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hex-obsession · 3 years

Text

Silver Lining - Two

word count- 2,259

content warning- language, angst, indirect s**cidal thought

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Crows cawing, your eyes open just enough to hazily make out the all too familiar color of your room.

“Early bird gets the worm, you know,” a familiar voice murmurs. Pushing off the wall to your right, your body slides diagonally over your bed, your head dangling off the side. Upside down, Cheryl is slumped against your door frame, arms and legs crossed. Brazen as usual, just the way you loved her. You held your own in most regards but Cheryl was always there when you least expected it and needed her most. You swear there were a halo atop that adorable shaggy blonde head of hers. And not one of those tacky event items either.

“Like I’d get anything any time of day with all the birds around here.” A tickling squeeze builds in your abdomen, branching up your neck to your cheeks which now had a telling pink glow.

“So you gonna talk to old lover boy yet or what?”

You jolt forward and whip around fast enough to make any killer miss a swing. Your response is unnecessary as she’s already smirking devilishly, aware of what she’s doing. She might have been your closest friend but that did not stop her from tormenting you, or anyone else that crossed her path. All in good fun and love, of course. It went without saying that you enjoyed it and she knew when it was, rarely, time to pack it up.

Raising her eyebrows, she leans back and throws her hands up. “I’m just saying, if you don’t, you might lose your chance. That’s all I’m saying,” quieter now.

You sighed. She was right. You weren’t the only one who took a liking to Leon. But, unlike you, Yun-Jin did not hide her feelings, from anyone for any reason, ever. Of course, everyone thought he was charismatic and most, undeniably handsome. That was common knowledge. You ran out of things to talk about in a place like this, and secrets were few and far between. There was no reason to hide here. This was your foreseeable future, together. There was no getting out, no changing things. Being open and sharing everything together made your day to day bearable. The connections you lost in your old lives left gaping holes, but together as one tightly knit, weird, fucked up family, you helped fill the voids. Some took longer than others to accept that fate, and there were some inevitable hiccups, but everyone came around eventually.

Anyone who wasn’t blind could see the attraction Yun-Jin had for the newest addition to your group. Placing her hands on him in conversation whenever she got the chance, laughing a little too hard at the things he said, biting her bottom lip and smiling at him when he talked. You’d even caught her pecking his cheek playfully here and there. He’d always smile and look away, as if it were a game. Leon always had a sultry attitude to him, a ladies' man no doubt. Subtly flirting with everyone was just commonplace for him. That was part of the reason you held back. Fearing you missed your chance and someone else had filled the role you longed to be in. Maybe it was your fear of rejection or abandonment, or not wanting to lose something this important in a world as cruel and bare this. You were subconsciously working hard to convince him you were only a friend. Which you were, definitely friends. Close even, given the circumstances. Trauma bonding does one hell of a number to the timeline of friendship. Still, you sensed zero difference in his behavior toward you versus the others. Which, admittedly, was quite the letdown. Nonetheless, you had nothing to lose by casually admitting your feelings for him. Keep it light and airy and there would be no reason for things to change on the chance he didn’t feel the same. After all, you surely weren’t the only one with a harmless little crush. That’s all it was. Right? So what if you constantly day-dream about him holding you so close he might consume you, kissing you with four times the passion the Notebook tried to capture, never leaving your side regardless of what the future held. His taste, his smell… what his cock would feel like ramming into your cervix. Your brain was one giant knot, constantly distracting you and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. Except tell him, but keep it simple.

By your calculations, it was November 18th. You’d been keeping track, not sure if it made things better or worse. Your third anniversary in this place was not far off. Despite being a literal nightmare, it had its perks. Your need for food was no more, as well as your other bodily needs. Sickness was a quickly forgotten annoyance of the past. You stayed in this eerily perfect state. Makeup never crusty, hair never oily and always smelling of your favorite fruit. The dirt and blood you’d acquire during trials magically disappeared upon return. You had a handful of outfits to rotate but there was no real need. Another upside, there were no severe temperatures here. Jackets, shorts, sandals, snow boots if you were Nea. You were always mostly comfortable. Even on Ormond where snow blanketed the ground, those gusts of wind should have sent chills right through you, but they didn’t. It felt like living in a dream or a, simulation. Just, where you’re hunted all day and night for the rest of your existence. At least death wasn’t permanent. Sometimes you’d wish it was, just to escape.

Several months have passed since Leon and Jill were introduced to your world. You had inside jokes and more close calls than you could both count. You were a damn good team and got along smoother than melted butter. What were you waiting for? You inhaled sharply and broke your stare out the window.

“I’m gonna do it.”

To no avail, your deep breaths failed to remedy the painful pounding in your chest, or the heat radiating from your face. Nevertheless, you marched out to the campfire to seek out Yun-Jin. As selfish as you wanted to be with Leon, she was your friend, and you held that in high regard. She was easy to spot in a crowd given her loud attire, but wasn’t around the fire. Which lead to your next realization; neither was Leon. Your throat tightened, heart still pounding. You set off a little too quickly to find her, or them. First stop was Ace’s shack. Judging based on appearances, you figured he would be one of the last people she associated with. Quite the opposite, they were dear friends. Not connected at the hip per se, like her and Claudette, but they related to one another's childhoods. Trauma bonding, can't beat it. To your dismay, the shack was empty, a seed of despair planting in your stomach. Maintaining the most convincing composure you could, you continue your search. Heading left down the line of shacks, robust laughter grows closer. You’d know that laugh anywhere. Cutting through the row, David and Felix are reclined under a tree. They were one of the few monogamous couples among you. The others being Nancy and Steve, and Adam and Zarina. You understood the allure of being romantically involved with more than one person, especially given your less-than-ideal situation, but it wasn’t for you.

“Hi y/n!” Felix shouted toward you.

Not wanting to stop and chat given your current objective, you flashed a cheeky smile and waved to them. Before they could get another word out, you dipped back behind the row of houses. Nerves getting the best of you, you parted your lips to breathe through your mouth. Every breath burned your lungs, realizing now all the times you brushed off your feelings have come back to haunt you. You should never have waited this long. At this point you would be more than willing, desperate, to share Leon. Refusing to let your anxiety get the best of you, you ball your fists and dig your nails into your palms to get a grip on yourself. There was one more place they could possibly be. A sliver of premature acceptance wedged itself into your train of thought as you trudged toward your own shack. Leon’s was adjacent to yours. Feeling foolish for not checking earlier, you round the corner to the opening. As much as you wish you could close your eyes, they were pinned open with anticipation. Looking up from your feet you were shocked to see an empty room before you. Relief and confusion replace your foreboding. Too much time had already been wasted, so you return to the campfire.

“Hey, have you seen Leon or Yun-Jin anywhere?” you, as calmly as possible, ask Élodie.

“They got pulled a little bit ago babe.” She was intently focused on Jane, her concentration not broken. “Which do you like more, up or down?” her gaze still fixated on Jane.

You have to either keep the courage you finally mustered until they get back or give yourself emotional whiplash by releasing until they do. You hesitate for a moment, but to hide your disappointment you quickly retort, “Up, definitely up. Gotta distract the killer with that beautiful face you know?”

“Like they're looking at her face and not that dumptruck ass!” Élodie howls. Jane facetiously puts her fingertips to her chin and looks upward, a façade of innocence no one here would ever buy. You can't help but giggle despite your inner turmoil.

“Well hey,” you add through chuckles, “when they're back can you please send her my way?”

“Sure thing babe,” Élodie assures, finally turning to meet your gaze.

A horrible nauseating mix of dismal, relieving, lewd thoughts of Leon swirl in your mind as you wait for Yun-Jin to step into the doorway. You knew you liked him but holy shit, where did this come from? The realization slapped you in the face. Try to blame infatuation all you want, not that you did, but it was so painfully evident now you were dumbfounded.

A soft knock jerked you out of your thoughts. “Hiya y/n, what's going on?”

Her delicate eyes effortlessly comforted you from across the room.

“I...” your eyes now glued to the floor beneath your feet, a reservoir of tears barely being held back, “I need to know how you feel about Leon.” Your nerves went haywire just uttering his name to her. An icy splash of chills surged from your head to your feet as your chest panged with dread.

“Well of course I like him,” her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

All that could escape your mouth was, “Oh.” Emptiness, despair replacing the jealous unease you felt before. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably, feelings that danced around menacingly finally coming to a head.

At the sight of your distress, she rushed to sit next to you. “Honey, what’s going on?” her voice barely above a whisper.

You were ashamed for breaking down in front of her, afraid of guilting her for something that was not her fault, and now terrified Leon might follow her here, only to find you undone over him. You jerk your head up to face her and blurt out, “Jinny I think I love him,” face sopping wet with untouched tears.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles at you. “Honey I have fun toying with him all in good nature but there’s no connection there.” Your heart thuds against your ribcage. “Sure, I’ll admit he’s attractive, who wouldn’t, but I have nowhere near the same feelings for him that you evidently do.” She uses both hands to cup your face and pushes as much wetness as she can aside with her thumbs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Not only to me but to him!” Despite being similar in age, she feels like a mother to you. Caring for a child, your own or not, will do that to you. That’s not a trait you lose over time.

“I’m so afraid,” you softly whimper, “of what he would say, what you would say.” You're picking at your cuticles, a habit you acquired during puberty as an outlet for your overwhelming feelings.

She wraps her arms around you, carefully as to not tarnish her jacket with tears, which would definitely stain the material. “I was just having a little fun, and from what I’ve gathered, he was more so allowing it than participating. You know I love you all to death but I’m not looking for anything like that, definitely not here.” She gives you a squeeze, and suddenly you can breathe again, the air around you no longer dense and difficult to swallow. “Honey, go get him.”

“Oh Jesus, let me fix myself a little first at least,” the sudden relief causing you to laugh involuntarily.

You were grateful disease and ailments didn’t exist outside of the trials, if they had you're sure you would've had an aneurysm from the stress you went through in a matter of an hour. Yun-Jin left you to your thoughts, which were now solely you and Leon together, doing anything and everything you could think of. The rest of the day you contemplated telling him, more so, how to. Thankfully you didn’t have any trials together, you were far too disorganized for that right now. “Tomorrow,” you promise yourself. Nothing like a clear head and a night’s rest to help you be your most collected, confident self.

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Silver Lining masterlist

#leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #dbd smut #dbd fanfic #dbd fluff

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

figure it out.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this has been in my wips for literal months as i’ve done my best to get it just right for yall. i hope you enjoy it, and tell me what you think! There’s an addendum to this one, and i’m already working on it, but we’ll see a few more things before that’s ready :)

words: 3.5k warnings: sex mention, sex implication, language

summary: “love is like a backache. it doesn’t show up on an x-ray, but you know it’s there.” - george burns. au!january 2012.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You roll over in bed when your alarm goes off, but you don’t get very far. Aaron throws an arm over you and pulls you back to him with a grumble.

You huff a laugh and wiggle up against him. It’s all a tease and you both know it - there isn’t any time to get up to anything fun before work, but it’s far too entertaining to rile him up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” His voice escapes his lips between your shoulder blades and you can feel his smile.

“Oh, trust me, babe. I can finish.”

He hums, his smile breaking out into something real. “I noticed.”

+++

When the two of you finally make it out of bed (surprisingly still on time), you grab one of Aaron’s scarves and a hat on your way out. It’s your turn to drop Jack at school today on your way into the office, and the task serves two purposes.

The first? It’s nice to spend time with Jack, just the two of you, when it’s your turn and you’re not on a case. It’s the same for Aaron, who always leaves a little earlier so he and Jack can sit down somewhere and have breakfast together.

The second is pure logistics. You two can’t show up to work in the same car at the same time, so a convenient excuse to separate and stagger your arrivals is welcome.

“Really?”

Aaron’s question stops you at the threshold and you look over your shoulder “What?”

“My hat? My scarf?”

It’s almost too tempting to cave when he’s looking at you like that - his tie hanging around his neck, shirt untucked, arms crossed, and playful frown hiding a smile.

“Yeah. It’s warm and it’s here and we’re late.”

Jack squints up at you and says, “We’re not late.”

“You’re not late.”

The observations come within split seconds of each other and you laugh.

“Fine. Not late, but warm. And you have more hats.” You scamper back into the house to plant a kiss on his lips, smoothing the hair at his temples.

Jack’s laughter is the underscore to your next quip. “You’re very handsome and I’m sure you’re very smart so you can figure it out.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Jack chirps. “Figure it out.”

He has nothing to say to your retreating forms as he catches a glimpse of your smile through the crack in the closing door.

+++

Emily and Spencer are away at a conference-book-signing thing, so it’s just the five of you and Penelope this morning. You’d normally figure that would be Rossi’s purview, but apparently -

“My book-signing days have been put on hold indefinitely in favor of -”

“ - He’s back.” Garcia interrupts, tossing case files at all of you. The conversation is cut short and you suppress a smile. “The Marin headlands last night.”

You can see Aaron’s lips pull as well.

It’s the little things.

Penelope gestures with the notes and crime scene photos appear on the screen. “David Atley and Nicole Puli, both 24, both grad students at Berkeley, shot multiple times in their vehicle-- wait for it--” She clicks again and a familiar sigil appears.

“The Zodiac?” Morgan’s shock is almost sardonic in its delivery.

Rossi snorts. “No way.”

“Come on,” Derek says, amused, while JJ chimes in as well.

“It's gotta be the 2.0 version.”

While neither of you speak, you share a glance with Aaron. You’re kidding.

He only raises his eyebrows for a split second and shrugs.

There’s some part of you a little paranoid that you’re the most obvious couple to exist in the history of the universe. Sure, the team has been teasing you about your friendship for years, the will-the-won’t-they of it all, but now that it’s real you’re almost terrified that they know everything.

Thus, the overcompensation has been wretched. You and Aaron barely look at each other in the field if you can help it (which you usually can’t) and he tends to put you with Derek more often than not.

In truth, the others have noticed, but are far too interested in the spectacle to say anything. Emily’s almost certain the two of you have slept together, and Dave may or may not have suggested the possibility of a secret marriage during your period of suspension.

However far-fetched and ridiculous their theories, they know you two well enough to know that something happened. The tension is gone.

Derek almost finds himself missing the tension. There hasn’t been much to tease you about lately in its absence.

“Yeah, you would think so, except for the crazy similarities in the MO.” Penelope clicks through the photos as she talks.

“I'm talking same victimology, same geography. And,” she adds. “Two souvenirs were left at the crime scene.” She clicks once more and stands back for the full effect.

“He left a photo?” Rossi asks.

She hums in the affirmative. “Local police say that is Marcia Miller. She was found near Napa in 1971. Strongly suspected that she was a victim of the Zodiac, but police never confirmed it and they didn't publicize the case.”

Morgan’s still squinting at the screen. “So the Zodiac took this photo at the killing and then saved it all these years?”

“The Zodiac's last confirmed victim was the cabdriver Paul Stine,” Dave notes devolving into a conversation about The Zodiac, his timeline, his signature.

It’s nothing new - The Zodiac Killer’s case details are common knowledge in your line of work, nevermind the sheer number of copycats that try their hand at the highly-ritualistic murders before inevitably getting arrested.

There’s a reason this guy hasn’t been caught in forty years.

After a few minutes of bouncing between you all, Hotch pushes back from the table and stands. “Have Reid and Prentiss meet us in San Francisco. Wheels up in 30.”

He heads straight to his office to collect his things and you swing in by the tips of your fingers for just a second. “You wanna call Jess or do you want me to?”

In the middle of throwing files in his briefcase, he doesn’t look up when he answers. “Can you, please? I was supposed to meet with Strauss this afternoon and need to stop by her office before wheels up.”

You smile at him, tapping the door frame twice. “You got it.”

+++

It’s boots on the ground right away when you land in San Francisco. You drive to the crime scene with Aaron in the passenger seat beside you and JJ in the back. The radio’s on, and you sing under your breath, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you make your way up to the crime scene.

Before you get to the local FBI agents, JJ catches you by the sleeve. “It’s nice to have music in the car again.”

You just smile at her. Aaron looks a little puzzled.

The three of you wipe the looks off your faces by the time you get to Agent Lynn.

+++

“What did JJ mean?” Aaron asks you.

The two of you are alone for the time being, posted up in the conference room with the old Zodiac case files. You look up. “Hmm?”

“What did she mean when she mentioned the music earlier?”

“Oh.” A little flush of embarrassment shoots down your gut. “Derek pointed out to me last summer that I didn’t play any music in the car.”

...while you were gone is the thing you don’t say, but he knows that’s what you mean.

“I didn’t really notice.” You shrug to cover your fib. “I guess I’ve reacquainted myself with the radio in the last couple of weeks.”

Aaron hums, returning to his work. Something’s off, but you’re sure it’ll come up later.

+++

“You don’t think it’s really him, do you?” You ask, unbuttoning your shirt and throwing your pajamas on.

Surprisingly, this case seems to be one of those that allows for sleep at regular hours. For that, you’re grateful. It’s much harder to find time to wind down with Aaron at the end of the day when you’re all forced to sleep in shifts.

Aaron shakes his head, “No, I think Reid’s right. We’re looking at a particularly sophisticated copycat.”

“Isn’t that kind of worse?” Hopping up on your bed, you curl up and look at him over your nose - a clear invitation to join you.

With a huff down his nose and a little smile, he flops down beside you and props his chin on his arms over your belly. “Could be. Luckily, we have Reid.”

You almost think he’s going to say something else, but he gets that pensive look on his face again.

“What?”

With a sigh, he says, “I’m just thinking about what JJ said.”

“Oh, Aaron -”

He doesn’t let you finish. It’s probably a good thing. You didn’t know what you wanted to say anyway.

“I knew how hard it was on me, but I’m realizing more and more how hard it was on you, too.” He shakes his head. “I feel ...I don’t know. I feel like I should have known better… or something.”

Winding your fingers in his hair, you sit in silence for a moment. He doesn’t have anything more to say and eventually he crawls up your body and settles in under your arm, his head on your chest and legs wound between yours.

Sometimes, you’ve found, he likes to feel small.

“You’re safe and you’re home. That’s what matters.” You kiss the top of his head. “And I love you.”

He hums, arcing into your touch and wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you.”

+++

You spend much of the next day chasing Spencer around the city, keeping notes handy (for yourself, not for him - he doesn't need them) and reporting back on his discoveries to the team like some kind of overwrought and hyper-trained secretary.

Stepping off to the side, you answer a call from Aaron.

“Hit your limit yet?”

You look over at Spencer, who’s flipping through a newspaper like a man on a mission. “It’s actually kind of entertaining.”

And that’s actually true. Watching Spencer push the limits of his intelligence is always a treat - it happens so rarely you almost forget how much you enjoy it every time.

He huffs into the phone. “Hang in there. We’ll all meet back at the precinct once Reid’s done -”

“Doing magic?”

“Exactly. Keep me posted.” There’s a pause. It’s an odd little habit you two developed in the field to leave space for the words you can’t say in front of the others.

I love you.

“Me too.”

+++

You’re almost asleep when a sliver of yellow light shoots across your room, promptly disappearing as the door to the hallway closes.

He pads across the room and slips under the covers. “Hi.”

A little smile crosses your face as you roll over to face him. “Hi.”

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on you and he’s half on top of you as he captures your lips.

Needless to say, the lack of sleep is worth it.

+++

Emily, long after she and Aaron are the only ones left in the precinct conference room, squints as she notices something right under his collar.

He’s already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, no longer standing on ceremony now that all the local police have retired and the rest of the team gone up to their hotel rooms. There’s not much to do, but the compulsion to get ahead for tomorrow is one neither one of them can shake.

What Aaron failed to remember when executing his wardrobe adjustment was the rather...spirited romp in your room the night prior. The little purple swatches painted on his skin just under the line of his collar stood out stark against the crisp lines of his dress shirt.

Fortunately for you, there was no way in hell the rest of the team would find anything he left on you last night.

Emily reaches into her purse and pulls out a tube of concealer and a powder compact. Though he’s more olive-toned than she is, it’ll be good enough in a pinch. “Hey, Hotch.”

He looks at her over his nose, his eyes tired.

“You might want this for tomorrow morning.” She pushes the crisis control kit across the table to him, but he only frowns and deepens his squint.

By way of explanation, she reaches across the table and presses the tip of her finger into one of the visible bruises in the hollow of his throat. He flinches, freezes, and then immediately drops his head into his hands.

It’s easy to say Emily is amused in the extreme. “Those look...really fresh.”

He shakes his head, insisting as he picks up a file at random, “They’re from before we left.”

It’s only because it’s Emily that he’s even humoring this conversation.

“No they’re not.” She sticks her tongue firmly in her cheek. “These ones are though.” She points at yellowing marks on his collarbone and he smacks her hands away.

“And I know what fresh hickies look like, Hotch. Those are fresh fresh. Like, last night fresh. And we’ve been here for four days.” She frowns, tracking back through the day. “When on earth would you have time to -”

A series of images flash through her head, random wayward connections flashing together in an alarmingly clear picture.

You, avoiding her at the office back in September with quickly-covered marks painted across your neck.

You, flirting with Sean and having way too much fun doing it, looking over his shoulder at ...someone else.

Hotch, in a perpetually good mood (for him, anyway, and despite looking ill-slept) for the last five months.

The way the mistletoe kiss at Dave’s Christmas party looked way too easy, too familiar.

And now, the obvious indicators that Hotch is not only getting it, he’s getting it good.

If he got those last night…

Wait.

Their hotel rooms are right next to …

Oh my God.

Hotch watches the realization flash across Emily’s face, and he knows you’re both busted. Instead of losing her shit like he expected, Emily just leans back in her chair - smug.

“So. Are you still Not the Boyfriend, or has there been an update?”

He sighs.

The corner of her mouth tips up. “How long?”

“For which part? The not-boyfriend part, the boyfriend part, or this part?” He gestures vaguely to the space behind his tie, and Emily snorts.

“Just spill it.”

Holding up a finger, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, dialing the first number on his speed dial.

You’re hardly asleep, sitting up in bed waiting for him with a case file in your lap, when you get the call. You’re not sure who’s listening, so a “Hey, Hotch. What’s up?” will have to do.

“Emily knows.”

You straighten. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter. She knows.”

There’s a scramble, and suddenly Emily’s on the other end of the phone. “He’s got very questionable and very fresh bruises just under his collar. Care to explain?”

There’s another shuffle.

“Ignore her,” Aaron says. With a hand pressed to your forehead, you understand the question implicit in his phone call.

“Just tell her. It’s basically her fault, anyways. If she hadn’t ditched it then we’d have our heads up our asses for another five years.”

“Alright,” then, after a second of realizing you don’t sound sleepy at all, “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed.”

He rolls his eyes. Emily can only look on with amusement, gleeful in the extreme. “You know that’s not what I mean. Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” You reluctantly close the casefile and put him on speaker so he can hear the light click off. “I’m going to sleep.” Then, “I love you. Come up soon.”

“Okay.” He shoots a glance at Emily. Because he’ll never hear the end of it anyway, more ammo won’t hurt at this point. “I love you too. Now, really. Go to slee -”

You hang up on him. He double-takes at his phone for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket.

He’s met with Emily’s surprisingly moved eyes. “You’re...okay.”

What she means is, You’re happy.

He knows.

He nods. “I’m okay.”

She puts her files down and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers. “Tell me.”

So, he does.

He tells her about the way you stuck to him like glue through the divorce, the way you wiggled your way into Haley’s heart, captured the love of his son, and earned the trust of his entire family.

He tells her what Haley said in the hospital, the tenacious care you showed his unyielding and unwilling ass when he was healing, the way your grief soothed his in the wake of Haley’s loss.

He tells her about the moments of euphoria in the years of want and doubt and fear.

He tells Emily about the day she died, how there was nothing more painful than that necessary lie. He tells her how easy it was to lie to the others, how it ripped him in half to lie to you.

He tells her about the day he left for Pakistan, about the fight the night before, the kiss he pressed to your cheek on the tarmac, the endless, wretched nights missing you in the desert.

He tells her about the fight when he finally came home, skims over the following days, jumps and meanders around to Christmas, to moving in, to the bliss that now seems to follow him wherever he goes.

Emily watches the smile that plays at his mouth when he talks about you, the softness in his eyes as recalls the look on your face and the words you said and the way you are with Jack. There’s a kind of peace in him that she’s never really seen before.

Maybe, she imagines, it was there before she met him (the second time). Maybe this peace existed with Haley. Maybe this is the most she’s ever heard him speak at once. Maybe it makes her smile.

Maybe this peace is what his love looks like.

If that’s the case, she thinks, you are very lucky indeed.

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, but at some point he stops talking.

“Hotch?”

He looks over at her, the softness lingering in his eyes.

“I’m really happy for you.”

His lips twitch. “Thanks.”

“And you know it’s my God-given right to tell everyone else once this case is over, right?”

+++

You actually are asleep by the time Aaron gets back to the hotel. He leans against the wall in the dark with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the peace before the inevitable shitshow.

He crosses the room and crouches at your side, running the back of his fingers over your cheek. You stir, sleepy noises leaving your throat as your eyes crack open.

“Aaron?”

“Yeah. Just me.”

You smile a little and close your eyes again. “How’d she take it?”

“Remarkably well.” He kisses your forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No,” you whine, drawn-out and slurred. “Don’t leave. Stay. I set an alarm.”

With a resigned sigh, he strips and slides into bed behind you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close.

+++

You and Aaron sit on proverbial pins and needles for the rest of the case, but Emily keeps her word. The only indication of her knowledge came the morning after her chat with Aaron, when she pulled you to her and hugged you so tight you could hardly breathe.

She seizes her moment on the plane, about halfway home.

“Derek, you owe me fifty bucks.”

She hardly looks up from her book as she speaks.

He takes off his headphones and wrinkles his brow. “What?”

She repeats herself, slower, as if she was speaking to a child. “You. Owe. Me. Fifty. Bucks.”

“...Why?”

Emily finally looks up from her book to pointedly stare at you and Aaron, seated next to each other and sharing a bag of Goldfish you stole from Jack’s snack drawer. You’re both reading from the same file, absently reaching for crackers as you go along.

Derek’s confusion continues to smother his face until it finally clicks in.

He steals a page from Reid’s notebook and balls it up, tossing it across the plane and breaking your concentration. You look up, only a little startled, to find a face-splitting grin blinding you across the cabin.

Derek’s small ruckus has drawn the attention of the rest of the team - well, all except JJ, who’s fast asleep on the couch.

There seems to be a collective sigh of relief as money exchanges hands. You’re not quite sure what the bet was, but Emily seems to have won handily.

Aaron takes your hand under the table, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It doesn’t.

Everyone simply returns to their tasks, little smiles on their faces.

+++

tagging: @quillvine @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future

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fandomfluffandfuck · 3 years

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Growing up I always heard about teenage boys puberty as literally just inappropriate erections and sex drive and aggression, so as a dude and an evanstan fan- which makes you an expert xD. What do you think Chriss and Sebs sex drives are like (as adults ofc). Together or/and separate or just whatever you feel. Love ya!

still going through my old asks- my requests are currently closed

Inappropriately times erections are probably exactly as much of puberty as it sounds like you were taught (if that's the correct word??) lol. And that a thing to be an expert on haha

But, yes, libido. The magic shit that decides if you're a horny fucker or not lmao.

Also-

This is kind of unrelated, but, I have come to realize that truly having a matched sex drive is pretty important in sexual relationships unless you're really good at negotiating lol. It's not about high or low or better or worse, it's just that you've gotta find your match.

1. Chris:

Short answer: I think Chris has a high sex drive unless he's in his own head. In his own head like with anxiety or sometimes even with work he needs to get done. However... because of that steadily high sex drive, he's probably pretty easy to sway, especially if intimate things are already happening (like cuddling) (because the boy gets too handsy for his own good and ends up making Sebastian's insides turn to mush.))

Longer answer: you know how some people are the kind of people where when they're busy they forget to eat or sleep or whatnot? Well, Chris isn’t exactly like that; he remembers to do those things but if he's busy he gets anxiety surrounding deadlines or to do lists and piling up work and so it makes his libido a little finicky. And so if he's working really hard he probably pushes his needs to the side so he can finish whatever it is, putting himself and his desires in the backseat for a second. And that is if the want to do sexy things is even there at all because again, anxiety is a bitch with killing things like that and its kinda hard to get into the moment when your thoughts are going a million miles an hour.

That being said though Chris, especially in his early adult years, radiates so much frat bro™️ energy that I cannot imagine anything but when he's just normally working- comfortably working and not stressing out, that he'd need to jerk off or get off at least every other day, possibly every day too. He's not great at delaying the inevitable, if he's horny, he's horny- why wait it out when he can take care of it now?

He just comes across to me as a, I'll just rub one out in the shower before my day gets going, when he's single, type of man. A maintainness orgasm kinda guy haha.

2. Sebastian:

I think Seb has a pretty consistent sex drive that's at, like, middle of the road all of the time. Likes he's happy to get off once a day/once every other day but he doesn't have to. He'd rather save up all that energy and spend a good amount of time working himself up for one orgasm than a few that are just, like, okay.

However.

When he gets horny...

Oh, boy, when he's horny he's horny and his sex drive can give Chris' a run for it's money (especially if he's feeling a little bratty *cough* sex kitten-ish *cough* or extra playful and wants to push Chris some).

That tendency to jump from 50 to 100 in the snap of his fingers (or, sometimes, the snap of Chris' fingers) means that when he's horny he rarely can wait. When he's cruising at his normal pace he's pretty good at staving it off until later when he's got more of a reason to get off or a natural spike in his sex drive, he likes to get off and have his orgasms feel monumentous y’know? He wants an actual release and a cliff to jump off of rather than a routine to follow through with.

Seb's more of a three/four to possibly five times a week than Chris five to six times a week.

3. Together:

You put these two together-?

Oh, boy, they're then like teenage boys for sure.

Chris' casual routine for an orgasm daily unless his work and/or emotional environment demands otherwise mixes practically fatally with Sebastian's want for his orgasms to be meaningful and big feeling... and they cannot keep their hands off of each other. They not only have sex to sate a natural urge but also to be close and feel close.

And before you know it, after they first have sex and go all in with learning what pushes the others buttons, they're the only ones who can make each other feel the way that they do y’know? Sebastian never is as loud as he is with Chris, he never cums as hard. He never floats so easily in subspace with anyone like he does with Chris... and Chris... nobody brings out Chris' dom side like Sebastian does, the kid just screams good to him. So good that he has to do something with it. Chris never cums as hard as he does with Sebastian with anyone else either, however, he also doesn't feel the sated urge from just getting Seb off with anyone else. Sometimes getting Seb to subspace and to an orgasm is better than getting off for Chris. Together they're unparalleled.

When they're together they have some sort of sex or close-to-sex intimacy every single day for sure, if not multiple times a day.

Evidence lol:

Thank you for the ask!!

#asks #my writing #evanstan #chris evans #sebastian stan #rpf #real person fanfiction #in which s dives into previous requests

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years

Text

Golden Linings: Chapter 1

Cal Kestis x reader

Series Summary: You and several of your friends have been captured for unknown reasons. After being rescued by a rag-tag trio on the hunt for Force-sensitives, you all strike a deal to aid in their quest while searching for a way back home... though your own priorities threaten to shift as you grow ever-closer to the sweet redhead Jedi called Cal.

Chapter Content: Some fighting and creepers being creeps

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

A/N: I don't really know where this story will go but I've been wanting to write a multi-chapter fic again (don't worry, I'm still working on my Thrawn & Eli one too!) and I wanted to do something with our precious Jedi cinnamon roll, especially after writing this post, which may or may not be woven in later, we'll see. I'm striving for a gender-neutral reader but may update to fem! since this is very self-indulgent I'm so sorry, sometimes you gotta write for yourself ya know?

Chapter 1: Fight and Flight

You were scared.

Terrified.

There almost seemed to be a disconnect between your body and your mind. The one was on auto-pilot, unable to stay still, taking you through street after street as if it actually knew where it was going. The other was shutting down, incapable of processing anything around you in a clear or productive way. Your eyes scanned buildings and faces and signs, but not a single one registered to you.

You were lost.

Scared.

Alone.

It had been a normal day at the start, the kind of normal that wouldn't have planted itself in your memory had it remained a normal day. It would've been indistinguishable from all the other normal days you'd had just like it in your life, and you would've continued on to live even more of them without a single care about it. That's how it should have been.

But now, now that you had been unexpectedly ripped from that sense of normalcy, thrown into this strange place with no options or even an explanation as to how any of this could have been possible, you were forced to accept your life was not as it should be, and that you had to do something about it.

Your feet halted at the thought. You had to do something. All this walking and wandering wasn't doing something... if anything, it was only a distraction, a way to postpone the inevitable acceptance of the situation for what it truly was. A scary, terrifying situation you wanted nothing to do with but had absolutely no choice. A lonely and confusing situation that was going to challenge your strength in a way you wished you didn't have to face, but secretly suspected you needed to. That's why bad things happened to good people, right? To test just how good they really were?

You had stopped at a street corner, one of the quieter intersections in this new town. Instinctually, you'd been trying to get away from the overwhelming hustle and bustle you'd initially found yourself in. Though, now that you were finally letting yourself process your surroundings, you realized that instinct, while good in intention, had actually led you to a not-so-great part of town that was starting to make your skin crawl.

There was litter in the gutters and grease on the walls of the buildings around you. A burst pipe was spewing from somewhere close by, and though it was open daylight, the amount of shadows seemed to have grown. You gulped nervously, not sure if you'd be able to come up with a plan here, or if you'd fare better back to the crowded parts you'd came from.

A whistle came from behind and your spine tingled unpleasantly. You knew what it meant but whirled to face it anyway. A couple of hunkered, wrinkly creatures seemed to be sliding toward you, their humanoid eyes narrowed but openly scanning your body.

"Lost, pretty thing?" one of them almost seemed to hiss.

You responded the way you'd done earlier, when you'd woken up in that dungeon of a room and realized your day had changed from normal to scary... you ran.

Your feet pounded the ground beneath you, sending jolts of pressure painfully up through your tired body. You didn't dare look behind to see if you were being pursued. You didn't hear anything, no further taunts or laughter, but that didn't mean you were completely free. And now you were running deeper into the more desolate parts of this unknown city. If you stopped, you may just find even worse threats waiting. That's what your stressed mind reasoned, anyway.

On and on you ran, one foot in front of the other, until your chest felt on the brink of bursting. You didn't want to, but you let yourself slow back to a stop, and as soon as you did, your legs immediately gave out beneath you. Your knees slammed on the ground and you'd probably feel the sting in them for a while, but you didn't care. Not when you couldn't catch your breath and that nagging sense you were being watched from the shadows sat uncomfortably in your thoughts.

The buildings were taller here, towering so high they blocked out most of the sky and gave the impression it was much later in the evening than you knew it to be. But everything was boarded up. Not a soul was in sight. What even was this place? Was it truly abandoned, or only made to seem so?

You were right to be suspicious. Your paranoia bubbled within you like a sixth sense, turning your head in the proper direction before you were aware of what you were doing. Just on the other side of the street before you stood a tall, glowering man dressed all in blank, flanked by IG droids. The man you didn't recognize, but there had been IG droids guarding that room you'd escaped from. You knew they weren't a common model of droid, so what were the odds they weren't the same as the ones you'd slipped past earlier?

"There you are," the man growled, confirming your suspicion. But what surprised you next was the glowing red light that suddenly jutted out from an object in his hand. It hummed menacingly, threateningly. You knew there was a word for it but couldn't quite call it to mind at the moment. All you knew was it was a weapon, and if you could summon back your breath, you should definitely start running again.

A blaster shot fired out of nowhere and you saw the man raise his stick of light up to block himself from it. How had he known to do that? You didn't have time to fathom it, instead watching as a couple additional figures rushed out of the shadows and toward the man and his droids. One of them hung slightly back, a blaster raised and firing at the droids. The second went straight for the man, producing a beam of light of his own, and clashing enthusiastically against his opponent.

You took the opportunity to put some distance between yourself and whatever this fight was about. You crawled down the street, pushing your back up against a wall you deemed safe enough, though on what criteria you weren't really sure. At least it provided a sense of stability in this otherwise chaotic situation. You didn't know who any of these people were; who the man was and why he was after you, who your rescuers were and whether they were actually friendly or merely enemies of an enemy. Heck, you were still trying to figure out who had captured you earlier that day and why. This fight of lights and lasers was mesmerizing, but incredibly overwhelming.

"So eager to prove yourself," you caught the man growling out. His red light had paused in its assault against the blue one, in favor of taunting the boy who held it instead.

"Oh, this is just good practice," the boy said, matching the man's pacing with his own.

His comment earned a gravely laugh. "Your eagerness makes you sloppy, and your over-confidence makes you weak. This is what happens to students without masters."

It was odd, but though the boy was several feet away from you, half-obscured in shadow and definitely hard to discern through your labored breathing and confused state of mind, you could still somehow tell the man's words upset him. But maybe you were just projecting. You'd be pretty pissed if someone called you weak, too.

Whether the boy would've snapped and resumed the fight or not, you'd never know. What little sliver of sky still remained above was then blocked out by the mass of a ship. It lowered itself as far into the narrow street as it could and sent bursts of wind of hurtling down, your hair whipping about in protest. You braced a hand in front of your eyes, peering through your fingers to see a ramp had been lowered, waiting.

The other figure, who'd made short work of the IG droids, was running toward you now. The man with the red light was temporarily stunned by the sudden arrival of the ship but quickly recovered. He swung his light at the boy and their fight recommenced. Your observation of it was interrupted, though, by the arrival of the woman who'd now reached you.

"Come on, dear, we gotta get out of here!"

She grabbed hold of your shoulder, prepared to help you stand, but you immediately flinched and tried to crawl away. You didn't know her, you didn't know anybody out here. How could you possibly decide whether you should follow her or not?

"Please," she implored, not chasing after you, but holding out her hand and urging you to take it. "We don't have much time. We can get you to safety."

You glanced over at the boy who continued to hold his own against the man who'd been after you, despite having been labeled as sloppy and weak. Surely these people were good, right? At the least, the blue color of his weapon seemed kinder than the red of the other.

The woman was right, there wasn't much time. And you didn't have much choice. You shook yourself, as if trying to physically dispel your own doubt, and stood. You took hold of the woman's hand and let her lead you toward the ship's ramp.

"Cal!" she called back toward her friend as the two of you ran.

If the boy heard he didn't seem to mind, continuing his fight with a determination you still weren't sure how you could detect from such a distance.

The woman jumped effortlessly onto the ramp and turned to hold her hand back out to you. You jumped as you reached for it, but your frazzled nerves must have gotten the better of your strength, as you weren't quite able to hold on for long. You teetered dangerously on the ledge of the ramp where your feet had only barely connected but couldn't quite get enough traction. One part of your mind was bracing itself for the impact of your inevitable tumble backward; the other part had the gumption to ignore the fear and think only of how embarrassing this would be.

And then something warm and solid pressed into your back, and an arm was wrapping around your middle, practically sweeping you away from the edge and up the ramp. You only barely registered a streak of ginger hair next to you as you allowed yourself to be helped into the ship. The ramp closed behind, sealing out the harsh sounds beyond and all the dangers it represented. Your ears seemed to ring from the sudden cut off, but you could hardly shake yourself free of it while you fought to stay balanced as the ship maneuvered itself upward and onward. It was a fleeting fight; you immediately stumbled toward the floor and slid back against the ship wall.

You were safe now. At least that's what you told yourself as you surrendered to your slouched position on the floor of this strange ship, and finally let yourself breathe.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #jedi fallen order #cere junda #greez dritus

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lovemxnot · 3 years

Text

Worth the burn | Hwang Hyunjin

Firebender! Hyunjin x Avatar! Reader

Letters burned the scroll in your hand, reassuring words etched on them, scorching their presences into it.

“The city is great, they greeted me with much fanfare, and I’ve been having fun with Hyunjin and the others, like old times.

I feel more like myself than ever. Don't worry about me, mom and dad, I'm fine. I feel like I'm truly, finally healing.”

A pang of guilt surged through you, but you shoved it away, ignoring its lingering presence. Sealing the envelope, you gave it to the man standing impatiently next to you.

“The fire nation, I’m assuming?” He sighed, Referring to all the past letters you have sent.

“Wouldn’t bet otherwise.”

You were healing, perhaps not the same way you had mentioned in all of your letters, filled with nothing but the pure lies, but you were searching for a way- a way to forget, forgive, and move past what was done to you.

Forgiveness never came easy to you. Everyone around you pestered you into accepting the situation that you may never be the same avatar you used to be. But they had no idea what you were going through; no one did- after all, you were the only avatar alive.

It was humiliating how every day, you got up to move only for your legs to fail you despite daily visits to the most skilled healers.

At one point, you had hope, you could feel your legs again, and day by day, you were getting better until eventually, you learned how to walk again, but it all crashed once you tried combating and could barely throw a punch without images flashing, looming shadows engulfing your vision, sending you straight back square one, flashbacks so strikingly vivid it made you quiver down in terror. You were so ashamed, felt so weak and... helpless. How the once-great avatar’s mind turned against her becoming her gravest nightmare.

But You’ve had enough of wallowing in self-pity. You left your parent’s home, leaving the fire nation to sail to republic city, the city where your nightmare was born, the city where your friends reside, in hopes of confronting your fears and healing. And that was truly your plan, but it went astray.

“The match starts in five minutes, move to the ring,” the announcer reminded you.

You pulled yourself out of your head, wrapping the bandages tighter on your hands. Getting ready for your next match. You can feel the ground shake. The roars of the people at the stands pump your blood.

Today’s opponent was a new one. Never heard of it before; fresh meat. New to the game, alas, putting you at a disadvantage as you knew nothing of them or their bending element. Hopefully, it's not another lava bender. Those injuries of that fight alone had another nightmare simmering in the process.

And although you've mastered all four elements, you choose to fight with the one you were naturally born with-fire.

You stood behind the metal door, secluding you from the ring, hands going up to position, feet grounded, breathing in, then out. It wasn’t your first match, but it always feels like it is, no matter how many times you tried to nerve up.

As soon as the bell sounded, the doors slid open you shot a belt of fire to where you knew your opponent stood. Hoping to catch them by surprise.

Your opponent, on the other hand, skillfully blocked your advances while remaining idle in his place, silky red hood up- the signature of the fire nation, hair covering his eyes, shadowes concealing most of his face.

“What's wrong pretty boy? Afraid to fight?” You baited. The crowd's yelling got louder. They loved it when opponents ridicule each other. You surged another blast of fire their way, but they, once again, blocked it as if they already knew your next move.

“Come on, you know you gotta use your hands to fight, right?”

Nothing.

“Here, let me help” you looped a hoop of fire around their hands - or at least tried to before they counterfeited the attack and sent you flying. Body slamming the jagged wall with a thack that pales compared to thunder. But you were used to it by now.

“Alright, now you want to play, pretty boy? "

Using the tiniest amount of airforce, you air bended your way to them faster than they could blink and attacked. But all you were met with was hands blocking your every move.

Their movements were so familiar to you, you obstructed all of their attacks just as well as they blocked yours. It was more of a dance than a fight at this point, every move mirroring the others.

There was only one person that knew you that well. and oh god, did you wish you were wrong about this.

The red streak you glimpsed on his cheek supported your thoughts even more. There was only one person you knew that had that scar. A harsh exhale - laced with a little bit of airbending- blew his hood off, revealing what you wished was not true.

The tiny breeze blew his dark locks out of his face. Giving you a glimpse of his face.

No.

No. No way.

You knew those dark locks. You've run your hands through them enough times to know how they feel even without touching them.

"Hello Y/N"

“Hyunjin...? what are u doing here?!” You knew someday you might run into one of the figures of your past. It was inevitable after all, but not this soon and definitely not him.

“Why, when I heard the avatars look-alike was fighting in underground battles of the lower rinks of basingse I just had to come and get a glimpse myself!” Mockery slid fluidly through his sly smile, “and would you look at that? You do look like her! If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought it was you.”

He was furious, you could tell, even though he masked it with amusement in his voice. To the average eyes, it looked like nothing other than two old friends reconciling. But to you, you knew his blood was boiling by the crinkles of his eyes, the air so thick between you that even airbending it wouldn't help,

Hyunjin was your childhood best friend, and your firebending mentor's son.... and boyfriend. Well, technically, your ex-boyfriend now, seeing as you disappeared on him after the incident, didn't write any letters back for the past year letting him knew you were still breathing.

“Get out of here, I'm not going to fight you” you let your arms rest, blood running cold, fire distinguishing from you. Back turned, you head back outside the arena. You can faintly hear the crowds gasp in shock over the thoughts running in your head. Speaking of your head, it almost got completely scorched with a blast of fire sent your way had you not sensed it early enough and twisted on your hands to get out of its reach.

“Oh no, you don’t. You don’t get to run away. Not again ” He was heaving. He hadn’t moved a step, but he was seething. Another burst after burst was shot at you. “I waited a year y/n! " Oh, how you longed to hear him call your name for so long, but not when he was saying it out of resentment "a whole year just to hear something- anything from you! “

“Hyunjin- stop. I'm not going to fight yo-“

“I. spent. Two. Months. Searching. For .you” fire punctuating every word.

“ Hyunjin i-"

“I thought you were dead !” He punctuated with a blast. This one was charged with so much grievance that the fire was a searing blue. You were not as lucky as before at dodging it, mind catching on to the malice dripping from his voice. Had you not been burned, you would have noticed the tears welling up his eyes.

“Ah,” you hissed in pain.

“You never wrote me back!! But you wrote to Felix?!”

Felix was a mutual friend of yours. A non-bender that you’ve always been very fond of. A younger brother you never had.

“I didn’t know what to say!” You fired back this time, making it his turn to dodge, body ablaze with so much heat you felt it coming out of every limb.

“A simple ‘ hey I'm still alive, by the way, I want to break up with you’ would’ve done!”

“That's the avatar?” “ no way” “ they have a bounty for her head” the mob outside the arena started to murmur, but none of it registered with you.

“ i - I couldn't.....” your resolve faltered, arms dropping. Forgetting completely about the stupid match and the bystanders.

“But you could ghost me for A YEAR and three months?” He scoffed, “ not that I was counting or anything.” He added sneeringly.

“Ever thought I didn’t want to be found?” You snapped back. You had no right to at all. But it just... everything made you snap after the incident. Blame it on insomnia or the delusion or whatever, be it. It drove you crazy. Everything irked you, the sounds of footsteps, the numb feeling you would get in your legs sometimes, the breathing of the person standing next to you- everything aggravated you, you felt your resolve holding on to a thin thread.

Hyunjin, filled with so much fury, lashed on you once again. This time you blocked it, but it drove you roughly back into the unpolished wall. A rock that was jutted out of the wall struck you exactly where you were terribly injured in the attack that incapacitated you. A jolt of electricity crept through your body.

Pictures, more vivid than ever played before your eyes, legs feeling numb, horror swimming in your blood next to the burn of lighting that struck you. Body lying limp, you felt soft hands reach for your face.

“Y/N!” It was the same.

All the same.

You pushed Hyunjin out of shot, and it struck you midair.

The same face that found you after being utterly destroyed, peering over you, with terror and tears etched so deeply in his scarred face.

“ I'm sorry. I’m sorry,” he kept repeating like a mantra, hugging your figure closer, face resting in your neck.

“Please,” he sobbed, “ come back to me.”

Everything was foggy. Was it your eyes or the arena? You had no clue over the video looping in your head.

Lighting, as beautiful as it was, struck you so hard, slipping so gracefully out of your opponent’s fingers, dancing in your nerves, jolting your heart to a stop.

" I'm here." A soft voice pierced through the fog, glints of black and red becoming clearer the more the voice spoke. "I'm always here."

Hyunjin’s pained scream filled your ear” No, No, Chan- please do something! Heal her !”

“I can't lose you again, Y/N.”

Deep brown eyes broke through the fog, followed slowly by the rest of his figure. Hyunjin. That was hyunjin talking to you. The boy you were madly in love with. The boy that never gave up on you. Your eyes welled up seeing him so close- feeling him up so close again.

Fingers softly held your cheeks, your own clenching onto his silky red robe. He didn’t have to speak; his eyes spoke a thousand words. You hid from them in his neck.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," you mumbled into him, tears spilling.

His arms wrapped tighter around you, afraid you’d slip right through if he loosened an inch.

“Let’s go home.”

He didn't need to take you anywhere because right now, you felt more at home than ever.

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out-of-this-dimension · 3 years

Text

Hypothetically Rewriting Assault’s Story + Some General Assault Opinions

There’s a game my husband and I like to play when we watch a movie, play a game, or read a book that has a story that we don’t really enjoy or we enjoy certain parts of but not others. We look at things we’d keep and things we’d change and we build a story from there-- sort of like an AU but we don’t really go into the writing part, we just stick to theorizing and mapping a general story.

I decided to play that game with Star Fox. Not because I think Star Fox has a bad story but because sometimes I think the stories could have been handled better. Note: for the rewrite game, I only really look at story, even for video games, I don’t really look at gameplay mechanics, but I do understand those have a lot to do with story potential so I do take it in as a factor... I just don’t bother to “rewrite” the mechanics, if that makes any sense at all. Some of my list today will include boss encounters but I wouldn’t necessarily say those are mechanic-related... more like “event-related”.

I’ve mused a bit in the past about rewriting Adventures and Command and I do have plans to do a mock up of an Adventures remake eventually. However, today I was thinking about how I would go about handling an Assault re-write in particular. Much like Command and Adventures, I don’t have any beef with the core story but I do think there’s a few things that could’ve been better about Assault’s storyline-- like they had good ideas rolling but they didn’t quite refine them.

Under the cut because SUPER long.

My basic feelings on Assault are pretty positive. I think the game is generally just fun and I like that it feels like the natural progression from SF64. I liked getting to see planets we haven’t seen since the N64 era in better graphics and I liked seeing Star Wolf return. I also just thought the aparoids were neat enemies.

Generally speaking, though, when it comes to Assault, I think it suffers from the thing it tries to push the most-- the story. I think a lot of people get caught up in thinking the story is better than it is because it’s the first game since SF64 that really follows the same Star Fox vibe without retelling the Lylat Wars. Don’t get me wrong, the overall plot is great but the execution and pacing are... wonky. Certain characterizations also take a hit in some regards but no one really talks about that when Command exists. That’s something we’ll talk about later on with this post.

That being said, Assault really does have a lot good going for it. An absolute banger of a soundtrack, some great dialogue, a neat story synopsis, the introduction of cool characters like Panther and Beltino (who existed but was always off-screen), and just good levels.

So, here’s what I would add, I suppose, if I were to somehow have the ability to rewrite Assault. Originally I had this in paragraph form, but I’ve made it into more of a list under topic segments with main points bolded for your viewing pleasure. Some of these points might be considered nitpicky and while I do understand that yes, this is a game about space animals, I do hold the developers in high enough regard to make a game with a continuity that makes sense.

The Story Changes

- Reduce Pigma’s storyline in Assault. This is the biggest one for me because a bulk of the plotline feels like a giant chase to just get at Pigma and it feels like it derails from the actual plot with the aparoids. We only go to Sargasso because of Pigma. We only go to Fichina and then back to Meteo again, because of Pigma. That’s 3 levels in a 10 level game devoted to just tracking down Pigma and chasing him. While it makes the build up to fighting Pigma kind of nice, I personally feel like the plot could be reduced to 2 levels. If Assault overall was a longer game, I could see them making it 3 levels. Overall, though, in its current state, I feel like the side plot overstays its welcome and the aparoids promptly get shoved to the side in favor of “Oh no, we gotta get to Pigma!” And I get the main motive here is to show how the aparoids affect people and because of the build up, it does a good job at showing how utterly terrifying the aparoids are. But it’s still too long given the length of Assault’s story. The only alternative to this is make Assault longer, which... honestly, it should be.

- Revise the scene with Tricky. I’m obviously not well-versed in dinosaur biology but I’m pretty sure dinos didn’t grow that fast from what studying I HAVE done. And why is he suddenly king now? Did his parents die? He seems not affected by this at all? Like it’s a funny scene with him, Fox, and Krystal, but it’s odd if you really look at it. Give us, as players, more context because I’m still not even sure what happened to make Tricky suddenly the leader and... big. As a note, you’re gonna hear me gripe a lot about the Sauria level in this post.

- The Star Wolf + Peppy sacrifice is a low effort way to raise tension/stakes and then cop out. Oldest trick in the book, imo, is to act like you’re going to kill off important characters only for them to be alive miraculously. And let’s face it, as an audience we all know they aren’t going to kill those characters because it’s Nintendo and those characters are too beloved. I would’ve forgiven them for only doing this with Peppy or Star Wolf, but when you tack them both together and throw in the fact they make it seem like you’re going to have to kill General Pepper too... yeah, it’s just a bit much of the same trope over and over again. I wanted to put a note in here about how I’m fine with the Great Fox being “sacrificed” but overall, it needed to return to the series because of it’s icon status, but I think that’s more of a gripe at Command instead of Assault.

- Keep Pigma alive. This will conflict with a point I have later on about the game consistently having characters cheat death for easy drama points but with Pigma, I would’ve kept him fully alive... but maybe with some physical damage from the aparoids. I understand he’s semi-alive in Command and tbh I don’t know where I stand on that. Why keep Pigma alive, you might ask? I feel like his character has a lot more potential than being “just the greedy guy”. Like he’s got good potential future villain material for future games and... if I’m honest? I just don’t see Nintendo wanting to keep Pigma dead so why even bother killing him off? They couldn’t even commit to him being dead in Command anyways so it seems very moot.

- Bring Bill and Katt back. Assault is acts a bit like a big reunion of all of our SF64 favorites but our two favorite side characters are suspiciously missing. Wouldn’t Bill be out on the front lines fighting against Andrew in the beginning? Or maybe back in Katina? And wouldn’t Katt inevitably show up in the midst of the invasion, maybe to pointedly check in on Falco?

- Bring Andrew back for the final fight. I think Andrew being defeated early into the game is fine overall but I think bringing him back in for a reunion final fight against the aparoids would serve to really solidify that it’s really everyone vs the invading aparoid force. It would show that not only is Star Wolf willing to put aside their differences but so is basically everyone in the Lylat System in the name of survival. Imagine the Venomians and Cornerians working together against an aparoid fleet, giving Star Fox and Star Wolf time to attack the queen? I just think it’d be neat and it’d open up the potential for some fun banter mid-mission. I do understand that quite a few people consider Andrew canonically dead after Assault but personally, I feel that his defeat left his fate questionable (I’m a staunch believer that unless there’s a body, they’re probably alive, especially for Nintendo games because, again, they never like to kill people off) so him returning in Command never really bothered me.

- In general, reconsider some of the character portrayals. Unfortunately, when a series has a different studio for each game, character portrayals will inevitably have inconsistencies. While I give Namco a lot of credit for putting in oodles and oodles of detail into the game (particularly the levels), I think they failed in their portrayal of Fox, at the least, and Wolf is a considerable offender as well. While it’s obvious that Fox in Adventures was effectively modeled off of Sabre even in terms of personality, Rareware was at least able to justify Fox’s newfound jaded attitude with the passing of many years and a distinct lack of steady income, resulting in the team being in disarray. Assault’s Fox is a stark contrast to his cynical interpretation with seemingly no explanation other than maybe “Oh, I have more money and a gf, maybe I should behave myself”. As if the sudden change in personality wasn’t random, Fox also just seems very blah, like a blank slate stereotypical shooter game protagonist dude with little to no emotion. Wolf is less obvious but gets slated into a mentor-like role midway through the game and ends up in a respectful rivalry with Fox... which there’s nothing inherently wrong with that except for it happening abruptly (and, I mean, Peppy is right there). But I take less issue with this and more of an issue with the fact that there’s an entire level establishing that Wolf now runs a crime den with effectively what seems to be an army and no one bats an eye at this. He doesn’t even call on them to help with the aparoids. Did they all die when the aparoids attacked Meteo? Are they safe somewhere else? Where do they go? How was Sargasso able to operate without the CDF being on their doorstep with warrants for arrests?

- Don’t kill all the dinosaurs. A bit of a dramatic statement but the ending screen that showed all the damage to Sauria really bothered me. While I understand that the dinosaurs had less of a chance against the aparoids than a more technology-focused society like Corneria, I was a bit disappointed that the decision was made to just state that a lot of tribes had been wiped out. I know this could easily be retconned in a future game and I feel like it should be. “But why, Amalia? Why are you disappointed by that?” 1) It’s a little too grimdark for my tastes. 2) The fact it all happened off-screen felt very hand-wavy. And 3) It brings into question the entire point of Adventures. Why did we bother to save this planet if it was going to be reduced to rubble and ash 1 year later? Where were the Krazoa in all of this? Why did they not make an appearance at all to try to stop the invasion with their alleged powers? It just raises too many weird questions and I feel like Namco didn’t think it through too much. Which I mean, sure. Family, kiddo game. I’m not asking for bigbrain plot and lore but I’m squinting at this bit because it does feel very contrary to the lore from the previous game.

- Make the aparoids more relevant. As nice as it is to have a random bad guy from another galaxy, I feel like there was more that could be done with the aparoids in terms of their origins. Tiny things, mind you, not huge revelations. Off the top of my head, they could have been tied into Krystal’s backstory to help alleviate some of the complaints that she was too random to be added to the series’ main cast. Alternatively, they could have been a product of Andross or even a weapon prototype from Corneria that fled the lab (I actually thought the game was leaning in that direction for a bit then just Nothing Happened). I get that the vagueness of their origins leaves room for people to speculate and speculation is nice but... when you leave too many things unknown, it starts to feel less like giving fans room to interpret and more like just doing random things for the sake of it. I think a lore tidbit here or there would work wonders for the aparoids instead of leaving them as just borg/zerg clones.

Level-Based Changes

- Add either Aparoid RedEye or Aparoid General Scales as a boss to Sauria. Given that this level mysteriously lacks a boss, which is just weird compared to the other levels, I think that they had the opportunity to add something cool to go along with the cinematic feel they were going for with Assault. Assault’s cutscenes do play in a movie-like fashion and it’s clear they’re trying to make the game as epic as possible. It’s a shame they had so much fodder for a great boss here but they failed to go through with it. Alternatively: Add a Krazoa-Aparoid fusion. Why? Because Star Fox is about cool epic sci-fi and that would be cool epic sci-fi incarnate.

- Add a boss to the Aparoid Homeworld Level, aka the penultimate level. Another one I felt was personally weird that there was no “final defense system” to challenge the team. Would be cool to do an aerial battle over the aparoid planet with some giant flying aparoid.

- Be kinder to Sauria. The level had some good homages but overall was incredibly small and incredibly short. It felt like a bone tossed to Adventures fans but was not entirely true to the setting built by Rareware. I’m... not even sure where the Sauria level is supposed to take place? I presume it’s Walled City but it doesn’t really have the same color scheme or aesthetic? Also where is my revised Adventures music? Why do all the other levels get it but Sauria doesn’t?

- Put some of those funky items from the multiplayer into the main campaign. I don’t know why some of these things, items especially, were omitted unless it was purely due to time constraints. I remember having missile launchers and jetpacks in the multiplayer and was a bit sad that they were not in the main campaign. Retuning the levels and adding those in would be a nice breath of fresh air for the more tedious on-foot missions.

- More levels. Self-explanatory. Still sad we didn’t get the Zoness or Titania levels in the single-player mode.

I think all of the above changes would improve the game, though I recognize all of this is being said 16 years later after lots of time to contemplate Assault’s weaker points. I’m not entirely certain how long Star Fox Assault took to develop but given that there’s obviously quite a bit scrapped from the game (an entire arcade mode was scrapped as well), I’m going to assume that the studio felt pressured to shove the game out the door and into the hands of customers. It’s a shame, really, because I think a little bit longer in the oven would have done a lot of good. Still, the product we got was good in its own right and a game that many people look back on fondly. I haven’t gotten to replay it in years but I hope to quite soon.

You might wonder why I bothered typing this all out and I guess my point was this-- Assault was great but it wasn’t perfect, and while a lot of other games fall under a crushing amount of scrutiny, Assault seems to dodge it. And don’t get me wrong-- I adore Assault. But given that not many takes exist out there about rewriting it, I decided to give it a shot. For variety’s sake.

I do want to a mock up of a revised Assault story, which I think I will get to work on after completing this while all my ideas are still fresh in mind. So stay tuned for that sometime in the near future. I will also be doing my Adventures mock up at some point but probably not for a little bit as I do wanna focus some of my free time on actual fic-writing.

Anyways, if you stuck around this long, thank you for reading! Have any changes you’d like to see to Assault if you could time machine your way back to the early 2000s? Feel free to post in the comments, I’d love to read your ideas!

#star fox assault #starfox assault #super long #queue'd

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beauty-and-passion · 4 years

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Hey! How are you? Just came across your blog recently, and I gotta say I absolutely love your theories!! I’m still catching up, but they’re so well thought out and deeply analyzed. It’s an absolute joy to read through, so thank you for all your interesting ideas!

I love theorizing myself too, and I’ve been wondering a bit about what the upcoming season finale of Sanders Sides will look like. Do you have any thoughts/theories on that?

I believe Joan mentioned we will have another 1/2 Asides before the finale of the current 2nd season. After FWSA (which apparently is playing an important part in the overall storyline according to the team), I feel like we might get an intense 2-vs-2 situation that could revolve around Thomas and Nico. Virgil and Roman on one side arguing Thomas is ready to start a relationship with Nico, and Patton and Janus on the other side arguing against it. Don’t know whether Nico would make a return so soon though, as it also feels Roman’s arc might become a vocal point in upcoming episodes (then again, the two could intertwine).

Anyway, do you have any ideas on how the finale would play out? Could we potentially get some Orange hints? (I am freaking out about him lately so would LOVE some more hints in next episodes lol.) Sorry if this is too long for an Ask Me Anything, still figuring out how to Tumblr. Would love to hear your thoughts!

First of all: thank you, I’m glad you like my theories! And I hope you will keep hanging around, because more will come in the future ;)

Second: don’t worry, this wasn’t a long ask :) it was nice to read your thoughts on the matter, because that’s not an easy one!

Third: o-oooh, what a question! I really love it! But I will also need some time to properly answer it, so I apologize in advance for my late reply.

Before starting, a premise. As you said, there will be two Asides, then a two-parts episode that will end season two. During every two-parts episode we visited the room of a new Core Side and considering we’re into Roman’s arc now, it’s pretty clear Roman’s room will be the next one. That also means this two-parts episode will be focused on Roman.

But Roman’s plot isn’t the only one we have now. There’s also:

The whole “Dark Sides relationship” (yes, I’m talking about you, Virgil and Janus)

Remus (his relationship with Roman, his functions, his future role in the creative process)

Logan and his issues

Considering that those are pretty big themes, I would develop them all in season three and just give some hints for now. There will be time to properly address them all later.

The only other plot I would keep is the one about Nico. During the first livesteam after FWSA, Thomas said he wanted to show how character!Thomas deals with a relationship. So yes, Nico IS a big deal, he will come back and the next big theme will probably be about him.

Having said that, here we are:

My Theories On The Next Two Asides And The Possible Ending Of Season Two.

_______________________________________

THE ASIDES

So we have three Asides and six Sides. Two of them were in the first Aside, so I would take them out for the other two.

We have now four Sides to see. Leaving one or two behind would have no sense, so I think we should see them all, two at a time.

Second Aside: Remus and Logan

Why the next Aside should be about them? Because we need to start talking about the creative process and how it isn’t just a purely “Roman” process, but something that requires Remus’ constant stream of ideas on one side and Logan’s realistic approach on the other.

However, it’s still a bit too early to talk about that: Thomas needs to grow, Roman needs to grow. For now, I would start by showing little by little how Remus’ suggestions can potentially be useful, if properly developed and tamed.

And we can do it thanks to Nico.

Some time passes between the first and the second Aside. Thomas and Nico starts to date, everything is good.

But Thomas is still insecure, because of what Virgil said to him in FWSA: “Will deceit continue to be the answer to all of your problems? Is that fair to (Nico)?”. So he tries to be as much honest as possible with Nico, to the point of ending up being brutally honest sometimes. Nico would be a bit weirded out by this behaviour, but accept it with a shrug.

So, since things are going so well, Thomas wants to make it official. To finally be boyfriends and not just two-people-who-see-each-other-and-kinda-like-each-other.

And that’s where Logan and Remus would come into play. Thomas’ thoughts about Nico would get Remus’ attention and the sudden brainstorming session would get Logan’s. The first would poke Thomas for his less chaste thoughts, all while suggesting weird, inappropriate ways Thomas can ask Nico to be boyfriends. The second wouldn’t tear down Remus’ suggestions, but work around them, show their flaws and how they cannot work.

This back and forth will lead to Thomas realizing what he can do and how. And this solution wil be the good one: Thomas would ask Nico to be boyfriends and Nico would accept.

Third Aside: Janus and Patton

Until now, we saw two kind of cooperations: Roman and Virgil’s is based on feelings and “pushing” each other through their emotions. Logan and Remus’ is a cooperation “in power”: they work well together and we just got a glimpse of how fruitful this cooperation will be in the future.

In this Aside we will see a third kind of cooperation: the most stable and balanced one. We would see how well Janus and Patton would steer Thomas together, how they’re able to talk and compromise, how they’re gradually smoothing their most extreme points of view for Thomas’ sake. And we would see them getting along well, despite their differences.

But why showing it now? Because this would be the perfect moment in time to show it. Because now Thomas is in an official relationship: things are getting real and there are A LOT of decisions that should be taken every day. Janus and Patton’s guidance would shine and prove how a cooperation between Sides isn’t just possible, but it leads to big, better results.

And it would also prove that Roman and Virgil’s fear in FWSA (that Thomas was using deceit to solve all his problems) was without merit. Janus’ power isn’t as uncontrollable as they thought. On the contrary, with Patton’s morals balancing it and when properly used, lying help Thomas achieve more. His relationship with Nico grows stronger.

Things are going well.

_______________________________________

SANDERS SIDES - ENDING OF SEASON 2 PART 1

I’ve got an idea in the back of my mind for a while about how things can get worse and it’s something like this:

As we saw in the Asides, Thomas and Nico’s relationship is going well. Things moved very fast, yes, but they really like each other, so it’s okay.

One day, Nico says he wants to introduce Thomas to his family. Despite an initial peak in anxiety (a subtle way to show us that Virgil has problems with change in general), Thomas accepts to meet them.

Thomas is getting ready with Roman and Virgil. Virgil is - guess what - anxious about this meeting, but he’s also all butterflies in the stomach. Roman is absolutely delighted and keeps circling around Thomas, suggesting him what to wear, what to say, how to move: in other words, the whole “Himbo hopelessly in love” starter pack.

For a while, the meeting is going smoothly. Then Roman and Virgil notice how, once in a while, Thomas drops a lie. Something like “The food is delicious” when it’s not or “what a beautiful dress” even if it’s hideous. And the two Sides get worried. Once again, they try to force Thomas to stop lying, because Lying Is Always Bad and there can’t be true love with lies.

Still insecure and pushed by them, Thomas stops lying. He inevitably ends up saying something offensive/extremely mean and/or he ends up acting so badly the meeting has to end. Nico finds an excuse to justify Thomas’ behaviour with his parents (something on the line of “Thomas is very tired”) and Thomas is forced to leave.

When he comes back home, the discussion is inevitable. Roman and Virgil straight up blame Thomas for lying in the first place, because he wouldn’t have messed up so much, if he was honest from start.

But when Janus appears to defend Thomas and tells them lying IS useful in some circumstances, the situation escalates quickly. The two Sides attack Janus, blaming him for everything and making heavy statements on how deeply he corrupted Thomas/Patton or something similar. On the other hand, Janus attacks them back. They throw words at each other, things are starting to get pretty serious...

And just when the situation reaches its climax, Patton appears. He takes Janus’ side, he explains why lying is useful - especially during formal circumstances like meeting your boyfriend’s family because you want to be accepted, not to be seen as a complete jerk - and he bluntly tells Morality is HIS job, not Virgil’s nor Roman’s.

In this standstill, Thomas’ phone rings. It’s Nico. He wants to talk with Thomas about the evening. Janus suggests a simple lie (I was tired/long day at work), but Nico tells Thomas this isn’t the first time something similar happened - thus reminding us about all of Thomas’ “bursts of honesty” we saw in the second Aside. Honesty that wasn’t seen as such by Nico, but as weird, mean behaviours from the guy he likes.

So when Thomas tries to justify himself with some lie, Nico stops him. He tells Thomas he thought about a lot of stuff, after the meeting ended. He thought about their relationship. He thought about Thomas’ behaviour. Maybe they should’ve dated more, before becoming boyfriends. Maybe they moved too fast. Maybe introducing Thomas to his parents was the wrong choice. Maybe they should think a bit more. And maybe they should take some time for themselves to think about what they want to do, before going further with this relationship.

Nico hangs up. Janus is speechless. Thomas is on the verge of crying. Patton is heartbroken. Virgil is shocked.

And Roman is absolutely devastated. The love he wanted so badly, this happiness he desperately needed, is now in danger. Instead of strengthening the relationship, everything he did only managed to worsen it.

Roman sinks down and locks himself in his room.

_______________________________________

SANDERS SIDES - ENDING OF SEASON 2 PART 2

We already had a Side ducking out and a Side welcoming the others in his room so, for this third time, we should try something different. And what’s better than Thomas & his Sides trying to break into Roman’s room?

Remus might appear for a while, just to help them get inside and leave. There are already a lot of issues Roman has to face now: his relationship with Remus can wait season 3.

So we have Thomas, Virgil, Patton and Janus all in Roman’s room. And the confrontation can finally take place.

Roman will talk about his issues, his low self-esteem and how he feels constrained by Patton’s morals. He will finally admit how he desperately wanted to go to the callback and how confused he was by morals, when he first sided with Janus, only to be blamed for not siding with him in the following episode. He would start seeing the problem with his black/white mentality and we would have a nice, mature moment with Patton apologizing for giving Roman this mentality - while promising he will grow to be a better Morality. We would also have Roman and Janus properly apologize to each other for everything they said and finally work things out.

And we can end it like this. It could be a nice ending, with some conflicts solved, others still to solve and a lot of hope for the future. Patton would feel even more motivated to keep up with his growth, because he’s not doing it just for himself but for Roman too. Roman would feel better, because now he knows no one will blame or mock him for his insecurities - on the contrary, they would still be by his side no matter what. Janus would learn that cooperation is necessary and that he should keep doing it, because this is the right choice.

And Virgil... well, Virgil would drop hints everywhere about his upcoming “second arc”.

In the first livestream after FWSA, Thomas hinted at a possible “second arc” for Virgil. So, since we have a whole season to fill, I would move Virgil’s arc, his confrontation with Janus and all the dark sides’ dynamics into the beginning of the third season. For now, Virgil may hint at a future confrontation with Janus that should happen in the first episode of season 3.

And what about Thomas?

Thomas would accept Nico’s decision and write him that he will take this time to become a better man. We may even close the episode with Nico smiling for this message, proving that he’s not mad at Thomas, he still loves him and that their relationship isn’t ended at all.

Then, we would have the end card.

And the end card would feature the Side I purposely took away from the whole season two finale. Logan.

After starring in the second Aside, Logan should completely disappear for the following two episodes and for the finale. No one should mention him or even think about him. He wouldn’t appear at all. Until now.

We would see him in a room, looking at the last episode of season 2 on Youtube. His face would be completely expressionless and he wouldn’t say a word, because the only voices would be the ones coming from the pc. The camera would slightly move to show a figure behind him. A small refocus of the camera on a little orange accent on this figure’s clothes.

And bam, the end. No explanations, no voices, nothing else. Just this. Because this would drive the fandom insane. Did Logan know Orange was behind him? Were they watching the episode together? Was Orange trying to kill him or what? What would happen? All questions that would accompany us while waiting for season three.

_______________________________________

And this is how I think the next Asides and the ending of season two will play out. Of course this is pure speculation and the next Aside might be about something completely new that makes my whole plot useless - but hey, that would mean a whole new theory to elaborate :D

In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed my thoughts! And for all the readers, well, feel free to add your own thoughts here about how the events will play out! Maybe one of us will get them right, who knows?

#sanders sides #ask #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #orange side #thank you SO MUCH for this ask #I had a lot of fun writing this down #I've had some ideas for a while #and now I got the chance to babble about them :P #can't wait to read about your ideas #It'll be fun #sanders sides theory

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byunbaekby · 3 years

Text

title — bloom again (teaser #1) pairing — racer!jaemin x female reader genres — angst, fluff, racer au, slight college au, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, love triangle, hurt and comfort overall warnings (to be updated) — language, cheating, mentions of abuse, depictions of a toxic/abusive relationship (not between jaemin and the reader), optional smut, illegal street racing, mentions of drugs teaser warnings — none teaser word count — 1.7k words summary — the world has never been kind to na jaemin. left alone with a deadbeat mother, he's learned how to survive on his own. now twenty and a college student whose life and vitality (not to mention his rent) relies solely on his success in his career as an illegal street racer, he runs alone. everything he has, he’s fought for with his own hands and grit. he’s never asked for anything, which is what makes the world so cruel: when he finally meets someone who he desires for more than a night, you already belong to someone else. additional — for the racer collab, created by the wonderful @ickjun and managed by the one and only @lucas-wongs !!

projected release — may/june 2021 projected word count — 20k

send an ask to be added to the tag list!

CASIA APARTMENTS [8:12AM]

It’s an early Saturday morning. It’s laundry day, and due to Jaemin’s affinity for avoiding unnecessary social interaction as much as possible, he wanted to be first in the laundry room.

As he pushes open the door to the laundry room, basket of clothes in hand, Jaemin catches sight of a lone figure, wrapped within the confines of a fluffy white blanket. His first thought is that this person, whoever they are, resembles a marshmallow. Choosing not to comment, he walks over to an available washer and begins piling his clothes inside.

“Oh?” He hears, uttered in a muffled yelp. “Blue.”

Though he initially places his focus on his clothes, his attention is piqued by the sudden calling of a nickname. He finds himself face to face with you once again, your visage hidden between two fluffy white sheets. Your lips are lifted into an inevitable smile, stripping yourself of the blanket to stuff it in a washer.

“I might have to think you’re following me around now,” you joke.

Seeing who you are now behind the blanket, a comfortable smile makes its way across his lips, smooth as butter as his gaze falls upon your familiar face. “It might seem that way.” It seems his usual antisocial disposition has faded away in the presence of this marshmallow-like girl. “I actually have reason to think it’s you following me.”

“Is that it? Well, enlighten me, Blue, because I can assure you it’s the other way around,” you say dramatically, reverting back to your goofy demeanor. The two of you press the buttons upon the machines, beginning your washers at a similar start before you make your way to a vacant bench on the sidelines.

“Hm.” A playful look of deliberation makes home across the male’s visage, and he tilts his head slightly for good measure, as though he were in thought. “Well for one, I didn’t trip on anything last time, but you happened to be there when I did. Maybe…” He trails. “You tripped me just so you could hang out with me.”

You gasp, shaking your head profusely before placing an entirely harmless smack on his shoulder. “I believe you’re framing me. For you tripping, I think you’re underestimating just how clumsy you are.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, marshmallow.”

“Marshmallow? Is that your nickname for me now?”

It wasn’t that he had been trying to find a fitting nickname for you recently, but it had crossed his mind. “Yeah, you’re a marshmallow. It just came to me. Now we both have nicknames for each other.”

“That’s cute, I like it.” You nod. You could get used to him calling you that, much like he could with your choice of nickname. “Marshmallow and Blue, us against the world. Laundry buddies.”

“We sound like a lame superhero team,” he comments.

Your hands raise out of defense, teeth now sinking in the plushness of your lower lip in a feeble attempt to hide your ever-growing grin. “No one was supposed to see me in my marshmallow form. Superheroes gotta hide their identity, y’know? I’d like to say you aren’t very slick with yours,” you say, gesturing up to his full head of blue tresses. Your palms slightly rub at your face, and as a yawn slips through your tiers, you fail to confine it.

“Tired?” asks Jaemin.

“Mm, a bit,” you tell him. “I was up late last night studying.” Suddenly he stands, and your gaze follows him. He makes his way over to his basket, and with curiosity brewing you ask, “Any plans for tonight?”

“No, not beside studying and maybe Netflix,” he responds as he pulls out a blanket from the bottom of his basket (which he had planned to wash in a second load). He pulls to him one of the laundry carts and meticulously lays his blanket over it, creating a cushioned nest.

You didn’t need to know that he had a race sometime tonight, and would likely nap in a couple hours after completing his laundry to prepare for the long night he had ahead of him. His typical Friday night race had been cancelled due to tip-offs from the police, but he had caught word of an unfamiliar race a little bit out of town. Instead, he gestures to the makeshift bed he’s made, a playful smile tugging at his lips. It’s an attempt to help the fatigue that drapes over your eyes.

“Get in.”

First confusion adorns your features before realization sinks in, and you stand with an enthused smile. Climbing in with a laugh, you ease in, frame fitting inside.

“Here, push me. Like a speed racer!” One step further, you place your hands onto each side of the laundry cart, exuding sheer eagerness and no longer that exhaustion that had shown moments before.

“I thought you were tired and wanted to sleep,” he comments at your willingness to be pushed around, as though he were some kind of amusement park ride.

“I thought I was too, but this is better.”

“I’ll tire you out so you can sleep well later,” he says, preparing to push you around in circles through the laundry room. Nonetheless, he starts to move you, pushing you alone. First, he starts out slow, trying his best to maneuver your large conjoined figure about the small room.

Deliberate chuckles leave your lips, subconsciously leaning against his chest without meaning to. As he relishes in the sweet euphoria of your giggles, all he wants to do is keep hearing this sound.

So to pleasure his own desires, he runs a bit faster, picking up the speed whilst also trying to avoid crashing into the large machines. He was a racer, after all. Though this was surely a much smaller scale race than he was accustomed to. Smoothly, he drifts into a circle, spinning the two of you whilst an unfamiliar laugh pours from his lips. This earns him a mellifluous guffaw from you. It’s unlike him; you bring out a new side of him.

You attempt to muffle your chortles into his chest. The blue-haired boy is caught off guard by the sudden action; this shock, instigated by the pressing of your flesh against his, causes him to nearly pummel into the machine before you.

Luckily, Jaemin’s fast instincts from collective years of high speed racing causes him to turn before the collision, narrowly avoiding a disaster. He comes to a slow stop, breath accelerated.

“Sorry,” you laugh, pulling your face out to laugh once more. “I’m giving you a workout.”

Your face is contorted into a bright expression, sparkles lighting up your eyes as you gaze up at him mid-laugh. Jaemin gulps.

Even if he’s never been subject to a committed relationship, Jaemin is no fool to attraction. And that is where he feels wrong: there is someone else in your life, someone who deserves you much more than he.

This is wrong. Not because it feels wrong, but because Jaemin knows it is.

There’s a moment, a prolonged period where the two of you stare at each other. Having been caught in a joyous laugh, your eyes still sparkle as you gaze at him from where you sit in the laundry cart. You’re looking at him so fondly, and without thinking, Jaemin’s hand reaches up to guide a few stray strands of your hair behind the shell of your ear.

You’re blinking, seemingly dumbfounded at his gesture. Your head angles slightly, barely leaning into his touch.

For a moment, likely the shortest sliver of time to ever exist in the universe, time is stilled. All that lives in the moment is the two of you, alone in this laundry room. Fingers lingering so softly against the gentle fabric of your skin, Jaemin can do little but stare. It’s comfortable, fleeting.

Until the two of you realize just what you’re doing. It hits the both of you at a hundred miles per hour.

Red flag.

You straighten suddenly, and Jaemin immediately retracts his hand. As if on cue, the noises from your washing machines come to a stop. For a moment, you don’t speak. “Come on, let’s… put our stuff in the dryer.”

A cough sounds from Jaemin’s throat. “Yeah… let’s.”

Without his help, you prop yourself out of the cushioned cart and flutter over to your machine, unloading your clothes with your back to him. It’s clear what is going on in both your minds: Replaying the scene. Reminiscing the other’s laughter.

No, this is wrong—on a multitude, absolutely endless stream of levels. You have a boyfriend, someone for you back home.

The best thing you both can do is… ignore it. Yeah, that’s the better option.

Jaemin finishes stuffing his load into the dryer first, and because he cannot look at you, he turns away to place his focus upon the laundry cart which was once your object of amusement. Now, he grabs the blanket he had placed inside and folds it meticulously. He cannot suppress these feelings.

But he has to, and the only way he knows how to is to eject himself.

“I’ve actually uh… got a lot of assignments to do.” Looking around the virtually empty laundry room, he looks to you, offering an apologetic smile. “I’ll probably leave this here and come back when the hour is done.”

You don’t respond for a moment.

“Oh,” you say after a prolonged pause, and even Jaemin can hear just how evident the disappointment is in your tone. “Alright. Well… Have a good rest of your day, Blue. Thanks for spending some time with me.”

He resents that. That you’re still so kind to him, despite him running away. But he knows himself, and the only way to ignore whatever these… feelings are, he needs to avoid them. The feeling of guilt that rushes over him upon seeing the deflated change in your demeanor, like a bucket of ice cold water poured upon him, is almost enough to make him stay.

Almost.

“You too, Marshmallow,” he responds before exiting the room with his folded blanket, leaving you with the sickening feeling that he no longer wanted to be in your presence.

#neowritingsnet #nct-writers #dreamwritersnet #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #jaemin scenarios #jaemin imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream fluff

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panharmonium · 4 years

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@bloomiii asked: Hey! Do you think merlin actually hates Mordred?

Heya! I’m assuming this is a follow-up question to the ask that @once-and-future-gay sent me the other day, and I gotta say, I love this question just as much as I did that one, so thank you! :D It’s a great ask - relevant one, definitely, for Season 5.

I have kind of a lot to say about it, so I’m going to put most of this reply under a cut, but the short answer is this:

No, absolutely not. I don’t think Merlin hates Mordred.

I think Merlin hates himself.

I wrote in the previous post on this topic (which I think this ask is a response to) about the actual reasons why Merlin is in conflict with Mordred, none of which are based on personal dislike and all of which come back to Merlin knowing that he has to prevent Mordred from killing Arthur, not out of a selfish personal desire to keep Arthur safe, but because Arthur’s survival is supposed to be the thing that is going to bring peace to the land and liberate the magical world.

But Merlin, as I said in that post, does not want to be in conflict with Mordred. He likes Mordred. He says as much, to Gaius. He cares about Mordred as someone who shares his oppression, as shown in the beginning of the Disir. He agrees to keep Kara a secret from Arthur, at the beginning of 5.11. And Mordred’s philosophy - “the love that binds us is more important than the power we wield” - is literally as close to Merlin’s own as it can be. That is exactly how Merlin, at his core, sees the world.

Everything Merlin does to Mordred, he does for no other reason than that he thinks he has to. (And I discussed in that other piece how Merlin is not foolish or mistaken for thinking so, either - important to keep in mind.) But all of the things he has to do go completely against his nature, and by the time we hit the end of 5.11, I really feel that Merlin has descended into a pit of self-loathing that the show, because its ending is so poorly constructed, never allows him to climb out of.

Every decision Merlin is forced to make about Mordred makes him hate himself a little more. The decision to let Mordred die in 5.05 is visibly traumatizing for him. He takes no pleasure in leaving Mordred behind for Morgana in 5.10. And 5.11 is the ugliest, most soul-killing situation Merlin has been confronted with yet - he is torn between doing what he truly wants to do and what he feels like he has to do, when Kara comes into the picture. He initially tries to hide Kara from Arthur, because there is no part of him that wants a Druid to be captured and harmed, even if she was with Morgana’s forces. Mordred tells Merlin, “she’s one of us,” and Merlin agrees. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says (and those are sacred words for Merlin; they’re exactly what Lancelot says to him in 1.05; this is not something Merlin would ever promise lightly). He doesn’t betray Mordred’s secret, and when Kara is captured (through no fault of Merlin’s own) Merlin is the one who originally urges mercy, telling Arthur, “you’re breaking his heart/you’ll lose his trust” when Arthur claims he has no choice but to pursue execution.

However, after that, when Merlin learns that Mordred plans to escape with Kara, he boomerangs back to “he’s going to run to Morgana and then he’s going to kill Arthur and I am not allowed to let that happen/magical and godly forces have all told me that the entire fate of Albion and the future of magic all depends on me preventing Mordred from killing Arthur.” And so he tells Arthur that Mordred is planning to escape, ultimately leading to Mordred and Kara’s recapture.

But THEN, after THAT, when they’re back in custody - Merlin urges mercy yet again. He tells Arthur to “free them both.” He says, “How will one more death bring about the peace we long for?” Merlin does not want Kara to be killed. He does not want Mordred to suffer. He does not want any of this to have happened; he did not rat Mordred out because he wanted to; he did it because he truly believed (for legitimate reasons) that he had no choice. Like I talked about in that previous post - Merlin, at this point in the show, feels that his life has no purpose beyond the fulfillment of the destiny that has been prophesied. He has come to see himself as a tool, with no intrinsic worth or value beyond what he can do to ensure Arthur’s survival (and thus the establishment of peace for all people). He hates the things he’s supposed to do, but he literally cannot see an escape for himself. This is just what he was “born” to do.

Even as far back as Season 3 we see this helplessness growing in him:

You feel trapped. Like your whole life has been planned out for you, and you've got no control over anything, and sometimes you don't even know if what destiny has decided is really the best thing at all.

Merlin, in 5.11, doesn’t feel like what destiny has decided is the best thing. But he also has reached a point where he feels like he has to do what he was told. He’s seen the future. He’s been told by multiple magical and divine sources that Arthur is the Once and Future King who is going to build the “the world we dream of.” And so he does things that he thinks will enable that future to arrive (like preventing Mordred from running away with Kara), but because these things go so completely against his nature and cause him such pain, he then whips around and says, “Don’t kill her. Let them go.” He can’t help himself from slipping back into the kind of person he truly is on the inside.

He is trapped between his true self and what he feels is an inescapable duty. And every step he takes away from his true nature makes him hate himself more.

Kara’s interview with Arthur, where she refuses to repent her “crimes” in exchange for her life, has one of the most telling, devastating shots in the show, when she says, “It is not a crime to fight for the right to be who you are.” The camera, in that moment, is trained on Merlin’s face, not hers:

That is done on purpose. The cinematography is trying to say something. It wants us to look at Merlin and listen to Kara’s word’s and hear the contradiction. It wants us to recognize that Merlin is dying inside. The absolute MISERY locked down in his expression here! He has been forced to do things that seem to work against the very goal he’s been told he’s trying to achieve (to have the right to be who he is), and it’s been going on for so long that it’s shattered his soul. He listens to Kara being able to say that, proudly, without fear, and he hates himself for not being like her.

But he can’t see any way to escape the things he knows he’s supposed to do. So ultimately, at the very end, he does nothing, and Kara’s execution proceeds.

He despises himself for it, and when Mordred escapes and runs to Morgana, Merlin’s only reaction is a dull, hollow resignation. He doesn’t blame Mordred for whatever’s going to happen next.

He blames himself.

This is, yet again, another reason why the Merlin finale is garbage storytelling.

It makes no narrative sense for the show to give us 5.11, which ends with Merlin in quite possibly the darkest and most miserable, conflicted spot he has ever been in, and to then start the next episode with him having a raucous good time at the tavern. Merlin, after what happens with Kara and Mordred, is not going to be out laughing and cheering, playing dice, and making casual, tongue-in-cheek, meta jokes about his secret like it isn’t the most painful and soul-destroying burden he’s ever had to carry (“Ah, I knew you’d discover my secret in the end. There is just no fooling you, my lord!”). It is inconceivable for him to be out partying, after the previous episode. It’s insulting to me as a viewer, that the writers thought they could show this to me as if it’s an even remotely rational direction for the story to go, as if I’m not going ask “what the HECK is going on???” when I see Merlin gleefully stumbling home like a drunken frat boy, without a care or concern in the world.

There is ZERO tonal consistency between the end of 5.11 and the beginning of 5.12. It’s horrendous writing, and it’s why I continuously say that Merlin BBC does not actually end, it just STOPS - abruptly cut off after 5.11, with a slapdash two-episode finale tacked on, one which does not actually resolve anyone’s arcs, or address any of the central questions of the show, or follow where the narrative was naturally heading prior to that point.

Merlin’s arc with Mordred is what finally takes him to a place where he is irrevocably, inescapably confronted with the conflict that he has been struggling with from day one - how is he supposed to justify the things that Destiny is asking him to do, when what it’s asking him to do seems to be hurting the very people he’s trying to help? How is he supposed to reconcile his responsibility to his people (and HIMSELF) with an externally-imposed responsibility to protect Arthur? He’s been wrestling with this cognitive dissonance for years, and 5.11 is the inevitable crisis point - Kara is dead, Mordred has defected to Morgana, Merlin’s secret is OUT, and Merlin has never hated or doubted himself more. It makes no sense for the beginning of the next episode to show us Merlin living it up at the tavern. Merlin is tortured, at the end of 5.11. He’s dying inside. The next episode was supposed to be a natural progression from that moment, meaning Merlin should have had the chance to finally confront his conflict head-on, rather than having it all completely wiped away by the pile of garbage that was the finale.

The correct fallout from Mordred’s “turn” should have been a reckoning. Merlin never wanted to be in conflict with Mordred in the first place; he hated himself for everything he had to do, and I really think the end of 5.11 took us to a place where Merlin had finally been pushed over the edge; it was the last straw. The only correct progression from that point would have been change, and Merlin was finally desperate enough to do what he needed to do to find himself again and make things right, but we never got to see it, because the people in charge decided to completely abandon every complicated question they’d been pursuing, in favor of “actually Arthur’s the good guy and we’re gonna pretend we didn’t just spend an entire episode reminding people how Camelot is still an unjust place.”

I don’t understand it. The same people created 5.11, too. They wrote Kara’s righteous speech. They framed her execution as an evil, and they framed Mordred’s flight as something Merlin and Arthur brought upon themselves.

And then they did a 180 and dumped every ethical question they ever raised. They never let Merlin find his feet or hold his head up high, and I’m honestly never going to forgive them for that.

#the once and future slowburn #meta #the druid boy #replies #merlin S5

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colorfulandblack · 4 years

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So did you notice how every single song in JATP is dedicated to different character? I'm going to skip all the Dirty Candy cos obviously, and same goes to Caleb's HGC numbers. Bit for the rest:

Now or Never - this is the ultimate and only Sunset Curve song. It's THEM. But also have you read the lyrics?

"Clocks move forward but we don't get older, no" and "When all the days felt black and white those were the best shades of my life" it can be read two way. It's both about 1995 and 2020 and their life and afterlife. It's almost prophetic but you don't know it unless you keep watching the show. Also "we're the revolution that's been singing in the rain" watch out for the rain but cos it's echoed in another song.

Wake Up - so at first this seems to be Julie's song but hear me out. It's not. It was written by Rose, Julie's mom. The lyrics: "And you use your pain, cause it makes you you though I wish I could hold you through it. I know it's not the same you got living to do and I just want you to do it". Rose knew she was going to die and she wanted Julie to keep living. To keep playing music. It's her guidance from beyond the grave. It's precisely why this is the first song Julie sings in a YEAR. Because it's the LAST message her mom left for her. It's Rose's song for Julie.

Bright - this is Alex's song and you can fight me on it. Mind it was written back in the 90s - Luke gives it to Julie because it was one of the songs that Bobby hasn't stolen which means that they either played it before, live when they were alive (which seems sort of unlikely because it has more of a pop sound to it than say Now or Never) or because it was never played to the public before. Because it was private. Now again it wasn't something that was kept a secret either because the band joined Julie on stage and executed the song perfectly and they haven't reversed it before, couldn't have because at this point the boys didn't know they could be seen when playing. They sort of joined last minute. They were standing by and watching Julie to the almost last second. And now the lyrics:

"Sometimes I think I'm falling down I wanna cry, I'm crying out for one more try to feel alive. And when I'm lost and alone I know that I can make it home fight through the dark and find the spark" and "In times like that I doubted myself I felt like I needed some help stuck in my head with nothing left. I feel something around me now so unclear, lifting me out I found the ground I'm marching on" this is Alex, anxious, worrisome Alex who came out to his parents who weren't accepting. And his band was there for him. "I can make it home", home being the garage, his band, his friends. They helped him find his 'ground that he's marching on'. Also, I ain't saying that Alex and Luke dated back in the 90s but they definately dated. Just look at this:

"Life is a risk, but we can take it close my eyes and jump. Together, I think that we can make it, c'mon let's run" and "And rise through the night, you and I, we will fight to shine together, bright forever" WE WILL FIGHT TO SHINE TOGETHER, BRIGHT FOREVER. Shine as in unapologetly being themselves. As being happy and accepted and themselves.

Sure when Julie sings it it's about her incredible talent and trying to get back into the music program but again this song was written back in the 90s. It's Alex's song.

The Band is Back - Reggie's Jam. This is pretty self explanatory and the song might be simplistic and upbeat and very beach, summer like but is not without dept. The boys don't know where they stand with the band. They know they are dead and can be heard when singing and seen when playing with Julie but they are still dead. Now remember this song plays right after the boys leave the studio when Ray talks about his happy times with a wife that died. This hits close to home because well they are also dead. But also the way Ray talks about Rose. So much love and admiration. And now Reggie's parents who were "one fight away from divorce". And on top of that his house is gone so there is no way of him (at this point at least and without Julie's help) to find his family or even to learn if they are alive. This song, Luke says that he knows how to cheer Reggie up. But notice this. It's not something that Luke or Alex sing. No. Reggie is. I'm not going to mention that it is kind of weird that they had a song in the ready that's called "the band is back" as if they had a fallout before or something like that. But this aside, this is a song to remind Reggie that they are still friends and that they are family. The only family they are going to need. And they are going to stick together, life or afterlife.

"Can you, can you hear me?" "Loud and clear!" Is such a simple thing that is used on so many concerts to get the audience's attention. But here is different. Becaus eits reaffirming that Reggie is valid. That his voice is being heard and that he's safe. And by having Reggie sing the song - it's like saying "hey Reg we know this is terrible and it sucks but if you'd like we'll be your family and will me always stick around". By making REGGIE sing it, by making him announce that the back is back together is like giving him a choice. A choice to have Luke and Alex as his family. If Luke sang it it was as if he said: "we're your family" but the way it is it's more like a question: "we will be your family if you'll have us" and of course Reggie would that's why the band is back.

Flying Solo - Flynn's song. One of my personal favourites actually. Nothing much to add really. The lyrics are from Julie's dream box because the boys were looking for the kitchen again and are very personal. Flynn is a constant in Julie's life and by having her sing a song about her best friend, SING (a big change that has happened recently in Julie's life) is letting her in once again, having her in her life when the change happens. Letting her on the secret about the ghost band. And it's also an apology and giving her thanks. Because Julie is so thankful to have Flynn there. "My life would be real zero, flying solo without you"

And one more thing, notice how the boys sing nothing but chorus. On every other song the boys get a line or two to sing on their own, except Luke who is not ready to give up his front man position (which is quite fair since he writes the songs too). This song is entirely BY Julie and sang by Julie but is still a Flynn's song.

Finally Free - this is JULIE'S song. This is her first song playing PUBLIC (yes I know it was Bright but it was different. There was no band then yet.) It's her metamorphosis. The song reflects the change in Julie every time she sings:

"I'm awakened, no more faking so we push all our fears away. Don't know if I'll make it cause I'm failing under, close my eyes, and feel my chest beating like thunder. I wanna fly. Come alive. Watch me shine. " it starts off with noting Julie's life without music and then its restoration of it back in her life. Here is this word again, SHINE. It refers to the same thing just different situation. Sine as being themselves. Being true to themselves and singing their heart out.

"Hands up if you believe, been so long, and now I'm finally free. We're all bright now. What a sight now. Coming out like we're fireworks. Marching on proud. Turn it up loud cause now we know what we're worth" Now this can be applied to the entire band. They are visible again, they can be heard and seen. They are feeling as if they are alive again. But more importantly- remember how Julie couldn't sing in her class? How she choked back tears as she run away and Carrie's bitchy comment (it's not that I hate her but y'know if they used to be friends she must have known that Rose died so low blow). "COS NOW WE KNOW WHAT WE'RE WORHT" She proved to everyone that she can sing. She proved to her friends and family that she is getting better with her mother passing. And most of all that she feels closer to her when she sings. She is free. Free of pretending to be fine so her dad wouldn't worry. Free of bottling up all the fear of singing before Flynn and the inevitable disappointment because her friend knew Julie can sing but didn't to say with her in the music program. She is done proving things to people. She is shining bright and she is free.

Edge of Great - ultimate Juke song or a BAND song. Now let me explain, I love the ship I really do but-there is a but,however, I'm not going to go in about my slight concerns regarding Juke as it is canon so let me just jump into the analysis.

Of course it can be read as a Juke song but also as an Julie and Luke's song separately. "Running from the past. Tripping on the now. What is lost can be found, its obvious. And like a rubber ball we come bouncing back. We've all got a second act inside of us" essentially it's about how they all had their past, their demons to battle but they come together united in music. "This is an interesting little relationship you and I have" Luke said. And he was right. Because their relationship is not physical. Its a bond forged by similar life experience and the pain they draw from joined in music.

Now this bit, this 100% Juke right there: "I believe that were just one dream away from who we're meant to be. That were standing on the edge of- something big, something crazy our best days are yet unknown. That this moment is ours to own cause were standing on the edge of great" this gives me some serious throwback vibes to HSM. Also note how this is possibly the only song where Reggie and Luke don't share the mike. They stand next to each other but just watch Julie instead. Also, I think mentioned in other lengthy post about how Reggie and Alex intentionally poofed out giving Luke and Julie that last harmony moment by the piano.

Now this bit: "We all make mistakes but they're just stepping stones. To take us where we wanna go it's never straight, no. Sometimes we gotta lean. Lean on someone else to get a little help until we find our way." Now listen I mentioned the band. See I know this is the almost acoustic chilling chemistry packed moment when Luke and Julie sing. It's obvious they mean so much to each other. By the lyrics itself. It applies to the entire band. They were there to pick each other up and to provide a shoulder to rest their head on.

But as I said untimalte Juke song.

Unsaid Emily - now this, this is LUKE'S song. Obviously. But it's not only because it's dedicated to his mother. It's like Wake Up. It's the second song that is sang acoustically but just one person throughout. And it gives up such a great insight into Luke as a character.

"First things first, we start the scene from reverse, all of the lines rehearsed" THIS is how much his family means to him. He was going over this moment over and over and over in his head. Thinking what he would say. We saw in the show that he approached his house few times checking on his parents. Possibly hoping to come back but never doing it.

"I should have turned around but I had too much pride" he KNEW his parents were only looking out for him. But he was Luke. His music was EVERYTHING to him. Luke has a very single way of thinking of things. He didn't care, doesn't mean he didn't know, how hard it would be to make it. All that mattered it was his music. And it must have hurt. Because he says that his parents regretted buying him his first guitar. It's obvious that he was close with his parents with his mom so they must have not completely condone him being in the band. They just wanted him to have an option if the band won't work out. But Luke didn't see it like that. Because every time his parents tried to convince him to think about it for a moment to think about his future they were looking out for him but to him it felt like betrayal. Because to Luke it sounded like they had no faith in him, on his talent in his band and their chance or making it big. And it hurts SO FUCKING MUCH BECAUSE HE KNOWS IT. He knows it but as he sings he was too prideful to admit it. To come back.

"No times for goodbyes. Didn't get to applogise" and " conversations in my head and that's just where they're gonna stay forever" it's goddamn HEARTBREAKING because this song was written when he was still alive. He still stalked his house and his parents but THIS indicate that he thought things were beyond repair. Like he wanted to come back and apologise but thought it was too late. Like he would never get a chance to say he was sorry and ultimately he never did. Not until Julie.

"If I could take us back, if I could just do that. And write in every empty space the words I love you in replace and everytime would not erase me if you could only know I never let you go and the words I most regret and the ones I never meant to leave" everything he said was in the heat of the moment. He was hurt. But god, at this point I'm crying don't mind me, he thinks that he apologise would mean nothing. He says that if he could replace EVERY SINGLE WORD with I Love You he would but he think it would be erased. It would never be received. Thay it would dissapear. And ultimately it was. Because he died. He died and never got to say how sorry he was.

This song shows us the other side of Luke. Not only the side that only the band has seen before because I think that noone really saw Luke break down like thay when he was singing Unsaid Emily. He was bottling all of it inside and wouldn't let his friends to help him out. Because I refuse to believe that the boys wouldn't try to comfort him knowing that he was hunting around his parents both when he was alive and after.

And this song makes me ugly sob in every form, written, sang, seen in the show so thanks Kenny for it.

Stand Tall - this is the JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS song. The first one of many. And it's almost as heartbreaking as Unsaid Emily. First of all let's lay out the situation. Julie decides to sing ALONE and UNCERTAIN whether the boys would show up or not. Even if she still believes thay they are still there lingering, fighting to play the Orpheum with her and complete their unfinished business she would still lose them. When they cross over they are gone. And if they don't they will cease the exist in the afterlife. So no matter what Julie does she says goodbye to her family. And she STILL DECIDES TO SING.

"Whatever happens even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall." THIS FUCKING MOMENT. This is when the boys are supposed to come in. BUT THEY DON'T. They are still trapped in the HGC so JULIE LITERALLY IS THE LAST ONE STANDING. Because she thinks it's too late. She thinks they boys are dead.

I shit you not I scream everytime the boys appear and Luke flickering gives me a heart attach every single time but it's so powerful in terms of showing how much they mean for each other. When Alex and Reggie break free they are so happy to see Julie but when Luke can't get there quite yet the tension is palpable and I will never forgive Charlie for being the little shit when Luke finally appears exactly on his cue with a shit eating grin like he didn't almost die.

"Right now, I'm loving every minute. Hands down, can't let myself forget it, no cause everything is rushing in fast. Keep holding on never look back. And it's one, two, three, four times that I'll try for one more night. Light a fire in my eyes." This is so bittersweet because she is playing with the band. THEY MADE IT! But also she knows it's the last performance. And it's so powerful because she knows it and she will still keep trying. Keep playing music. Keep creating.

This is the ULTIMATE JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS, BAND UNITED AND TOGETHER SONG

But I want to note the literal chills I get everytime Alex and Reggie get their separate "whatever happens even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall" because it speaks VOLUMES. For Alex standing tall is being who he is. Unashamed and happy and loved. For Reggie is being with his family. Doing everything for his found family.

This is incredible performance and on top of that the boys disappear barely finishing their bow. If you listen closely. The second Julie stops singing all the music dies down except for the last line guitar strum, Luke's guitar strum and everything is quiet. You can hear Julie's voice, alone, still echo but that's it. The boys are gone.

House is Where my Horse Is - ok, I know it was a joke cos they are in the rock back and this is country song. But you ever listened to a country music? And I'm not talking about modern stuff but a good old fashioned country ballad. I had a moment of little musical crisis in my life and listened to some songs and honestly they are so bittersweet and full of longing and melancholy. 90% of them are about loss, whether that be of a parent (almost always father and almost always cancer) or love and hardships of life and struggle. And I think it's really interesting to give Reggie, a person who is nothing but optimistic and cheerful this characteristic. Because if anything it only underlines what we have seen before that he is not the sharpest tool in the shed but he's smart. He sees things, and he might get lost in the conversation but he sees everything else. And it's not the fist country song he has written either. Luke says "stop putting your country songs in my journal". It's an occurring thing. I just think it sheds a light a bit on Reggie's character as someone else than the goofball.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

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