, gaslighting their way just to be right in their own distorted reality.” You poke fun at him as you reminded he told you he used to work as a persecutor before landing into the Bureau.

Hotch definitely didn’t expect such a quick-witted comeback from you. “I wasn’t aware philosophers knew humor” he teased you.

“We patented it” you smirk.

You and Hotch later surveyed a potential crime scene—a floral shop the unsub had likely visited. As you both examined the area, you could feel Hotch's eyes on you, observing how you worked, how you processed information.

"You’re picking up on a lot for your first case," Hotch said, breaking the silence. "Most people miss the smaller details."

You looked over at him, surprised by the sudden compliment. "Thanks. I guess looking at things in an unorthodox way helps, all the hours spent on Plato apparently paid off"

Hotch nodded. "It shows. Keep it up."

Together, you reviewed the evidence, each of you adding to the emerging profile. You and Hotch began to form a pattern: he’d focus on the precision of the unsub’s actions, while you offered a more abstract perspective, thinking about the emotional motivations behind the crimes.

Later that evening, after a long day of chasing leads and trying to make sense of the tangled web the unsub had woven, you all finally were set into the new accommodation.

Despite Rossi’s earlier complaints about the budget cuts, the place wasn’t that bad - it was modest but clean, with enough space to spread out the case files and work. You and Hotch were indeed been paired up to share a room, as he previously predicted, with two twin beds crammed into a space that would feel much smaller once your notes and case materials were scattered all across the floor.

As soon as you entered the room, Hotch moved with military precision, setting down his go-bag and immediately pulling out a file. He glanced around briefly, as if taking in every detail of the room in a split second, then sat down at the small desk, already deep in thought.

You, on the other hand, sat on the edge of your bed for a moment, looking around and trying to shake off the fatigue that was creeping in. It was only your first case, and yet you felt the pressure building already - both from the weight of the crimes and from wanting to prove yourself in front of someone as formidable as Hotch. Despite the intensity of the case, you couldn’t help but be amused at the situation.

“So, do you believe their honeymoon suite is just as romantic as ours?” You asked with a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood.

Hotch didn’t look up immediately, as if puzzled on how to choose his next words, though you caught the slight twitch of his lips. “Yeah, nothing says romance like crime scene photos and case files scattered everywhere.”

You chuckled and tossed your jacket onto the back of a chair. “I always knew the FBI had a weird way of doing things, but I have to admit this is next level.”

As you pulled out the case file, flipping through the pages and studying the photos, you found it hard to concentrate, mostly because of how quiet the room turned out to become. Hotch was the kind of person whose silence seemed louder than most people’s conversations, and though you could tell he was intensely focused on the case, you sensed that he was also observing you – amazed at how it was the first time he ever saw someone overworking themselves as much as he did.

Breaking the silence, you threw a glance at him. “You ever wonder what makes someone do this? I mean, it’s one thing to read about it in a textbook, but seeing it in person…”

Hotch set his pen down and leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “Every time. You get used to it, but it never really stops affecting you.”

You nodded, taking that in. “It’s just so… deliberate. Every little detail, like the knots, the orchids, it’s like he’s creating something, not just destroying.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed in thought, clearly impressed by your analysis. “That’s an interesting perspective. Most people would only see the destruction.”

“You know,” you said, leaning back on the bed, wanting to return the subtle compliment “when I first joined the academy, I never thought I’d end up here, sitting in a hotel room with one of the newest best profilers in the country.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Flattery, huh? Didn’t think philosophers believed in that.”

You grinned. “We don’t, but I make exceptions.”

He gave you another small smile, his guard dropping just a little. “Well, I didn’t expect to be working with a 21-year-old who can hold their own on a case like this.”

“I’ve got to keep up with all of you somehow.”

Hotch shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re doing more than keeping up, but I’ve already told you this.”

The next morning, while poring over the case, both you and Hotch hit on the idea that the unsub might escalate soon. "He’s been meticulous so far, but there’s a growing desperation in the pattern," you observed. "He’s becoming bolder with each kill, taking greater risks. If he feels like he’s not getting the recognition he craves, he might go after a more high-profile victim."

Hotch considered this, his brow furrowing. "Someone in the public eye. He’d want an audience for his ‘art.’ We should look into upcoming events where he might strike."

Later, Gideon walked into the room with a look that told you something big had just clicked into place. "We’ve got a break," he said, laying down a new set of photographs. They were taken at a local orchid show, a high-profile event that had been held recently. "We missed it before because the show was a private event, members only. But one of the attendees matched the profile. His name is Matthew Carson, a former Navy sailor turned horticulturist."

You leaned over the photos, seeing the man for the first time. Carson was in his mid-thirties, tall, with an air of quiet control about him. "That explains the knots," you said. "He would’ve learned that skill in the Navy. And the flowers - he’s obsessed with perfection, cultivating these delicate orchids. It fits with how he views his victims."

Hotch nodded, already processing the next steps. "We need to move fast. He’s going to escalate, and the orchid show gives him an audience: a high-profile victim pool. He’ll want to make his statement soon."

The team sprang into action, coordinating with local authorities to track Carson down. You, Hotch, Rossi, and Gideon prepared to approach his house, a sprawling property on the outskirts of town, where Carson ran his own private orchid nursery.

As the team closed in, your heart pounded with anticipation. Carson’s house was an eerie reflection of his mind: immaculate, but with an unsettling coldness, orchids lined the windowsills and filled every room with their fragile beauty. It was a place of quiet obsession.

Rossi was the first to spot Carson. The man was in the greenhouse, meticulously pruning an orchid, completely unaware of the FBI’s presence. Hotch signaled for you to stay back as he and Rossi approached cautiously.

"Matthew Carson," Hotch called, his voice steady but firm.

Carson didn’t flinch. He continued trimming the orchid as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "You don’t understand," he said quietly, his voice calm but laced with underlying madness. "It’s about perfection. I’m creating something beautiful."

Hotch took a step closer. "You’re hurting people, Matthew. This isn’t beauty, it’s destruction."

Carson finally looked up, his eyes hollow yet intense. "They weren’t good enough. The flowers... they have to be perfect."

You could feel the tension in the air while Hotch was doing what he did best, calmly, methodically drawing Carson out, understanding his twisted mind.

"They’re not flowers, Matthew. They’re people," You said as Hotch took another step closer. You continued "You’re not creating beauty. You’re trying to control what you can’t, but perfection doesn’t exist."

Carson’s grip tightened on the shears in his hand, his knuckles turning white. "I can make it exist," he whispered.

Before he could act, Rossi moved swiftly, disarming Carson and pinning him to the ground, he struggled briefly but then went limp, as if the fight had left him entirely. The unsub’s calm shattered, and in that moment, you saw the deep fragility that had driven his madness.

"You think you understand, but you don’t," Carson muttered as he was handcuffed. "I was so close."

As Gideon secured Carson, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The case was over, but the weight of it still lingered but before you could start overthinking, you felt a hand on top of your left shoulder. Your heart skips a beat and you quickly turn around to what revealed to be Hotch “Good job on the case, partner” You shyly smile “Not so bad as your first case at all”

“I could say the same about you, especially on the way you handled Carson, but I bet someone like you is used to the myriad of compliments at this point.”

He rolled his eyes, then quickly moved towards Rossi before you could notice the smile tugged on his face - too late – you could see his dimples still showing even when he was far away from you.

Later, on the train ride back to Quantico, you and Hotch found yourselves sitting across from each other. The case had drained everyone, you glanced at Hotch, who was staring out the window, lost in thought.

"So," you said, breaking the silence, curious to know something real about the man you shared a room with for the past two days "now that the case is over, are you going to admit that you do something other than work? Or is profiling literally your only hobby?"

Hotch turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," you said with a grin, "You must have to do something outside of this. You can't just spend all your downtime preparing for the next criminal mastermind, or developing conspiracy theories" His eyes went to his side, inviting you to glance at the older profilers. Rossi was conveniently standing up from his seat and leaning in front of Gideon, showing him something on a case file while simultaneously tracing small circles with the back of his pen on the papers the other was holding.

He gave you small smirk, his eyes twinkling with just a hint of mischief, then out of the blue he blurts out “I play the guitar."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You play the guitar?! Seriously?"

Hotch nodded, his expression casual, though you could tell he was enjoying your surprise. "Yeah. It’s something I picked up in college. Helps me unwind."

"Wait, wait, wait," you said, holding up a hand. "Aaron Hotchner, stoic, no-nonsense FBI agent extraordinaire, plays the guitar? I need proof. This sounds like a bluff."

He chuckled, the sound rare but genuine. "I don’t think I need to prove anything to you."

You leaned back in your seat, resting one hand on your forehead. "Unbelievable. I was so sure you didn’t have a hobby. I mean, by the way you work, I was starting to think someone else in the Bureau was keeping another big secret from us, C3-PO"

The unexpected Star Wars reference earned you a genuine laugh from him, then shook his head, a small smile still playing on his lips. "Just because I’m focused on the job doesn’t mean I don’t have other interests."

"Okay, fair enough," you admitted. "But now I’m really curious. What kind of music do you play? Classical? Rock? Please tell me it’s something totally unexpected, like heavy metal."

He laughed again, a sound you were quickly becoming fond of. "Mostly blues, actually."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Blues? Wow, that’s... I don’t know, I guess I expected you to say something like jazz or folk, but blues? That’s kind of badass."

Hotch gave a modest shrug. "It’s calming. Helps me think."

"I’m still wrapping my head around this," you said with a smirk. "I’m going to need to hear you play one day. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my theory that you’re secretly a robot who plays FBI agent."

He gave you a side-eye but couldn’t suppress his smile. "I’ll think about it, maybe after the next case if you’re still around"

You pretended to be offended by his words "Is this a threat?!”

“I was just trying to be encouraging”

Maybe working at the BAU wouldn’t be as intimidating as you first thought after all.

As the train rumbled on, you felt a sense of camaraderie with Hotch, a shared respect that had grown over the course of the case. You had proven yourself, and in return, he had let you see a side of him that few people probably ever did.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #jason gideon #david rossi

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eclecticwordblender · 1 day

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i know this aunty who happens to be a homemaker and perhaps she is the only woman in my parents' social circle who is not financially independent. apparently she has never been very good academically and "chose" to be a homemaker. but her street smarts are absolutely off the roof. she has the highest emotional intelligence that i have ever encountered. she has a great sense of aesthetics. she has amazing people skills. her home is always impeccable. she’s a brilliant cook. her husband also has absolutely no idea about the functioning of the household because she has handled it so well. might i add she is also naturally very conventionally attractive. even at the age of around 50 she looks like she’s in her early 30s at best. this woman is the ideal tradwife by any standards.

her husband is also quite nice to her. always acknowledges her role in taking care of his household and his children. he’s generally one of the nicest and kindest men i’ve ever come across tbh. but despite all his niceness and kindness there is the occasional wife joke. and after all the emotional and unpaid labour she has put into their lives, it is his house after all. there is an obvious power dynamic where she constantly acknowledges her husband as someone she depends on, which is obviously true because she has no monetary independence. also, despite how smartly she manages the household, there are always jokes about how dumb she is in every social gathering and it is extremely humiliating to say the least.

this couple has a daughter who is in her late 20s now. she refuses to get married. now this aunty's in-laws refuse to get off her back because apparently she has failed as a mother because her daughter refuses to get married. aunty is often insulted about this in gatherings. her father in law once reprimanded her saying that she had one job staying at home and she couldn’t even do it properly. obviously, she was pissed off and answered back saying her husband was an absent father altogether. surprise surprise the husband started yelling at her in front of everyone saying that he had to break his back working for his wife was too stupid to get a job.

i’m sure these fights have escalated in private because recently aunty had a talk with me saying that i must earn my own living no matter what. this is the first time ever. we’re pretty close and she never said anything of this kind. she has also stopped pestering her daughter to get married and recently admitted that she is right about not wanting to get married altogether. i have also witnessed a recent drastic change in her personality lately. she isn’t as chirpy as she had always been.

now i do not know what is going on with her behind closed doors. but what i do know is that she has nowhere to escape because she has no monetary support.

if you think being a tradwife is a great choice, THINK AGAIN. perhaps your husband treats you right, but remember your life is at the mercy of how he treats you.

in an ideal world, money does not have the kind of power it does in our world. but unfortunately, we do not live in such a world. we as women, must, first and foremost secure financial independence for ourselves. money buys everything, even emotional and care labour. as educated and employable women, we also have a moral obligation to women who do not have the same privileges as us. we have a moral obligation to do whatever we can to offer them avenues to access whatever freedom we can bring their way. we owe it to the women who came before us, to the women who live with us, and to the women who will come after us.

YOU ARE A WOMAN BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE. ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT.

YOU OWE IT TO YOUR SEX CLASS BEFORE ANYONE ELSE. ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT.

#text posts #radical feminism #desi tumblr #radblr #feminism #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact #radical feminist community #terfblr #terfsafe #trad wives #feminist #sexism #toxic masculinity

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 days

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Hello RTA 👋🏻 Thank you so much for opening your asks again!

What do you think about this latest BRF clown show? I feel like they regretted their stupid move and underestimated the public response, they really thought everyone will praise them for "taking the high road" but the opposite happened so they scrambled to divert us by putting out dumb justifications like "oh look they cropped MM out of the photo, this is nothing coz we wish all milestone birthdays, it wasn't even a personal wish from us, we don't do the olive branches anymore" and whatnot.

You know what infuriated me the most? This move seriously made the Hollywood Reporter's article lose its shine a little thanks to the newly sprinkled royal glitter. Speechless.

It's 3D chess.

The short-term view is that the Sussexes won. They got a birthday shoutout. Charles and William acknowledged their existence. They got a little bit more royal shine to extend their fame. Four years of "olive branches" finally wore them downand now everyone is talking about the Sussexes being allowed back or the royal relationships thawing.

But you're not seeing the long-term view. Which is that:

1. When Harry stabs William in the back again (because you know Harry will) and William refuses to engage and the royal rota is crying about how William just needs to forgive, William can point to this olive branch and say "I gave him a chance and look what he did. He's dead to me."

2. The BRF went all the way back to July 2018, at the height of Harry's post-wedding PR glow, find a photo of Harry where he was a) happy and b) not being pawed by Meghan. A six-year-old photo, guys. That's like the royal equivalent of a Facebook Memory or an old yearbook photo. The undertext isn't "we miss you, come back, remember the glory days"; it's "we don't have anything more recent so this one will do." It's actually quite an impersonal photo for a milestone birthday, because milestones are a chance to post never-before-seen images or to get out the baby photos.

(And also when you think about the timeline, that Ireland trip in July 2018 was right before everything started falling apart for the Sussexes - it's before the Amsterdam Soho House opening in August 2018 where Meghan started the affair rumor, it's before Archie spawned, it's before the Sussexes ruined Eugenie's wedding, it's before William kicked them out of the Royal Foundation and KP, it's before Meghan's bullying became known, before Diana snatched Harry's hair back, before Meghan sucked Harry's soul out, etc. So really it could kinda be seen as a FU to Harry in a "man, remember how happy you were before you lost everything? Well, woulda coulda shoulda.")

Don't get me wrong. It's still the filling of a shit sandwich, but at least it doesn't burn too badly on the way down.

#sussexes #brf

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triangle-dog · 15 hours

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TW pet death

(Not one of mine, don't worry. You won't miss anything if you skip this post.)

I will always and forever be a collar and tags person (or, look, if you are really concerned about strangulation then a harness & tags person or a breakaway collar or whatever). Microchips are great, all my beasts are microchiped, but if one of them gets out I want to be able to find them and bring them home no matter what has happened to them.

Two years ago, almost exactly I think, friends and I were three miles into a beautiful autumn hike with the dogs. The leaves were turning, the wildlife was active, and there was a crisp breeze. We rounded a corner and immediately saw a body floating out on the lake, a dog, its long black fur drifting back and forth in the small waves. After some deliberation on what to do, and if it was safe, I waded out to the dog while the others in the party held our dogs way back from the lake in case the water was bad. He wasn't that far out really, but it felt like it took forever to get there because I was fervently hoping he'd have tags. I could actually feel the relief wash over me when I got there and saw patches of blue collar peeking out between the drifting fur.

I towed him into the shallows by the collar. I'm the most familiar with bodies, which is why I was the one who went out to him, and I know that they age differently in the water but by my judgment he'd died farily recently - less than a day ago. When he's in close enough to shore that I don't think he'll drift away any time soon, I unclip his collar and return to the group. We sit down and strategize for a few minutes. How do you make a call like that without raising their hopes? (Answer: you can't - just the phone ringing will be enough).

"I'm very sorry," I say, "but I found a dog in the lake and I thought you would want to know." She tells me she was half expecting a call like this, that the gate didn't latch correctly and both dogs got out but only one came home. She tells me that they were so worried he wouldn't be able to find his way home in the storm last night. She tells me he was very old, that his mind had been going for awhile now. She tells me that most of his life, until the last few years as his body became less able to manage the walk, they would come down to a beach near here and that he loved to swim. She tells me she hopes he at least got to relive those memories for a bit before he went.

I give her the coordinates, it's not too far from a road if you bushwhack - certainly less than the 3mi we did, and tell her we'll bring him to shore. I pick him up out of the shallows, he feels frail, yet he's so so heavy from the weight of the water in his fur. He's much smaller than Nova, yet lifting Nova has never felt like that. I lay him gently on the rocky beach in what I hope is a natural looking, less-traumatizing-to-the-kids position. I clip his collar back on, with the fur no longer drifting around in the water obscuring it, you can now see the little tag saying "Poochie" on the front. We head back the way we came. That was walk enough for all of us, it would feel wrong to seek a different ending, and it was an out and back trail anyway.

Ever since then, every dead cat or dog I see reminds me of those lakeside discussions. We are all overly dedicated animal people, we're fully aware of microchips and all of our own pets are microchiped, but carrying a waterlogged body 3mi to the car to drive it to the vet's office was just not feasible - I don't think it would occur to most people that that was even an option. Even if they did think of it, most people would be opposed to putting a dead animal in their vehicle. I'm just gonna make it easy on people and put my phone number on my animals.

(Sorry, that post was so much longer than it needed to be, but my brain must have recorded that experience in a different kind of memory than usual because it is so so clear and comes all as a set like that so that's what you got too)

TLDR: OP found a dead dog once and has big feelings about it. Put collars/etc. on your pets

#cw animal death #cw pet death #cw drowning #I speak

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ctrl-alt-em · 2 days

Text

Communication is Key

Robin

I am Morven Hellwain. You have carried my spirit in your body for the last two months. As I am sure you have not figured out, when you lose consciousness, I gain control of our shared vessel. I need you to sleep as frequently as possible. Additionally, avoid bodily harm. I do not appreciate having to cast Cure Wounds when I wake.

Dear Morven Hellwain

Are you the reason for all the strange happenings? Did you explode the wolves? Lug says you killed that monster in the bunk house.

I go to sleep every night. I guess it is every other night? I don’t think I can sleep more than that and still help.

Thank you for healing my leg. Happen says he did not aim for me. His sprites played a mean prank.

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

I cannot fathom how you think you, the village idiot, can be of any help. The only way you can help is by ensuring I am in control as much of the time as possible.

As for your initial questions, yes, I am. I cannot imagine anything of note occurring in your proximity without my influence. I am not directly responsible for the wolves’ destruction; the recent unpredictable outcomes of spells is to blame. You need not concern yourself with magic.

Dear Morven Hellwain

I was not the village idiot. That was Young Man Dan. I was the spit-turner before I lost my job seven weeks ago.

I can be a great help! I helped save Lug from those men. I even injured one! And I was the one that got help when that man turned into a monster. Happen said I did a good job. I even helped us meet our friends and join our adventuring party. You are just upset that I can help just as much as you. I understand that. I was jealous of Tilly the spitturn dog too at first.

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

From the other's accounts of the confrontation with the mob, it does not sound like you played a needed role. It is no show of strength or skill to hit a blinded, maimed man with stale bread. As for the combat at Folkmoot, others surely would have heard and come to our aid, supposing I did not defeat the abomination before their arrival. You did nothing a dog would not be capable of. A dog likely would have been of greater help and less of liability.

Robin

You will get us both killed if you disregard my advice. Your 'help' is not needed nor wanted, I assure you.

To Morven Hellwain

I was thinking about back home, all the weird things people kept telling me. Leslie, the head cook, was cross with me. She said I missed work twice and that I insulted her in the market. I had no idea what she was talking about. I assumed she mistook me for someone else and I tried to tell her so. She said I was lying and fired me! It occurred to me that she might not have been lying. Was it you she saw? Are you the reason I lost my job?

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

Of all the things you could waste my time with, you chose this? Your 'job' is hardly worth the ink we are wasting writing about it. I will acknowledge that I was in control of our body several times before our departure. I did lose my patience with several of the dimwitted residents of the village so I very well may have offended the head 'cook'. I would not consider the loss of any great consequence. If anything, it is beneficial. Your 'occupation' would have delayed your departure for Folkmoot. You may thank me for my help in your next note. Hopefully, the writing will tire you.

To Morven

And what about my house? Did you tell the apothecary she could give it to her goat? If you wanted to run me out of my village so bad, you could have written to me earlier.

From Robin

Robin

If I recall correctly, and I do, the old hag asked me, "How I am supposed to keep a roof over my goat's head if you don't pay?" To that, I said, "Give the fucking goat my roof. I don't care." And I continue to not care. Your hovel was little more than a goat's shelter anyway.

I have spoken with Happen and he is aware of a root that induces a harmless sleep state. I have procured some. It is in the outer pouch of our bag.

To Morven

It is not our bag. It is my bag. And I don't need anything to help me sleep. A long day of traveling with my friends does that enough. Seeing as I have no work or home to return to, I will be with them for the foreseeable future regardless of our mission.

If you want to be helpful, Morven, you will tell me how to use magic myself and how I get you out of me.

From Robin

Robin

You cannot use magic. It would require innate talent or years of study, neither of which you have. Unless such fantasies lull you into a slumber, do not concern yourself with such endeavors.

I am looking into potential methods to separate us. However, until magic has been returned to its original state and I gather more information on what caused my spirit to enter your body in the first place, no significant progress can be made. You need not be involved.

To Morven

How can I not get involved when I already am? You’re in my head! You walk around in my body half the time! I should be the only one in my body!

And how do you know I don’t have inate innate talent? Maybe I just haven’t had need to use it.

From Robin

Robin

Knock yourself out as soon as you see this. Lug, Cressida, and Willowfine have been captured by a group of zealots and I need to go save their skins.

To Morven

No need to worry. Me and Happen did it ourselves. You should have seen how far Lug hit this one guy with his hammer once we got him out.

From Robin

Robin

That is not what I told you to do. You will get us both killed.

Willowfine said she saw you use magic. I can only assume you located a scroll and stumbled your way into using it correctly.

To Morven

You were wrong, Morven. I do have a talent for magic, no scroll needed, whatever those are. Mine is not as pretty or orderly as yours but I can cast spells. Cressida thinks that might be why you didn’t have trouble casting in my body.

You may thank me for my help in your next note. I will not ask you to knock yourself out because I have manners.

From Robin

Robin

I have spoken with Cressida and Willowfine regarding your spelling casting. As must I detest to acknowledge it, I suppose it makes sense. Either my spirit brought my magic potential with it or my spirit was attracted to your magic potential. I do believe the first one is the more likely of the two. It still stands that between the two of us, I am the more proficient and thus should handle any and all confrontations.

To Morven

Willowfine says we should try to come to a compromise. She said our attempts to screw with each other and limit the other’s time awake is annoying.

How about a deal? If I find myself in situations that I cannot handle, I will find a way to allow you to take control if you agree to cease trying to stay awake for days on end. If the group stops to sleep, you sleep and let me take control.

From Robin

Robin

After much strong arming from the others, I agree to your terms.

Robin

Why am I not surprised you have Wild Magic? Of all sorcerous origins, you draw power from the most unruly and unpredictable.

With that said, I request that you cast something that will offer you improved defense or evasion when in a confrontation. You cannot rely on Acid Splash only.

- Morven

#oxventure wyrdwood #oxventure #fanfic #robin oatcake #morven hellwain

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sanarsi · 3 days

Text

Flying days and nights

ex-boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x f!Reader

Summary: You and Dieter broke up because of his addiction. Despite that, he's going to do anything to have you in his arms again. Warnings: pure angst (but with happy ending), reading offensive comments, self-hatred, mention of drugs, addiction, drunk!Dieter, toxic relationship, mention of suicide, emotional instability!reader, mention of rehab, sub!soft!Dieter Wordcount: 5,4k An: This is pure angst because I've been feeling like shit lately and I wanted to lash out :) Enjoy reading now or later when you're in the mood for some sadness xx Music I worked with: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Masterlist

Everyone already knew.

You and Dieter broke up.

It shouldn't have surprised you, because you knew who your ex-boyfriend was, and yet, you were shocked by how many things had appeared about you on the internet in such a short time. It had only been two weeks, how on earth had everyone found out about it?

Stupid question.

You knew the answer very well.

You were furious. At yourself, at him, at the whole fucking world that judged you even though it didn't understand. You had been through hell for the last few months of your relationship, and now you were going through another because you had become the villain in this whole story.

You didn't know why you were doing it.

Maybe to finish yourself off? Maybe so you could be even more furious at him.

But you were fully aware that you were sitting through another evening with wine, reading more nonsense about your relationship.

"I would never leave him."

Oh, you're sure they would not. His fans had an unhealthy obsession with him.

"Everyone knows that Dieter has been taking drugs for a long time, so she definitely knew what she was getting into."

Of course you knew, despite what the whole situation was about, that's how you two met. At one of the parties. He snorted coke off your stomach and then proposed to you to marry him. Romantic and that's what he was like from the start. Sweet, a little naive and so damn in love with you.

An unwanted smile spread across your lips at the memory.

"Stupid bitch. Instead of helping him, she chose to leave him. Have y’all seen recent pictures of him? He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks."

You saw it. How could you not?

He looked like a wreck.

Shame that people only saw it now and not a few months ago when it all started like you did. Everyone had a lot to say about how awful you were for not wanting to help him with his addiction. But how long can you beg someone to go to rehab only to get a contemptuous look and have them swallow a few more pills right in front of you?

Yeah, that's what you've been going through day in and day out for months.

But who would know that?

"Dieter, I would treat you better than her."

You snorted dryly and took another sip of wine.

"Of course you would," you said sarcastically under your breath and locked your phone before throwing it on the table. You felt so fucking empty, and your rage was the only thing that kept you from going crazy.

Life suddenly became too calm.

This whole toxic world had sucked you in too much for you to be able to snap out of it just like that. You felt downright uncomfortable, being in silence, alone with your thoughts. You were very aware of what you were going through in that relationship, and yet, you missed him.

It was stupid because you left on your own, you decided to leave him because you were sick of him, you were tired. No, tired is the wrong word, you were exhausted.

Constantly fighting with someone you love is the hardest fight and no one blamed you for having had enough of it. All your friends showed you support, understanding. Hell, even his mother said you were too good for him, that you deserved better.

So why, despite all the bad that was happening, there were only good moments in your memory? Moments that made you start to miss him.

His laughter, movie nights together, the next time you cried while playing ‘The Last of Us’.

That's why you felt like shit and deliberately beat yourself up by reading random comments. You wanted to be bad, you really did, but only because the old Dieter was still alive in your head. Your Dieter.

Your crazy Dieter, who could scream in the middle of the street how lucky he was to have you.

Your lovely Dieter, who took you to every gala and meeting, bragging that he had the most beautiful girl in the world.

Your sweet Dieter, who loved to cuddle you because ‘you are so soft’.

Your fucked up Dieter, who dressed up as Cupid for Halloween and shot you in the ass to spend the whole night in the hospital with you.

You hated him.

You hated him for what he had done to himself, for putting drugs above what you two had; and what you had was so fucking special. You hated him for loving him so fucking much. It hurt the most when you realized he didn't love you half as much as you loved him.

You cursed him and those damn drugs that had taken your sweet Dieter and replaced him with a vile son of a bitch who would call you the worst names while you flushed his stash of cocaine down the toilet.

You shivered at the bad memories and finished the rest of your wine. You didn't want to think about it anymore, your therapist told you to calm down for at least an hour before going to bed, and surprisingly, he was right.

You put down the glass the same moment your phone started ringing. You looked at the screen with a smiling photo of your ex and all your insides twisted painfully. Cold sweat poured over your body as you stared at the screen as if frozen. You didn't know what to expect.

Why would he call you?

He was probably stoned and barely conscious. It's possible that he even forgot that you broke up.

The flood of thoughts kept you from answering, which disappeared the moment when screen displayed a message about a missed call. You swallowed hard, finally noticing how fast your heart was pounding. Despite the alcohol in your blood, the feeling of panic only grew.

Even though your phone had long since gone black, you continued to stare at it. He hadn't spoken to you in two weeks, so why did he do it now?

Had he run out of drugs? Did he want to apologize? Did he want to call you names? Maybe he wanted to ask if you were back to your senses and wanted to come back to him? He would have welcomed you with open arms to his apartment, which was probably in ruins now. He was just doing drugs and you were cleaning. Since when were you gone? All that was left was him with his shit.

The screen lit up again with a new notification. You sharpened your gaze, reading the text of the message.

Dieter: Please, can we talk?

You stared at the jumble of words, unable to think about anything. He was sober, that much you could deduce from the fact that he didn't make a single mistake and used punctuation marks.

He wanted to talk and he was sober.

It sounded pretty impossible, so out of pure curiosity you decided to reply.

You: Still on drugs?

Three dots appeared in the corner so you patiently waited for his response.

Dieter: Baby…

Dieter: Just please, hear me out

An uncontrollable snort escaped your lips. Of course, what else could you expect?

You: Then we have nothing to talk about.

You angrily threw your phone on the table when it started ringing again and just went to take a shower.

When you went to bed, your phone already had a few missed calls and a dozen messages. You held back your curiosity and simply closed your eyes, wanting to fall asleep as quickly as possible. Forget about the fact that he wanted to contact you and wake up in the morning knowing that peace still reigns in your life.

Knowing your luck, you barely managed to drift off to dreamland and the persistent banging on the door, perfidiously brought you back to the real world.

With a loud growl, you looked at your watch and groaned agonizingly when you saw that it was well after midnight. Who in their right mind would decide to knock on your door at such an abnormal hour? You wanted to ignore it, telling yourself that it was probably a mistake, but the knocking did not stop and instead turned into an annoying tapping rhythm.

Barely able to see anything in the darkness, you headed towards the front door. You turned on the light in the hallway, wincing at the glaring brightness, and looked through the peephole in the door. The staircase was dark, yet the quiet knocking did not stop.

A feeling of anxiety went through your body, waking you up a bit from your sleep. You didn't want to spread unnecessary panic, but you immediately thought about calling one of your friends to come and check what was going on.

You would have done it if you hadn't been stopped by a quiet voice calling your name.

Without thinking too much, you opened the door and left the apartment. The first thing you did was look towards the floor, where you always found him. As usual, you were right, he was sitting against the wall with a misty gaze and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. You'd be lying if you said you were surprised at the state in which he came to you. Honestly, you were more surprised that he managed to come to you at all.

"Dieter, what the fuck?" you snapped, seeing the state he was in. Messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, slightly sunken cheeks and a wrinkled shirt with poorly buttoned buttons. Still, one of the better forms you'd seen him in recently.

His lost gaze fell on your angry face and for a moment he just looked at you as if he hadn't seen you in at least a few years. It was possible that two weeks on a constant high lasted that long for him.

“I called you,” he managed to choke out.

“Yeah, and I didn’t pick up.” Your sharp tone clearly upset him, so you sighed loudly, trying to control your nerves. “Dieter, what do you want?”

“I want to talk.”

“You’re drunk,” you announced, as if that would give him the answer to everything.

And it did.

“I know, but—”

“Come when you’re sober.”

You didn’t want to repeat this pointless dance again. There was no point in even trying to talk to him because he’d probably forget about everything within a few hours. You didn’t have the strength for that, especially in the middle of the night.

“Please, can I…” he began uncertainly, catching your attention. “Can I sleep here?” You immediately wanted to say no. You could have called a taxi, even waited for one of his friends to come pick him up, but then he added in a breaking voice, “I don’t want to be alone in that apartment again.”

You would be fooling yourself if you turned around then, closing the door in his face. You wouldn't be able to even sleep a wink, knowing that he was sitting by your door, drunk and with tears in eyes.

You were angry, you hated him and wanted to say many unpleasant things, but you were human, and he was important to you. And despite everything you went through, you felt sorry for him when you saw him in such a state, even though he brought it on himself.

You sighed loudly and rubbed your tired face, knowing that you were doing the wrong thing. "But first, go wash yourself," you barely said resignedly, and Dieter was already standing on his own. Gratitude lurked in his gaze as he smiled sadly at you.

Without a word, he pressed a bottle of alcohol into your hand and entered the apartment, immediately heading to the bathroom. You stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the interior of your place, wondering what you were actually doing with your life.

Relationships like yours had no right to survive, at least not in the long run. You knew that, and yet you didn't want to face reality. You wanted everything to be like it used to be, when you were happy, in love. But what was the likelihood that your desires would come true whenever you wanted them to, he didn't.

Tightening your fingers around the bottle, you went back to your apartment and the first thing you did was pour the rest of the whiskey down the sink. You watched with satisfaction as the amber liquid disappeared down the drain while the shower water could be heard in the background.

The desire to sleep faded away with every minute you walked around the living room, preparing a blanket and a few pillows to make the sofa suitable for sleeping. You didn't even glance towards the bathroom as you walked past, heading to the bedroom.

You don't know what possessed you to leave the door ajar and only then lay down in bed, reaching for your phone. Since the situation was already what it was, you didn't see why you should hold back from reading his message.

Dieter: Baby, please

Dieter: I know you're mad at me, I don't blame you

Dieter: But it's been two weeks now

Dieter: I want to explain and apologize

Dieter: Can we, I don't know, meet up and talk?

Dieter: I don't expect anything from you, I just want to see you

Dieter: I really miss you.

With each message it was harder and harder to read. You had no idea if it was because of tiredness or what was happening now, but you were overcome with emotions that you didn't want to feel because they were the reason you were so damn exhausted lately.

The next messages were over two hours apart.

Dieter: Im so sorry

Dieter: For evrythin

Dieter: I know its all m fault

Dieter: I was horrible n I treated u even worse

Dieter: shouldnt be surprised that u left

Dieter: But goddamn I really miss u

Dieter: I am drunk n its so fuckin stupid but I even miss the fact that u would shout at me rn bout how irresponsible I am

Dieter: wish u were here.

Dieter: u probably sleepin by niw

Dieter: God

Dieter: I miss sleepin with u

Dieter: I hate bein alone in that fuckin bed

Dieter: Sheets still smells like u.

You felt your stomach tighten uncomfortably as you read each word. Unwanted tears welled up in your eyes so you quickly chased them away and only then did you notice the last message.

Dieter: I signed up for rehab. Im leavin on monday.

Your heart beat faster but you didn't know if it was because of the content of the message or because Dieter suddenly appeared in your doorway.

You looked in his direction not being able to tell if he was talking to you or not.

"You have everything in the living room," you said the most obvious thing that came to your mind.

You couldn't see him very well in the darkness but you knew that the silence between you was starting to drag on. You didn't want to hurry him or chase him away.

You actually didn't know what you wanted.

"I saw," he said quietly, uncertainly.

"So what do you want?" you asked more sharply than you intended but you weren't going to correct yourself, he should know that you were mad at him.

You are, or at least you were a moment ago, until you read that damn message. You wanted to believe it was true but it was more likely that it was drunken babble so you didn't get your hopes up.

"Can I sleep here?"

You frowned when the screen turned off by itself so you could see him better. He was wearing boxers and a t-shirt with some character from the game. Of course you didn't get rid of his stuff, you simply couldn't.

"I already said—"

"I mean here, with you."

You fell silent for a moment.

Did he really have the nerve to show up at your door in the middle of the night, ask to stay and now force himself into your bed? Of course he did, it was Dieter.

“No,” you answered seriously.

“Please.” He didn’t give up and despite your words, he entered, closing the door behind him.

You tensed as you watched him slowly approach the bed. “I said no, now get out.”

“You know I hate sleeping alone.”

“Sounds like not my problem.”

Your sharp tone didn't stop him from lifting the sheet and sliding in next to you. The bastard had known you too long not to know that beneath that mask of rage was just a little girl. A little girl that he had hurt and wanted to make amends.

“Dieter…” you said warningly.

“Please, just for today.” You clenched your jaw tighter, trying to stop yourself from telling him what a selfish asshole he was. You were too tired to start an argument that would lead to nothing good. “I won’t touch you.”

“You better not.”

With those words, you simply turned your back to him and pulled the sheet closer over you, as if it would protect you from feeling his presence. Despite the raging and conflicting emotions inside you, you forced yourself to close your eyes. Your attitude made it clear to him not to talk anymore and to just go to sleep. And you were honestly grateful that he was holding on to the other half of the bed.

But despite the minutes maybe even hours passing by, you realized how much his messages were bothering you.

What if they weren't just drunk words or an attempt to extort attention. What if he really decided to start treatment?

You couldn't believe it.

Because how on earth did you not manage to talk him into it, but breaking up with him did the trick? After the way he treated you, you were supposed to believe that he suddenly missed you? That he wanted you back? Bullshit.

„I’m sorry.” His quiet words pierced the space between you.

You listened but didn't intend to speak. Still, he knew you weren't sleeping, if you were, you'd probably be cuddling up to him by now. It was in your nature to like to cuddle up to his side, wrapping leg around his waist and hide face in the crook of his neck.

So you could deceive yourself but not him.

"I fucked up," he continued despite your silence. "I don't know how to explain myself because I don't know what was on my mind at the time. I just wanted more and more."

Sadness settled in your heart.

So much bad had happened and in return you got such damn poor words.

"And suddenly I woke up in the middle of the night all alone."

You didn't want to hear it.

You didn't want his words to have any effect on you, but you couldn't stop pinching your nose from holding back tears.

"At first I wondered where were you. Maybe if it’s me who forgot that you went to some friend, or maybe you were sitting in the living room late reading another romance." You almost let a small smile creep onto your lips. "And only after a moment did I realize that two days earlier you left the apartment saying that you wouldn't witness my suicide."

Just thinking about that day, something inside you broke again.

You had shed way too many tears that night.

"I didn't realize the meaning of your words at the time. But then it hit me. Hard."

Well, it was good that he understood at all what you were talking about considering the state he was in at the time.

"You had been fighting with me for months. You were with me despite the state I could sometimes get myself into, how I could treat you even though you only wanted to help me. And for that I want to apologize and thank you. If it weren't for you, I would wake up in my own vomit every other day."

These were the things you tried to forget about. Life with him had turned into a living hell.

Looking at it from where you were, you wondered how on earth you had managed to survive so many months living like a private nurse.

Sometimes you wonder if it was still love or a desperate attempt to save someone you once loved.

"I haven't been able to take anything since then." Those words surprised you enough to make you shiver uncomfortably.

He hadn't taken anything in almost two weeks? It was hard to believe after the state he was in when he visited you today.

And as if he was reading your mind, he continued, "I decided to clean up the mess I made before I could even try to look you in the eye. And—" his voice broke. You resisted the urge to comfort him. “And it took me longer than I thought.” You heard him swallow hard, trying to control the tremor in his voice.

You didn't even want to remember affairs that you took care of for him during his drug streak.

From an ordinary girl you became an actor's girlfriend, his lover, best friend, then manager and then executioner and nurse.

Life had a way of surprising, but you never thought it would be to such an extent that you wouldn't recognize your reflection in the mirror.

"And today I finally got to see you, but you didn't want to," he said sadly. You barely held back a snort. "I'm not surprised, but I still hoped you'd at least want to hear my apology."

Maybe you wanted that, but not when you were still a mess and wanted to see him on his knees, begging for forgiveness. You didn't want to talk to him while still under the power of negative emotions.

You were a fan of resolving issues through calm conversation. And you were doing just fine until you met him and your arguments could be heard by your neighbors a few floors down.

"I took it a little hard," he admitted, embarrassed. "Being sober and under constant stress, and without you, was fuckin’ hard."

You could hear in his tone how tired he was of it all. But for him it had only been two weeks. For you? A little longer.

You felt sorry for him, you really did. But you also felt sorry for yourself.

You put him first for so long that you forgot that you are also a human being, that you have feelings and needs, that you also have the right not to be strong.

"And after everything, you didn't even want to talk to me. It's just," he sighed heavily, "it kind of killed me. So I'm sincerely sorry for showing up at your door in the middle of the night, but I couldn't stand being alone in that apartment."

Well, the only silver lining, if you could call it that, is that the last two weeks haven't just been tough for you.

You had been together for so long that suddenly being alone felt strange, alien.

And maybe it shouldn't, but you took comfort in the fact that he missed your presence too. As stupid as that might sound after what had happened.

The silence on his part began to drag on and you didn't know if he was thinking about his next words or waiting for any reaction from you.

His heavy sigh convinced you that he was waiting for your words that never came.

"I don't know if I've ruined everything to the point where my words mean nothing to you and you'd love to throw me out the door, but I want you to know that I'm truly sorry for what I've allowed myself to become. That it was more important for me to snort coke right after waking up than to tell you that I love you while eatin’ you."

At those words, something dangerously boiled in your lower abdomen.

You didn't want his words to have that effect on you, but your body knew better, feeling the hunger for his touch.

You couldn't kill the feeling of longing that grew with every word he spoke.

You were weak.

For him.

Because of him.

You didn't know the difference.

“And even if it doesn’t change anything, I wanted you to know that I’ve checked myself into a three-month rehab.”

You stared blankly into the dark space, trying to catch the slightest sign of whether or not he was lying. Surprisingly, he sounded serious, even a little scared at the thought of what he was talking about.

Another prolonged silence almost convinced you to answer him. Almost.

"And I’ll understand if you say no, but I would like to know if maybe you want to visit me sometime," he said hopefully. The feeling of sadness only grew in your chest. "The resort is in Switzerland, that's why—"

"Where?!" You opened your eyes wide and sat up in surprise, turning towards him.

Dieter was slightly shocked that you decided to speak, so for the first few seconds he just looked at you with his mouth parted.

"In S-Switzerland," he repeated uncertainly.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? I have to fly to Switzerland several times a month just to talk to you for like… probably half an hour? Do you know how much it will cost?” You frowned, hoping that this was some kind of bad joke.

This wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting. Seeing your face, he realized that he had probably assessed the situation a bit too optimistically.

“But we’re rich. I don’t see—”

“You are rich, Dieter,” you corrected him sharply, “not me.”

Your words hit him harder than either of you could have anticipated.

He blinked a few times, staring at you as if he was seeing you for the first time in his life. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't expect things between you to be in such a bad shape.

"Baby, I know things aren't great between us," he began, also sitting down. Slowly as if the slightest overly aggressive movement could scare you away. “But nothing has changed on my end. I love you and I want to fix everything,” he said confidently. “Or at least have a chance to fix it.”

“I fucking hate you, did you know that?” you said with audible sadness that made him look down.

Now that he was sober and could see what he had gotten you into, the guilt was eating him up inside. He hated it when you were mad at him, and even more so when you looked at him with such hurt eyes. It made him feel like the worst bastard in the world.

“I figured it out when you left me,” he whispered.

The sadness in your chest turned to sorrow as it became harder to hold back the tears with each passing second.

You weren't ready for this conversation, but would you ever be? Was it even possible to be prepared for something like this?

“I know it’s fuckin’ selfish of me,” he began, sighing heavily as he gathered enough courage to look you in the eye. “But I want to know if you’ll at least wait for me.”

He was serious, you could see it in his eyes. He really wanted you to stay with him.

He had the courage to ask you to stay with him, to wait.

You stared at him without a word, but this time he patiently waited for your answer. He was sure that he would succeed. He wanted to get better, for you, for himself. He was determined to get back the life he had. Because he was damn lucky to have you in his life and he only realized it when he woke up without you cuddled to his chest. He woke up way too late but he couldn't turn back time, he could only fix the present and take care of the future.

He wanted so bad for you to give him a second chance and you wanted to give him one. You weren't able to cross him out of your life. He was one of the most important people in your life. There was even a moment when you realized that you wanted to spend the rest of it with him. But things got fucked up quickly.

The worst part of it all was that even if something like this happened again, you would be willing to forgive him. And you were afraid that it could be your undoing.

“Of course I'll wait for you,” you said, losing all strength to fight.

Dieter looked at you for a moment as if he couldn't believe that such words could come out of your mouth. He looked as if he was speechless and unable to process the information correctly and if it weren't for the context of the situation, you would have laughed. Instead, to convince him of your words, you smiled crookedly and shrugged. It was as if it woke him up from hypnosis, he blinked a few times and snorted in disbelief.

“Really?” he asked hopefully.

You shrugged again and let a soft smile permanently grace your face. Thanks to him, you realized that love could be pretty messed up.

“Well, a few years ago, I was shot by cupid and I think his magic is still working,” you said seriously, and his face was priceless when he realized what you were talking about.

“Well…” he started to say but instead burst out laughing. “Yeah,” he nodded, shaking his head in amusement. Just a silly sentence was enough to make his eyes sparkle again, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. “I missed you.” He smiled shyly and you knew he was still testing the waters.

"I know."

"Don't say it back, huh?" he asked with a smirk, even though he knew the answer and wasn't going to force you to do anything.

"You didn't deserve it."

Despite this, your gaze was still full of warmth, but he knew that to get back what you had, he would have to try really hard.

"Fair enough," he nodded, not wanting to argue because he knew it was true. He didn't even know how he deserved you. “Can we cuddle now?”

You had to admit you wondered how long it would be before he asked that question. The little boy inside him was just waiting for you to give him a sign that he could touch you, so when you barely reached out your hand towards him, he pulled you to him in a second.

You moaned as your lips crashed painfully together. You couldn't fight his longing kisses because, damn, you missed it yourself. You placed your hands on his cheeks and allowed yourself to slow down a bit. He didn’t object, he never did. He just luxuriated in your soft lips and delicate tongue, and it wasn't until he could melt under your touch that he realized how much he missed you.

“Don't ever do this to me again,” you whispered against his lips.

“I won’t,” he gasped, stroking your back. “I promise.”

Tags some babes who might enjoy @bbyanarchist @axshadows @lover-of-books-and-tea @jhiddles03 @tobethlehem

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x y/n #dieter bravo angst #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal angst #sanarsi fic

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littlefankingdom · 2 days

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I prefer how Bruce met the League of Assassins originally over the more recent one where he trained with them, because of Talia.

So, originally, Batman and Talia Al Ghul, daughter of the Demon's head and student in medicine, get both captured by a commun enemy, an ex-member of the League who took a bunch of followers with him. That's how they meet. Together, they escape and fight their enemy. Well, it's the 70s, so Bruce is doing most of it. But, Talia saves Bruce by shooting their enemy, which pushes him in front of a train and he gets run over. Talia, acting all traumatized by what happened, run into Bruce's arms.

At the time this is written, they mean nothing about this. But, Talia was raised as an assassin, she grew up in a cult of killers, there's no way she is actually in shock or anything over killing a man who has betrayed her family and was planning of hurting her. She does just that in the Batman main comic, a couple of issues later. So, she's acting like this to shoot her shot, and that's funny af. He's a silly man who dresses as a bat to fight criminals, she's a silly woman who falls for that and fakes not feeling well to be held in his arms.

The next time she appears, it's when Ra's Al Ghul is introduced. He kidnapped Dick to test Bruce's skills, and reveals at the end it's because his daughter is in love with him. Bruce is exactly what Ra wants as a heir, except that he refuses to kill.

What I like about this is that Talia was the one to see the potential in Bruce first. She doesn't meet Bruce because he is training under Ra, she doesn't feel in love with him after her father has already seen his potential. No, Talia is the one to meet Bruce first, to find how great he is and to fall for him BEFORE Ra can even have a say. Ra has to thank his daughter for finding the heir he wanted, and she bagged that man before he could lay eyes on him. It's important to me because Talia is put aside by Ra, sexist mf that he is, but she is the one to find the perfect heir, the greatest fighter. And also, she is the one to find the man she falls in love with. She doesn't meet him because he's here to see her father, it didn't happen because her father or Bruce made it happen by meeting each other.

Anyway, it's also funny af to imagine Talia seeing her father after being captured, being like "Father, I am in love with a white man that dresses as a bat", and making him believe this Batman has potential. Like, she is a queen, she is slaying, but she is also a bit silly for falling in love with such a weirdo this fast. Bruce's autism rizz stricks again.

#talia al ghul #bruce wayne #batman #ra al ghul #brutalia #i guess???#dc comics #my ramblings #I have more thoughts about this #like how Bruce being a single father also plays part in Talia falling for him #which is ironic af as Dick doesn't approve but like he played a role in this by just existing #spoiler: bruce's test was not just about testing his skills but also if he was a good father figure ready to fight for his kid

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geraskierfanficprompts · 2 days

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Yennefer, Geralt’s friend and coworker, was acting… weird. She kept smiling over nothing. And her temper wasn’t as volatile. And she brought pastries to their last meeting.

They weren’t the kind of people to talk about their personal lives, but Geralt was getting worried. What if she had a head injury or a tumor?

When Geralt asked if anything out of the ordinary happened recently, Yennefer admitted that she met someone. They weren’t dating, but she was pretty sure there was mutual attraction. They worked at the bakery Yennefer bought the pastries from. Apparently, they were “bubbly”.

Geralt couldn’t imagine Yennefer with anyone bubbly, but what did he know? He had never personally experienced the whole “opposites attract” thing, but it was a thing for a reason.

The following week, Geralt was sent (he got the short straw) to get pastries for the office from that same bakery. He wasn’t too displeased to go. He was curious about whoever caught Yennefer’s attention. Yennefer hadn’t described them in detail, but they were bubbly and named after a flower.

Geralt’s eyes were drawn to Jaskier the moment he stepped into the bakery. Not just because the man greeted him when he entered but also because he was VERY pretty. And friendly. He seemed unfazed by Geralt’s huge frame and resting scowl.

Maybe Geralt could see why Yennefer was drawn to this pretty, friendly man. He was still a bit surprised that Yennefer doesn’t mind the chatter. Geralt was surprised that he himself wasn’t annoyed by the chatter.

Well, Jaskier did have a nice voice.

Geralt then buys the pastries and leaves. It’s only when he was returning to the office that he noticed a number on written on the back of his receipt.

Fuck.

Yennefer’s crush gave him his number! Surely, the moral thing to do would be to throw away the receipt and tell Yennefer. But Geralt couldn’t bring himself to do either. He didn’t text the number, but he was tempted. He kept thinking about Jaskier.

It wasn’t too long before Yennefer told Geralt that she had a date with Triss Marigold.

Who?

Apparently, Triss Marigold was a bubbly woman who worked at the bakery. And she was the person Yennefer was interested in.

Huh.

That evening, Geralt sent a text to Jaskier.

I love love love love love love love this!!! What a gift you've given me, my darling!

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procyonloser · 2 days

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Adam stood over some nothing overlord, horns recently shined, robes freshly washed - fuck, he loved extermination day. He lifted a pointed finger at her face, ready to turn it to ash, along with the block behind her.

"Wait, wait, wait!" The overlord held up her hands, all three, she'd lost one already. "I...I have powers! Isn't there anyone you want to get even with? To get revenge on?"

Adam paused, thinking on it. "Yeah, so? What about it?"

"I can-" she sat up on her knees. "My power let's me swap two being's minds, just for a day. You could humiliate someone by switching an elite's mind with a rat. You could get revenge on a cheating-"

Adam lifted the overlord up by her hair, until her feet were dangling off the ground, meeting her eyes. A grin curled over his mask, and the overlord exhaled out a squeak.

"Let's go have a chat."

Adam's plan was simple. Switch places with Lilith, invite some guys over, and get Lucifer to find his wife with other men. He thought about switching with Lucifer, but the overlord said it wouldn't work with him, because he wasn't the first to want to take the King of Hell's body for a day. She wasn't sure it would work for Lilith either, but the closer they'd been the easier is worked, and Adam had literally been inside her at one point, so that seemed good enough.

Plus, Adam was dying to see Lucifer's broken expression when he found out his beloved wife was "cheating" on him. Sucks to suck.

"Okay," the overlord said shakily, holding a picture of Lilith from one of her concerts on it. She looked up at Adam, and bobbed her head. "I'm ready if you are uh...sir?"

Good girl, Adam thought to himself, this overlord could stay alive for at least this year.

"Do it. I'm ready to make that fucker cry."

The feeling was disorienting, going from one place to the next, as suddenly as blinking. It was like being plunged into the deep end of a pool, because your eyes struggle to understand what's around you at first, your nose burns because the new scents assault your senses in a wave. The physical sensation took awhile to understand as well, partly because it wasn't something Adam had ever personally experienced.

Adam's first thought was, holy shit, tits - Lilith's were on display, bare as they were in Eden, except he wasn't used to seeing them like this, as though the were his own. Adam's second thought was, wait, why is she naked? His third thought was, wait, what's that feeling?

"Lily," Lucifer breathed out above him, and Adam felt ants crawling down his spine, as the push and pull sensation became familiar. Lucifer's hands were at his - her waist, and...

Adam stared down to where pale thighs were spread, a bed of pale blond hair not doing much to hide the size of the cock impaling him. In and out, the bed was creaking, and Lucifer's horns and tail were out.

They were fucking?! What kind of married couple still fucked after the first year, let alone after the first thousand?!

Lucifer adjusted slightly, and it hit a new place in Adam, or Lilith, whichever, and Adam let out a moan not in his own voice. Lucifer looked encouraged, wrapping his arms around his waist, and pulling him in closer so he could fuck him all the harder.

Adam was losing his mind, fingers gripping into the blankets instinctively. He wanted Lucifer to stop and get the fuck off of him, but all that happened when he opened his mouth was moans and whimpers of pleasure. He was not feeling good from this, he wasn't, he couldn't! But, a long tongue wrapped around one of his nipples, before taking it between sharp teeth. Adam choked on a sob, looking down at Lucifer's head as he played with him.

"Luci...lucifer-" Adam got out, reaching a hand down to Lucifer's shoulder, but he didn't have the strength to push him away. His body was so over sensitized, if he moved, he thought he might cum.

Lucifer looked up at him and grinned sharply. "Oh, Lily, you want that, don't you? You know I'll do anything for you, my love."

Lucifer pulled out very slowly, cock covered in wet, and Adam felt his body leaking - he didn't think this was the first time they'd had sex today. Adam shook as he watched, close to an orgasm, closer to crying. Why was Lucifer's dick so big?

Lucifer smiled and said, "abracadabra!"

Another cock grew out from his body above the first one, just as hard and reddened at the head, pale blue purple veins running down the length of it.

"I'll always give you want you need, Lily." Lucifer said lowly, lining himself up. "You're my good girl, aren't you?"

After their bodies switched back, Adam found a phone number written on his hand in familiar handwriting. Tentatively, he called it.

"So," Lilith's voice came over the line. "Did you enjoy it?"

Adam stared at the wall.

"Yes."

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lilith

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the1northlanderprincess · 3 days

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It has become apparent that we're in that typical late season stage of panic and/or negativity surrounding our somewhat unique ship. I don't want to see us or this tag spiral so out of control that it causes major divisiveness. I know we've seen a "breakup" already before the feelings were revealed to be subtly romantic, but we're just about to get into the real meat of it. I want us to be excited.

Okay, now, I want to address the subject of the whole "Haladriel is toxic" thing, which @deus-sema discussed in her post. Are they? Sure, to an extent. I mean, the dude impersonated her brother AND tried to brush it off like he wasn't. And the recent obsession on his end certainly isn't healthy. But I've seen so much worse. I think for the majority of their interactions, though, has been positive. There was a lot of trust, happiness, and support. You had some small arguments sprinkled in, but they were pushing one another to try to make the other better. You need that in a relationship.

If anything, it's just a plain ol' forbidden romance; they're haunted, as others have iterated. There is no way they can be together in a balanced, honest manner, and they can't handle it. Sauron and Galadriel are both highly intellectual immortals, above common Men. Although, you could argue that they each display human characteristics from time to time (Sauron especially). However, you can also argue that there is very much a nature vs. nurture aspect present. It's safe to guess that Galadriel grew up in a loving environment, whereas Sauron was likely surrounded by cruelty and harsh discipline. He probably knew nothing of what real love was like.

However, after recently rewatching season 1 Haladriel for the first time, I was able to view their scenes in a different light. The finale, in particular, had my attention. Before the confrontation, Halbrand tells Gal how much it meant to him that she stuck up for him and empowered him. He was so grateful, he wanted to do the same for her (and I think that was genuine). He got a glimpse of true friendship and compassion, and he wanted to revel in it...and her.

That brings me to the hand-wringing over the finale, about whether or not it's going to be a redux of 1x08. I paid special attention to the raft scene. After they were arguing over semantics and the like, it came down to them, hilariously, screaming at each other and Sauron disappearing. In all honesty, not a lot of stuff happened between them. That needs to change. The two have exchanged how they feel around one another, but they really need to address the hurt and why it hurts.

If that beautiful shot of Dark Prince Halbrand is anything to go by, I conclude that when their swordfight ends, they will come to some sort of complex, uneasy truce, beginning with Gal showing Annatar the ring.

#haladriel

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agyraty · 3 days

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Ohh can you do Javier x reader angst?? Where in the last fight where the reader chose Arthurs side instead of his and they like reunite somewhere in the future where the reader has a kid now but is taken a back when she meets Javier again because they both still really much love each other but never really said anything just one finale goodbye

I love this!! I’m definitely thinking on adding on to this and making a part two because I love the concept.

(Btw I need more requests 😔 I have no ideas on what to write at the moment and need help)

—

Old goodbyes, New beginnings

Wc: 1.6k

—

You never thought that you would see the day the Van Der Linde gang had its fallout. But here you are, pistol in hand, Arthur and a wounded John standing by your side. Dutch, Micah and his friends stood just a few feet away from you, their guns pointed and ready to fire. But your eyes were on Javier.. it hurt seeing him in the opposing side, although you should have known this would happen by how he’s been acting.

You joined the when you were just 19 back in 1994, and you were there when Javier first joined in 1995. you two were practically inseparable from the moment you met. He was a very skilled and charming man, not to mention he was extremely handsome. And over the 4 years of knowing him, you fell in love. And so did he.

A relationship blossomed between the two of you two years ago from now, and at first, it was amazing. He was such a loving man, and he cared deeply for you. Just as you did for him. Each time he’d go on a mission, or vise versa, you’d both be thinking about each other the whole time, and how much you missed one another. He’d even put his life on the line if it meant you were safe. He loved you, and you loved him.

But recently, as everything began to fall apart, Dutch, the gang, everyone began to turn in each other and the pinkertons were close to capturing you all, you had noticed him becoming.. distant, easily irritated. At first you thought maybe he was just stressed or worried about what would happen, but now you are begging to think that he’s choosing Dutch. That he’d rather be on his side than be with you since you disagreed either Dutch. Overall he had completely changed from the man you once knew..

Your glossy eyes scanned his figure as he stood across from you, his pistol pointed upwards at the air, unsure of what to do.

Your lip quivered slightly as you spoke. “C’mon Javier.. don’t be dumb. Please, Just listen to me.” You pleaded, not even bothering to hide the desperation in your voice. You loved him for Christs sake, even if he had changed, you couldn’t just stand around and watch him make a mistake.

His deep brown eyes stared at you, lips parting, not exactly sure on what to say. You could see he was trying to figure it out, to make a decision.

You tuned out Micah and Arthur’s back and forth banter, all your focus directed to the man you loved, standing a few feet in front of you. You could feel your heart splitting. Why was it so hard for him to make a decision? surely he hadn’t lost his way completely..

Surely he still loved you..

He shook his head, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he clenched his teeth. “No.. no you’re the one being stupid.” He gestured at you with his gun that now aimed at you. “Dutch fed us, clothed us, gave us a place to stay and you’re turning on him?”

Your shaky hands tightened around your gun, eyes narrowing. “No Javier.. he betrayed me, betrayed us, when he started listening to that rat.” You gestured to the blonde standing beside Javier.

“Please.. just come with me, don’t do this.” You pleaded desperately, eyes glossy with tears, the pain you felt growing as you saw him look at you with a cold look in his eye. There was no love in his expression. He was betraying you just as Dutch had.. why?

“Javi..”

He looked away as soon as you spoke his name which you called him often. He used to love it when you did.

“Don’t,” he started, but before he could speak another word, a large group came rushing into camp, interrupting the stand off. It was none other than the Pinkertons, lawmen who had been chasing after the gang for months. They found you.

“Damnit, Go!” You, Arthur, and John went one way, while the others went the opposite. You looked behind you, eyes catching Javier’s figure, who was behind the others, firing some shots at the men on their horses.

You didn’t know at the time that it would be the last time you saw Javier, for many years.

—

“Norman, stop Messing around, you’re gonna bump into someone.” You sighed, attention loosely on the young boy that ran around the streets of black water. You shook your head as he continued to chase around the golden dog that yelled and panted, it’s tail wagging vigorously behind him.

“Alright, anything else I could get you, Ma’am?” Asks the store clerk as he steps over to you, placing the peach you had asked for in your hand carefully. You shook your head, a small polite smile gracing your features. “No, this’ll be all.”

You dug into the pocket of your weathered pants, pulling out a few cents and handing it to the man. You turned your attention to your horse, stepping carefully over and dropping the plump peach into the saddle bag. A huff escaped your parted lips, you just wanted to go home and rest. These past few days had been even more eventful then normal, You were exhausted.

Cecil barked, his paws pattering against the dusty stone floor as Norman chased behind him, giggling loudly. But suddenly, you heard the boy let out a grunt, and a loud thud, along with a soft curse, a voice that sounded so familiar.

You quickly turned away from the horse, eyes searching for your son, who was now sitting in the floor covered in dust, along with a man in front of him who you didn’t quite get a good look at. Hurrying over, you reached down, grabbing Norman just below the arms, helping him up to his feet.

“I am so sorry, I told him to watch out—“ you stood up, eyes turning to the man, and paused, breath hitching in your throat upon seeing who stood before you.

“Y/n..?” He uttered quietly, in clear disbelief, just as you were.

You studied his face, noticing the smile lines and soft crows feet he had beside his eyes, along with how his frame filled out more. You couldn’t be seeing things, could you? At first you doubted it was him until you called his name. “Javier?”

If it was him, He sure didn’t age much.

Javier’s wide eyes traced the soft features of your face, the bags beneath your eyes, and the hint of smile lines that began to form. He noticed your hair had grown longer, and grew slightly lighter from days in the sun. Although it’s been 12 years, you were still just as beautiful in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” You stood up straighter, not seeming to be able to take your eyes off of him. You could feel your heart thudding against your chest, as swirl of emotions happening within you. You missed him, god you missed him so much. Seeing him here.. it brings back old feelings you tried so hard to push down. But you’re still angry, angry at the fact he chose Dutch over you all those Years before.

“I’m looking for a place to stay.. figured I’d look here. I always liked Black water.” His voice still carried the same thick accent, not wavering a bit.

You nodded and hummed a sound of understanding, looking down at the stone road. There was so much you wanted to say, but you couldn’t find the right words. You wanted to jump into his arms, but you also wanted to scream, tell him how badly he hurt you.

“So uh.. is this your boy?” He asked, eyes casting down to Norman, who stood a bit behind you, patting your golden retriever.

“Yeah.. this is Norman, I had him 5 years back.” You glanced behind you, before meeting Javier’s eyes once again. You felt your heart jump, just as it did all those years back.

“Oh, his father must be a lucky man, Having you at home,” He said softly, a hint of something in his voice you couldn’t quiet pin. “And knowing he has such a handsome son.”

You shook your head, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “No uh.. his father isn’t here anymore. He left when he was born.” Back then, you had met a guy named victor. He was very handsome, and he was good for you. And you tried to love him like you did with Javier and push your memories behind, but you couldn’t. And then he got you pregnant.

And once he did, he switched completely from a charming man, to a rude asshole. And he left after you gave birth, leaving you alone to take care and sustain for your child, and let’s just say it has not been easy.

“Oh,” Javier didn’t exactly know what to say, a bit shocked at your words. “I uh, I’m sorry.” His dark eyes traced your face, watching as you shook your head.

“No, it’s okay.” You pursed your lips together, taking in a deep breath. “So.. how have you been?”

The Spaniard scratched his chin, shrugging a bit. “I’ve been doing okay. I went to Mexico after what had happened. Let’s just say I got into some trouble. Which is why I’m here. Lookin’ for a new start.”

You nodded and listened to his words intently, humming. “This is a Great place. Maybe I could help you, Y’know, find a place.” A small smile graced you features as your gentle eyes met his once more.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” His lips curved into a smile just as yours did. For a moment you two stood there, looking at each other, your cheeks burning with a soft blush, stomach doing flips. You missed him so much over these past years, you don’t even care how angry you were, you’re just glad to see him again.

“Why don’t you come over? I’m making Peach Cobbler.” The words just fell from your mouth, but you didn’t care. All the exhaustion you felt before disappeared, the only thing fueling you was the hope that he would say yes so you could spend more time with him. Get to know what he’s done in 12 years. And maybe even become friends or, hopefully something more with time.

He nodded, smile growing. “I’d love too.”

—

#x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #fanfic #javier escuella x reader #javier #javier escuella #colm o'driscoll #angst #fluff #micah bell #dutch van der linde #gang #arthur morgan #john marston

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aliesbienish · 2 days

Text

A study of wolves: chapter three

chapter one ✩ chapter two

Paul Lahote x Reader

- The previous day -

“Why did we even agree to this study, clearly she is going to notice signs that the wolves around here aren’t always of the typical gray variety?” Paul questioned the tribal council, pacing at the foot of the meeting table.

“Son we didn’t have a choice, the majority of the land you boys protect falls out of the reservation. It was going ahead anyway, so it made sense to at least have someone from the council always there to steer clear of anything suspicious,” Billy placated, hands up in surrender to the clearly riled man.

“Billy’s right Paul,” Sam chimed in “there wasn’t an option. Plus this way we get income from the cabin and a guide. You know we need this to complete the maintenance on the school.”

“So you are okay with us becoming a study? Because we all know between the cameras and her field observation training we’re fucked. There is no way we can always play it safe with these cold ones lurking around, a mistake is inevitable.”

“Son,” Billy continued “it’s not even like it’s an issue anymore. You’ve imprinted on her, so she is one of us now. It’s well within reason to tell her what is going on.”

“No” Paul growled. “That is my choice and it’s absolutely not happening. Some silly idea that she’s my soulmate doesn’t change the fact she is a complete stranger. We don’t how she’ll react, there is no way I’m risking it,”

“You might not have a choice if she catches sight of something she’s not supposed to.”

“This is my only choice, and I’m not letting anyone taking it from me. Not even you.”

Billy sighed, resting his head in his hands. The chief was well aware what Paul’s reservations were really about. “Son, I know you didn’t want this. But please understand this is a blessing from the spirits, fighting this will only hurt you,”

“I refuse to let my choice be taken away, and I refuse to let hers. I will help to keep our secret safe but once this project is over she will leave and life will continue. And I don’t want anyone to try to do anything to change that.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sky was clear but the southerly winds whipped ferociously along the cliff face where Paul parked up. The great blue expanse of ocean was mesmerising, stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was in moments like this you felt solace, out of the noise and bustle of large cities. Just the sounds of birds, waves crashing and winds whistling amongst the trees. After taking the moment to ground yourself you made your way over to the truck bed to grab your gear, Paul doing the same with his own bag.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well the most recent report says the last sighting was off this trail here,” you said pointing across the gravel road and to the unsigned trail head. “It happened in a clearing about four miles in so I think we head out there keeping an eye out on the way.”

“Sure thing boss. Anything you want me to keep an eye out for?”

“If you wouldn’t mind looking for prints, the ground should be pretty muddy under the vegetation cover so anything that’s been here since the previous rainfall last week should have left a mark. I don’t think we’ll actually come across a wolf since they’re nocturnal. But hopefully we can find a good spot for at least one of the cameras,”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

For the past hour you had been hiking in relative silence. Paul lead the way, keeping a steady but maintainable pace. The trail itself was muddy but relatively flat, and wide enough you didn’t have to squeeze past any bushes. So far you hadn’t spotted anything apart from a wild rabbit that darted across the path in front of you.

Seeing a fallen trunk parallel to the path up ahead you decided now was as good a time as any to have a break.

“You keen for some morning tea?” You called to your companion, who gave you a nod and slowed down.

Perching on the thankfully stable trunk you pulled out the first of the sandwich haul.

“What’s your poison; PB & J or ham and cheese?”

“Whatever one you don’t want,”

“Na-ah, that wasn’t my question now was it. What kind of boss would I be if I just gave my worker scraps?”

“A standard one,” Paul smirked. Before grabbing the ham and cheese sandwich from the lunchbox. “Thanks”

“So Paul,” you began after a few bites of food, “what do you usually do besides leading clueless city girls around the forest ?”

“Thanks for making me sound like a serial killer. Plus I wouldn’t call you clueless,”

“I mean in the serial killer equation I think I’d rather be clueless. Would be worse if I willingly followed a killer into the middle of nowhere. Now answer the question idiot,” you laughed affectionately.

“Whatever the council needs really. Usually some form of construction or land maintenance,”

“Do you enjoy it? I imagine it’s nice to be working with your hands and doing something different every day?”

“I do. It’s not what I had anticipated doing, but it keeps me busy. I don’t think I could ever work in an office.”

“What did you think you’ll be doing?” You paused a second, and realised you may be getting too intrusive with someone you didn’t know. Something about Paul just made you want to dig into what made him…well him. “Sorry you don’t have to answer that. I’ll just shut up,”

“Don’t worry [y/n], it’s fine. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone,”

“I solemnly swear,” you declared grabbing his left pinkie with your right.

“Child,” Pull laughed, before wrapping his pinkie around your own. “I also thought by now I’d be travelling the country. Maybe working with animals on my way, at a ranch or something like that,”

“Nothing wrong with that at all. In fact it’s smart, animals are obviously much better than people,”

“Obviously,” he snorted.

“May I asked what changed?”

“Ah just council things really, it’s my duty to the tribe.”

You could tell he was skirting around the answer, but you knew it would be beyond rude to pry any further.

“Well there’s still plenty of time to try something new,” you declared as you swung your backpack on. “Shall we continue future cowboy?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hope you all enjoyed xx

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