#digging through old concepts again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

metalhoops · 2 years

Text

The Five Times Eddie Wondered Who His Soulmate Was and the One Time He Didn’t Have To

The worst thing about knowing your soulmate was in trouble was understanding there was nothing you could do about it.

As a whole, Eddie thought the concept of soulmates was bullshit. He thought all that fate and destiny crap was a scam to sell the idea of monogamy or co-dependence. If people were too busy fretting over when they’d meet ‘their person’, they’d forget that actual shit was going on in the world. Who had the time to care about systemic oppression when they were busy trying to work out if the cute girl across the corridor was their one true love?

That being said, sometimes Eddie got curious about who they were. Not many people found their soulmates. It wasn’t as obvious as you’d think. When they were in pain, you would feel it. Two people could live across the world from one another, feeling each scraped knee and broken wrist but never meet. Hell, you could live across the street from someone and unless you were there to watch them get hurt and feel the same old pang of shared pain, you’d never know.

It wasn’t like Eddie had never felt his soulmate before that day. They’d twisted an ankle when Eddie was twelve and sprained a wrist when he was fourteen, but he’d felt no pain from them so strong as when he was sitting in detention during his junior year.

He was counting down the minutes left until he could get out of the high school, hell hole when a sharp and sudden pain flooded his jaw. He gritted his teeth and cradled it with his palm, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of his body. Eddie knew what being punched in the face felt like, and that was it. Just when the ache started to fade, another thud of pain to his cheek made his vision swim. From there, Eddie held his breath, waiting for the pain to end. He rested his head on his desk and felt his heart in his throat as the blows kept coming.

He missed Mrs Click telling him to go home, too busy gripping the desk for dear life, his fingernails digging into the poorly carved desk graffiti, slicing a line through ‘RB 4 TT.’ He was elated when the pain finally stopped.

Eddie kept his head down the whole walk home, trying to tell himself soulmates were bullshit, and that he didn’t care about his, but his thoughts kept returning to visions of them. He hoped they were okay.

Eddie never wanted to know who his soulmate was until that moment. They’d had a hell of a day and Eddie wanted to be there with them, tell them he knew what it was like. He wanted to hold their head in his lap and tell them everything was going to be okay, that if it were up to him, no one would hurt them like that again, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, they could be a hundred miles away.

The next time it happened, Eddie was at home alone in the trailer. Uncle Wayne was working a night shift, and he was watching a horror movie marathon on the T.V. It was shaping up to be a good night, with him curled up on the couch watching a schlocky creature feature when he felt all the air knocked out of his lungs.

For a moment, he was worried something horrible was happening to him. When Jeff had appendicitis, he’d reported the same kind of pain. Eddie rolled up the hem of his shirt, watching a black-blue bruise bloom and fade in the span of a second. Sometimes, if the pain was great enough, you’d get what they called an ‘echo’ of the injury. It only lasted a moment, invisible ink fading on pale paper.

The pain had been so strong that Eddie hadn’t been able to tell if it was theirs or his. From there, it got worse. He felt a sharp pang crash over his head, then another series of blows to the face. It was always the goddamn face.

When it was over, Eddie was left feeling lightheaded. The sensation faded quickly, but he knew his other half would be stuck with the ache for the rest of the night, if not longer.

There was a lot of conjecture when it came to soulmates. It was hard to conduct scientific studies on something based entirely on sensation, and any research that had been done was less than ethical. All the same, for the rest of the night, Eddie curled his arms around himself, holding his body in the hopes his person could feel it, that he could give them some comfort.

“I hope you’re okay,” he whispered, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow.

Back at school, Eddie floated through the halls feeling less than himself as thoughts of his person swirled. The school was abuzz with rumours of a fight between Billy Hargrove and the former king of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington. Eddie couldn’t care less about some pissing contest for the highest rung on the social ladder, as he still felt the echoed ache of his soulmate’s pain throughout the day.

He ditched gym, opting to hide beneath the bleachers and smoke. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one with the idea. When he arrived, he found the overthrown king sitting cross-legged, cradling his still-bruised jaw. Eddie wasn’t a fan of the jocks, but they were the biggest contributor to his wallet, so he tried to play civil with them. Plus, Eddie wasn’t one to kick someone when they were down, and boy was Steve down. He sat beside the man, examined his face, and thought for a fleeting second. Maybe he was the one, but that was crazy talk. The Freak and the King. In what world?

“You look like you’ve had better days,” Eddie noted.

“I’ve had worse,” Steve replied. Eddie had a pit in his stomach.

The two lapsed into silence, hiding out until the bell sounded for the end of gym. Eddie gave the boy a half-hearted salute as he stood.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie spoke before he left.

“You okay?”

Steve gave Eddie the ghost of a smile, all charm drowned out by Steve’s two black eyes.

“I will be.”

Eddie had been worried about his soulmate before, but he’d never thought he’d lose them until the summer vacation after his failed attempt at senior year. He and the rest of Corroded Coffin had just finished their set at The Hideout. Eddie and the boys were carrying their instruments back to the van when the feeling hit.

He fell to the asphalt. The whole scene sounded all the more dramatic as the hi-hat he’d been holding fell with him. He really wished his soulmate would learn to keep their head down and stay out of trouble because this was getting ridiculous. He got ready to hunker down and wait it out, having gotten morbidly used to their annual beatings. Only this time the pain didn’t stop.

He was hit with wave after wave of agony. This time, it wasn’t just the face. He felt blows to his jaw, his stomach, and his side. He also felt a sharp spike of pain in his hand, as though someone was trying to peel his nails from his skin.

He could hear his friends around him, desperately trying to get something coherent out of Eddie, trying to work out if it was soulmate bullshit or if the guy was having an aneurysm. By the way he was acting, either seemed possible. When the pain subsided, Eddie felt foggy, like he was going through the worst goddamn high of his life. The neon signs of The Hideout and the street lamps danced before his eyes. Hundreds of little halos clouded his vision. He couldn’t think straight.

He managed to prop himself up against the wheel of the van and pulled his knees to his chest. He knotted his hands in his long hair and tugged, trying to remind himself what his own pain felt like, though stopped when he realised he’d also be hurting them. That was the last thing they needed.

“You okay?” He heard Gareth ask when the world came swimming back into focus. Eddie shook his head. Far from it.

“Are they okay? Are they... alive?” Eddie hadn’t let himself entertain that idea until it was brought up.

He felt the last flush of colour drain from his face. He could still feel them, but there was something wrong with the connection. Maybe he was dying. Eddie couldn’t help but think of his soulmate as ‘he’. He just knew.

Eddie kept trying to tell himself he didn’t care about them, but the fact that he could die without Eddie ever having met him made his heart ache. People thought the reason you felt your person’s pain was to protect them, to know when something was wrong. Eddie had done a bang-up job at that.

“For now, but it’s weird. I don’t... I don’t know how much longer-,” Eddie didn’t let himself finish.

The rest of the band suddenly took on a sombre mood. Jeff and Grant finished packing up the van while Gareth offered to drive. The boys stayed at Eddie’s trailer for the rest of the night, holding their breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Eventually, Eddie dropped off to sleep and when he awoke hours later, he was relieved to realise he hurt all over. He was still alive, still waiting for Eddie to find him and god did Eddie want to.

His uncle came home at the crack of dawn and let out an elongated sigh of relief at seeing Eddie and his band of merry men curled up together on the living room carpet. Wayne greeted Eddie with a tight hug that still hurt like hell.

“I was worried something happened to you,” His uncle stated in his gravelled tone.

“Why would something have happened to me?” Eddie asked, perplexed.

“The mall burnt down last night. I was worried you were close by.”

Eddie shook his head and let his uncle hold him as his mind ticked away. He wondered if it was possible his soulmate was in Hawkins. Eddie wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence.

Eddie started seeing spots during his lunchtime speech. By the end of his rant, the room had started to tilt. He felt unsure on his feet as he clambered from the top of the jock table to scamper back to the hellfire group. He must look worse for wear because he noticed one of his new recruits watching him.

“Eddie, you good?” Dustin questioned, sounding further away than he should. The lights in the cafeteria were too bright and his head was killing him.

He felt close to throwing up and wondered where the pain had come from before realising the familiar distance from the sensation. It wasn’t his pain. Eddie didn’t want Henderson to butt into his love life any more than he already did, so he gave the kid a tight-lipped smile that more closely resembled a grimace. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this sensation from his soulmate, but they were growing more frequent.

Again, sweetheart? Eddie thought, knowing it was the second migraine that week.

“Migraine,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth. He could feel his band members' eyes on him. They knew exactly who the ache belonged to.

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin passed him a cool glass of water and barked orders at Mike, getting the kid to remove the ugly Hawaiian over shirt, before throwing it over Eddie’s head, blocking out the light. It wasn’t Eddie’s pain, so it didn’t help but he could appreciate the sentiment.

“Did they teach you first aid at science camp, Henderson?” Eddie guessed offhandedly.

“Nah. Steve gets migraines all the time. Helps to know how to deal with them.”

Eddie would never understand how a kid like Dustin came to know Steve Harrington, let alone worship the ground the guy walked on. Usually, Dustin had such good taste.

“Eddie’s soulmate gets them too,” Gareth spoke unhelpfully.

Even without looking, Eddie knew he was shooting him a shit-eating grin, knowing the rest of the afternoon Henderson would ask him about his soulmate. Just because the kid found Suzie, he thought the whole world deserved to find their one true love. Instead, Dustin came out with the most bullshit statement Eddie had ever heard.

“Maybe Steve’s your soulmate.”

Yeah, right. On what planet would that happen?

With everything that had happened to Eddie in the past few days, he hadn’t had time to think about his soulmate. He’d watched Chrissy die before his eyes, learnt the existence of another dimension and was walking through said dimension after witnessing Steve Harrington take a bite out of a demon bat’s tail. It’d been a weird ass day.

He wished he’d been like Robin and Nancy, able to jump in and rescue Steve on a whim, but as Steve disappeared beneath the black water of Lover’s Lake, he’d felt his throat close and his lungs ache for air. It wasn’t a good time for a panic attack. Nevertheless, he’d managed to get his ass in gear and follow the rest of the group down into Watergate.

He’d dropped back to walk with Steve and found himself complimenting the man. Steve was nothing like he imagined. He was not only kind, but as Dustin had put it, a total badass.

Once the adrenaline faded, Eddie found himself lifting the hem of his shirt, examining his side. He felt a dull throb of pain. It’d be his luck to bleed out without noticing, but he found there was nothing there.

“You good?” Steve asked.

Eddie couldn’t help but let his gaze settle on Steve’s bleeding side. He held his breath. He thought about pushing his hand against Steve’s wound, hurting him more just to check, but Eddie couldn’t hurt Steve. Not now. Especially if he was who Eddie thought he might be.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?” Eddie asked, gesturing to Steve’s side. The boy nodded.

“I’m fine, just a scratch. Can hardly feel a thing.”

If Steve was his soulmate, he was full of shit. If Steve was his soulmate when everything blew over, they had a few things to talk about.

Something was very wrong. Vecna was going down in a blaze of flame when Steve’s body started to ache. He felt the familiar sting of interdimensional bat fangs digging into dermis flesh. Robin and Nancy were cheering, wrapping their arms around Steve, whooping, hollering and panting while Steve was busy feeling like he was being torn apart.

He was pulling away from the girls and turning on his heels before he had the chance to explain, running from the Creel House to the trailer park as fast as his feet could carry him. There was only one person this pain could belong to.

Steve had spent his whole life searching for his soulmate, desperate to know who they were, and he’d been under his nose the whole time. The fact that Steve’s soulmate was a boy hadn’t surprised him as much as it should. That’d been a crisis bubbling away in the background of his brain since he’d gone to his first swim meet. He’d seen a boy in tight swim trunks, with tan skin and felt the familiar heart-pounding, crush he’d experienced on pretty girls he’d passed in the school hallways.

By the time he got to Eddie, he’d hardly been able to fight through the pain surging through their connection. Dustin was wailing, holding Eddie in the wake of a bat graveyard. He looked up in alarm at Steve’s figure, noticing his pale skin and sweat-slicked brow.

“Harrington?” Eddie’s weak voice came from Dustin’s lap.

Steve was busy removing his clothes, trying to stop the bleeding. Dustin didn’t need to show him where the man was hurt, he could feel it.

“I really must have got some brownie points in the end,” Eddie murmured.

Both boys hissed as Steve shoved his shirt into a wound at Eddie’s side. That was when Dustin appeared to catch on, his eyes swelling wide as they darted between the two boys.

“What’re you talking about, Munson?” Steve asked, trying to keep the guy talking.

“Must’ve got into heaven after all,” He hummed, his deep brown eyes gazing beyond Steve at the distant red sky.

“Hey. No. None of that. You aren’t in heaven because you’re not dying,” Steve hissed, using what little strength he had left to lift Eddie’s body.

“Gotta be in heaven, if you’re here,” Eddie spoke, giving Steve a lopsided grin. Steve felt Eddie’s pain beginning to fade and panicked, not ready to let things end before they’d even had the chance to begin.

He hoisted Eddie up through the portal and waited to do the same with Dustin. It wasn’t long before the distant sound of sirens once more surrounded the Munson trailer and Steve found himself passing out from the pain as red-blue lights swallowed the world whole.

Eddie woke in pain, his whole body humming with a familiar dull ache that was unarguably his. It took time for him to make sense of the scene. He was in the hospital. Steve was slumped over at the far edge of the room, sleeping in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. Eddie’s eyes trailed to his bedside, where he met Dustin’s.

“Holy shit, you’re awake,” the boy gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

Eddie cringed as he felt a rush of pain swarm through his body. He must have gasped, because Steve sprung to life, waking with a start as his eyes trailed from Dustin to Eddie. Steve’s eyes were a storm of quiet conflict, punctuated by deep purple bruises.

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, standing to hover beside the bed, unsure of what to do next.

He was surprised Steve was there at all. He wouldn’t say the two were close. Though Steve had probably found some way of twisting Eddie getting hurt into some fault of his, ever the damn hero.

“Thought I was a goner for a second there,” Eddie admitted, trying to shake some of the strange tension from the room.

“If Steve hadn’t gotten there in time, you would’ve been,” Dustin spoke. Eddie watched as the boy’s hands trembled. He leaned over, fighting through the pain to ruffle the kid’s hair. Steve’s shoulders hunched over, doubling into himself.

“I’ll get the nurse. Your uncle left for his nightshift, but he should be back in a few,” Dustin muttered as he made a beeline for the exit. It seemed strange the boy was extracting himself from the scene.

Henderson called over his shoulder. “I told you so.”

And just like that, Eddie knew.

He looked up at Steve with wide-eyed alarm, only to find his look mirrored.

“How’d you know we were in trouble?” Eddie asked, though thought he knew the answer.

“After we killed Vecna, I felt... I could feel you. I knew you were hurt,” Steve explained.

“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie pushed.

“Thought it was too much of a coincidence that it felt like my soulmate was getting eaten alive by giant bats. I’d call it an educated guess.”

Eddie gritted his teeth and nodded. Surely, as far as soulmates went, he hadn’t been what Steve imagined.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, surprising Eddie.

“For what?”

“Not being the person you wanted me to be, I guess,” Steve spoke so candidly, it made pain and panic swell in his throat. How could Steve think Eddie was disappointed that he was his soulmate?

“I’m not disappointed, Stevie. Why would I be disappointed?”

“You had to have known,” Steve reasoned.

Eddie didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but it sounded like Steve had been overthinking every second of it.

“You give me more credit than I deserve. I didn’t know it was you, sweetheart. Cross my heart,” Eddie admitted, surprised at how quickly the term of endearment he’d used for his soulmate slipped off his tongue when talking to Steve.

He hadn’t worked out shit. He’d had hunches, as though his heart knew, but the logical part of his brain kept overriding it. In what world were he and Steve perfect for each other?

Eddie threw caution to the wind as he saw the genuine look of affection and excitement painting its way across Steve’s face. He looked hopeful. Eddie cringed, sitting up and trying to lean closer to Steve.

“Come here before I hurt the both of us,” Eddie grumbled.

Steve shuffled closer to Eddie’s bed, crouching down, so the two were at eye level. Eddie wanted to kiss the boy so damn bad, and Steve was sending him all the signs that he should, but there was something he had to do first. He took Steve’s face between his hands, running a thumb over the purple bruises beneath his eyes.

“No more playing hero, okay?”

Steve nudged his face into the palm of Eddie’s hand and nodded, letting out a weak chuckle.

“I think I can agree to that.”

Eddie crushed their lips together and despite the pain, it felt like everything was right in the world.

3K notes · View notes

rosy-crow · 3 months

Text

Sephiroth is such a fucking wild character when I really think about it sometimes.

He was injected with alien cells in his mom’s womb as part of an extremely dubious science experiment, transformed into “part alien” because of it, was marked a successful specimen shortly after he was born, and then raised by a company as a product and weapon.

He got sent to war (ACTUAL WAR THAT ALSO INVOLVED GENOCIDE) at age 14 by Shinra as the first of his specific type of super-soldier, LITERALLY BY HIMSELF with no guide or mentor, but just the knowledge of his past training, a nameless sword, a few materia, and a picture of his missing mom.

He took command of a team of veteran mercenaries, got overly attached to them after just over a week had passed because they were apparently the first kind adults he had ever met + he had never known any semblance of a normal family, home or life, and then they all killed a bunch of people together on an island.

Halfway through Sephiroth fucking lost the photo of his mom like a classic little kid would except he was a child soldier, so he had to dig through literal corpses to look for it.

Meanwhile, his adult team started realizing the company they were working for was pretty corrupt and hmm, genocide bad. So they DESERTED to go save a kid that was the sole survivor of the people they had battled to extinction.

And Sephiroth COMMITTED TREASON ON HIS FIRST MISSION for them and to go help save the kid. But then he killed that same kid to save his team from a sinking island instead, who got really upset about that and left him to go desert their posts as soldiers hired by Shinra. Also, he somehow regained his mom’s photo during this whole fiasco but then one of his adult squad-mates kicked it into the sea in a fit of rage. Most pointless photo ever.

But that’s fine because then he just went BACK TO WAR and grew up through his teen years fighting in it, made two new friends with his fellow super-soldiers, nearly finished the war with them, and then they deserted too. One basically committed assisted suicide. One vanished completely and went ballistic.

Then Sephiroth ended up in his hometown on a mission, but he didn’t know it was his hometown because had no idea who he was.

He instead found a creepy weird room inside a reactor full of his dad’s unethical human experimentation, had a mental breakdown and a bad falling out with one of his former super-soldier friends who was dying and deranged, went to a basement library in an old haunted mansion, read a bunch of data on his own experimental creation and the project that led to his conception, believed a lie that he was the last of an ancient species, and lost his mind.

So he went and burned down his own hometown, killed a bunch of people, cut off the head of an eldritch alien that he thought was his mom and stole it to keep, got nearly cleaved in half by some farm boy, fell into the depths of a mako reactor (with the aforementioned alien head), and died for five years before coming back to destroy the world with a meteor. He briefly became a god around this time too.

He didn’t successfully carry out the meteor plan and basically died AGAIN, but this time he came back by using the forms of three random kids to rediscover his own personality because his memories of his past self were erased. He was resurrected, fought his mortal nemesis for revenge, lost again, and seemingly died for the last time but with a final statement about not really ever vanishing in full? Sure?

Also, his real mom is locked away in a crystal because she couldn’t kill herself thanks to being stuffed with alien cells. His dad never admitted to even being his father until his last moments and was just a devoutly cruel, horribly abusive scientist, that let Sephiroth go through all the previous shit just to see what would happen.

For some reason, Sephiroth can also traverse multiple worlds now too.

Oh and he has hair almost to his knees, cat eyes, goth leather club gear, and a sword taller than he is. He is 6’7/200 cm.

Oh and the wing! He has one random wing too. Sure.

Absolutely bizarre character. There is so much wrong with him. It’s perfect.

#WHAT EVEN IS THIS STORY #this is why i’m stuck here after months still trying to figure it out #it just gets more unhinged to me every day #lmao #sephiroth #ff7

384 notes · View notes

sithbvcky · 4 months

Text

.01: FRANKENSTEIN

As the adopted daughter of Tony Stark, your role becomes even more twisted and entangled when you meet and fall in love with one James Barnes. Unbeknownst to you, your world is about to flip upside down. Bucky x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2,466 *this was an anon request* A/N: I decided to make this a mini series and I hope you don't mind that I took some creative liberty with the concept!

Since you discovered you were adopted, you took it upon yourself to try and discover who you really were. You didn’t hold it against your father, keeping your adoption secret from you for so long. When your powers first appeared, that should’ve been your first clue that you were different. First it was the voices in your head, hearing conversations from buildings across the street. Then the telekinesis made itself known, accidentally throwing and breaking objects in fits of anger. As you grew, you felt more and more volatile. That at any moment you could burst. So you left. Telling your father you were going to find your birth mother. In typical Stark fashion, he sent you all the intel he could gather on who she was.

“I’m sorry I lied.” He said, giving you a hug.

“I understand. I’ll be in touch.” You said.

And with that, you boarded the next plane to Bucharest. Romania was the last known location of your birth mother. That was all Tony could dig up, everything else on the woman appeared to be lost to time. With your backpack and a whole lot of guts, you stepped off the plane and went to where she was last seen.

An old apartment building, badly in need of some repairs but still rather charming. You went over the basic Romanian in your head, only what you needed to get by. The woman at the front desk looked you up and down,

“Excuse me, I am looking for someone who used to live here, Mariana was her name.” You spoke in very broken Romanian. The woman stared at you with squinted eyes.

“I’m sorry my Romanian is bad, but please I just need to know where she is.” You tried again, holding up the copy of the address and the name that Tony had provided you.

“No english.” The woman grumbled, going back to her administrative duties.

“Please, I need your help. I have to find her.” You pleaded, the woman waved her hands to dismiss you.

"Ma’am, she is looking for someone that lived here.” A man’s voice speaking perfect Romanian startled you. You turned around to see who it was and was struck by his appearance. Tall, handsome with clear blue eyes and long brown hair. You noticed he was wearing gloves and carrying a plastic bag full of fresh plums. The woman responded to him in the same grumpy tone,

“She’s asking the name of the woman you’re looking for.” The man looked at you and you felt yourself dumbfounded. Clearing your throat you answered,

“Uh, her name was Mariana she used to live here. I just want to know where she went.” You answered, cursing yourself from being so easily distracted by an attractive man. You watched him as he translated your words to the woman who grumbled something back to him.

“She said no one by that name has lived here for at least three years.” He said, and you sighed.

“Does she know where she went?” You asked and the man translated. The woman muttered something to him before turning around to retreat into her office. The man sighed and turned to you,

“I’m sorry, she said she doesn’t know.”

You ran an exasperated hand through your hair and folded the copy of the address back up and slid it into your backpack.

“Thanks for the help.” You waved, adjusting the straps of the backpack and moving to walk back out of the building. You were almost out the door when the man called to you,

“Who is it you’re looking for, exactly?” He asked, “I-if you don’t mind me asking.” He added as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“Uh, she’s my birth mother and this was the last place she was.” You answered. The man nodded,

“What are you going to do now?” He inquired.

“I guess start back at square one. Try to see the city while I’m here.” You shrugged and he nodded again.

“Well, thanks again for the translating.” You turned and walked out of the building, before you could get halfway down the side walk, you heard the man call out.

“Hey, do you have a place to stay?” He asked, jogging up to you.

“No, but I’m sure I can find a hotel or something.” You said.

“Don’t worry about it, I got her to spare a room for you if you wanted it. No one really lives in this old building anyways.” He offered, with a flash of a smirk.

“Except you.” You teased, and he looked down at his feet bashfully.

“Look, I can help you find your mother, if you want.” He stated, taking you off guard. “I’m sort of good at finding people.”

“What are you like a private detective or something?” You joked.

“Something like that. Only if you want my help.”

You paused for a moment to think. A man you don’t know was offering his services to help you find your birth mother, the same man who stepped in and helped you with your broken Romanian. The smarter part of you would’ve turned and run but you were desperate. And, if things turned out bad you did have an arsenal at your disposal.

“Can you teach me any Romanian?” You asked with a smile and he flashed one of his own.

“Sure.”

The woman gave you a key to a room just down the hall from the man. He walked you to your door,

“Thanks again, uh’ You pointed at him,

“Ah, James you can call me James.”

You nodded,

“Thanks James, I’m Y/N.”

“Anytime, Y/N. Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he walked off to his room and you unlocked yours. It was small and nothing compared to the place you had back in New York thanks to your father. But it was cozy and you didn’t mind the intimacy that came with it.

That night, you were plagued with a horrific nightmare. Faces you knew well and some you only recognized, tearing each other apart. So much violence, friends turned on each other. Your father lying on the ground covered in blood. When you awoke, your room was trashed. As if someone had come in and tore through the place but nothing was missing. Then it dawned on you, your powers. Once they seemed to be only be triggered by anger but now, perhaps that nightmare caused you to have an episode while you were unconscious. God. You hoped no one heard you and that the damage remained contained to your room.

When you were dressed, you stepped out of your room to see James doing the same. He flashed a smile as he walked towards you.

“I was on my way to get coffee, if you want to join me.” He offered. He showed no sign of knowing what happened last night, and there seemed to be no damage anywhere else that you could see.

“Sure, that sounds great actually.”

The coffee shop was only a few blocks down from the apartment building. James bought you both coffee which you insisted he didn’t have to. Outside, you found a quiet place to sit down away from the other patrons.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked.

“What?” You looked at him with surprise, did he hear you after all?

“I just meant it’s a new place and I know sometimes it can be hard to sleep.” He assured, seeing he’d caused you some sort of unease. You shook your head,

“Oh, uh, yeah I slept fine. Thanks.” You took a sip of your latte and cursed your paranoia. A moment of silence passed between you.

“So, what are you doing out here?” You asked,

“Just traveling, seeing Europe.” He answered somewhat nervously. You don’t know why but it felt like he was hiding something. Which to be fair you couldn’t judge since you were doing the same.

“Where are you from? You speak perfect Romanian but I just can’t shake the feeling that you’re American like me.” You continued and James smirked,

“You got me. I was born in Brooklyn.” He admitted.

“I knew it.” You chuckled, taking another sip of coffee.

“And you? Where are you from?” He asked.

“Manhattan. At least that’s where I spent a lot of my life.” You answered and he nodded.

“Right. Do you know why you’re mother would’ve been here?” He wondered. You shrugged,

“No idea. There’s no record of her except for that address, everything else seems to have been lost.”

“Did you ever think maybe it was destroyed on purpose?” James asked, and you blinked in surprise. You hadn’t even considered the idea that someone had purposely destroyed all records of your mothers existence.

“No, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not sure why someone would.” You said, but you knew exactly why. If you were as powerful as you are now you could only imagine she was just as powerful if not more. But who would do such a thing?

“Believe me, people do things for reasons you may never understand.” James said. You nodded, he was right after all. But even if you might never understand why, you needed to know who.

“Is there anything else you know about her? Anything at all.” You shook your head,

“Not much, my father mentioned she might’ve been on the run but he wasn’t sure from what or where.”

“Is he your birth father or?” James wondered.

“No, he adopted me when I was three. I didn’t know any better than so I thought he was my real father. He acted like it. I wish he was.” You admitted with sigh. James nodded.

“Well, knowing she might’ve been on the run is a good lead. I know some places she might’ve gone.”

“You’ve been on the run?” You asked, bringing your cup of coffee up to your lips.

“Maybe once or twice.” He huffed.

“Thanks again, for all of your help. You don’t even know me but it really means a lot. I owe you.” You admitted and James pursed his lips into a small smile.

“You’re company is payment enough.”

The blush crept up on your cheeks no matter how much you tried to hide it. You finished your coffee and headed James walked you back to the apartment, saying he was going to investigate one of those places. You asked to come along but he insisted it wasn’t the type of place you would want to be.

Later that evening, you heard a soft knock on your door. Looking through the small peep hole you saw James waiting outside patiently. For a moment you studied his features, the way he looked around him like he was expecting someone to appear. “I hope she’s not asleep.” You hadn’t meant to, but sometimes unintentionally you could hear others thoughts. Even though you normally would try to block them out, you were terribly curious about this man. And something in you knew he was more than he seemed. “Don’t mess up, Bucky. Maybe this is the only chance you got at normalcy.”

You opened the door and his eyes brightened,

“Uh, hi. Hope I didn’t disturb you.” He said awkwardly.

“No, I was just lost in thought, how did it go?” You asked. Putting that mental block back so more of his thoughts would creep through. You stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment,

“Uh, not bad.” He hesitated a moment before taking the cue and entering.

“Did you find something?” You asked eagerly.

“Kind of, someone there had seen someone named Mariana there a while back.” James answered.

“What else did they say about her?”

“That she seemed paranoid, like someone was after her and if she stopped too long she’d be found.” He said.

“Did she ever mention who? Or what?” You inquired, gesturing for him to take a seatr at the small kitchen table. James shook his head and sat down,

“They didn’t know who was coming after her. However.” James paused as you sat down across from him, anticipating his next words.

“They did say a group of men, like bounty hunters, came in asking about her not long after she left.” He finished and you took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“That would make sense why her records were destroyed, someone doesn’t want her to be found.” You surmised.

“Y/N.” James hesitated before he spoke again. “Are you sure you don’t know any reason why someone would try to erase her?”

You did know. It wasn’t a certain answer but it was the most logical one. But should you tell him? Does he deserve to know the truth of who you are? How you struggle daily to keep your powers under control. How you felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

“Y/N?” He asked again and you snapped yourself back out of your thoughts. Looking into his eyes, you saw something you hadn’t seen before. Past the tiredness you saw pain, intense pain. And do you decided to tell the truth,

“I haven’t been completely honest with you.” You started, your eyes shifting to your hands fidgeting on the table.

“When I was little, something happened to me. I could start hearing peoples thoughts, voices in my head fighting for dominance.” You paused, looking up to see James watching you intently but you didn’t sense any judgement.

“Then I started being able to move things without touching them. I’d broken a lot of glass and antiques on accident. As I grew I was able to get it under control a little better but sometimes when I’m unconscious or angry I can’t keep it at bay. It’s like a monster inside me at all times just waiting to be let out.” You finished, still nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for him to leave or curse at you for being a mutant and hiding the danger. Instead, he took took the glove on his left hand off, revealing a gleaming metal hand.

“I know what that feels like. To feel like a monster, like theres someone else living inside you.” His voice trembled slightly as he flexed the metal fingers. You reached out to place your hand on his, the cool metal stinging your warm hand. He looked at you with surprise, no one had held that hand. That hand had brought nothing but pain and suffering. But he didn’t pull away from your touch,

“I’m sorry.” You said, moving your hand back. James shook his head,

“Don’t be sorry. One day, I’ll tell you about how I got it.”

“I’m glad I met you, James.” You smiled solemnly.

“I’m glad I met you.”

#bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #buckybarnes #sebastianstan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you

211 notes · View notes

wip · 6 months

Note

For a long time now, it's been impossible to see comments or reblogs with comment/tags on posts over a certain age when using the mobile app or blog view. Today I was looking at a post from 2015 that I knew had at least one reblog comment and lots of tags, but all the reblogs were under "other". I found the comment (but couldn't see any tags) by going to the [blog name].tumblr.com/post/[###] link and scrolling through all the notes in one list, but it's impossible anywhere else.

I know this probably has to do with the many changes Tumblr has gone through in that time, but it's still really inconvenient to have disappearing notes on the platform where part of the charm is that posts can survive for, at this point, almost a decade and a half.

Is it even possible to fix this, and of so, is it something you would consider?

Answer: Hey there, @maplerosekisses!

It is possible to fix this, and we would like to fix it, but it’s a daunting problem at Tumblr’s scale. Buckle up for storytime.

Long, long ago, Tumblr was created, and in the beginning, there weren’t even notes on posts. There weren’t even reblogs or likes. In fact, we were one of the first platforms to introduce the heart icon and the concept of “likes”! We created the reblog! Back in those days, each of these actions were tracked separately. Likes were tracked in one database table and reblogs weren’t tracked at all as notes. When we introduced replies, those had yet another way of being tracked in our database. Totally separate entities on the platform for years.

Eventually, we wanted to consolidate these into one number—so we had to count each of those different places. That’s horribly inefficient, and as Tumblr grew in size and popularity, this became a bottleneck that hurt the whole platform. So one of the things we did was to invent a new denormalized database table called “notes,” to track all of these different things in one place so we could easily count them. We still have that table, and it’s still the fallback whenever we need to count the notes on a post.

But this itself is ancient history. Since then, the product has changed even more, and we removed replies and re-added them later, back in 2015 or so—and made some changes in that process to help further improve efficiency. These improvements allowed us to include media in the notes view, and be able to split out replies versus reblogs-with-comment versus likes (kind of going back to the way it was originally.) Even then, we didn’t yet support showing tag usage in the notes—that would come even later.

In the process of making all of these changes for efficiency and functionality, we had to ask ourselves, as you point out: should we try to backfill these new database tables with all of the data from before? For a long while, we were using both systems to power the notes view, so we could display as much information from “before” as we could. Eventually, we didn’t need to do that anymore, because the number of people scrolling back to that “before” time became infinitesimally small. And that's the situation we’re in today.

Because if we wanted to backfill the data, we would need to process literally tens of billions of posts and notes from before 2015, at a conservative estimate. Let’s say it’s 10,000,000,000, for the sake of argument: if we started an automated process to go through them at ~100 per second (which would be relatively safe at our scale, so Tumblr doesn’t break as we’re digging up these old rows in the database), it would take over three years of continuous operation to complete that task.

In situations like this, we have to ask ourselves if that’s worth it. So far, the answer we’ve determined is no. But we may find a more efficient way to do it, there’s undoubtedly a way, and when we do, we will re-evaluate the decision again. We hope that makes sense—trying to make changes to Tumblr can be really, really hard.

But thank you for your question. We appreciate them and hope that goes some way to answering your query. Keep 'em coming, y'all.

#feature #notes #posting #reblogs

272 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 10 months

Text

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Two: [Chemo & Charisma]

Summary: Jake arrives in Rhode Island to accompany his three kids back to Houston Texas the next morning. He expects it to be slightly awkward, but something he doesn’t expect is to be cryptically seduced by you—his ex wife.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Cancer Diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Separation. Marriage issues. Mentions of death. Minor smut (18+)

Word Count: 4.6k

Author Note: Thank you for all the love and support around this series so far. It truly has been an awesome experience getting to create this storyline with you all. I'm excited to see how you all react as the chapters come out. Your concepts, theories and reactions are truly making my December that much better.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Turbulence…it can mean anything from a few little bumps to a catastrophic weather system that could knock your flying tin can right out of the air. In Surgery they call it a complication, the surgeons hit a snag, a bump in the road. Turbulence.

In your marriage, you called it Separation. One of the most unpredictable things about encountering turbulence is its aftermath. Everything’s been shaken up, undone, turned on its head. So you ask yourself time and time again, if you had the choice to avoid the plane crash, the turbulence altogether, would you take it? Would you play it safe and cancel the flight? Or would you get onboard and take your chances.

“Dad!” Little Lucy Seresin was just the spitting image of you and your grandmother. She was every bit you except for those big emerald green eyes. “Dad—!” You could see Jake making his way towards you and your three children through the crowd, all standing around your legs waiting for their father. The one who gave all three of your children those piercing emerald eyes that held what seemed like all the secrets in the universe. “Mum! Dads here! Dads here!”

“I see him sweetheart, there’s daddy.” You replied to your six year old, who, before you even had a chance to stop the only daughter of Jake Seresin, took off running across the crowded airport welcoming area towards her dad. You knew it had been far too long since Jake had been able to see his children, but you also knew it wasn't entirely his fault. The Navy was unpredictable as it was reliable.

“Hiya Lulu!” Jake smiled as wild as he could as he dropped to his knee to embrace the six year old human he’d helped create. “Oh I missed you sweetheart.” That much was true, Jake Seresin missed his kids every day that passed him by. You watched on with six year old Lennox by your side and two year old Samuel on your hip as Jake picked his daughter up and carried her back over to where you stood patiently waiting. “Lenny, how you going man?” Jake beamed as he tousled his eldest son's hair. “Far out kid, you shoot up any more and you’ll be taller than your mother.” You smiled at the dig unintentionally, before you knew you were smiling Jake had seen the corners of your lips turn upright into an unmissable smile.

“Mums says I’m growing like an inch a day because I eat all my green beans at dinner.” Jake took a moment to place Lucy back on solid ground before he came up back up to meet your gaze. It had been a few weeks since you had called Jake about your Christmas plans. He still wasn’t sure how to feel about them, deep down he wanted to tell you not to go. Deep down he was screaming at the top of his lungs for you to give him another chance, to come with him and the kids to his mothers for Christmas. But Jake knew better than to make a scene in front of the kids. But that didn't mean he couldn't be petty when he wanted to be just to get a rise out of you.

“Is that so?” Jake beamed that signature Seresin grin you’d fallen for back in college when he was captain of the football team and you were just that meek library dweller. He made you feel so much more than just the shy history buff you’d been back then, Jake Seresin had taught you a lot of things about yourself in the time you’d been his best friend and wife, now ex. Nowadays however you often caught yourself wondering if he’d miss you if you didn’t make it through the battle you were facing. The battle you hadn’t told anyone about except your mum. The battle that took all your strength to keep a secret close to your chest. The battle that was draining you or all your strength and energy. The battle that late at night you wish you could just end early.

Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma. Triple positive meaning that your specific cancer fed off oestrogen, progesterone and HER2 hormones. Lucky you right? Your first lumpectomy went rather well, but you were facing twelve weeks of chemotherapy treatment. Three oral tablets daily and two full days of IV sessions a week.

However, you were taking measures into your own hands as of tomorrow and were scheduled to be back in hospital for double mastectomy. You didn't want to wait and see if the cancer would spread and wanted every single bit out. But Jake was none the wiser about your medical status and assumed that you were off to Canada with friends for a white Christmas in Banff Alberta.

“Well—“ Jake carefully took little two year old Sammy from your grasp and placed his tied sleeping self on his own jean clad hip. “Mums are always right.” Jake quickly followed up as he looked down at Lenny. “There’s gonna be a ton of green beans at Grandma's house so you might overtake her quicker than anticipated buddy.” Jake gave the youngest of the three Seresin siblings a kiss on the cheek before he fully turned his attention to you. “Hey Hon—“ The way Jake stopped himself from finishing his sentence made your heart sink into the pit in your stomach. “Y/n, hey Y/n.” He corrected himself quickly as he picked up his duffel bag from the ground next to where he stood before you. “You look well.”

Oh if only Jake truly knew what you had to do in order to look well. The countless hours you spent throwing your guts up in the middle of the night. The sleepless nights that turned into days. The loss of appetite that had you dropping weight faster than you could blink. Your diagnosis had been quick but your symptoms had been even quicker to take over your daily life. You kicked yourself every day for not getting yourself to a doctor sooner.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing alright—“ Things used to be so easy with Jake, now he was standing here before you in the middle of the airport bustling with people going to and from for the holiday season and you swore he looked like someone you didn’t even know. “The kiddos keep me busy, don’t you?” You asked Lucy as she reached out for your hand and looked at you like you were telling lies.

“Mums been sick.” She told her father confidently, like you weren’t about to die then and there on the spot from embarrassment. Little Lucy had a bad habit of throwing you and Jake under the bus with one another. “She said it’s just a cold, but she’s been sick for like four whole weeks.” Lucy didn’t know any better than what you had always told her, that you had the flu. A long flu at that. As soon as you’d get the kids off to school you’d head right back to bed and sleep. The medication your doctors had you on was pretty brutal, and chemotherapy didn’t help although you’d only just started that kind of oral treatment. It packed a punch you couldn't handle.

“Oh?” Jake frowned as the five of you all made your way through the airport and out towards the car park. “Mum didn’t tell me she was sick, if I had known I would have come sooner.” Jake looked at you like he was trying to read the lines on your face. He could tell you were tied, more than normal—but despite that knowledge he’d never say it out loud. His grandmother would roll over in her damn grave if Jake ever dared to point out a woman’s under eye bags or her tired expression. So he went with ‘well’.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but you knew by the hurt look on Jake’s face that it had struck an exposed nerve. He never wanted to separate. “What I meant was, I’m fine, Lulu here sees a runny nose and thinks it’s the end of days, I would have called you if I needed help.”

“Fair, I mean—you can’t be that sick right? With your big trip to Banff planned and all.” Jake shrugged it off like his heart wasn’t breaking inside his chest. This was about to be his first Christmas separated from the women he loved more than life itself. Being in North Island made it easier to run from his problems, but the minute he got on that flight he was back inside his own head, rewinding and rethinking everything he ever did wrong to drive you away.

“Right—“ You agreed softly beside the man you loved so deeply that it burned. “Yeah, I’m just so thankful you were so happy to take the kids with you to your mothers house this year.” To be perfectly honest you were expecting Jake to push back, ask more questions, be a little standoffish on the idea of you not being there for the kids on Christmas. But he never did, and you didn’t know what hurt more.

“They’re my kids as much as they’re yours—kinda think it’s the least I can do considering you’ve had them all year round.” It was the tone you didn’t appreciate, the almost passive aggressive attitude that made you frown as you walked with Jake and your kids back to your car.

“You can see the kids anytime you like.” You tried to keep your head level, but the way Jake had said it made you question his motives. “I’d never stop you, if you wanna have them more often I’m sure we can—“

“Wasn’t that a big part of the reason you wanted to separate?” Jake interrupted before you had a chance to finish what you were saying. You were about to say perhaps you could come up with a custody agreement. Something on paper that seemed fair to the both of you that took your work schedules into consideration as well as your living conditions, the kids schooling, holidays and extended family. You were happy to discuss it more, but this year that had passed the both of you by had gone in the blink of an eye. “You were stuck with the kids too much? Seems a little counter intuitive considering you’ve become their primary caregiver.”

“Jake—“ You sighed with a longing he’d missed. “Not in front of the kids, alright?” You were trying your best, truly. But here he was in all his glory, the love of your life and father of your children, telling you that you made a mistake just in a different kind of font. “We can talk about it all when we get home.”

“I’m not doing anything in front of the kids—“ Jake shrugged as he watched you unlock the car. “I’m just trying to understand why you can’t just admit why you really left.” Jake knew why you left, because of him. He knew he hadn’t done enough in your marriage to show you how much he loved you. He just wanted to hear you say it. That you didn’t love him anymore. He wanted you to tell him point blank that you had fallen out of love with him.

But you could never say that, because you never stopped loving him.

“You know why—“ You had to bite the inside of your cheek and grit your teeth to stop yourself from yelling, Jake Seresin after all these years still managed to get under your skin with ease. “Again, not in front of the kids, let’s just get home.”

“You seem frustrated.” Jake teased with that award winning grin, he knew exactly what he was doing. You always took the bait.

“Yeah, you’ve been here for five minutes and I’m already over it.” If you had rolled your eyes any harder than you did you would have fallen over.

“Little harsh—“ Jake chuckled as he placed Sammy into his booster seat, the little buckles that used to give him a hard time when the twins were younger were seamlessly clipped up in seconds. Jake made sure his youngest was safe and secure before he stood and turned his full undivided attention back to you. “I’ve missed you.” He said genuinely with a love so strong inside his heart you could nearly feel the warmth as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and drew you in for a hug. “It’s good to see you, even if it’s just for one night before you go jet setting.”

With little hesitation you melted into the man you had married all those years ago with ease. Jake was your home, your guiding light. This past year had been rough without him and you knew deep down it had been rough for him too.

But sometimes love just wasn’t enough to save a marriage.

“Yeah—yeah it’s good to see you.” Jake felt your arms wrap around his torso as you let your cheek rest on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too.” Jake’s scent had alway brought comfort to you, the overwhelming warmth of cedarwood and notes of vanilla bourbon always calmed you, grounded you in reality. “I’m uh—“ You wanted to tell him the truth about what was going on, but you just couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t ask that much of him. Not after everything you’d both been through over the last year. “I’m just happy you’re here for the kids.”

“Mum! Lennox won’t let me have the window seat!”

“I’m older than you!” Lennox argued back as Jake groaned into your neck. Oh how he’d missed you, missed the kids, missed his family. North Island was great but without the four of you? Something was always missing. A piece of Jake was always missing.

“I’m not just here for the kids.” Jake pulled away at the sound of Lenny and Lucy arguing in the back seat over who was taking the middle seat. “But they’re a bonus, Honey.” He winked as he switched into dad mode and dropped his voice an octave or two. “Stop arguing, I’ll flip a coin.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Oh woah—“ Jake's eyes lit up as he walked through the front door of the home you’d recently finished moving into. He’d only ever seen it over FaceTime. “It’s bigger than it looked.” The little giggle you let out as you passed him by didn’t go unnoticed. Dirty bird, Jake thought to himself as his eyes lingered down to your ass as you walked ahead of him.

“It’s enough for me and the kids with a spare room.” You replied as Jake continued to look around. Reminisce of cardboard boxes used in your move still remained scattered around the place. “The kids still wanted to put up the Christmas tree even though they aren’t gonna be here.”

“Mama said Santa will know that we’re spending it with Grandma and Grandpa and will take all our presents there.” Lucy caught Jake's attention as she barreled into the living room where the Christmas tree stood tall and proud, decorated with mismatched decorations that you and Jake had collected over the years either from stores or the kids' school crafts. “She also said I could give this to you when you came to stay the night.” Lucy explained as she dropped to her knees and reached under the tree to where a perfectly wrapped gift labelled with Jake's name on it sat. “It’s from mum.”

“Lucy May—“ You nearly hissed as you padded into the living room. “Don’t tell lie’s please.” You pointed, the deal had been you’d get Jake one present and one present only knowing he probably wouldn’t have gotten you anything, and that you’d tell him it was from the kids until he opened it. “You tell your dad who it’s from.” Jake knew by the smirk that crept across his daughter’s face he recognised as his own, that it was from you. Lucy didn’t have to say another word. But she did regardless.

“It’s from me and Lenny.” She replied as Jake sat on the couch he used to sleep on during those nights the two of you couldn’t sleep in the same bed. Those nights where the two of you needed space and those nights where he thought he was doing the right thing by you and giving it to you. He sat on the couch that felt unfamiliar now and took the present his daughter gave him with grace. “Lenny! Dad’s opening our present!”

“What present?” Lennox frowned as he walked into the living room trying to carry two year old Sam. “Oh! Mums present.”

“Lennox!” You groaned aloud in utter defeat.

All Jake could do was laugh to himself as he looked over at you. You were as beautiful as ever, his one and only love. How the fuck did things get so messy where you had to use your children as scapegoats.

“It’s fine, it’s fine—I know it’s from the kids Honey.” Jake winked as you rolled your eyes and headed on into the kitchen where you were getting organised to cook dinner. You were starting to feel awfully tired–the oral chemotherapy was starting to make you feel sicker than you had been before you knew what was going on. A double edged sword really, you keep taking the pills? You get so sick you die. You stop taking the chemotherapy tablets? You get so sick you die. Either way you were dying or you convinced yourself you were.

But Jake could never know that, your kids could never know that, so you went about your routine as normally as you could without making a fuss.

“I might save this for when we get to Grandmas, I wouldn't wanna not have anything to open on Christmas morning Lulu.” Jake smiled as he brought her in for a hug between his legs. “I love you all so much.”

“We love you too dad.” Lucy replied as she hugged Jake back. “Mum loves you too.”

“Oh does she now?” Jake knew that putting all his faith in a six year old probably wasn't the best thing he could do, but right now as he held her in his arms, the little girl the two of you had created–he did. He trusted her to tell the truth you wouldn't, because you wouldn't lie and tell him you didn't love him either. “Guess I'll just have to take your word for it then, won't I?”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake Seresin had always been a good dad, you had never questioned him on his ability to go above and beyond for his children. That was something you never had to worry about. As you plated up dinner, the laughter of your three children coming from the living room made you smile to yourself. They were loved so fiercely.

“Alright, let's get ready for dinner, yeah? Mums been cooking up a storm in here.” Jake rounded the corner with Sam hand in hand. “Smells so damn good in here.” You again smiled to yourself as Jake can to stand beside you at the kitchen counter, watching as you scooped some pasta bake onto five plates.

“When's the last time you had a home cooked meal?” It was a simple question but Jake really had to think about it for a moment as he reached over to steal a cucumber slice from the chopped salad.

“Does food from the bar count?” He asked with a half cocked smile, knowing full well that Penny's burgers and fries wouldn’t be considered home cooked in your opinion.

“No–” You grinned as Jake leaned in from behind you, trapping you between him and the counter with both arms encompassing you. “No, when's the last time it was a home cooked meal?” Jake didn't reply right away, he simply inhaled your scent slowly from behind you and took in the comforting scent of elderberry and juniper. He missed that all encompassing feeling, that safe and warming feeling of your presence.

“Uh—probably the last time you cooked for me.” Jake noticed the moment you paused at his words, the revelation that you were having. “And it was probably pasta bake, with salad and pork chops, like what we’re having right now.”

“It’s always your favourite—“ It was clear from the very beginning that both you and Jake were getting caught in the moment. But as his hands slowly make their way from the counter top to hips, you know you were too far gone to press the pause button. “Jacob—“

“I'm a simple man.” Jake cooed as he brought one of his hands up to move your hair from one side of your neck. “Lucy tells me you love me.”

“She’s got a pretty wild imagination that daughter of ours.” You teased as Jake pressed his lips against your neck in a sweet gesture of gratitude for the woman who gave him three beautiful children. “You need to stop—“ You sighed into Jake's warm embrace as he pulled away and let his chin fall to your shoulder. “I don’t know where or what you've been in recently.”

“I think she said her name was Vanessa.” Jake taunted as he held you tightly from behind. He felt you tense in his embrace at the very idea he’d been with someone other than you. But you couldn’t hold it against him, not now, the pair of you were separated. You held no claim on the man you had left in favour of putting yourself first.

But that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

“Vanessa a name I should remember?” You asked with a little attitude in your tone Jake caught immediately. He couldn’t help but to smirk at the idea you were a little jealous of his very infrequent conquests. He loved you to the end of the world but this was such a frustrating situation to be in. What was a guy supposed to do? Be celebate in hopes his wife came running back?

“Nope—“ Jake reassured you with another kiss to the neck. “I’m not ready to let you go, I thought maybe I could if I just leaned into the whole thing, whatever it is that we’re doing, but I’m just not ready to let you go.”

“Have you?” Jake had to clear his throat when he asked. “Been with anyone, that is?”

“Do you think between work, raising three kids with your DNA and missing you that I’d have time to get laid?” You knew what Jake would latch onto, the part where you said you missed him. You saw the light in his eye as you turned in his embrace to face him with a mischievous smile plastered across your face.

“You miss me?” Yes. Yes you did. With all your might you missed him everyday and every night. But it didn’t change what the two of you became.

“Don’t try your luck—“ You argued, shrugging Jake's query off like the answer was obvious. To him it was, you did miss him. Other sailors tend to recognise other sailors on the sea and Jake missed you tenfold.

“Oh I’m feeling like the luckiest guy in the whole world right now.” You could feel Jake pressing himself against you, silently but not so subtly telling you exactly what this whole encounter was doing to him.

“Really? Is that so?” You asked like you weren’t aware of the rock hard erection pressing against your pelvis. Jake just pressed his lips together in an attempt to hold off the crimson red from creeping up his neck and cheeks. But he wasn’t backing down from a challenge, especially when you were leaving all the right doors unlocked for him to walk right through.

“So lucky that I couldn’t help but to notice the spare bed hasn’t even been made up?”

“Oh so you assumed I’d be your personal chef and the maid tonight?” You countered as you looked around for your three small children, not wanting to expose them to such x-rated content before you slowly but surely sunk your hand into the sweatpants Jake had recently changed into. Damn those grey sweats and damn Jake for going commando. “You are perfectly capable of making your own bed.”

The way your palm wrapped around his length sent sparks through Jake's body like nothing he’d ever felt before. Your touch was so beautiful and elegant, like you knew exactly what he needed and where he wanted it.

“Or I could just sleep in yours, with you.” Jake nearly begged as your fist slid up and down his hardened length, feeling him twitch under your control. “Honey—“ He nearly moaned as he fell forward into you, letting his forehead rest against yours. “You’re killing me here.”

“What don’t you get about the fact we’re separated?” You asked almost teasingly like you weren’t pumping him slowly as dinner cooled on the counter behind you while your kids played in the living room.

“For as long as you have my last name, you’re my wife, end of story.” Butterflies, that’s how you’d describe the feeling inside you when Jake, your somewhat ex husband, told you you were still his. You never wanted to not be his, but you were sure that Vanessa maybe wondered if she’d ever be his too.

“Oh you are so full of yourself.” You slowly but surely pulled your hand out from Jake’s sweats and watched him nearly deflate at the loss of sensation, but he never missed a beat, Jake was quick like that, he always had been.

“You could be full of me too if you just let your guard down a little.”

“Jake!!” You slapped his chest firmly as your kids all rushed in at the smell of food.

“I’ll take my stuff upstairs shall I?” He grinned ear to ear, knowing by the way your jaw remained on the ground he had you hook, line and sinker.

“Yeah, you can, to the spare room you idiot.” You watched as Jake fixed himself up and headed in the direction of the stairs. You were still so in love with this man.

“Lenny! Where’s your mothers room?” Jake turned to your eldest son who always knew that the two of you were going to make it through whatever this rough patch was. He had friends who had divorced parents, and even at the young age of six, Lennox knew his parents didn’t hate each other.

“Upstairs to the left, it’s the messy one.” You gave your son the stink eye as he beamed up at you.

“Perfect.” Jake chuckled and sent you a wink. “I’ll be right back.” He was getting laid tonight and you both knew it.

“I’m—“ You hardly had the energy to keep your whole hard to get act up, so with a sigh, you let your guard down for the man who held your heart in the palm of his hands. “You’re unbelievably.”

“I’ve been told by the youth on base it’s called Rizz now.” Jake yelled back as he jogged up the wooden stairs, you could just barely hear him as his voice faded the higher he climbed. But nevertheless, you still heard him.

“Well I can’t wait to get both you and your ‘rizz’ out of my house!” You shouted back, Lenny just laughed as he watched his Dad pull a funny face at your words from the top of the stairs.

“You don’t mean that.” He smiled up at you. “You and dad love each other.” It made your heart skip a beat, but you had to remember that you were playing a dangerous game here. Letting Jake in now would only break his heart more. You had to do what was best for you, and that was to remain separate. At least while you were fighting for your life.

“Maybe, but he’s still a pain in my ass Lenny.”

***~****~****~***~***~***

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 91 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove ve @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination

#was it over? // jake seresin #tw: breast cancer #tw: cancer #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman fic

343 notes · View notes

can-of-w0rmz · 1 year

Text

It’s always so interesting to me how so many people tend to look at protagonists’ reactions in 19th century gothic media and immediately slap a label on them as “over-dramatic” or “weak”, when in reality I don’t think we (as a society) know what we’re talking about. I think our society is collectively desensitised to concepts, and what I mean by that is that the concept of a story like Dracula or Frankenstein isn’t something that we’d ever bat an eye at because it’s been so ingrained into our very understanding or the concept of basic modern horror premises that we no longer appreciate it for what it is, and I’ve been guilty of it too. So a lot of people take the protagonists reactions to their circumstances, and paint it as melodrama or even worse, get high and mighty and claim that if THEY were in that scenario, they would NEVER do something so stupid, right?

But I need you to take a minute to actually think about the positions these characters are in. We’ve become so desensitised to these concepts, but if we were actually in those positions in real life we would probably not be able to handle them half as well as some of these characters. For example, Dracula. Sure, guy goes to stay in spooky castle, client turns out to be a vampire, pretty standard, easy to point at Jonathan Harker’s decisions and blame him. Oh Jonathan, don’t you know walking through an abandoned castle when your client tells you not to is bound to get you hurt? Don’t you know going to a remote area with villagers crossing themselves every five seconds is dangerous?

But actually think about this. You’re a solicitor, you have a fiancée back home and you need this job. You meet your client, he’s a little creepy, you feel unsafe, but you need this job. What are you going to do, turn back and tell your employer you couldn’t do it because the vibes were off? Obviously not. You suck it up. Then slowly, your world starts collapsing around you and slowly getting smaller as you find yourself trapped inside this man’s house and you slowly come to the realisation that you are being held captive in the house of a creepy old man who has access to all the rooms in the house, including your own, and can enter it at any time, in a secluded area far away from everyone, and with no hope of reaching out for help. He has the power to do anything to you, and you’re completely helpless, and does. You are going to die there and none of your loved ones will ever know what happened to you. Your abuser might even fabricate your identity or conduct a lie to ruin all memory of you forever. Then things get worse, and you realise that your abuser and captor isn’t even human. Throw in the infanticide and assault scenes, and that is a horrifying scenario, and I don’t think some people fully recognise that when they read it.

The very same with Frankenstein, oh haha, Victor gets ill often, look at him fainting every five minutes, what a whiny bitchboy, right? But Jesus Christ, again, think about this scenario that he’s in properly. My guy digs up corpses, brings them to his dorm room and stitches them together, only for him to bring said corpses to life and watch his inanimate amalgamation of dead bodies come to life in your house. Now again, imagine cutting up corpses and sewing them together. If you can’t manage that, imagine a friend of yours came to you and told you that they’d been stealing corpses, cutting them up, and sewing them together, and they now have an 8ft tall giant amalgamation or corpses in their room. Now imagine going to their house and seeing that amalgamation of corpses. Good luck not passing out and vomiting all over their bedroom floor, and extra good luck not needing extreme psychiatric care afterwards. Again, corpses. I’m willing to bet half the people here have never even seen a corpse, and this isn’t even freshly-dead-grandma-in-the-coffin, these are decomposing and rotting corpses of real human beings. Observed. And some corpses cut up. And pieced together. Into a giant corpse. Genitalia included. Intestines included. Everything else included. And then that corpse then starts killing everyone you’ve ever loved and you have the added guilt that it IS it’s own person and you’ve abandoned it.

Which of course, could lead me into a whole separate rant, on how I believe that Victor’s flaw doesn’t lie in his horror at his own actions, and his fainting and illness and whatnot, but rather at his deliberate avoidance of the consequences of those actions – (horrifying as they may have been to come to terms with, his avoidance ultimately led to the mental distress and death of tons of completely innocent people, and his avoidance, however difficult, was still very much wrong and Victor is still very much to blame for it) – as well as the mania and obsessive justification he kept using to reach that goal. Although again, it could be argued there was avoidance in that as well – Victor pasting clinical lenses over all his actions, ignoring his family and friends, which ultimately all caught up with him. It’s my reading that Victor isn’t to blame whatsoever because he’s “over dramatic” or that “whiny”, he has every right to be severely traumatised by his experiences, however much his own fault they may be, he is to blame because at every turn where he could have faced his actions and confided in a friend or likewise, he did not, and it led to the deaths of everyone he loved. Except for Ernest, who likely then had to live with the death of his entire family.

But that’s a side rant – my primary point is, I genuinely do not remotely believe that authors in the past were really any more “emotional” or “melodramatic” than we are today. The only difference is that because the premise of these plots have been so deeply engrained into our society, we do not understand how horrifyingly traumatising these situations are by nature and dismiss them out of hand. Dracula did not exist yet when Dracula was being written. Frankenstein did not exist yet when Frankenstein was being written. Don’t come looking to read old gothic literature expecting a camp B-list horror film, and then call the characters over-dramatic when they react like average actual human beings to absolutely horrific scenarios.

And what’s more with regard to general more open affection between friends in older books, no it isn’t unrealistic, we’re all just cynical assholes now. (There’s a limit, obviously. Some characters are just raging homosexuals and there’s no other explanation. “His form so divinely wrought and beaming with beauty” my ass alright now just admit you had gay sex and be done with it)

#gothic lit #classic literature #gothic literature #goth lit #classic lit #frankenstein #frankenstein weekly #dracula #dracula daily #frankenstein or the modern prometheus #re:dracula #re: dracula #victor frankenstein #Jonathan Harker #clervalstein?#clervalstein

946 notes · View notes

3hks · 20 days

Text

Key Components in Creating THAT Character

If you read a lot or enjoy television and interact with the fandoms, you quickly realize that there are certain characters that have fans COMPLETELY wrapped around their finger! And furthermore, they usually end up pretty iconic even though they aren't the main character! (People like Gojo Satoru, Levi Ackerman, Killua Zoldyck--I watch too much anime but hopefully you get the point) So how do they become so popular? Do YOU want to create a character along those lines?

Perfect! Because this guide will have literally everything you need! (Keep in mind that some things will get very specific and there's no need to follow absolutely everything!)

1. Confidence

It doesn't matter if the confidence is a facade or if your character is genuinely confident--readers LOVE a confident character! This is because confidence can establish reliability, easily capturing the audience.

2. Status

Following confidence, it's important that your character has status. I'm not necessarily talking about royalty and whatnot, but if you look at my first three examples (assuming that you know who they are), they all carry a title and are known.

Gojo Satoru: The Strongest Sorcerer

Levi Ackerman: Humanity's Strongest Soldier

Killua Zoldyck: He's a Zoldyck

Again, this creates a sense of reliability and that awareness that your character is someone important.

3. Reputation

Alright, so this character now has confidence and status, so therefore, they also need some kind of a reputation! Consider some of the following questions: Does the public have an opinion on them? If so, what is the general viewpoint? What about the people close your character? Are their opinions accurate to your character's actual personality?

The truth is their reputation doesn't have to reliably reflect them. What the readers see in your character versus the others in the story can be vastly different. So, with these types of characters, it's important to establish a perspective of them that's separate from the audience's!

Now, what does this even do? A reputation builds onto status because it shows that, again, this character is someone who genuinely matters not just to the story itself, but to the actual verse. It also offers a lot of indirect characterization because it demonstrates how they are seen!

I would consider the first three to be the surface level traits, which is not a bad thing at all! However, with these next few points, we're going to dig deeper!

4. Empathy/Sympathy

Yes, yes, I'm well aware that empathy and sympathy are completely separate concepts, but either one will work for what I'm about to talk about next!

Vulnerabilities and flaws are critical to any realistic and quality character.

However, it's important to keep in mind that for THIS type of character, specifically, is meant to be established as someone with status and thus, won't easily show their weaknesses.

When boiled down, treat your readers like all another character.

Don't shove your character's fragilities into your audience's face because that can ruin everything you built up in steps one through three. Instead, leave their weaknesses (not necessarily flaws, they can be revealed however you like) slightly vaguer than you might normally. Let it be up for interpretation!

A simple way to achieve this is to dive into their past and let their old selves speak for themselves!

5. Situation

Great, so now you have the flaws and rough imperfections of your character down! What do you do with them?

Put your character in a situation with something on the line that exposes their vulnerabilities and forces them to confront their issues. Allow your readers to see their flaws physically in action because that's one of the best ways to fully elaborate on their character.

Additionally, if you're looking to flesh them out or generate more emotion, this will achieve that! With these characters, they NEED their time in your story.

6. Development

Just like all characters, the fundamentals still apply, and this character is no exception to development! If you're not too sure about what changes to make, start with step 5 and continue from there! There is no need to make a drastic difference, a simple realization or small alteration will do!

CONCLUSION

Alright, let's wrap this up! Steps 1-3 are the basis to creating your character's personality! It gives the impression that they are important and have a reputation. Steps 4-6 are mainly for development and to create a more dimensional character; but the main takeaway is that any weaknesses should not be downright stated but instead hinted at!

Happy September and happy writing~

3hks <3

#writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #creative writing #writing inspo #writing tips #writing advice #writing a popular character #how to write an instantly popular character #how to write a popular character #writing an instantly popular character #how to write THAT character

83 notes · View notes

itsmeatballworld · 2 years

Text

| silence in the library |

pairing | boyfriend!daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | when searching through Alexandria’s local library, Daryl decides to take advantage of his moment alone with you.

wc | 2k

warning | SMUT so 18+ only! p in v (wrap it irl), mutual masturbation, praise kink, etc. it’s smutty lol

a/n | thank you to my lovelies @weretheones @devnmon @ivuravix @finalgirlrick @normanplusdaryl @spncupcake for beta reading my mess <3 ily!!!

MDNI banner from @/cafekitsune

“Higher.”

He grunted as his hands slid past your knees.

You wiggle forward, but it was pointless. “Just a bit higher, Daryl.”

He adjusts his grip on your legs again.

“Okay, now hold it there.”

Right there. With all your strength, you reached out.

“Got it!” Your fingers wrapped around the leather spine, cradling it close to your chest. The book was dusty but just the one you’ve been looking for.

Daryl tightened his grip, “alright?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Just don’t drop me, baby.”

“Nah. Never.”

You dipped your head, staring down at your dark-haired boyfriend. Straddling his shoulders was the only way you’d be able to reach the selves without a ladder. Plus, it was fun. Why spend time searching for a ladder when you had him standing next to you?

After your feet touch the ground, the leather-bound book drops to the table.

“This was the last one.” You admired each of the old and new books, quickly organizing them into piles. “I think we’ve got enough.”

“Good,” he steps closer to examine the stack of novels. He leans into your side, sliding his arm around your waist. His muscles tighten as he pulls you back against his broad chest.

“We really need those too?”

He pointed down to a set of old farmer almanac books.

“It’s on the list,” you murmur between flipping pages. “Take it up with Michonne.”

When you and Daryl signed up for the run, Michonne gave you a list of books they needed to plan the community gardens. There were hopes these works would still be available, considering agricultural books weren't always flying off the shelves compared to other genres.

Old English Farming Book. Mini-Farming. All filled with self-sustaining concepts to produce crops and allow people to thrive beyond consumerism. And with thanks to you and Daryl, you managed to gather enough readings on the list.

“Pussy…willow?”

“It’s a type of flower.” You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the stupid smirk on your face. “Are you reading over my shoulder?”

“Mhm.” His hand pressed into the curve of your side.

The local library was smaller than the others around Alexandria, which made it much easier to search. This room was set back off the main floor, tucked behind rows and rows of dark wooden shelves stacked with books. Even at the end of the world, you didn't dare ruin the librarian’s methodical arrangements.

With one arm keeping you close enough to feel his chest rise and fall, Daryl’s other hand settled on your shoulder. He started kneading at your tight muscles, digging his rough fingers into your skin a bit more each time.

You scanned the pages of the book, but nothing stuck. Each word you read seemed to drift off the paper and into thin air, vanishing from your mind. Sentences started and stopped without meaning. Restarting the page didn’t change where his hands were and what you wanted him to do with them.

His fingers were gentle yet strong. All you could think about was how he circled and dug in. Again and again.

“Daryl.”

You tried to ignore how he responded to your voice. His fingers spread out, then he palmed at the muscle.

Daryl wasn’t direct when he wanted something. But when he wanted you, he gave noticeable hints. First, he’d find a way to twist himself against you or wind his hands under your shirt. It was always light but obvious contact.

And with him there was always a time and place for intimate moments. Daryl wasn't the kind of guy to grab you and fuck you without a plan. He liked the comfort of your bedroom. He liked the opportunity to be close and confined with you.

He wanted time to worship you, feel you, pleasure you–without the risk of the dead or living invading the rare moments he gets you all to himself. But today was different. There was something in the way his eyes lingered on you. How every time he stepped into your space, his hands would find themselves on your skin.

You cleared your throat, trying and failing to curve the fluttery feeling in your belly. He was your boyfriend but you hated getting distracted. Especially on a run.

“It… uh, it says we should be able to grow beets and squash too. Maybe if we can find some okra seeds, we can plant those next to the tomatoes–”

“Mhm.”

You glanced over your shoulder. He was not reading with you anymore.

“Are you just gonna stare at me all day?”

“I’m thinkin’ bout other things.” His hands slid down before finding the clasp of your belt. Daryl’s thumb hooks your belt loop as his big hand splayed out across the front of your jeans.

Still watching him, you flipped a page in the book. That page turn sparked something behind those deep blue eyes. He dropped his chin so his lips were inches from yours.

“Put the book down,” he grumbled. A sly smile crossed his face as he dipped lower. “Help me get these pants off.”

Like something magnetic tugged you together, his lips caught yours. Chests were flush against one another as Daryl hoisted you up and onto the table. Your back jammed into a book edge but Daryl was already clearing the space.

He was quick to slip each piece of clothing off that was necessary, leaving only your bra clasped to your chest.

Spread out for him like this was exciting. He hungrily watched you as the pile of clothes grew beneath his feet. Yet he was still dressed. So you squirmed, reaching for his belt –

He stopped you.

“Stay still.”

“But I wanna make you feel good,” you murmur.

With one hand he undid his buckle and tossed it to the side. “Nah, that’s my job.”

His hunger for you was avid and obvious from the bulge in his boxers. But when he lowered his mouth to your exposed pussy, it was even clearer.

There was something so powerful about him when he was between your legs. He had an unbreakable hold on you that made your head spin. His tongue was dangerously good at this and he knew it. It wasn't very hard to get you close when he went down on you.

He was gentle yet rough as he took his time to work your pussy. He licked your sensitive clit with broad strokes, then tighter circles, making you see stars. You shut your eyes, twisting your fingers through his hair as he lapped at your core.

You gasp, “Fuck–Daryl.”

That pattern was magical.

His mouth sucked and licked as you buck up against him. His hands slowly moved closer to your breasts, squeezing you through the fabric. You gasped, wishing the constant pleasure would both end and never stop. Almost like he heard you, Daryl moved.

“Hold on,” he pants.

A cold chill tickled your skin where he slipped away, which had your hands reaching to pull him back. But when your eyes rested on him, you stopped.

Taking himself in his hands, he stroked his throbbing cock. He ran his thumb across his swollen tip, working the shaft in tight circles.

“Touch ‘ur self.”

Hesitant, you sat up onto your elbows. Daryl rolled fist and pumped himself, struggling to quiet his moans.

“Now?”

Ignoring your question, he continued to pump himself. There was something so sinfully hot about watching him jerk himself off. Your fingers slip past your stomach to your pussy, gently finding the swollen and sensitive spot he’d been deliberately stimulating.

He was aching, twisting and pumping himself slow then fast. He couldn't help himself from muttering praising words about how good he felt and how good you were doing.

That’s my girl.

Faster.

Just–uh–like that.

Every single word kept you going. His voice was gruff and scratchy as he praised you. So you returned the favor.

You like that?

God, you feel so good.

You’re so big.

Coaxing you closer and closer, each moan was stifled by your own will. But it was getting harder to wait. Watching him above you working himself raw was starting to make you crazy. You bucked up, fighting the urge to give in before he did.

“Oh god,” you gasp as you rub and circle your swollen clit.

“My girl,” he whined. “Fuckin’ sexy.”

It took all your strength to stop. You sat up, hooking your legs around Daryl to pull him back to you. “Inside me.” Everything sounded like a plea, as if you’d implode without his touch. “Inside. Me. Now.”

Daryl didn’t think twice. He leaned over you once more and thrusted his slick, aching cock inside you to finish.

“‘s my girl,” he grunts. “Like that?” His hips rut into you again as he grabs hold of your ankles.

Yes. Each thrust was deep and mind-numbing. Your hands cling to his vest in an attempt to hold yourself steady. He pushed your legs closer to your chest as he cradled your ankles, making himself sink deeper. A cry escapes your lips as his pace slows with the angle shift, dragging his cock in and out in short yet deep strokes.

Words seemed lost on your tongue. Yes. Yes, oh god, yes. But all that you could muster were earth shattering moans.

Waves of heat and pleasure that built up for so long came crashing down with haste. Moans were the least of your sounds. Desperation to ride out your high fueled your own movements as his hips rocked against you. You were pulsating around him, tightening and releasing without thinking anymore when he came. It was hot and fast, leaving Daryl grunting as he tightened his grip on you.

There, in the final moment of pure ecstasy, he lowered your legs and pulled you in close. Your lips met before Daryl breathed into your neck. “Ain’t yah… supposed to be quiet in these places?”

Through hot and ragged breaths, an exasperated chuckle left your lips. “Technically.”

“Shit.” He put his boxers back on and passed your jacket. “Sounded better with us in ‘ere.”

Clothes were still piled below in random stacks. Each piece was handed out quickly as it was getting late.

You lowered yourself onto the dusty rug and slipped on your pants. But like the unspoken gentleman he is, your boyfriend helps you dress, winding your belt back through its loops.

“I can do that,” you murmured.

“Nah. I got it.”

Even now, you couldn't help but smile. Daryl was rough around the edges, but beyond the rough exterior was a sweet soul.

There was a softness to his touch that drove you wild. He cared about every inch of you and did his best to show you. Taking care of you in the smallest, silliest ways was important.

But you could dream about him later when these books were dropped off. After finishing with the clothes, each of you grabbed a stack of books. As you meandered through the library one last time, you strangely wanted to stay here.

In your own world, in this silly little bubble beside shelves of agricultural books. It was a haven.

Near the lobby, you were inches from the door when he stopped.

“Hold up.” Daryl drops the stack of books, hopping over the main counter. He scanned the table, shoving things around until a crooked smile pulled at his lips.

“‘Ey. Hand ‘em over.”

Curious, you place your stack down next to his and watch as he lifts a stamp. Property of Alexandria Public Library. Each bookcard was marked before he joined you again.

You smirked, “having fun?”

“Mm-hm.” With his free arm, he circled you close to his chest. Daryl kissed your temple before shouldering the front door open.

“Pop the trunk.”

The door shut behind you with a thump.

“That was fun.”

“Wanna go again later?”

With a mischievous smile, it was finally time to head home.

><<>><

#Daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #reader x daryl dixon #reader x daryl #you x Daryl #you x Daryl dixon #y/n x daryl dixon #y/n x daryl

989 notes · View notes

moongothic · 28 days

Text

So a few weeks ago I ran into this, old, old Crocodile meta post from 2015, the OP of which hasn't been active on Tumbr (at least on that account) since 2018. And this post (along with some of the OP's other posts) has been living in my head rent free since then.

There was just something there about seeing these old meta posts, completely detached from the current state of the story, the fandom and the Crocodad Propaganda... It just made for a truly refreshing read, but they also had such great observations about Crocodile I hadn't even thought about or noticed*, and somewhat most importantly... validating my own feelings/observations about things I've been kind of afraid to vocalize myself lest I apper completely delulu. Like I dunno I do worry sometimes if I'm just reading into things too much just to make massive reaches to get The Reading of the character that happens to support the Crocodad theory specifically, instead of trying to get a more objective reading instead. So seeing someone else make either those exact same or similar observations nearly 10 years before I did is so validating, and really just made me want to discuss some of those things.

*(Like this whole post about how "DON!" is often used to add emphasis and show the true beliefs of characters, and how Crocodile doesn't really say things with a DON!, almost like his heart isn't in most of the things he does or says. I dunno it was such a good read)

Sidenote: I do want to quickly comment that I don't agree with the OP on some of their readings about stuff, and more importantly, due to the age of the both the original posts and the OP not being active anymore, I didn't want to, like... Treat them as if they just posted it recently and interact with the posts as such. (I dunno, when people go digging through my decade old main blog and start reblogging shit I posted in like 2014 it just. I dunno, it's just kind of uncomfortable. Like you're allowed to browse my past but I wished people let my ancient cringe stay in the past. But that's just me) Like for example I feel like OP has a fundamental misunderstanding what being "trans" really even means (thus I don't agree with their take on trans Croc), but again, OP's take is old and so I don't want to hold it against them. They could have grown since then and come to better understand what being trans means, and regardless of that they don't have to buy into the theory either. And I absolutely do not want anyone to start trying to pester them about it or anything (again, they posted these things nearly 10 years ago), regardless of if they're still active or not. But yeah, that's why this is a whole separate post rather than a reblog with commentary.

So OP in their post speculated how in this moment (chap 206), based on the face he makes and the serious look he gives to Luffy, Crocodile seems to find the idea of someone being willing to die for someone else's sake absolutely incomprehensible, as if he's trying to wrap his head around the mere concept. That, or he used to know what it was like to hold someone/something that dear to you, but has long forgotten what it was like

Rereading this arc a while back I couldn't help but to take notice of this panel too and that unusual, somber(?) look on Crocodile's face. But because I'm a Crocodad Truther, of course I couldn't help but to feel that this was a face of recognition, of Crocodile understanding Luffy exactly in this moment, that willingness to do anything for a loved one. Especially because I have been speculating Crocodile might've been doing all of this with the goal of nuking the World Government out of orbit to protect his long lost baby boy (it's just that he simply finds Luffy's insistence on protecting this random ass princess from a random ass country he has zero ties to ridiculous, as opposed to like, doing all of this to protect immidiate, close family)

So again, despite the different reading it is validating as hell to see someone else think this panel in particular was odd. But the more I thought about it, I did kind of start leaning towards OP's reading. Now this one was originally pointed out by opbackgrounds, how in this scene (chapter 196) while Crocodile is meant to be laughing and mocking the royal guard for "throwing their lives away" to protect Cobra, he isn't actually smiling. We don't even get to see his full face with his eyes blacked out, so we don't get to see Crocodile's true feelings in this scene

And that does kind of reframe what he says in the second panel. For a long time I wondered if the implication was that Crocodile does actually value people's lives more than he lets on (especially with his seeming willingness to blow up a million people in a violent, orchestraded coup), just having a "small sacrifice for the greater good" kinda outlook (as we know, casualties can't be avoided in war, Croco and Luffy both agree on that) (where as I would IMAGINE Dragon having a more "no sacrifices, we have to save as many people as possible" kinda principle)

But now, looking at these two moments together, and knowing Crocodile has trust issues for unknown reasons, there is also that option that, perhaps... No one has ever shown that kind of loyalty towards him, a willingness to follow him to the grave or support him, to stay by his side? And if so, maybe, in these two scenes, Crocodile does recognize that kind of deep loyalty and trust and love, and has to cope with the fact that he has and may never experience it himself, that he's doomed to be alone, surrounded only by people who "respect him" out of fear (something that could be extra painful while knowing someone had just recently betrayed him by leaking his info to ruin his plans/after figuring out it was Robin, his very literal partner in crime. Like talk about rubbing salt into a wound).

And y'know, that is an extremely sad reading and I feel so bad for my poor little meow meow (that man needs a hug so bad), but also that doesn't really add to pushing The Crocodad Agenda, which is very unfortunate. Especially because I feel like between the two readings, Crocodile recognizing loyalty no one will ever show him (and being hurt by the fact) feels like a more comprehensive and simple reading, than if one is about him showing he doesn't fully believe in what he's doing is right and the other about him relating to Luffy on a deeper level.

But then, as OP pointed out in their post, for the entirety of page 2 of Chapter 207 while Luffy is keeling over from the poison finally kicking in, Crocodile looks like he's fully letting down his walls to express genuine relief, as if the those beliefs Croc had carried and convinced himself were true were just confirmed

What're his beliefs again? That trust in others is worthless, and you can not afford to have ideals if you're weak, great strenght being the only thing that allows you, if not straight up justifies you, in doing whatever you please? Now, maybe it's just me, but if Crocodile was showing relief here over his belief that trusting others is worthless after being reminded time and time again of the love and loyalty the Strawhats have for each other and the Alabastan kingdom has for everyone in it (etc)... I dunno, I feel like that would be kind of weak, if that's where Crocodile's internalized beliefs were wavering. But if Crocodile's whole Utopia-plan had been about destroying the WG to protect his baby boy (and release the whole world from the WG's oppressive rule while he's at it) at whatever cost, while he deep inside knew what he was doing was fucked up beyond belief... Yeah, Crocodile trying to convince himself what he was doing was "justified" would make sense. Him having his beliefs potentially even waver a little bit through out this whole ordeal would make sense. Crocodile in this moment experiencing relief that what he had told himself was the righteous would make sense.

Everybody remember's Doflamingo's speech from Marineford, about how history is written by the victors and its them who decide what is right and what is wrong- the winner becomes "justice" itself. Vegapunk kind of called back to this concept during his broadcast too, and yeah, Crocodile did kind of introduce us to it back in Alabasta. If he had won, he would have been "justified" in what he had done, because it'd be him who'd be deciding what's right and what's wrong.

Now I don't really have anything else to add to that post in particular (though I absolutely love the reading on the Crocodile vs Robin part and now that I've read it I can't unsee nor disagree with it), but OP did make a separate post speculating about some of design decisions Oda made regarding Crocodile, starting with discussing the logo for Baroque Works. And they pointed this out

Bro wrote this in 2015, they have no idea, oh my god, dude had no clue whatsoever

So quickly looking that one up and yeah, wings have sometimes been used to represent the sun (most commonly with the sun, as a winged sun?) and yeah, that actually has a lot of meaning in the current state of the series re: God of Liberation the Sun God Nika. But what's more is that this is actually the SECOND time we're actually finding a way to link Crocodile to sun-symbolism, the other being Crocodile being a reference to the Egyptian god Sobek (protector god, god of military, go to Wikipedia), who has an alternative form (/fusion with Ra) called Sobek-Ra, where he is a sun god. And what was Crocodile trying to do in Alabasta if not falsely "liberate" the country from its original rule. Also worth noting is that seemingly the winged sun was most commonly used in Egyptian iconography, so if Oda ever did research Egyptian mythology for inspiration in Alabasta (which, considdering the sheer amount of Stuff in the story as a whole is more than likely), then it is very possible he could have read about the winged sun and used it intentionally.

But what I do find interesting is that, yeah, wings kinda are a symbol one would considder "heroic" or related to "freedom". And, as I have been going on and on about, if Crocodile's ultimate goal in creating his funny little "utopia" was to overthrow the World Government and "free" the whole world of their rule. Like. That really lines up with the whole symbolism with the sun and the liberation and the freedom and shit, like. Why does it line up so neatly good dear god

I dunno how to end this post, these were just a few little things that I had been thinking about after coming across OP's blog and, yeah, just wanted to discuss them.

Again, OP hasn't been active for years, but if they did suddenly come back please don't bother them or god forbid harrass them/try to get them to change their mind about trans Croco. Just don't start shit, please.

End of post byeeeeeeee

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Sir Crocodile #Crocodad #Me? Writing an actual honest to god Meta Post? For once? It's a bloody miracle #Did not proofread the latter portion of the post I'll probably come back to edit it later #I dunno man sometimes seeing A Fresh (Vintage) Take about a subject just gets the ol' brain running again #Not that I really had that much to add I was just. Resummarizing OP's points and turning it into Crocodad Propaganda

56 notes · View notes

hotchscoffeecup · 6 months

Text

come home with me

pairing: emily prentiss/aaron hotchner

rating: t

category: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending

word count: 7.2k

summary: An alternate version of "Faceless, Nameless," where Foyet leaves Hotch to bleed out in his apartment and Emily finds him clinging to life. Her quick response saves his life but causes her to question her own decisions in the hours leading up to finding him. Hotchniss. Hurt/comfort with sweet ending. Some angst.

Emily yawns and wishes she’d taken that second cup of coffee for the road this morning when she’d left the office. As the elevator dings, she steps out onto the carpeted hallway. If he slept through his alarm while the rest of us are out working this case, I’m going to kill him, she thinks as she stifles another yawn.

She checks her phone and surprise, there’s no new texts, voicemails, or emails from Hotch. She selects his contact and hits dial, bringing the phone to her ear as she scans the identical doors for his apartment number.

You’ve reached SSA Aaron Hotchner— Emily groans out loud and snaps her phone shut, cutting off his voicemail, her irritation starting to border on anger. This wasn’t like Hotch, ignoring his phone. Sure they’d all been exhausted last night, but to the point he sleeps this late into the morning and doesn’t bother to answer his phone? No, something wasn’t right. She could feel it in her gut.

She should’ve gone home with him when he offered, but she knew how they operated when a case was over and they settled in for the night. One glass of wine would lead to another and, well, very little sleep would be had for either of them. She’d been so physically, mentally, and emotionally drained after Canada…just the thought of it now felt like a weight dragging down her shoulders. No, she’d needed to be alone; to shower and wash off the sick and twisted vestiges of the horrors she and the team had discovered on that pig farm.

After turning Hotch down, she’d smiled at him and winked and told him they could go and get a late breakfast once they’d had the opportunity to catch up on sleep. Now, a part of her was glad they’d caught a case. He probably would’ve slept through breakfast, anyway, she thought irritably. Ok, she wasn’t actually glad they’d caught a case. This one was a doozy and they needed every pair of eyes they could get if they were going to keep the doctor and his son safe; and they were running out of time. She hated cases that involved kids, no matter how old. They didn’t deserve the trauma that would result from having their own or their loved ones' lives threatened.

Finally, Hotch’s apartment comes into view. She tucks her phone into her jacket pocket and rapps her knuckles against the door.

“Hotch, it’s Emily,” she calls and knocks again. She pauses, straining her ears for the sound of shuffling footsteps. Her brow furrows when there is only continued silence.

“Hotch?” she repeats, this time there’s a question in the way she says his name. She knocks again, harder. Rolling her eyes, she digs her phone back out of her pocket and redials his number. A phone rings on the other side of the door, but there is no sound that suggests someone was moving toward it.

Emily’s stomach turns as dread begins to pool in her belly. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end as a sinking feeling takes hold. Her hand drifts to her gun instinctively; her thumb hooking over the rotating hood and releasing her sidearm. As she removes the weapon, she uses her other hand to reach for the doorknob. Before she even attempts to turn it, she knows it will open.

Hotch never leaves his door unlocked.

She pushes the door open and readies her weapon, quickly moving side to side as she sweeps the room for an immediate threat. Hotch’s keys, phone, and bag are on the coffee table and sofa as if he’d just arrived home but she didn’t see him in her initial glances over the open concept apartment. As she continues her sweep, her ears pick up on the sound of soft wheezing.

That same sinking feeling grows as she crosses through the living room and it’s then she sees the bullet hole in the wall and the glass shattered on the floor. She pushes through the feeling of dread, effectively burying it knowing she needs to be alert and prepared for whatever lay beyond the sofa. Hoping for an incapacitated unsub, but knowing better, her world still shatters as she takes in the sight of her friend, supervisor, and lover unconscious and bloody on the linoleum tiled floor.

She drops to her knees and feels for his pulse with two fingers. It’s faint, but there. “Hotch,” she calls his name and holsters her gun, determining the assailant is no longer present.

His dark lashes flutter. “That’s it,” she says encouragingly, “Open your eyes, Aaron. It’s me. It’s Emily.”

“Emily,” he whispers weakly.

She pulls out her phone again and dials 911. Placing it on speaker, she sets the phone down next to Hotch and begins unbuttoning his shirt to further assess the damage.

The operator answers and Emily cuts them off. “This is Agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI.” She grimaces as she haphazardly untucks the rest of his shirt and pushes the fabric out of her way. “I am at The Langham apartment complex, apartment 121. I’m here with SSA Aaron Hotchner. He’s suffered multiple stab wounds. I need paramedics and a crime scene unit sent here immediately.”

Her eyes rapidly scan the woulds, trying to assess which is the worst. God, there is so much blood. Shrugging out of her blazer, she balls the fabric in her fists and applies pressure to the two wounds that appear deepest, those to his abdomen and chest.

Aaron moans and she apologizes. “I know it hurts, just hold on. Help is coming.”

“Paramedics are seven minutes out,” dispatch states over the receiver.

She wants so desperately to hold his face in her hands, to be comforting him instead of causing more pain, but she needs to get the bleeding under control until help arrives.

Hotch’s lashes flutter again and his head lolls to the side where she is kneeling. “Foyet,” he breathes.

Emily’s eyes widen. “The Reaper is here, in DC?”

“I don’t—” his breath rattles as he wheezes. “He was waiting for me.”

“Did he say anything?” She asks as she adjusts her grip on the jacket she’s using to staunch the bleeding, of which is already seeping through the fabric. She curses under her breath, though the sound of sirens can finally be heard in the distance.

“Emily, if I don’t ma—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts, her voice catching. “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, Aaron. You’re going to be fine.”

The sirens are deafening now and she knows they’re pulling up outside. She smiles and releases a short laugh. “They’re here,” she says. “Hold on, Hotch. Just a little longer.”

He blinks slowly, trying to focus on her. “He told me I should’ve,” his eyes close momentarily and then open, “that I should’ve made a deal.”

Her brow pinches, but she doesn’t have time to push further as the paramedics come crashing through the door.

“Over here!” she calls.

Immediately they try to take over. “Ma’am, it’s ok,” the female medic says. “You can take your hands off of him.”

It takes a moment for her voice to register, but Emily does as she is told. She releases the pressure she’d been holding to his injuries, and rolls back on to her heels into a standing position to give them space.

“Heart rate is elevated, pressure is dropping.” The medic evaluates. “Start an IV and hang pressors.”

Emily watches them work, her pulse pounding in her ears. While one pushes the IV into his arm, the other fastens a brace around his neck before moving on to snip away what’s left of his shirt and begin packing the knife wounds with gauze. It’s like the world is moving in slow motion. She doesn’t even register when her phone rings until the medic brings her attention to it. She blinks hard and apologizes. She bends down and scoops it into her hand, smearing blood across the screen as she flips it open. She curses as Spencer’s name flashes under the smudge. She turns her wrist to glance at her watch. It’s been forty five minutes and she told Reid that she’d be back in under thirty.

She wastes no time explaining the situation. Reid reports understanding. Before she hangs up she says, “Reid, it’s bad.” For the first time since finding him, tears choke her voice. “I’ll call Penelope at the hospital, but do not tell the others. You all need to focus on the case.”

Emily hastily hangs up and moves to follow the paramedics as they maneuver the gurney through the apartment.

They stop though as Hotch asks them to wait, his voice imperceptible. His hand falls limply off the gurney and Emily steps in, taking it into hers.

“What did he leave?” he asks, though his voice is muddled by the oxygen mask that’s been placed over his mouth and nose. “What did he take?”

“I-I don’t,” she stammers in response. The Reaper’s profile flashes through her mind’s eyes. The glasses, the wedding ring, he always takes and he always gives. “I don’t know, Hotch.”

She nods to the medics, signaling them to keep moving. Emily doesn’t drop his hand. As long as she can feel the warmth of his skin on hers, she knows he’s alive. That he’s still here.

Crime techs and police units are pulling up to the building as they load Hotch into the back of the ambulance. Emily watches on from her seat, anxiety clawing at her insides as she does her best to stay out of the paramedics’ way as they continue to work on stabilizing Hotch.

The blaring sirens echo in her head, rattling around and bouncing off of her skull. It’s not a sound she’s unfamiliar with, but today it’s drone seems more of a death march than a rally cry. The cavalry isn’t coming to save the day, but rather fleeing from death’s grip.

The ambulance comes to a grating stop and the medics waste no time flinging open the doors and pushing Hotch out. Emily follows quickly and as doctors and nurses swarm the gurney, arms reach out to halt her movement.

Emily cranes her neck around the woman that’s stopped her, pushing against her as she tries to follow the team of doctors that have disappeared behind two swinging double doors.

“No, I have to follow him. I’m an FBI agent,” she states, attempting to leverage some form of authority over the situation.

“Ma’am, he’s being rushed to surgery. I need to make sure you’re alright. Where are you injured?”

Emily’s face screws up, her lips turning and brow furrowing. “Injured? I’m not—” It’s then she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the lobby window. Her face is smeared with Hotch’s blood. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, her eyes drop to her hands, which are covered front and back with blood. The red substance stains the skin on her arms as well as the entire front of the dressy tank top she’d been wearing under her blazer. “It’s not mine,” she finally says.

The nurse’s face softens and Emily hates the way her eyes fill with sympathy. “Is there anyone I can call?”

Yeah, about 7, but they’re all occupied or on death’s door.

“No,” she says. “I can just,” she rubs her temple and takes a deep breath. “Where’s the closest waiting area?”

The nurse tsks and shakes her head. “No, no, come on,” she says, gesturing for Emily to follow her. “You can shower in the locker room. I’ll get a pair of scrubs for you to wear and a bag to store your clothes in.”

Emily thanks her and follow silently, twisting and turning through the many hallways until she reaches the door labeled “Women’s Locker Room.”

“There’s soaps and hair products in each shower. I’ll be right back. Go on in. I’ll leave everything on the bench for you.”

Emily nods her thanks and ducks inside. As she passes by the long stretch of mirror behind the row of sinks, her stomach lurches. It did look like she’d been on the receiving end of Foyet’s knife with how much blood covered the front of her body.

She tears her gaze away from her sullied figure and turns toward the showers. Slowly, she sinks down onto one of the wooden benches. Resting her elbows on her knees, she drops her head into her hands. Thick, hot tears blur her vision as she takes a shuddering breath.

2 minutes, she thinks. 2 minutes and then you pull yourself together.

No sooner does the thought cross her mind does the dam break and the tears free flow down her cheeks in thick, hot lines. She takes deep gasping breaths as the sobs rattle her body. Her mascara bleeds into her eyes, stinging them. Using the backs of her hands, she presses them to her eyes, wiping the tears away and no doubt smearing blood and makeup across her face in the process.

She blows out a breath and forces herself into a seated position. “He’s going to be alright,” she affirms to no one but herself. She stands on shaky legs and feels the weight of exhaustion slowly creeping into her muscles. She kicks out of her boots and undresses.

She swipes at the faucet inside the shower and doesn’t wait for it to warm up before standing under the icy stream of water. She gasps and sputters but keeps her face under the flow. Once the water begins to heat up, she opens her eyes and glances down at her feet. Blood sleuces down her legs in pink rivulets, swirling and disappearing down the drain.

She pumps the lavender scented shower gel into her hand from the dispenser on the wall and scrubs her skin until it’s red and raw. She works it under her nails and up and down her limbs. It feels like it’s stained her permanently, his blood, inked onto her like a tattoo. After washing her hair, she cuts the water off and squeezes the water from her dark locks. She pulls the shower curtain open and just as the nurse had said, everything had been left for her in a neat pile on the bench. The nurse had even bagged her dirty clothes for her, not like Emily would try to salvage them. She dresses quickly in the pair of blue scrubs. They're a little big on her, but it feels so good to not be wearing clothes soaked with Hotch’s blood.

Slowly, but surely, she retraces her steps back to the waiting room and the charge nurse at the desk tells her Hotch is still in surgery. Of course he is. It had only been twenty five minutes since she’d arrived.

At least if he’s still in surgery, he’s still alive, she thinks, though the thought is still far from comforting.

Reluctantly, Emily crosses the waiting room and sinks into one of the plastic covered chairs settling in for a painfully long afternoon that smelled like antiseptic.

•

It bewilders her to look down at the hard tile floor and not see a path worn down to the cement underneath. How long had she been pacing this same stretch of floor in the waiting room? Her thumb nail aches from where she’d been anxiously gnawing it down to the quick, a bad habit she’d fought for years to quit, but in her most vulnerable moments came back.

She glances down at her watch, of which she’d been ninety eight percent successful at cleaning free of Hotch’s blood. She’d have to send it out to get the bits stuck in between the interlocking pieces of the wrist band cleaned out. It had been three hours. She blows out an exasperated breath.

Surely there would have been some update by now. What if he’s—

She’s unable to finish the thought when a doctor pushes through the double doors where Hotch had disappeared behind earlier.

She perks up and sends up a silent prayer that he’s on his way to see her. He wears a surgeon’s cap, covering his short blonde hair, and as he meets her eyes, she knows it’s the doctor that operated on Hotch.

“Well?” she asks, her voice shaking with the anticipation of news. “How is he?”

The doctor approaches and slows to a stop in front of her. “It was touch and go there for a while. He lost a lot of blood. We were able to stabilize him, but it’ll take some time for him to heal. He’ll be out of commission for a month, maybe longer.”

“Can I see him?” Emily asks, eyes pleading.

A glimmer of sympathy flashes across the surgeon’s eyes. He nods. “He’s unconscious now. When he wakes, he’ll likely be out of it. He’s under the influence of some pretty strong painkillers.”

Emily swallows and nods as she inhales. “I understand.”

The doctor’s eyes shift then and Emily immediately realizes he’s got more to say. “Is there something more I should know?”

“Well,” he begins. “When you brought him, you confirmed with the paramedics and nurses that that is indeed, Aaron Hotchner.”

Emily’s features twist, puzzled by his question. “Yes?”

“We found this when we cut his clothes off of him.” He reaches into his pocket and passes Emily a bifold badge identical to hers. She flips it open, eyes widening as she reads Derek Morgan’s name and her mind flashes to several weeks earlier when he’d lost his credentials. George Foyet had stolen them from him.

“Thank you,” she says and tucks the badge into the scrubs pocket. “Derek is a member of our team. This relates to a case we’re working on. I’m afraid I can’t say more. Please,” she says, her words now a plea, “take me to him.”

The doctor hesitates, like he might say more, but he doesn’t. “Follow me, then.”

•

Her eyelids are so heavy, but she refuses to fall asleep in case he wakes up. She takes another sip from the now lukewarm hospital coffee. It’s bitter on her tongue and her stomach roils as it travels down her esophagus. When was the last time she ate? She glances at the clock and it’s pushing 3:00PM. School would be getting out soon. Her thoughts wander to Reid and the team, and if they’d had any luck with locating the unsub threatening the doctor and his son. How could this be the same day she’d woken up on? It felt like it had been days since she said goodnight and kissed Hotch goodbye after he walked her to her car last night. It was only this morning since they were supposed to go to breakfast and enjoy the rare day off from cases and unsubs and torture and murder.

She holds Hotch’s loose hand in hers, the feel of his skin and its warmth a comfort. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, and rotates his hand gently to hold it against her cheek. Closing her eyes, she leans into his palm and kisses the skin there gently. “I should’ve gone home with you,” she whispers, “Maybe I could’ve done something.”

She ponders the likelihood of that as she sits there watching the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beeping of the heart monitor pulsing rhythmically beside her. Now and then the blood pressure cuff around his arm hisses as it contracts and releases. What were the odds that her being there would’ve changed the outcome? The Reaper had almost exclusively killed couples, but those were in smaller enclosed settings. He took advantage of couples by trapping them in their vehicles, minimizing their ability to escape. Hotch might have still taken off his gun, but would she have? Would Foyet have even had the chance to get the shot off? Or would that bullet have gone into her instead of the wall?

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy, Emily,” she whispers to herself. She knows there is no sense in reviewing the ‘what if’s,’ but it seems impossible when her entire support system is unavailable and she’s keeping this monumental secret from them.

“Just wake up, Hotch,” she quietly pleads before pressing another kiss to his hand. “I just need you to be okay.”

Her eyes flare as she feels the slightest twitch against her ring finger. She sits up straighter and holds his hand in both hers.

“Hotch?”

Her breathing stills. Did she imagine that? She squeezes his hand in hers.

“It’s Emily, Aaron. I’m here.”

Faintly, his fingers press into hers. An excited bubble of laughter escapes her lips as relief floods through her veins. She kisses his knuckles. “Thank God,” she whispers.

“Emi—” his voice is hoarse as he starts, but doesn’t finish her name. His eyes don’t open, but his head tilts in her direction.

“I’m right here, Hotch,” she says, shushing him. “I’m not going anywhere. Just, just rest.”

Hotch hums a response but doesn’t articulate anything further than that.

“Emily!” Garcia’s voice is filled with both pain and relief.

She sits up and gingerly lays Hotch’s hand back down on the bed. “Penelope!” Emily stands up and quickly closes the space between them and pulls her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope soothes as she rubs a hand up and down Emily’s back. “I’m so sorry you were dealing with this all by yourself.” She pulls away and looks her up and down from behind the lenses of her purple glasses.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Emily says. Her brow pinches. “But the team, the case—”

Penelope’s pink-painted lips curve into a smile as she holds up a manicured finger, cutting her off. “Not to worry, my sweet girl. The case is closed. The team saved the day. All is good in the world.” Penelope purses her lips as she pauses. “Well, except for the part where Agent Hotchner was treated like mincemeat and Reid was shot.”

Emily’s head snaps up. “Reid was what?” she shouts.

Penelope’s eyes widen and the glittery green eyeshadow she’s applied to her eyelids shines under the fluorescent hospital lighting. She waves her hands in front of her body, the multi-colored bangles on her wrist jingling as she does so. “No, no, no, no, no,” she repeats again and again. “He’s fine, he’s fine. He caught one in the leg, but he’s ok. I think he’s being patched up down the hall.”

Emily is already halfway out the door as she calls over her shoulder, “Maybe lead with that next time!”

Penelope’s high-heeled clad feet click and clack as she teeters after her. “Sorry!” she cries as she catches up to her. “So much has happened today I’m just glad that everyone is ok, well, as ok as one can be given the circumstances of the last 72 hours.”

Emily inclines her head to the side and blows air out through her nose. “You could say that again.” Without pausing to peer inside and be sure she’s in the right room, she enters the only other hospital room with an open door, the sound of voices telling her she’s found the right place.

Morgan, Rossi, and JJ stand around the hospital. They’re faces all bear surprised expressions and confusion. Somehow she finds it in herself to crack a joke, “Guys, I get it. My Prada boots don’t match the scrubs, it’s not that bad.”

Morgan breaks apart from the semi-circle that’s formed around Spencer, who also looks incredibly happy to see her despite his injured leg, and pulls her into a hug. “You could’ve called,” he chastises.

Emily rolls her eyes as she pulls away and transitions into JJ’s open arms. “You would’ve made the same call, Morgan. He grunts in response and she smirks to herself.

“How’s Hotch?” Spencer asks, using his fists to push himself into a sitting position without bending his braced leg.

Emily blows out a breath. “He’s in pretty bad shape, I won’t lie. What do we have on Foyet? Anything?”

Rossi shakes his head. “Nothing yet. Crime techs are still going over the apartment.”

“Someone needs to tell them to look for anything that looks like it might be missing; disturbed dust, signs something was torn from something, anything.”

“What are you getting at, Emily?” Derek asks.

Her gaze locks on his as she reaches into her pocket. Without looking, she passes his credentials to him. His eyes shimmer with concern as he takes his badge from her. “Where did you find this?”

“The surgeon,” she gestures aimlessly toward the day. “It was in his pants pocket. Foyet must have put it there after he,” she pauses, voice wavering.

“Ok,” Morgan says, tucking his badge into his pocket. “Thanks, Emily. Rossi, can you?”

“Already on it,” Rossi answers, phone up to his ear. Someone answers almost immediately and he begins to deliver instructions to them regarding this development.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness and nausea crashes over her. Emily takes a step and stumbles, catching herself on the rail of Spencer’s hospital bed.

“Emily!” Spencer and JJ shout in unison, though JJ is the one to catch her, holding her up with a supportive arm.

Emily blinks twice, hard. The wave passes and she straightens, shrugging out of JJ’s arms though JJ keeps her hand on her back just in case.

“Prentiss, when’s the last time you had something to eat or drink?” Morgan asks, and he sounds more like her father, than her friend.

Her eyes search the room for a clock and quickly land on the digital red numbers blinking up from a small box on the bedside table. 6:04 PM blinks back at her. “What time did we land last night?” she asks.

Morgan releases an exasperated sigh. “That’s it, I’m taking you home.” He reaches for her arm and Emily recoils. “No, Morgan. I’m fine. I need to stay here. Hotch—”

“Will be fine,” he finishes. His brown eyes are hard, but there’s concern in them too. “You’re no good to him, or anyone here if you pass out. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Emily emerges from her bathroom smelling like her own vanilla-scented shower gel and floral shampoo. She pulls her robe around her and pulls the ties around her waist, securing it at her navel. She smells a combination of aromatic spices and exits the bedroom to find Morgan closing the door to her apartment. In his hand is a white plastic bag, its sides fit to bursting from the number of styrofoam takeout containers stacked inside.

He smiles, flashing a row of white teeth as he does so. He holds up the bag and shakes it, wiggling his hips as he does so. “I got your favorite,” he sing-songs. “We are going to have an Indian feast. We got butter chicken. We got chana masala. We got paneer, and girl, we got enough naan to last us a lifetime.”

Emily smiles, though it feels almost wrong to do so when Hotch and Spence are in the hospital and Foyet is still out there.

As if reading her thoughts, Morgan shakes his head and drops the food on her coffee table. “No,” he says as he shakes his head. “Nope, come on,” he takes her by the hand and guides her to the sofa. “You are allowed to eat and rest. Hotch is stable and Penelope is knitting the world’s longest scarf at his bedside as we speak. JJ just texted me and they’re taking Spencer home now.” He plops on the couch and pulls her down to sit beside him. “You’re only job right now,” he says as digs in his pocket and pulls out a plastic-wrapped set of disposable silverware, “is to eat, drink, and sleep.”

Emily wakes with a start. Very seldom did she fall asleep on the couch. The credits to How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days roll on the flat screen. She pushes herself into a seated position and that’s when she realizes she’d fallen asleep on Morgan’s shoulder. He stirs but doesn’t wake as she stands and picks up the now very empty takeout boxes. She crinkles the aluminum foil linings as quietly as she can as she pushes the trash down into the bin in her kitchen. The headache she’d had when they’d left the hospital is gone, thanks to the many glasses of water Morgan has pushed in front of her. She flips off the kitchen light and crosses back into the living room where she picks up the remote to turn off the TV. Pulling the throw blanket off of the back of the couch, she tosses it over Morgan’s hulking frame and her lips curve into a half smile as he subconsciously snuggles into the plush blanket.

“Goodnight, Derek,” she whispers as she walks to her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. She leans her back against the wood of the door. Light from the streetlights streams in through her partially open blinds, casting strange shadows around the room. She twists them shut, blocking out the light, and climbs into bed. Her muscles ache as she sinks into the mattress, finally allowing them to relax and after making them carry her through the day. She turns onto her side and stares at the empty space beside her. She pictures Hotch resting his head on the pillow next to hers, smiling and telling her goodnight; what they should’ve been doing last night. Instead, he’d been mutilated on the floor of his home, where he was supposed to feel safe after a day of combatting danger.

She blinks back tears and pushes the thought from her mind. “Hotch is fine,” she whispers, reminding herself. As her eyes fall shut and she allows sleep to finally drag her into its cool embrace, she thinks of Hotch squeezing her hand in the hospital. She thinks of its warmth. It’s enough to promise her a dreamless sleep, and that’s far better than being haunted by nightmares.

Emily wakes with the sun. The golden light streams through the blinds in slats across her bed. She glances at the clock and it reads 6:34 AM. A full 7 hours, that was more sleep than she’d had since before the team left for Canada.

After quickly going through the motions of her morning routine: washing her face, brushing her teeth and hair, and dressing in a comfortable pair of leggings and Hotch’s old FBI Academy sweatshirt, she emerges from her bedroom.

Morgan is still right where she left him, though at some point during the night, he’d stretched the length of his body across the whole of the couch. She stifles a laugh. One leg is dangling off of the couch while one arm is stretched straight out overhead. His mouth hangs open as he cuddles the bulk of the throw blanket against his chest. Silently, she pads across the room to where she left her phone on the kitchen counter. Approaching a sleeping Derek with as little sound as she can muster, she flips open her cell phone and snaps a pic. Derek’s eyes snap open and widen as he immediately sees Emily with the phone in hand.

“Oh hell, no!” he jumps up from the couch but before he can take one step, the throw blanket twists around his ankles effectively tripping him. Those three seconds are enough for Emily to text the photo to Garcia.

“Gimme that phone!” Derek orders as he finally makes it to his feet and tries to wrangle it from her. As he wraps his arms around her from behind, Prentiss can’t help but laugh. “Too late, Morgan. I already sent her the photo of Sleeping Beauty. You know that’s going in the archive.”

Morgan releases her and points a finger at her. “As long as it doesn’t make it into the slideshow at the Christmas party.”

Emily arches an eyebrow and tilts her head back and forth, weighing the likelihood of that. “We’ll have to see about that.”

Morgan laughs and his features soften into a gentle smile. He inclines his head toward her. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, and a small wave of guilt crashes over her. She allows it to do so and then envisions it cresting before rolling gently over a sandy beach. She takes a deep breath and smiles knowing that Hotch would want her to be laughing and joking despite what he’s been through. He’d remind her that Foyet would’ve been there regardless of if she’d come home with him. And she knew that he’d be telling her that he was glad she wasn’t there, because he couldn’t bear to see anything happen to her.

“Thanks for last night,” she says. “I really needed it.”

Morgan waves her off. “Nah, it’s nothing. We’re family, Prentiss.”

“I know,” she says with a smile. “Do you want to grab breakfast or a coffee? I’m going to head back to the hospital and relieve Garcia.”

Morgan claps his hands together, “That shitty diner on 8th?”

Emily moans at the thought of a sausage, egg, and cheese bagel crammed into a plastic red basket overrun by a mountain of red potatoes. “Oh my God, yes. You know, I don’t know what they put in their food, and I don’t think I want to, but damn, a big pile of grease is exactly what I need right now.

Morgan grabs the car keys off the counter and pockets them. “I’m driving.”

•

Derek drops her off at the hospital’s front entrance. He rolls down the window as she circles the car. “Tell Garcia I’m waiting for her.”

Emily’s lips quirk into a half smile. “I’ll be sure to tell her her chariot awaits.” She raises her cup of coffee to him, “Thank you, Derek. For last night.”

He winks, “That’s what family’s for, right?”

She nods and turns toward the hospital. She navigates the twists and turns of the hallways, keeping out of the way of doctors and nurses as they go about their duties. After signing in at the nurses station, she shoulders her purse, picks up both cups of coffee and heads toward Hotch’s room.

“Knock, knock,” she vocalizes, unable to physically knock on the half open door. Using her shoulder, she pushes it open and steps inside.

“Emily!” Garcia greets cheerfully. She sits in a chair near the hospital bed. Her chunky ring-adorned fingers hold knitting needles paused in mid-air, a lengthy scarf made up of maroon fibers hanging down to her ankles.

Her eyebrows knit together as she eyes the scarf. She smiles at her friend. “Been busy?”

“I think I fell asleep to the sound of those needles clacking together,” Hotch says. Emily’s attention shifts to him and her smile widens. The bed is angled, allowing him to rest in a half-seated position. There seems to be more color on his face today and that floods her chest with warmth. Just barely, he inclines his head toward her. “Is one of those for me?”

Emily sucks air through her teeth. “Ooo, sorry. This is for Penelope.”

Garcia perks up. “Yes, please!” she says. “Give that caffeine to mama.” She lays her knitting needles in her lap and holds out her hands, thanking Emily when she passes her the cup.

“Morgan is waiting for you at the entrance.”

A flirtatious grin crosses Penelope’s lips. “My knight in shining armor, come to get me from this extra sanitary antiseptic-rich tower. Someone catch me as I swoon.” She tucks the mass of yarn into her bag and stands. “It’s been a pleasure, sir. I’ll have this scarf waiting for you on your desk when you return.”

As she passes Emily, she gives her a peck on the cheek. “He’s all yours, kitten.” She sashays out of the room, gently shutting the door behind her on the way out.

The room is small and she crosses the short space in a matter of steps. She exhales as she takes the seat previously occupied by Penelope. Hotch flexes his hand as he inches it closer to the bedside and Emily takes it in hers.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, squeezing her hand.

Emily breathes out a short laugh. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Well, I feel like I’ve been stabbed nine times, but that’s to be expected. I understand that you almost fainted yesterday.”

“I—” Emily’s mouth clamps shut as she feels the weight of his hard stare on her. “Did Garcia say that? I wouldn’t say I fain—”

“Emily.”

She hates that tone of voice. His supervisory voice. The one he uses to give orders. The one he uses when they’re acting as colleagues, not partners.

She rolls her eyes. “Hotch, don’t give me that look.” She then aims a pointed look of her own towards him. “And you’re not my boss right now. In fact, you’re not even allowed to think about work for the next four to six weeks as far as I’m concerned, so lose the ‘I’m-your-boss’ tone.”

Aaron’s brow arches slightly at her challenge. “Fair enough,” he relents. “You didn’t answer my question though. How are you feeling?”

Emily relaxes as his tone does and gently taps his fingers with her own. “Better than I was yesterday. Morgan took me home. He ordered takeout, I made him watch my favorite chick flick—”

“ How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?”

Emily’s jaw drops, her open mouth smiling. “You remembered that?”

“I heard you and JJ talking about it on the plane,” he answers, smiling. “I do my best to remember little things like that about everyone,” he inclines his head towards her, “you especially.”

Emily can’t fight the pinkening of her cheeks. “Why do you do that?”

“It reminds me that we’re all individuals beyond the case files; that we’re not just behavior analysts, that we don’t just spend time studying and watching the why’s, what’s, and how’s that make up other people’s lives, but that we have those same qualities about ourselves. That we have hobbies and interests and beliefs outside of the bureau. If I don’t do that, well, I wouldn’t be a very good boss, now would I?”

A small sound of disbelief passes her lips. She’d had the pleasure of scaling the walls that he’d erected to distance himself from others allows him to lead his team from a place free of bias, but hearing him dictate that despite all of that and the image he projects, he is still internalizing all the bits and pieces that make each of them human. That that’s what makes him human.

“Ya know, if the team finds out you’re actually a big softie, you’ll never hear the end of it.” She says.

“Yes,” his lips twitch into a soft smile. “Well, I think they know that and just choose not to say anything about it.” He squeezes her hand again. “I’ll have to thank Morgan. I’m sorry for what you must have gone through.”

Her face falls. “Oh, Aaron don’t. You don’t need to—”

His eyes are hard again as he speaks. “I do. To find me like that after what we’d all gone through together in Canada. It couldn’t have been easy. Your response time was critical. I know you, Emily. I know you immediately had to force yourself into action. I know you had to bury your emotions to see past me; to see past your colleague and partner. And I know that wasn’t easy. I also know you couldn’t tell anyone else because you didn’t want to distract them from the case at hand. I also know that you were willing to sit in the waiting room covered in my blood until you knew I was alright. You did all of this on little food and drink, and even less sleep.”

Emily stares at his hand around hers, unmoving, as he speaks. In her mind’s eyes, the images of yesterday flash in rapid succession: finding him, his face twisted in pain as she applied pressure to the stab wounds, stumbling out of the ambulance as he was whisked out of reach, his blood spiraling down the drain in the hospital’s locker room…

“Emily.” Her name is lighter on his tongue this time; not an order, but a light guiding her back to the present moment. Her eyes focus on him and relief floods throughout her entire body. His hand is warm in hers.

Suddenly, pressure builds in her eyes, the heavy heat that comes before tears. She swallows and when she finds her voice, it wavers, “I was so scared, Aaron.”

“I know.”

“If I hadn’t found you, if you’d di—” Her voice breaks and she swallows the growing lump in her throat. She breathes deeply in a poor attempt to compose herself.

“But I didn’t,” Aaron states firmly. “Emily, I’m alive because you found me. Don’t sit here and torture yourself with ‘what-ifs.’ You know better than that.”

Emily nods and tucks the strands of hair that have fallen from her ponytail behind her ears. “You’re right, I’m just,” she sighs, “I wish there was more that I could do.”

“What you’re doing is already enough,” he says. “And,” he adds, “if the idea of moving my body didn’t make me think I’d physically pass out from the pain, I’d be putting my arms around you so you’d feel comforted and trust that I am so utterly grateful that you chose to go home that night.”

His fingers twitch, but he winces as he tries to lift them off the mattress. Emily reacts immediately and slips her cool slender fingers back into his hand. His are longer, rougher, and curl around hers.

When Emily speaks, her voice is soft. If she speaks any louder she’ll fear it’ll crack and she doesn’t want to cry again. “When they say you can leave here,” she starts and allows her lips to twitch into a whisper of a smile, “Can I come home with you?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “Come here.”

Emily stands and leans down, her bound hair falling just so over her shoulder as she does.

“Closer,” he says and she acquiesces, lowering herself so that her lips are hovering just over his and she can feel his breath on her skin.

His lips are as light as air as he brushes a feather-light kiss against her mouth. It’s all that he can do in his current condition, but the feel of it is enough to melt the icy grief that had been clinging to her these last thirty-six hours, and now it felt as though the sun was shining on her bare skin in this small sterile hospital room.

“My home is your home, Emily. And you’ll always be welcome.”

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss #hotchniss fic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #emily prentiss x aaron hotchner #george foyet #foyet #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

83 notes · View notes

wildgeese98 · 5 months

Text

I wish I could dig up the post from very early on, I think when only a few eps were out, where someone was taking about the concepts of body, mind, and spirit in alchemy and how the three season of Protocol might follow this, with season 1 being body.

The op of that post explains it way better and in more detail and I think they were spot on. I wish I could remember who posted it.

Almost every episode so far has had some element that ties back to the physical body, with several hitting on the theme of accepting physical harm in exchange for something.

Ep. 1: a grotesque reanimated corpse and implied eye related body horror

Ep. 2: body dysmorphia, full on body horror, introduction of ink5oul who seems to effect people by tattooing their bodies

Ep. 3: body horror transformation

Ep. 4: violin that requires the player to maim himself or others in exchange for success.

Ep. 6: Needles, a monster who uses his body to kill

Ep. 8: the mirror world people in the tower trying to eat the guy alive and him jumping resulting in severe bodily harm

Ep. 9: much of the bad luck from the dice seemed to manifest as physical injury, especially the particularly gruesome death of dice guy's friend.

Ep. 11: moving old corpses, return of Ink5oul and tattoos with strange powers

Ep. 12: just a straight up massive amount of gore, as well as whatever body horror type deal Bonzo himself has going on.

Ep. 13: fiance bro severely physically harming himself for money.

The physical body seems to be a general theme running through the season so far. Again is wish I could find that post because it talked about how this might relate back to alchemy. If anyone remembers and can find that post send it to me please!

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol

83 notes · View notes

altocat · 8 months

Text

THE FIRST SOLDIER: CHAPTER 6

It's time, folks! After five agonizing months of waiting, we FINALLY get a story update. And I'm here to recap for your convenience! So, spoilers below under the cut.

Story opens up ten days after Shinra reinforcements arrived on the island. They're building a reactor via a site dig. Glenn and crew have been watching Rosen's smoke for days now just in case.

Lucia remarks that Sephiroth did most of the heavy lifting in terms of prep. Glenn is getting ready to celebrate with their upcoming bonus. Sephiroth isn't interested in pay though according to him.

An engineer calls them over and tells them they need to go kill monsters in the area. When Glenn asks where Sephiroth is, the engineer tells him that he's out scavenging corpses and that it's kind of creepy.

Seph has apparently been going off on his own for a while. Lucia suggests they go look for him while they take care of the monsters.

Ugh. More filler monsters. And of course the level cap is trillions of numbers ahead that of the last chapter's. This fucking game smh.

The music on this section is nice. EC has a good soundtrack ngl. Better than it deserves, in my opinion.

After an incredibly tedious fight with a recolored ostrich monster, the gang comes across a shard of materia in the ground. This comes into play later.

They find Sephiroth digging around corpses at the old Rhadoran base. He clarifies that it might LOOK creepy but he's actually looking for the picture of his mother. Like most children with precious comfort items, he ended up dropping it somewhere and he's looking through the bodies to see if it's somehow under them.

So here's some clarification, the photograph is NOT a photograph so much as a locket/necklace that Sephiroth wears. So it's not in his front pocket, he's wearing it around his neck. Neat.

The gang offers to help him look for it, taking out filler monsters in between. Sephiroth mentions that he feels the need to protect the team as the leader. That's his job. There's some cute banter between Seph and the trio. Awww.

All the Rhadorans except Rosen are gone now. Matt keeps going on and on about their religion--Planetology. Lucia is unfamiliar with this concept and Matt explains the concept of mana and souls returning to the planet to Sephiroth.

Glenn feels REALLY guilty now about what they did to the Rhadorans, worried they'll just be forgotten since they're gone now. Kinda too late for that, bud. And now it's just Rosen left alone.

Hojo mention from Seph btw. Hojo told Sephiroth "No matter how logically you explain something, there will always be people who don't understand because they have a different view of the world."

When Glenn worries about the Rhadorans being forgotten, Sephiroth takes what he learned from Glenn earlier about compassion to heart, saying that the PLANET will remember them.

Glenn understands how important mana is now. It's life force, life energy. That's why the Rhadorans hated what Shinra was doing.

They can't seem to find the necklace anywhere. Sephiroth is glumly resigned to accept that it's gone for good.

Instead, thanks to Glenn's sudden moral dilemma, they decide to bury the Rhadorans as a means of "apologizing". Sephiroth eagerly offers to help.

While they're burying the bodies, the island starts shaking. The reactor dig is going to start soon. And THAT'S what will awaken the mana overflow Rosen mentioned earlier. They'll set off explosives that will start a chain reaction. Sephiroth says they're going to have to evacuate.

They're blocked by a bunch of branches. Seph finds the materia fragment from earlier and uses it to incinerate the area to make a path. Glenn gushes over how cool Seph is.

Seph cuts down a big tree to make a bridge too. Glenn thinks Seph is SUPER FUCKING RAD OKAY. Seph asks if he's impressed with his "cyborg powers" and Glenn says no, not wanting to hurt Seph's feelings again.

Seph says that he feels he can say anything to the group and that he doesn't want them to hold back. Glenn is in full support mode now and he and Seph seem very in sync with each other. It's very cute. They've gotten close during the gap.

They find another materia shard during a blocked path of rushing water. Sephiroth uses it to freeze the water to move across.

Seph is eager to get his team back to the chief engineer, but Glenn is worried about Rosen. He wants to see if there's a way to make sure Rosen's safe but Seph says there's no time. Glenn seems to be ready to ask Seph something but then drops it.

This section is called "Inseparable". They arrive at the helicopters. Glenn wants to delay the dig so he can warn Rosen in time. But they've already started.

Glenn gets agitated and then punches the engineer, who threatens to tell HQ. Glenn doesn't give a fuck. Matt and Lucia decide to support Glenn. Sephiroth doesn't stop them.

Lucia hijacks one of the choppers and kicks a soldier out after holding them at gunpoint. They're going to fly over to Rosen's Island with it.

A monster shows up just as shit starts to get crazy. It's Stamp the goblin-frog! He's huge and mutated because of the mako. Glenn wants to finish him off for good.

They take care of Stamp and the group is going to go rescue Rosen and Refu. The other chopper throws down a ladder for them for the evacuation but the trio is basically defecting.

Matt said Sephiroth isn't fired because the chief knows that it was the trio's idea, not his. But they're going to have to leave Seph behind so he isn't dragged into this.

Glenn tells Sephiroth to stay safe as the trio departs. Sephiroth is visibly hesitating on whether or not to accept the ladder or follow the group after they've left.

The trio gets ready to take off in their hijacked chopper. And Sephiroth. Is going. WITH them.

Holy fucking shit Sephiroth tried to defy Shinra asrdfghkjgfd just so he could stay with his friends. I'm gonna cry. Fuck, I already am. INSEPARABLE. AHHHHH.

Overall, a decent chapter. Much better than I was expecting. Babyroth is so endearing and it's clear he's now very attached to the trio. Even more than Shinra. Him just suddenly losing the picture/necklace is kind of bullshit but whatever. I guess he had to lose it somehow? Maybe it'll turn up again later.

Sephiroth's rebellion will obviously have consequences later.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephcanons #sephiroth #ffvii first soldier #first soldier #ever crisis #ffvii ever crisis #spoilers #ff7ec #glenn lodbrok #matt winsord #lucia lin #hojo #holy fuck #an unexpected fucking twist if ever there was one

97 notes · View notes

earthnashes · 1 year

Text

MORE GARGYOLES AU BAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I'm holding watch parties on my community discord for the Gargoyles; we're still on Season 1 but even then it's really helping give me some contextual clues I need for building the AU into something more sustainable. I'm super excited to get into Season 2; we'll be finishing off this season next Thursday before we continue on! :)

But ye! For this drawing; an experiment that went a little outta hand, but I'm glad it did. I really like the look of it; giving it some level of polish without resorting to coloring. I've always liked this sort of effect but rarely do I ever do it myself, but I think I'll have to do it more because it was far less time consuming to do! :>

So ye! More lore and brick work is being laid out for the AU, and once again I've written a short story to go along with the art!

For those of you who'd rather skip though, I placed it under the "Keep Reading" line, and for context for everyone here are some AU notes along with a TL;DR summary of what's happening here:

-AU explores the concept of "what if Demona was set onto the path of Redemption?"

-TL;DR for this image: Takes place a few nights after this. Demona confronts Elisa after her talk with Angela. To everyone's surprise it doesn't go south.

----------------

By all accounts Elisa thinks she should've expected this.

Especially with the life she's chosen for herself: top-rate detective with the highest arrest rate and cases solved on the force. In direct contact with Gargoyles-- literal living legends-- on a daily basis and what that typically entails, from revenge plots to sudden trips through the very fabrics of time. Enemies from all and every side, from supernatural to plain old human to the not-so-human and zealous occult.

And traveling Central Park alone in the dead of night? By all accounts, she should’ve expected this. Yet she still wasn’t prepared for the ambush.

One second she's halfway through the tunnel under the bridge. The next? Shoved face-first into grimy, soggy stone.

The taste of iron is sharp on her tongue as her teeth cut painfully into her lip on impact. It distracts her just enough before she finally zeroes in on the claws closed tight around the nape of her neck, another set digging hard into the leather of her jacket at her pinned wrists, easily piercing the material and biting into skin. She barely has time to gather her bearings before a familiar voice is hissing hot against her ear.

"You are not as clever as you think, detective."

Elisa's heart nearly beats out of her ribcage. "Demona," she breathes, alarmed but by no means surprised. It's been months since the last attempt the she-demon's made against her. Once again, Elisa curses allowing her guard to fall; she should've known it was only a matter of time before Demona struck. No matter how long this sudden bout of tremulous peace has gone.

"What do you want."

"That's exactly what I want to know," Demona drawls, pushing Elisa further into the rough stone. There's a seething sneer in her voice. " What are your intentions with Angela?"

Elisa pauses, her unease giving way to her confusion.

"What?"

Demona responds by gripping tighter, the tell-tale rumble of a growl behind her words. "You know damned well what I mean. It's no coincidence Angela has come to me so freely. Not if it meant lowering my guard; you're up to something." The gargoyle shoves Elisa none-too-gently against the stone again, her threat stark and clear. "And I don't take kindly to the thought anyone using my daughter like she's some sort of plaything--"

"--I'd never--" Elisa starts, offended, but she barely gets a word in before she's cut off with her own agonized grunt. Demona's bodily grinding her into the wall, the rough scrape of stone chafing at the skin of her cheek. She can barely breath with how hard the gargoyle pins her, straining for breath as Demona snarls at her, long teeth clacking dangerously close to her eye.

"Liar!" She barks, and Elisa hears how her tail cuts through the air as it lashes. "It's all you humans are ever good for! Weave empty words into pretty things, only to strike when your back is turned. Angela told me herself what you said, and your words ring hollow. You and I both know you don't believe any of it. What's your game?"

"So Goliath is right, then?" Elisa huffs in lieu of an answer, stilling herself and going mostly limp in Demona's grasp. Her common sense screams at her to struggle, to find an opening and break free... but her gut tells her stay put. Her father always told her to listen to her gut when it spoke, and it's never steered her wrong before. So she breathes in as much as she dares and forces each of her muscles to relax, to appear as little a threat as possible in her position.

Not too hard to do considering the circumstances, but it takes several breaths for her heart to stop trying to burst from her chest. Nor does it really erase the glower overtaking her face.

"Is that it? Angela shouldn't be anywhere near you. Shouldn't be allowed to choose for herself and that it was a mistake to even try to talk to you?"

"By the moon we glide under, I despise you, detective!" Demona hisses, and Elisa doesn't need to see her to know her eyes have begun glowing hot red. "I'm no fool; you view me a monster. You have absolutely nothing to gain from encouraging her to see me. Nothing. So why? What do you want with her?"

"Is it really so hard to believe I care for Angela?"

"Yes." Yet there is some degree of hesitance in Demona's voice when she says it, something Elisa nearly doesn't catch. As if the she-demon almost believes her own answer, but not entirely. There's enough evidence with Elisa aiding her old Clan-- never truly for her own gain -- that brings question to her conviction. "Humans don't do anything unless they gain something in return. You are either after her, my life, or something else." Demona allows Elisa's arm free to rake her claws against the stone of the bridge. It gives way easily as if nothing but dirt, leaving deep divots in a clear display of a threat. "Do not make me ask again."

"Then you're right," Elisa replies easily-- or as easily as her position allows-- and of all the responses she could've gotten Demona doesn't expect that. It's clear in how much she loosens her hold on Elisa in apparent surprise, no longer choking her so much as simply holding her in place now. Elisa's instincts flair then; demand she elbows the she-demon in the belly and get distance, yet even still her gut urges her: stay put.

"I do have something to gain. Angela's happiness."

Elisa doesn’t expect her words to have any real effect. Readies herself for Demona to snap at her again. Force her against the unforgiving stone, have her taste her own blood again, maybe even work up the nerve to inflict the bodily harm she always threatens. This is probably the closest she's gotten in a long while.

But Demona does… nothing. Simply a presence behind her. One simmering with barely held anger and confusion and the weight of her own paranoia. But still as stone—listening-- all the same.

Stay put.

Elisa takes in a shaky breath.

"She's miserable, you know. When the clan speaks ill of you," She breathes quietly, surprising herself with the gentleness in her own voice. "Goliath explicitly forbids her from ever trying to talk to you. He thinks you're a lost cause." It’s not hard to think of Goliath’s demeanor in those moments; regret, sadness, guilt, traces of betrayal and anger whenever he speaks of his ex. He's long since given up on reaching out to Demona.

"And maybe I did too, once. But now, I--"

The look on Demona's face when realizing who Angela was flashes through her memory. The shock, quickly replaced with unbridled joy and hope. Something Elisa was unsure Demona could feel up until that very moment.

"--you could've left us to die by Thailog's hand. You could've ended all of humanity with just a press of a button. But you didn't."

Elisa doesn't mention the sudden lack of schemes against all of mankind. She doesn't mention the abrupt disinterest in attacking the Clan. She doesn't say anything about how--even after all this time, even now-- she is still alive, when Demona has had ample chances to rid herself of her. Elisa is no slouch: she's proud enough to admit she's held her own against Demona a fair number of times. But there were times where only her keen eye and years of training caught the very slight hesitance from Demona when she was all but helpless.

"I don't think you're a lost cause," Elisa says unwaveringly. Nothing in her voice gives way to any underlying uncertainty she has. To the questions she burns to ask—why? What changed? -- but won’t. Not yet. "I have my reservations. But I don't think it's anyone's place to make that decision for Angela. Nor do I think it's fair to rob you of the chance to prove to her you're more than your past."

Elisa hesitates for just a second before she says clearly into the silence of the night, compelled by Demona's uncharacteristic show of restraint: "...I-I don’t think you’re a monster."

I never thought you to be.

The thought comes unbidden, and it catches her off guard at how honest it is. She doesn’t put it to words, only remaining in place and holding steady. Waiting.

Demona still doesn't say anything. Doesn't really do anything at first, but there's a very clear shift in the air, subtle as it may be. Elisa's instincts are no longer in overdrive, no longer in high alert of danger. Somehow --even in Demona's sharp grasp-- there is no more danger to be aware of.

It's in the way the gargoyle's silence turns contemplative and not a raging storm cloud. In how she suddenly doesn't dig so hard in Elisa's jacket, tucking the tips of her claws safely against the leather and not into delicate skin. The intent is no longer there.

Demona mutters something to herself, low enough for Elisa not to hear what she says, but even with her keen senses it still manages to surprise the detective when the gargoyle simply... moves away.

It's by no means gentle. She abruptly drops the human without any sort of care, allowing her to crumple under her own weight when she finally touches ground after several minutes being held aloft. But the principle still stands.

Demona let her go.

"…I don't believe you," She grunts in a voice filled with scorn, but the usual bite is missing. Elisa allows herself a moment to rub at the scratches and welts those wicked claws left behind. She clears her throat before she chances a glance at the gargoyle and finds her back turned to her.

"I'm not asking you to," Elisa says softly. She eyes the gargoyle warily. "And I still don't trust you. But I do trust Angela. She saw something worth her time in you; the least I can do is support her... and be there if it blows up in her face."

When Elisa finds the energy to stand, she musters up a warning glare at Demona, stance cautious but no less filled with promise. "Don't make me regret it."

The threat behind it is barely veiled, and it must be the right thing to say, because Demona only barely casts a glance her way. Her eyes are hard to read. And despite it, Elisa can see the smallest hint of something in them when forest green sweeps over her, foot to face, the faintest upturn to the corner of her mouth.

"Then we are on the same page."

--------------------------

-------------

For some extra context:

-Demona is referring to how Elisa told Angela that she does actually believe Demona isn't pure evil, or a threat to her. Elisa doesn't trust Demona at all, but she recognizes that something has shifted in the gargoyle, and she knows she would never hurt Angela, so she sets aside her own doubts and encourages Angela to seek her mother out. I have plans to draw and write this interaction in the future so we have more context in this regard!

-Elisa strikes me as the type to be able to see things in varying shades of gray: Goliath isn't wrong in his reluctance to allow Angela near Demona, but she honestly doesn't think her heartless or a completely lost cause. Especially after she learns some of Demona's past

-Demona would never admit this, but she does actually respect Elisa. Much to her chagrin. Unlike most humans whom she barely bats an eye toward, she sees Elisa as her equal in prowess and intelligence, and she hates that she does, but she'd be a fool if she ignored it.

The further I get into the show I'll expand on this idea, but that's it for now. :)

#gargoyles #demona #elisa maza #my art #my stuff #au #headcanon #disney

292 notes · View notes