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starlightrows · 3 years

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3 — The Pariah

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

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Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Non graphic violence, fire, hypothermia

Summary: Tempers rage in your small town, you are blamed for the less than savory change in patronage

Eventually the storm blew itself out, and your steady flow of patrons returned to eat, drink, stay the night, and move on. As autumn turned to winter, the storms and rain became more frequent, and began getting colder. Frost settled over the ground each night and melted by mid day.

A few weeks after Boba Fett had left your inn, on a chilly morning, you noticed a shift in the townspeople’s attitude towards you. Instead of quiet resentment or unspoken distaste, now they glared at you in the market. You were just trying to pick up some things you needed. More flour, a replacement pitcher for the one you knocked off the bar and broke, soap, and sewing needles. Many of the vendors would not speak to you, one of them wouldn’t even let you look at her wares. Confused and offended you tried to ask what you had done to have service refused, she met your gaze

“Your business is turning our town into a trading post for criminals and mercenaries” she spits “you can buy your soap somewhere else”

“I don’t choose who comes through this town” you point out

“Doesn’t matter, you let them stay” she snaps the box of cut soaps shut and gives you a look, trying to intimidate you into leaving

When you turn around, many of the other vendors at the market, and citizens of your town have gathered around the soap stall. Their voices rise up from their whispers to angry shouts and accusations.

People begin blaming you for their loss of profit, their stolen property… then the accusations get more and more fanatical. The storm that knocked over a large tree and damaged someone’s speeder, another man’s daughter running away to the next town for a boy, the town children’s new interest in playing “bounty hunters and thieves”.

You back away, try to leave the market and get back to the inn. But the crowd follows you, calling out horrible names and slurs. You pick up the pace and try to block them out, but the faster you go— the faster they get.

You’re running now, running to get away from the mob that seems to be growing with each house or business you pass. You’re almost there, if you can just get to the door. The head of the mob catches you by the fabric of your shirt and yanks you back. To your horror, the rest of the mob surges forward and breaks down your door.

Several men shove you and kick you to the ground every time you try to get up. You beg them to stop, to let you go, to make the rest of the townspeople stop what they’re doing.

You can hear them inside. Smashing your glasses, using rocks to shatter the windows, flipping the tables, ransacking the kitchen, probably stealing your money and your food.

Then there’s smoke rising from the back window. Someone must have knocked coals out of the hearth. People come pouring out of the inn, disappearing back into the town and surrounding woods carrying armfuls of your stuff and coughing as black smoke billows out of your home.

The men who had been keeping you down scattered off with the rest of the crowd. You got up on your knees as the flames overtook the inn… your business… your home… burning before your eyes, and you were powerless to stop it.

The sky darkens as ugly grey clouds mask the sun. You drag yourself away to the edge of the forest just in time for the rain to begin falling. Luckily the rainfall helps to beat back the red hot tongues of fire that have engulfed your home.

You sit for hours, half waiting for the mob to return and continue beating you with sticks. But there is only you, the rain, the ruins of your inn and the smoke that begins to rise into the sky. Rain comes and goes, and the sun begins to set behind mountains. The fire seems to have gone out. You know it’s dangerous to try to poke around in the wreckage, but you have no choice.

You haul yourself up, shivering on unsteady legs and step over what used to be the front wall. Blackened wood, melted and misshapen silverware, the hearth and chimney still stand. The entire upstairs has collapsed. It’s jarring to see burnt bed frames with charred mattresses covered in ash. There’s nothing left. What little you had that actually belonged to you was gone or burned beyond saving.

Night is falling and you’ll freeze if you don’t figure out some way to get warm or have shelter. You’ll figure out what to do tomorrow if you live to see the dawn. You continue to pick through the rubble until you find something you might be able to use. The wash basin you kept in the back and used to bathe and do your laundry. It’s made of metal and miraculously intact.

Dragging it away is more effort than you expected, it’s always been an awkward item to move around. But nevertheless you drag it away from the wreckage, just inside the treeline. Using two sturdy y-frame tree branches you prop it up against the wind, and set about making a small fire to stay warm.

Thank the Maker, it didn't rain again that night. And the fire reflected back against the bottom of the tub and kept you warm all night. At first light you’re up, putting out your campfire and picking through the rubble again to find anything that could be useful. You don’t find much… just an old hunting knife your father had left to you and an iron cup.

You decide your best course of action is to walk the 45 miles to the next settlement and either seek justice for what’s happened to you… or disappear and not make any trouble. The trek to get there will take three or four days, and that’s if you make good time. Might as well get a head start.

————

Word traveled quickly about what had happened. Many mercenaries, bounty hunters and their quarries alike arrive in town to stay at the inn and find that it’s been burned to the ground and the innkeeper has been driven out of town.

The desired effect of reducing criminal activity and foot traffic through the area does occur. But not before they’ve pillaged, vandalized and reaped havoc upon the entire settlement.

The one person in the criminal underworld who seems to miss out on this information is Boba Fett. He returns to your settlement to find the entire town struggling to pick up the pieces of their lives. Your inn is nothing more than a scorch mark on the ground it once sat on with a blackened brick hearth in the center.

His heart aches and his mind turns to dark thoughts of what could have happened to you, and who was responsible for it. He storms back into the settlement, and finds the nearest groveling peasant. It just so happens it was one of the men that kicked you down while your home burned.

“What happened here?” Boba demands. The man cowers from him and doesn’t answer. “I asked you a question. What happened?”

“It was the innkeeper” the man says hastily “She let all the criminals and mercenaries in the galaxy stay under her roof… and they ransacked the town”

He doesn’t buy it… something here doesn’t add up “I don’t believe you” growled pointing a blaster at the man “Either convince me, or tell me the truth”

“No no it’s true I swear! We drove her out of town hoping the crime in our settlement would stop”

Boba nods and lowers his blaster “Thank you”

The man looks relieved for a brief moment before he sees Boba raising his blaster again. Boba dispatches him quickly without so much as a word.

We drove her out of town, the man had said. He had no remorse for what happened. No concern for you, your livelihood they had uprooted. Boba was disgusted by it.

Boba returned to the ruins of your home and began to search for any signs of you, and where you might have gone. It doesn’t take him long to find the remnants of your smaller camp fire and the metal tub you used for shelter. A good sign that you were thinking on your feet and likely survived the fire.

He thought about you, put himself in your shoes and went through what must have been going through your mind. Where to go? What to do? Obviously remaining here would not be an option. So what’s the next step? Finding somewhere safer to go.

He knows of two other settlements in this region of your planet. One is 45 miles northeast and the other 62 miles southwest. Both are long trips to take on foot with no supplies. But if you were thinking strategically you would have chosen the 45 mile hike. There’s water sources in that direction and it’s a shorter distance. So that’s the direction he takes off.

————

It’s been three days and you’re not making good time as you hoped you would. No food and cold weather makes your movements slow. You’ve been drinking water but you can only trick your stomach for so long. Plus you’re traveling in the forest just within eye sight of the road because you don’t want to be seen by other travelers. The last thing you need is another angry mob.

Your head hurts and your stomach is bloated from drinking so much water, but you’re so hungry and exhausted from walking. You sit beside a tree near the stream you’ve been following up higher into the mountains.

You wonder what the new settlement will be like. You wonder what you will do there given that you have no money and nothing to trade. You wonder if they would help you take your money and land back if you explained what happened to you. Or would they too cast you out and leave you to fend for yourself. Winter is well on its way. If they don’t help you, you’ll be dead in a matter of weeks. If not from hunger, then exposure to the cold.

These are dark and scary thoughts. Normally you would push such thoughts away and busy yourself with work, but that’s not an option now. You have nothing but time, and your mind races with all the things you’ve lost.

You’ll never get married or have children. You’ll never get to expand your garden. You’ll never start the projects you’ve always dreamed of doing. Making your own clothes. Learning to paint. Writing stories. None of it. All your hopes and dreams will fade with you into the icy cold winds that will take you.

You have to try your inner voice urges you, you have to try to make it

That thought propels you forward. You force yourself to get up and keep walking towards the next settlement. You have to pause every 50 yards or so to rest against a tree, but you don’t let yourself sit back down. You have to keep going.

Meanwhile Boba takes a speeder and begins tracking you. He can tell you’re slowing down. Good because he’ll catch you soon, but bad because that definitely means you’re getting weaker. Suddenly he can see you on the tracking system in his helmet. He can see how slowly you’re moving. He gets off the speeder and goes on foot to catch up with you.

Switching off the tracking system he follows you from a distance for a moment or two. He calls out your name as gently as he can. You whip around and stumble sideways clinging to a tree to hold you up right. There is fear in your eyes. Usually when he’s hunting a bounty that is a mark of satisfaction for him, to strike fear and command respect. But you are not a bounty. He calls out your name again and removes his helmet and hopes you’ll recognize him.

He’s too far away and your vision is too blurry. In your sleep and food deprived mind he’s one of the people that burned down your inn and beat you on the ground. But you’ve poured all of your remaining energy into pushing forward, and have nothing left to put up a fight. You lean against your tree and stare blankly at the figure that you’ve decided is definitely here to kill you.

Boba approaches you slowly with his hands raised to show you he’s not going to hurt you. His face becomes more and more clear to you as he gets closer. You search your mind for the name that goes with his face you recognize. It’s not until he’s right in front of you, catching you by the arms as your knees buckle under you, that you find the name you’re searching for.

“Boba?” Your voice is small and weak, you barely recognize it “You came back?”

He takes you into his arms and pats your back “Of course I came back”

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey @paige6768 @littledragonlady

#Boba Fett #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #Boba Fett x reader #The Queen of Tatooine #QT

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brywrites · 3 years

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Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand. You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

Tags: @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #prison reid #prison!reid

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

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I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?” While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

Twenty-Four Years Ago

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air. “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another, their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #young hotchniss #Aaron Hotchner #Emily Prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #Aaron x Emily

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someonestolemyshoes · 4 years

Note

Hey! First of all, I'd like to say that I love your works on AO3! "Fifteen Minutes With You" (or smth along those lines) was one of the first fics of levihan I read, and I loved it!

Anyway, a couple of sentence prompts that've been rolling around in my head. I'll add some detail, but feel free to use or discard anything. Writing is tricky lol!

"What if I (insert bad deed)?"

"I'll love you just the same"

"And if I (do smth bad)?"

"I'll love you just the same."

I was feeling a childhood levihan thing goin on here, maybe angsty? Idk

And fluffiness

"Wow! It's been 4 days!"

"Since?"

"I last bathed!"

*thwack*

Aaah hello! Thank you so much, I’m always pleasantly surprised to find people who read my Levihan fics from back in the day :D it brings me so much joy, you’ve no idea.

I decided to go with the bath prompt - though admittedly, it ended up far less fluffy and far more angsty than I intended, I hope you can enjoy it regardless!

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

"Hange."

...

"Hange."

...

"Oi, shitty glasses. Hange."

No response.

Levi stands in the doorway, shoulder-leaning the frame and glowering into Hange's cluttered quarters. He has been calling her name for the better part of five minutes now, but Hange, hunched over her desk with her nose mere inches from the leaf of parchment she is scribbling on, had failed to notice him.

He kicks his boot against the door, and the resounding bang is enough to catch her attention. She jumps a little in her chair, and turns quickly to the door. She relaxes when her gaze lands on him.

"You scared me."

Levi grunts. "You didn't come to dinner.”

Hange blinks at him. Her gaze travels to the window, where the sky beyond had grown dark save for a speckle of stars and the thin smile of a wispy moon.

"I forgot.”

Levi rolls his eyes, pushing off the door frame.

"You forgot lunch, too." And breakfast, and countless meals over the last few days, weeks. Months, maybe.

She hums absently, turning back to her papers. "I've been busy. Lost track--I don't know how Erwin had enough time in the day to do everything."

Levi gives a noncommittal grunt and picks his way towards the desk, avoiding haphazard piles of books and papers and discarded scrolls, small, disorganised mountains of debris that must have made some semblance of sense to Hange. Even as he watches, she twists in her chair and reaches blindly into one pile, plucking up a stack of papers and dropping them onto the desk with a sigh.

Levi stops beside the desk, arms folded over his chest to look at her.

Up this close, Hange looks tired. It isn't an unusual sight--Hange has been prone to fits of research-fuelled insomnia for as long as Levi has known her, so easily side-tracked by her every theory and scheme that basic needs like sleep and sustenance often took a back seat. But there is something unsettling to her exhaustion, these days. There is no manic glint in her eye, no exaggerated waving or yelling, no aroused flush to her cheeks; recently, Hange is always pale, skin papery at best, but waxy and sickly more often than not. Her shoulders sag over the desk, shirt hanging more loosely over her frame than Levi remembers, and there's a near constant tremor to her fingers that barely ceases even as she presses pen to paper, scribbling notes and signatures on countless forms presented by countless people.

Her gaze is fixed dully on the newest expense report, now. The low orange light of her lamp flickers in the lenses of her glasses; fire dances on a matt black backdrop over her left eye, where the patch is strapped firmly in place. Her right is half closed, exhaustion pulling at the lid, the skin beneath is puffy and bruised deep purple. Her lips, dry and cracked, shift almost imperceptibly as she mouths the words on the page, reading quickly, scratching her signature where needed and flipping to the next page.

"There's food," he says, leaning his hip on the corner of the desk. "Stew, and the brats hid some bread from Sasha. Go eat something."

"In a minute," Hange mumbles. Levi huffs, and pinches the top of the quill, plucking it out of Hange's grasp. It's a testament to her exhaustion, that her fist keeps the motion of writing for a second too long before realising she is no longer making a mark on the paper. With a tired sigh, she sits back, and levels her tired gaze on Levi.

"In a minute," she says again, holding her hand out for the pen. "Let me finish these first."

"Eat. It'll still be here when you get back."

She looks very much like she wants to argue. Levi watches the way her brow creases in the middle, the way her eye pinches, narrowing at him, the way her hands ball into white-knuckled fists against her thighs. But she's tired. She is bone tired, and the righteous energy saps from her within seconds. She deflates, and brings a hand up to rub at her eye, knocking her glasses up to her forehead as she does.

Levi almost wishes she had fought with him instead. There's a terrible, gnawing guilt, seeing her like this--seeing the way the weight of his choice bears down on her. Hange is a worthy Commander, of that, Levi is certain--Erwin never would have chosen her if he didn't believe the same.

But things have changed. The world has changed. And what it means to be Commander of the Survey Corps has morphed into something unfathomable larger and more complex than what it was before. It is unchartered territory, and Hange has been thrown into waters black and bottomless.

Hange pushes her bangs back from her face with both hands. The hair, limp with grease, sticks in place, and even Hange seems surprised, pulling her hands back and looking almost curiously at her palms.

"Huh. Its been four days."

"Since?"

She gives him a look, then, and there's a flash of something old and familiar in her eye. She quirks the corner of her mouth in a grin.

"Since I bathed."

Levi swiftly raises his arm, and Hange flinches, but the curled fist that thunks atop her head is almost gentle. She blinks up at him in surprise.

"Disgusting. I'll hose you down after you eat."

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

Hange sits cross-legged in the tub, while Levi's fingers scrub soap suds into her scalp. The bathroom is mostly dark, save for the flicker of lamplight and the pale, foggy glow from the moon through the window.

She is quiet while he cleans her. She had eaten some food, though not as much as he would have liked; sipped at the stew and picked half heartedly at the bread the kids had painstakingly secured. It was better than nothing, but Levi finds his gaze travelling from the top of her soapy head to her bony shoulders, and to the knotted curve of her spine. He can see the shift of her ribs beneath her skin, and when she obediently leans her head back for him to rinse the suds from her hair, he can see twin points of bone at her hips, the skin brutally bruised from the pressure of their belts.

Something unpleasant rolls in his gut.

"Turn around."

Hange does, twisting until she is facing him and re-crossing her legs. Levi dips a cloth into the warm bath water and begins the meticulous process of scrubbing her down, starting at her shoulders. Hange dutifully extends first one arm, and then the other, and it is while Levi is thumbing at the grime between her fingers that she hums, tucking her knees to her chest and resting her chin upon them.

"It's been a while," she says, voice soft in the quiet. Levi moves on to the next finger; Hange's hands, like his, are calloused across her palms and at the tips of her fingers, from years of using the triggers on the manoeuvre gear. They are rough, but her fingers are longer and thinner than his own, and limp in his hand like this, they look almost delicate.

Levi hums in question.

"Since we did this."

Levi makes another non-committal sound. Things have been hectic, since everything that happened at Shiganshina. A whirlwind of learning, adapting, planning, everything moving at such a dizzying pace that moments like this had been all but abandoned.

Moments of peace, of quiet; moments where the world falls still and time slows to barely a trickle, they are a rarity none of them have been able to afford.

Levi dips the cloth in the water and rinses the soap from Hange's hands.

"We've been busy," he says. You've been busy, is what he thinks, but his guilt would sit too far forward, if he said it like that; it would be too brazen, and he knows already that his apology is not what Hange wants to hear. He made his choice, and now he has to live with the consequences. There is no room for regret.

Hange sits back when Levi brings the cloth down over her chest, crossing her legs so he can wash over her belly and sides.

"It's nice," she says. "I forgot. How nice it was."

"For you, maybe," Levi says. He taps her knee, and Hange hook her leg out over the side of the tub. Levi adds more soap to the cloth and smooths it over her thigh.

Hange lets out a low chuckle. "Just another floor to mop for you, huh?"

"The floors don't get this filthy."

He is careful around her knee, where scar tissue from a recent wound is still forming. It is tender to the touch, he knows, but Hange makes no complaints when he touches it. She lets out a pleasant little groan when his fingers knead into her calves, toes curling.

Levi washes over her foot, then taps the sole, and Hange draws one leg back in and raises the other one, and the process starts again. It is methodical and familiar; strangely comforting, in the mess of everything. They've been battered with new information, faced with a world that is so vastly different from anything they had imagined before, burdened with the insurmountable task of exploring it, of finding their place in it--all of this new, all of this frightening.

But this; this is an old tale. They have danced this dance for years, muscle memory leading them in each step. Shiganshina changed some things--Levi is more gentle in places than he used to be, careful cleaning the thickened, still healing skin on her back where Bertolt's titan had burned her. He used to dump water over her head like a dog, bit back smiles at the way she would cough and sputter and stare indignantly through her hair at him, but now is he careful to keep water from dripping into her bad eye. He slides the cloth over her face with more consideration, avoiding too much contact with the tender tissue above and below her clouded, milky eyeball. The swelling has lessened considerably over time, but the wound will remain raw for a long while to come.

When he is done, he helps her stand, and rinses her down with a pale of clean water before offering a hand to help her step from the tub. Standing up to full height, Levi can see the extent of the way her body has changed. She has always been a rake of a thing, all straight lines and sharp edges, but she has always seemed strong and sturdy. Something steady, dependable.

Now, she seems fragile in a way Levi has never known her to be. There is no room left for her to bend; too much pressure, and he fears she will snap, splinter into a million pieces he cannot hope to fit back together again.

He holds a towel for her. Hange takes it with a small, grateful smile, and wraps it around herself, then leans back against the edge of the tub and bows her head. Levi scrubs at her hair with a second towel, ringing as much water from it as he can.

She dries herself half heartedly and pulls on the spare shirt Levi had brought for her while her back and shoulders are still damp. The fabric sticks to her, highlights the protruding bones of her spine when she bends over to tug on her pants.

Once fully dressed, Hange stretches, popping her back as she does, and rolls her shoulders, her neck. She gives Levi a lazy, pleased smile.

"I needed that," Hange says. Levi clicks his tongue.

"I know. You stank."

Hange laughs, a light, airy thing.

"Always so kind, Levi," she says tunefully. She seems loose, more relaxed than Levi has seen her in what feels like forever. Her shoulders sit lower not bunched up about her ears, and her face isn't so pinched or strained. It's a relief.

It's short lived.

"I should get back," she says.

"You should sleep."

She shrugs a shoulder at him, waves a hand.

"Later," she says. Even as she speaks, Levi can see the tension rising in her; the respite of a bath and a hot meal had been brief, and already the weight is reloading. Her burden grows heavier by the second.

"A few hours, Hange. The paperwork will still be there when you wake up."

"And there will be more, no doubt," she says. "I'll get further behind than I am already."

There is no more room for negotiation. Levi can only count himself lucky that he managed to get this far with her, to do this much. He schools his face into a neutral expression and nods, scooping to pick up her wet towel and dropping it into the laundry basket as he follows her out of the bathroom.

Levi refuses to regret his choice. He made the right decision in Shiganshina, and he will not doubt himself for that.

But the tight, nauseous knot in his stomach does not ease. He watches Hange settle back into her desk chair, strap her eye patch over her still-damp hair, and bow herself over the pile of papers she had abandoned on the desk, and the sickening unease swells to his chest, pushing the air from his lungs.

He made the choice to condemn Erwin to death. He will do everything he can to ensure he has not done the same thing to her.

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

Thank you again for the ask!! If anyone else has prompts, please feel free to send them :) I can’t promise I’ll fill everything, but it’s a fun exercise

#levihan #snk #levi ackerman #hange zoe #my writing #thank you so much!! i really enjoyed doing this one ;;#i like anything that lets me just gratuitously describe....anything #asks

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Text

Hermit Rivals: Skizz and Logic

this is a bunch of short scenes put together based on the tiny amount of Skizz/Logic content we got in twitch rivals: hermit raiders :D they don’t really blend together very well but i couldn’t figure out how to do it so enjoy anyway lol

…

Waiting in the lobby for the competition to start, LogicalGeekBoy is talking strategy with his team when he feels something poking him in the back. He turns and finds himself face to face with a grinning Skizzleman. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Logic chuckles. “What’s up?”

“I’m gonna beat you,” says Skizz. “I can’t beat Impulse cuz he’s on my team so you’re next on my list of friends I wanna beat.”

“Oho, fighting talk, huh?” teases Logic.

“You bet! You may be one of the smartest people I know but I bet my team can beat you in a fighting-based competition.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re on.” Logic grins. “Forget first place; my only goal is to beat your team.”

Skizz grins back. “Oh, you are ON! You’re not gonna know what hit you!”

Logic laughs as he watches Skizz bound off back to his team. “So easy to wind up.”

“We better beat their team now,” remarks Doc.

Logic nods. “Oh yeah, losing is NOT an option. If he beats me, I’m not gonna hear the end of it for weeks. Maybe the rest of my life.”

On the other side of the lobby, Skizz bounces up to his teammates. “GUYS. We gotta beat Team Doc!”

“Okay, why them, specifically?” False asks.

“Because if I don’t beat Logic now, he’s gonna lord it over me for the rest of my life.”

“Are you sure you’re not thinking of yourself?” asks Impulse teasingly.

“Shut up, I hate you.”

…

“Uh, guys?” Doc’s voice comes over their team comms line. “I don’t want to alarm anyone but I’m currently being attacked by iJevin.”

“What?!” Logic yelps.

“Oh, this is the hermit mob round,” says Xisuma, sounding unfazed. “The waves this time are mobs retextured to look like the players in the event.”

“Well, THAT’s not disturbing at all,” Doc responds wryly.

Logic quickly slices down a mob version of fWhip, before darting around a house to find a lone mob he can see highlighted behind it.

But he stops dead as he registers the mob standing there.

“Oh no…!”

Mob-Skizz immediately starts moving towards him, arms up, trying to reach him to attack. Its movement is clearly that of a zombie but Logic is still frozen, his sword hanging limply in his grip. He doesn’t want to attack his friend.

“Skizz, please, I…! I don’t wanna hurt you…!”

As he backs away, trying to think of something else he can do, he feels his heel catch something and he topples backwards. He looks up to find Mob-Skizz advancing on him, within a few blocks of attacking. His sword is within reach but…

Logic’s rational mind knows this is just a mindless zombie made to look like his friend but he can’t bring himself to strike something that looks like Skizz, even when said thing is attacking him. He strains against Mob-Skizz as it starts raking its claws down his arms and trying to bite him.

Then he hears the sound of a mob taking damage and the pressure is lifted from his arms. Logic barely has time to breathe before he’s grabbed by the hand and hauled to his feet.

“Logic, FOCUS,” Doc scolds him. “We can’t afford to waste time dying!”

Logic watches Doc run back into the fray before taking a moment to inspect his arms. Several long red welts stare back at him.

He grimaces. Come on, Logic… It’s not the real Skizz attacking you. You think Skizz would hesitate to kill a mob looking like you? Get a grip.

…

“Oh no, all the mobs are hermits!” yelps Impulse, almost toppling off the roof of the house he’s perched on. “Skizz, get them towards the pit!”

Skizz immediately takes off running but as he’s luring the hermit-mobs towards the lava pit, something catches his eye. Out of all the hermit-mobs swarming towards him, one particular one causes his stomach to lurch.

“Skizz, let’s GO,” False’s impatient voice snaps.

Blinking himself out of his thoughts, Skizz dodges around Mob-Logic and leads a whole group of them carefully to the lava pit they’ve made. He jumps over and turns back to check it’s working.

And it is; the mobs try to follow Skizz over the opened trapdoors and fall straight into the lava below.

Skizz cheers. “Woo, look at that! It’s working!”

But his grin quickly falls as he spots THAT mob again, falling into the lava pit. He has to catch himself before he yells Logic’s name, as if it’s his real friend sinking into the lava. Mob-Logic is staring up at him with wide eyes, Logic’s eyes, as it dies a fiery death.

Unable to bear it any longer, Skizz takes off running and shuts himself in one of the houses, breathing deeply in and out to quell the nausea threatening to spill out of him.

“Skizz, where did you go?” comes False’s voice over the comms.

“I-I need a moment...!”

Impulse clearly hears the emotion in Skizz’s voice, and he’s known Skizz long enough to realise immediately what’s affecting his best friend. “Skizz, it’s not real,” he says reassuringly. “I know it’s hard but you have to see them as the mobs they are, not our friends.”

“You don’t understand,” whispers Skizz.

He opens his mouth again but he can’t find the right words. How is he supposed to explain how awful the churning in his stomach at the sight of his close friend dying in lava was? The way Logic’s eyes looked back at him as if asking “why would you do this to me…?” How agonising it was to fight against every instinct in his body screaming at him to jump into the lava pit and save his friend?

After a moment, he sighs. Come on, Skizz. Logic’s probably got no problem with killing a mob that looks like you. Get a grip.

…

In the lobby at the end of the round, False is looking at her team captains’ communication line. “Looks like Team Doc’s round is bugged,” she reports.

Skizz is immediately alert; that’s Logic’s team. “Are they okay?”

False nods. “Yeah, apparently the game seems to think there’s two raid guys left but they can’t see anything highlighted and it says zero of seventy-five on the side of their screen.”

“Oh, you’re right,” says Impulse, seeing 0/75 written next to Team Doc’s name on his screen. “It’s stuck on zero. What are they gonna do?”

“Just let the round end naturally, apparently.”

“Aw man,” mutters Skizz. He hopes Logic’s doing okay; he knows his friend has a thing about bugs and glitches.

But down in the village, Logic just wants this round to end. Exhausted from searching for the final two raid mobs their screen says still exist, Logic is morosely gathering up the hay bales from around the village. They had been doing so well. Sure, they weren’t on track to win or anything. But they may have at least gotten fourth or fifth, but now they’ll be sixth by default. All thanks to the stupid glitch. That’s points thrown away that they can’t afford to lose.

“The admins say they’re gonna put us down joint fifth with Team False,” Doc reports after a while. “Two points.”

“Better than one,” Xisuma mutters.

This actually helps Logic feel better. He knows their team can’t win but it would be nice to beat Skizz’s team.

…

Wandering around the lobby, listening to Doc and Xisuma argue strategies over their team comms line, Logic spots a dandelion lying on the floor. He picks it up and, after a quick scan of the area to find a specific person, trots over to the corner of the lobby where Team False are having a meeting.

“-why whatever we face next will be-.” False breaks off as she spots him approaching. “Hey! Logic! Get outta here!”

“Team meeting, man, c’mon,” Skizz, who is sitting with his back to the wall, adds. “Get outta here. Can't be stealing our strategies, dude.”

Logic silently places the flower on Skizz’s knee and takes a few steps back.

As he registers what the item is, Skizz glances up sheepishly. “Oh. Thanks, buddy.”

Logic just smiles. He and Skizz both know he tends to not speak much in social situations involving people he isn’t fully comfortable with.

“Yeah yeah, great, now get outta here,” False says brusquely. “This is our meeting place.”

In response, Logic sits down next to Skizz, looking expectantly up at False.

Impulse and Skizz both snicker at False’s exasperated eye-roll. “Skizz, make your friend go away.”

Skizz nudges Logic in the side. “You heard the captain, bro. We gotta talk strategy.”

Logic’s sad frown almost makes Skizz change his mind on the spot. He gives a chuckle and pats him on the shoulder. “Bro, you know I love you, but you’re not on our team. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

After a moment, Logic nods, stands up, and starts walking away.

Skizz watches him go, then jumps to his feet. “Hold on, be right back,” he says quickly to his teammates.

He rushes after Logic and catches him just turning the corner. “Wait a sec, Logic.”

Logic turns, smiling at his friend. “What’s up?”

Skizz hesitates, then clasps Logic’s hands and presses a small item into them. “Stay safe, buddy,” he says earnestly, before turning and rushing back to his team.

Logic stares after him for a moment before opening his hands to check the item Skizz gave him.

It’s a totem of undying.

…

Logic is perched atop the sky island, firing down on the ghasts from above. Far down on the ground, he can see the figures of Doc and Xisuma taking on the ground mobs. Even though he’s not great at fighting, Logic is far better with a bow than a sword.

A ghast screech behind him causes him to spin round. To his horror, he finds a ghast staring directly at him from less than a hundred blocks away, a fireball already flying towards him. He swings his axe back, ready to try and hit it back at the flying mob, but he mis-hits and the fireball knocks him clean off the island. And it’s only now that he realises he forgot to grab the elytra from the chest.

Logic can’t help a scream as he plummets, hands fumbling for anything he can use to save himself. But he has no hay bales, no buckets of water, no elytra. Nothing except…

His fingers close around the totem of undying JUST before he hits the ground. The loud explosion-like sound and spray of green sparkles lets him know the totem worked. He hurriedly scrambles into the nearest house and shuts the door, breathing heavily.

“Logic, you okay?” comes Xisuma’s voice over the radio.

“Y-Yeah, all good,” replies Logic shakily. “Gimme a second.”

He checks himself down. No injuries anywhere.

A smile spreads over his face. “Thanks for looking out for me, Skizz,” he murmurs.

…

Skizz sits on the stairs leading up to the seating area, absently twirling the flower in his hand. As is the same after every event, his mind is occupied by racing thoughts and ideas of how he could have done better.

“Penny for ‘em?” comes a friendly voice.

Skizz glances up to find Logic coming up the stairs towards him. “Hey, buddy. Nah, you don’t wanna hear about my stupid thoughts.”

Logic sits down next to Skizz. “Try me.”

After a moment, Skizz sighs. “I dunno, I just can’t help feeling that I held my team back. We came last overall and… it was probably my fault.”

“No, dude, I can assure you it wasn’t,” responds Logic kindly. “Nobody held their team back. You’re always gonna feel like that on a team with two hermits.”

“Did you feel like that?”

“Yeah, I did. I always do when I’m in the presence of hermits. It’s only natural, really. You feel like an imposter almost, like you shouldn’t be playing with such esteemed people. Like even your best will pale in comparison to their average. Like…”

As Logic trails off, Skizz glances sideways at him and finds him staring numbly into thin air. “You okay…?”

Logic blinks himself out of his thoughts. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. Anyway, my point is don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“It’s hard not to be,” responds Skizz morosely. “I don’t think I can name a single useful thing I did that wasn’t what False or Impulse told me to do.”

“I can,” Logic says immediately.

Skizz raises an eyebrow. “How would you know? What can I have done that you would know about?”

“You gave me the totem of undying,” replies Logic pointedly.

Skizz stares at him for a moment. “Wait… really…?”

Logic nods. “I fell off the top island in the fourth round. No elytra, no water, nothing. That totem you gave me saved my life. Even if that was the only useful thing you did unprompted in the whole game, which I doubt, it was worth it to me.”

“Aww…” Skizz puts his arm over Logic’s shoulder. “I’m glad I could help you out, brother.”

The two fall silent for a moment.

Then Logic clears his throat. “So… those mobs that looked like us…”

“Creepy as hell.”

“Extremely creepy,” agrees Logic. “It was cool at first but when a mob that looked like you was trying to bite my face off, it wasn’t quite as cool.”

Skizz blinks. “Oh jeez, that sounds terrifying.”

“And painful too,” Logic says, holding up his hands to show off the red claw marks down his arms.

“Wait, wait, what?!” Skizz stares at the wounds in shock. “That was mob-me?!”

“Yeah, it was vicious. Nearly killed me.”

“Oh gosh…” Skizz shivers. “I’m so sorry.”

Logic laughs. “Skizz, it was a zombie retextured to look like you! You have no reason to apologise.”

After a moment, Skizz nods. “I guess. And hey, I had to watch a mob that looked like you get burned alive in lava, so…”

“All in all, a very good round for nightmares, then.”

“You’re telling me.”

Another pause follows this, punctuated by Skizz rising to his feet and stretching. “Man, I’m worn out. Wanna go hang out with the gang before we go home? Say goodbye to everyone?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’d be very good company,” Logic responds. “I’m pretty tired and there wouldn’t be much point in me being there if I don’t talk anyway.”

“You’re always good company to me, brother,” says Skizz warmly. “Even when you don’t talk.”

Logic can’t help a smile. “Thanks. Okay then, I’ll come along.”

“Awesome!”

As the two head down the stairs, Logic adds, “And you usually do a pretty good job at interpreting for me, anyway.”

“Usually?” Skizz pretends to be affronted. “Uh, I’m AMAZING at reading your thoughts, thank you very much.”

Logic chuckles. “Uh huh, sure. You know what you're NOT amazing at?"

"What?" asks Skizz warily.

"Beating me in a fighting-based competition."

"OKAY LISTEN-."

#twitch rivals #hermit raiders #skizzleman #logicalgeekboy #vaunna writes

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isoldmysoultojonahclemence · 3 years

Text

JONAH’S EVER AFTER ON IKEREV TW

I CAN’T I--

HIS RELEASE CAMPAIGN CAME OUT YESTERDAY BUT I ONLY SAW IT A FEW MINUTES AGO BC I WAS ON VACATION I CAN’T BELIEVE I MISSED THIS WHAT KIND OF JONAH STAN AM I

THIS MEANS THAT JONAH’S ROUTE CAMPAIGN WILL BEGIN SOMEWHERE AROUND LATE OCTOBER OR EARLY NOVEMBER IN THE ENGLISH VERSION SO MARK YOUR CALENDARS

I’m putting the rest of this under a cut for length bc I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY

[Translation:

“On the 1 in a hundred million chance that I cannot marry you into the Clemence family, then I’m prepared to abandon my family.”

Whether it’s to build a family together, or to receive happiness together. For the one you love, the path you should take to the future is...

“You’re really too much. Don’t say something like...I’m sorry.”

The eyes that are brighter than the fireworks in the sky overflow with tears, and turn into strength to overcome the mirror blocking our path.

“When it’s only the two of us, I’m just Jonah...and I want to spoil you as much as I like.”]

ASDFKJWEIH;KAFJJE;LSAKFSD

I CAN ALREADY SENSE THE ABSOLUTE ANGST IN THIS ROUTE

IN HIS ORIGINAL ROUTE HE HAS TO ABANDON THE RED ARMY AND NOW IN HIS EVER AFTER HE HAS TO ABANDON HIS FAMILY TOO????? ESPECIALLY AS WE ALL KNOW HOW MUCH THE CRIMSON LINEAGE MEANS TO HIM??????????????????

And something I also really like is how the themes from the original route extends into his sequel, like the parts about “never apologizing” and “I can only be myself when I’m with you.” It just makes it feel more like a sequel and adds a better sense of completion uwu

ALSO JONAH’S TEARS ARE GOING TO DESTROY ME Y’ALL WILL SEE ME SOBBING ON TUMBLR WHEN I GET TO THAT PART

Here’s the mini talk list:

Luka + Sirius: please tell me about your families!

This one is already out, so here’s the screenshots!

[Translation:

Sirius: My home is always full of flowers, it’s a place that makes your mood lift.

Luka: Yeah...as opposed to Sirius’s family, mine was very quiet.

Luka: Even though it had always been pretty quiet...but ever since “that person” left home, it became even quieter.

Luka: Maybe it was because my family weren’t interested in me, so that’s why it feels so quiet.

Sirius: Haven’t you ever had experiences of playing noisily with Jonah in your home before?

Luka: No. We’re different from Sirius’s family...but there was only one time.

Luka: When I was young, that person had brought me out secretly before.

Luka: The both of us ran around and played in the secret courtyard that person found...

Luka: Until the skies grew dark.

Sirius: ...Is that so. Where is that courtyard full of memories? Is it close to your home?

Luka: I don’t know, I can’t remember...but, it doesn’t matter if I can’t remember it.

Luka: Now I think...it’s alright if that courtyard only exists in my memory.]

*deep breath*

ALKL;KCVKNCKDSA;KWOIWQOIK;FDMX;LZDS;ALKSJFA;LKJ

AKD;XJCEWQ8RJEIU;ANFVDFJSVVF’WDOIJ

;NWEFFKKGDMZXCKCERTIIUIBRI;JDSFJSMF;JLAEKF;LEQKJBNCM

FIRST OF ALL

A SECRET COURYARD???????? THAT JONAH FOUND?????????????? AND BROUGHT LUKA THERE TO PLAY???????????????????????? BUT ONLY ONCE???????????????????????????????????

I wonder how he managed to find it? But also it was to be expected that he would bring Luka bc he always wants to share what he loves with Luka (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Also just imagine the little Clemence bros running around and playing (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ ♡ ♡

But like...

OH MY GOD LUKA WHAT HAVE YOU GONE THROUGH ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

It’s so sadddddddd to think that the Clemence house got even quieter when Jonah left. Also I can’t figure out if Jonah “leaving” means that he left to go to boarding school or if he left to join the Red Army, but that was probably when Luka started to hate Jonah for abandoning him. I can’t imagine what it’s like to grow up in such a quiet and cold place and to have it grow even quieter and colder when the one person you thought cared about you left because now he has other things that are more important than you (/□＼*)・゜

Edgar + Kyle: can love between people of different social statuses exist?

The rest of these aren’t released at the moment I wrote this, so I’m mainly just going to be addressing my predictions!

So it’s clear that Jonah and MC are considered to be from different social ranks, even though MC is “Alice the Second” and has the power to nullify magic. She’s probably considered as a “commoner” in the Red Territory, so I can see why it would be difficult for Jonah and MC to get married.

And you know what else this reminds me of??? If we look at Seth’s route, we finally find out that the whole reason Cradle got divided into two was because a Red noble fell in love with a girl from a different social rank. And that romance tore a country apart, so.

Dean + Dalim: about family

Aight here we go. Are Dean and Dalim really family??? Do we finally get to find out??? Or at least get some sort of clue??? Bc I’m torn between the theory that they’re twins with amnesia or if Dean was some sort of clone created by the Magic Tower when they experimented on Dalim. And I have no idea when their routes are gonna be released, so I really hope we get more hints throughout each Ever After route.

Lancelot: Jonah’s tears

THIS IS THE SECOND MINI TALK THAT WILL DESTROY ME AFTER THE LUKA + SIRIUS ONE.

Also this is a reminder that Lancelot was probably the only one who has seen Jonah at his weakest before MC came along. It’s probably to be expected, since they’ve known each other for literally more than half their lives and also since Lancelot saved Jonah.

And technically Luka has known Jonah for the longest time, but I doubt that Jonah will ever show weakness in front of Luka because he considers himself as Luka’s protector, but it’s different in front of Lance. I feel like he can show his weaker side to Lance, and it just emphasizes how deep the relationship between them is.

SO GET READY FOR THE JONALOT FEELS WHEN THIS ONE COMES OUT.

Jonah: what is your ideal proposal?

OK I feel like this one is either gonna be super romantic or super cheesy. Or both, considering the type of person that Jonah is. But I’m gonna love it no matter what bc 1) Jonah can make even the most embarrassing situations funny and touching and 2) I’m too weak for my mille-feuille boi.

The screenshots for the “Peek at Romance” thing is here:

[Translation:

My dear Queen of Hearts, Jonah Clemence.

Jonah: In that party, every heir of the Clemence family will...

Jonah: Publicly introduce his fiancee, receive the acknowledgment and blessing of the whole clan, and finally step into the halls of marriage.

“What is a happy ending?”

--It’s when, the person who cannot be replaced becomes family.

Luka: Even though my brother is troublesome, and sometimes overly enthusiastic, but from now on please take care of him.

--It’s when, you become allies with the person you met.

Levie: Who hurt MC!? I’ll destroy that guy...!

Jonah: Calm down, Levie Castell. See who’s your true enemy clearly!

When he couldn’t provide an answer, it made tears overflow from his eyes.

And--while looking for an answer, it’s also possible to lose something.

Dalim: Thanks. Goodbye, princess.

Dean: I couldn’t ask any of the things I’ve been wondering before he ran...

But even so, we will still advance forward bravely.

This is all to receive the answer--to have a happy ending.

Jonah: From now on, everyone will see you as...

Jonah: The Queen of Heart’s...and also the head of the Clemence family’s wife.

Jonah: But, when there’s no one else, and when it’s just us two.

Jonah: We’ll become Jonah and MC again, and we can love each other as much as we like.

Jonah: I love you, MC.

No matter what happens, he, who is the most beautiful and pure in the world...

Will only accept a future that is even better than a happy ending...!]

I just...literally cannot express my love for this summary.

First of all I’m just gonna talk about the tone. Right off the bat MC calls him “my dear Queen” and it was just. So. CUUUUUUUUUUTE.

Also, the question and theme of “a happy ending” is brought up, and the rest of the sneak peek answers that question (it’s when the people you love become your family and the people you meet becomes your allies), but also explores how they could find those answers (Jonah crying when he couldn’t find an answer and advancing forward bravely because they just want their happy ending). And finally we finish it off with a super Jonah-like statement, announcing that he’ll accept no less than the most perfect ending of them all!

Moving on to the information revealed...it’s pretty cool how there’s a special party for the next head of the Clemence family when they’re ready to announce their marriage and gain approval. Also, it’s kinda wild to think that Jonah will eventually become a head of the family just like his father and his grandfather before that.

AND THE PART WITH LUKA AND LEVIE ARE LITERALLY SO ADORABLE. LIKE, LUKA INSULTING JONAH BUT ALSO LEAVING HIM TO MC AND LEVIE DEFENDING MC FROM PPL WHO WOULD HARM HER IS 10/10 PERFECT

Also it seems that Dean and Dalim’s backstories might be explored more but won’t be resolved just yet. I guess we really do have to wait until their routes get released to find out.

In short, this was an amazing summary of the route. WHY DO I HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER MONTH UNTIL I CAN FINALLY READ THE WHOLE THING???????????????????????????

Also FYI, this is all completely new to me. For the other characters’ sequels, I played it through on Ikerev JP bc I can’t wait until the releases in the TW and English version that’s like, a year later. But I didn’t read Jonah’s sequel bc my Japanese isn’t super good and I wanted to read my man’s story in a language that I can completely understand so I literally have no idea of what to expect apart from what I found out in the campaign release :3

Also also I’m probably gonna be posting for every part in the story I’m going through BC I JUST LOVE JONAH THAT MUCH. I guess it would make up for my inactivity this month ^^;

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #jonah clemence #ikerev jonah #jonah's sequel #ever after #i SCREECHED when i saw the announcement #no joke #i thought it would only come out during september #so that was definitely a pleasant surprise #i need to quickly stock up on story tickets this month #i only have around 45 rn #which means i can only read 9 parts at once #THAT IS SIMPLY NOT ENOUGH

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raviotherabbit · 3 years

Text

royal pain in the ass - chapter 3

Chapter 3: Era of the Skies Zelda meets some new faces.

[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3!

△ ▲△

Link—her Link, Sky—had told Zelda that his fellow heroes seemed to have… issues, with voicing their problems. Which, truth be told, didn’t make much sense to her. Skyloft has always been a very open environment. Everyone knew each other, and so knew when their fellow citizen was struggling.

Would there really be a time where not all of Hyrule was like this?

Zelda didn’t think much of it, not for quite some time. Not until her visit to the formerly Sealed Grounds, where she found the Hero of Legend staring up at the Statue of the Goddess. In retrospect, the whole thing seemed incredibly tacky. Who needs a hundred foot statue in honor of their worship?

Still, she found herself drawn to it. Of course she did. Things had been confusing ever since everything ended and construction of the kingdom had begun. Zelda still wasn’t quite sure what to make of herself.

She startled when she noticed Legend, having expected to be alone. It was a fresh and early morning, but there he was, arms crossed tightly with head tilted up at the statue.

“Hello, there!” Zelda called out, and the hero turned to face her. This one is a bit older than her Link, thank goodness. She’d grown a bit concerned by Wind and Fours’ appearances, even Wild and Hyrule looked a bit too young for her nerves. They all made her worry.

“Princess Zelda.” Legend nodded at her as she stepped up beside him. His gaze returns to the statue, eyes emotionless.

“There aren’t any princesses in this time, Legend,” she said. “At least, not yet.”

“Hm. Apologies.”

“It’s still early. I don’t even think your wolf is up, yet.”

“Let them be,” Legend told her. “I just- I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Well, what’s wrong?” she asked. At Legend’s scowl, Zelda continued, “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Legend’s eyes shifted to Zelda, scrutinizing her. He sighed, looking up at the statue once again.

“I’m just thinking,” he said. “I mean, there are patterns to all of this, right? Evil rises, and so a hero and a princess work together to save the day.”

“It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” Zelda smiled at him. “No matter how bad it gets, there will always be an end to it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Legend countered her. “What I’m saying is, the evil always comes back. The seals break, or something new comes around. So Hylia calls upon someone new to fight, again and again.”

Zelda reached out, placing a hand on Legend’s shoulder, but he shrugged her away.

“No matter what we do, it gets worse. What’s the point?”

For a moment, Zelda paused, gripping at the cloth of her skirt. With a sigh, she sat facing away from the statue, motioning for Legend to sit with her.

“Has my Link ever told you about me?” she asked as Legend sat by her side.

“Just that you’re the best ever.” Legend rolled his eyes. “And that he loves you so much, and he can’t wait to see you again.”

Despite herself, Zelda giggled. “He’s sweet.”

But, truthfully, she was relieved. Sky has enough sense, at least, to keep her secret from those who have a bit of disdain towards their Goddess.

Without thinking, she placed an arm around the Hero of Legend’s shoulders. He tensed at first, glancing at her hand warily, and Zelda was almost afraid that she’d done something wrong. But then he relaxed, and even leaned his head against her.

“I can’t speak to the future of Hyrule,” Zelda told him, tracing patterns on his arm. “But I do know that the Goddess is not infallible.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Do you know the story of the first hero?”

“Isn’t that Sky?” Legend asked.

“No,” Zelda said, looking up and back at Hylia’s statue. “Sky is only the second hero. There was one who bore the Hero’s Spirit before him.”

Legend looked up at Zelda, so with a smile, she began the story of Hylia’s Chosen Hero.

△ ▲△

Flora and Artemis stumble out of the portal into a dense forest. The nausea sets in almost immediately as both queens double over, Artemis bracing herself with a hand on Flora’s shoulder. After a deep breath, Flora straightens herself out.

“You know, I think I’m getting used to it,” she remarks, offering a hand for her ancestor.

With a groan, Artemis accepts Flora’s hand. “I’m more used to standing on the other end of these things,” she admits.

“Don’t worry,” Flora assures her, gently guiding Artemis to sit below the closest tree. “How about…” She glances past the towering branches to the darkened sky above. “You rest here for a moment, and I’ll get started on our camp.”

Artemis lifts her weary head for a moment. “It’s later here than it was in my time.”

Certain that Artemis is fine on her own, Flora turns her attention to her preparations. The clearing they’re in can more accurately be described as a small gap between the trees, but since it’s just the two of them camping, that shouldn’t be much of a problem. She takes some wood out of her Sheikah Slate, the bundle materializing in her hand.

“What was that?” Artemis suddenly asks, bud eyed and staring at the wood. “Where did that come from?”

For a moment, Flora tilts her head in confusion, before the reality hits her. With a laugh she doesn’t mean to be mocking一though by Artemis’s face, she may have missed the mark on that一she holds out her Sheikah Slate once again.

“Storage,” Flora explains. To demonstrate, she pulls out a few pieces of flint as well, and Artemis gasps in shock. “Rather useful, isn’t it?”

“I know I’ve said it before, but that’s one strange relic.” Artemis notes.

“Oh believe me, I’m aware,” Flora jokes. She lays the wood out on the ground and strikes the flint together, igniting the fire. “Link insisted I stock up on supplies once we started travelling together again, so we’re lucky I haven’t been camping in a while.”

Artemis sighs wistfully, scooching closer to the fire. “The good old days. My Link and I must have run all over Hyrule back during the war.”

“I was a researcher, back in the day.” Flora brings her fingers to her chest as she speaks. “Link- Wild, he used to accompany me to all sorts of archeological sites.” Her hand shifts into a fist. “Of course, we’ve both been much too busy for that recently. But once reconstruction is done and he’s back home…”

A silence hangs over the two queens, both staring into the bright and searing fire. There’s a deep pit in both of their stomachs, twisting and cold. Flora draws her knees to her chest, resting her head on top of them. Artemis, however, places a hand on her descendant’s shoulder.

“They’re fine,” she insists, her eyes as hard as steel when Flora looks up at her. “Warriors, Wild, and all of the rest of them… They’ve come through so much worse than this. We will bring them back safe.”

Flora smiles. “Well, then I suppose we have a lot to do tomorrow. How about some dinner?”

△ ▲△

Zelda’s always been an early-riser. Every morning, she rises as the first rays of dawn break. And then, once she’s ready to start her day, that’s when the business begins. After all, if Link’s to be believed, she’s got a kingdom to establish.

Usually, she’s one of only a few to be awake this early, which she’s fine with. But, on this particular morning, she’s shocked by the presence of someone standing right outside of her tent.

With a scream, Zelda falls back into her tent, but she doesn’t have a chance to reach for a weapon to defend herself with before she hears the person speaking.

“Ah! Zelda!” the figure shouts in panic.

“Pipit!” Zelda pushes her head out of the flaps. “What are you doing outside my tent?!”

“I just- I,” Pipit stumbles over his words, folding under Zelda’s harsh glare. “I saw something when I was patrolling last night! But I didn’t want to wake you! But it’s also important, so I thought I should wait here?”

Zelda sighs heavily. “Pipit… you know you can wake me if something important happens, right?”

“Ah, well-” Pipit’s face grows red, and he awkwardly scratches the back of his head. “You’re in charge here, so…”

With a groan, Zelda stands and brushes herself off. “We can deal with that later. Now, what’s so important that it could either wait or not wait?”

“Well,” Pipit clears his throat. “There appears to be some… Hylians, camping out in the woods.”

Zelda tilts her head. “Alright?”

“I mean, they aren’t from Skyloft,” Pipit quickly adds. “I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

Zelda frowns. “It’s not Link and his friends?”

Pipit shakes his head. “There were only two of them, and I haven’t seen either with Link before.”

That’s… disappointing, sure, but also extremely concerning. Sure, Ghirahim was the only demon they’d ever seen, but Demise could still have followers out there. If these travelers pose a threat, then Zelda owes it to her people that she sees to it. The Surface must be kept safe, at all costs.

“Take me to them,” she commands.

△ ▲△

A breeze rustles past her, carrying the scent of blooming wildflowers. She takes it all in with a deep breath, sighing with relief. It’s a beautiful, crystal clear day. She and Link walk together, hand in hand, though Hyrule Field.

“This is it,” she says. “It’s finally over.”

A giddiness spreads throughout her whole chest, and she can’t help but laugh. Finally, finally! She’s free! Link is here, and he’s okay! They’ve done it!

“There’s so much for us to do!” she happily continues. “We have to visit Mipha, Daruk, Revali, and Urbosa! I’m sure Impa’s expecting us in Kakariko, not to mention the Ancient Tech Labs. Oh, and I’d love to see your home in Hateno, Link!”

Silently, Link’s hand slips from her own.

“Link?”

She turns around, expecting to find Link just a few steps behind her. But instead, the field behind her is barren. Her knight is gone.

“Link?!” she calls out. Desperately, she looks in every direction, trying to find the slightest clue of her friend. “Link, where did you go?!”

From somewhere beyond the castle, a darkness spreads over Hyrule Field like a blanket. She can’t see more than a few inches beyond her face, but still, she frantically yells out for Link.

Something cold grabs onto her wrist from behind, and she shivers.

Right at her back, she sees it. The monstrous, dark form of Link from the battle. He has a harsh grip on her hand, refusing to let go as she pulls away.

“Link is gone,” the shadow says. “Along with the rest of your precious Champions.

“No!” she shouts, trying with all her strength to escape the shadow. “No, not again!”

“You abandoned everyone you cared for!” he wheezes as he laughs. “It’s all your fault!”

The shadow leans right into her face, refusing to let her run away.

“You killed them all!”

Flora gasps awake, eyes snapping open. She barely has time to calm her thoughts before there’s something pointed at her face, and, with perhaps too much of a delay, she realizes it’s a gleaming silver sword.

“Don’t say a word!” the sword’s apparent wielder whispers loudly. Flora’s just barely able to see him out of the corner of her eye.

“Pipit!” another voice chastises him.

“Hey!” that voice is clearly Artemis, and in a second, she’s standing over Flora. She has her own rapier pointed at the threatening intruder. “Leave her alone!”

“State your business!”

Artemis abruptly drags Flora from her bedroll by her arm, keeping her rapier trained on the two strangers. Finally, she’s able to get a better understanding of who exactly disturbed their campsite. The one with the sword is dressed all in yellow, though the design of his uniform is vaguely familiar. He also has one of those long hats the heroes seem to favor.

The girl, though, is wearing a pink dress with a blue cloth attached to her side, and she seems to be trying her best to dissuade her companion.

“Pipit, stop!” She points at him as she yells, as if scolding a child.

“They’re clearly dangerous!” the man, Pipit apparently, argues. “That one has a sword!”

“You’re the one who threatened us!” Artemis shouts, her grip on Flora’s arm tightening slightly.

The girl suddenly shouts, “I said stop!” and reaches for his sword. When she does, two things happen.

One, her hand begins to glow a familiar, warm and holy light.

Two, a symbol appears on the back of Flora and Artemis’s hands.

It’s been a long time since anything has caused Flora’s power to stir. She hasn’t seen this symbol since she sealed Calamity Ganon away, all that time ago. And now, though she can still feel its weakness, it’s here.

With a gasp, the girl draws her arm back, clutching it with her other hand. With it, the Triforces fade away from the other two’s hands.

“You…” Flora turns her hand, looking for any trace of the golden light. “The power…”

Artemis starts, “Then you must be-”

“Oh, I see!” she claps her hands together, a slight nervous energy about her. “Pipit, would you please run ahead and let everyone know we have guests again?”

Pipit, blinking away his confusion, looks over at her with concern. “Zelda, are you sure?”

Ah, that explains it.

“Of course I’m sure,” Zelda explains, and she turns to the queens with an excited grin. “You two are also Zelda, correct?”

Flora and Artemis share a glance. “Well, yes-” Artemis says as Flora offers a nod.

Zelda’s smile grows even brighter. “That’s wonderful!” With a deep breath, she steps forward, hands crossed behind her back. “It’s an honor to meet my descendants.”

△ ▲△

There’s a part of Sun that’s delighted to meet Flora and Artemis. In fact, it’s a very large part. She’s already heard so many great things about them from their heroes, even if Wild had been a bit withdrawn during their last visit. Oh, but the stories she’s heard about them both. From Flora’s incissent drive to Artemis’s reliability, she can hardly believe she’s been afforded the opportunity to meet them.

But, then again, there’s another part of Sun. It’s small, much smaller than the first. When she looks at her descendants, she thinks ‘Why are they here?’

The moment they step onto the construction site, Flora gasps in awe before sprinting ahead of her two predecessors. She looks upon the meager foundations of houses, with walls barely a foot high, as though she were a child being offered her favorite dessert.

“Is this truly the founding of Hyrule?” her fists shake up and down as she speaks.

“Well, it’s supposed to be, yes!” Sun calls ahead. “I know it’s not much now, but-”

“Not much?!” Flora’s taken aback, one hand clutching at her chest. “Sun, this is everything! These stones will mark this location for thousands of generations! You, right now, are building a land that will stand strong for hundreds of years!”

Wow! Great! No pressure or anything!

Feeling a bit hot around the collar, Sun decides to direct her next comment to Artemis, who’s remained by her side. “She’s really passionate, isn’t she?”

“I suppose so,” Artemis admits. Flora remains a few feet ahead, holding a strange tablet that makes a clicking noise. “She didn’t really get to go sightseeing when we were in my time, so she may be making up for that.”

As if proving her point, Flora scampers off out of sight with a joyful laugh.

“When did you two arrive?” Sun asks. “I hope you weren’t out there too long.”

Artemis waves a hand dismissively. “It was only a night. I think I learned a lot about ‘roughing it’. Not too bad.”

Sun can’t help but giggle at that. “Well, we can get you set up somewhere much nicer tonight.”

Just like that, she’s able to get a slight chuckle out of Artemis. “I’d appreciate that.”

There’s a brief pause before Artemis speaks up again. “You made our Triforce pieces glow.”

Sun clears her throat. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Well, it makes sense.”

Goddesses, Sun doesn’t like where this is going. None of the Skyloftians know about her, not really, not except for a few. And if Artemis were to figure it out, blab to someone that Hylia isn’t exactly immortal right now, then-

“If you’re founding Hyrule,” Artemis reasons, “then you must be a much closer descendant of Hylia than us. That is to say, you’re a bit more holy.”

Mentally, Sun breathes a sigh of relief. For now, at least, she’s still just Zelda.

“I never thought of that,” she professes.

“I’m only theorizing, of course,” Artemis elaborates. “But with the way things are going, it seems Flora and I may be seeing more of our relatives.”

Before Sun can ask about that, they come upon the Skyloftian’s campsite, just outside of the Sealed Temple. The first of the Hylians to migrate back down to the Surface situated themselves between the temple and the Goddess Statue not too long ago. It’s a good temporary first home, if a little outdoorsy. But it’s perfect, at least until the first buildings go up.

“Zelda!”

And there’s her father, a wide grin on his face as he notices her. Flora is right by his side, and she’s almost shocked to see them.

“I thought you two were right behind me,” she mutters to herself.

“Hello, father,” Sun greets him.

Gaepora finally catches sight of Artemis. “Oh, and there’s another one, too!” Without much discretion, he leans towards his daughter, though he cups his mouth with his hand as he wonders, “Is it true that they’re our descendants?”

Sun nods. “Yes, they’re the future queens of Hyrule.”

“Queens! How exciting!” Gaepora announces, suddenly pulling both girls into a hug, much to their surprise. “It’s wonderful to meet my granddaughters!”

“Ah, y-yes,” Flora stutters. “It’s an honor to meet you, as well.”

Artemis chimes in with a similar energy. “Likewise.”

“Father, please!” Sun laughs. “Give them some space. I need to talk to them now.”

“Oh, if you insist.” Gaepora releases his hold on the queens, who sigh in relief. “Though I want to hear more from you two, later.” He pats Sun’s shoulder, and when she meets his eyes, she finds that they’re full of pride. “For now, though, I’ll leave you to yourselves.”

Sun lets out a breath as her father leaves.

“Well,” she says sharply. “Come into the temple with me.”

△ ▲△

Despite all the work happening outside, the Sealed Temple remains as untouched as it did for years. Link’s Life Fruit tree still grows nearby, swaying gently in the sunlight. For the most part, though, it’s quiet, and it’s the perfect place for this conversation.

Sun keeps a watchful eyes on the back of the temple, on the ancient doors she once slept behind. “So,” she says, back to her descendants. “Tell me, why have you both travelled to this time?”

Flora and Artemis are both silent, almost startled, for a moment. Sun can practically feel their hesitation.

“It’s the heroes,” Flora finally speaks up. “They’re in danger.”

“Link?” Sun whips around to face them. “What’s wrong with Link?”

Flora taps her fingers together nervously. “Well, you see-”

“It’s an entity by the name of Dark Link.”

In shock, both turn to look at Artemis. She continues with a stern demeanor. “We’ve encountered something like him in my own time, but he was more of a conjuration than whatever this form is.” She raises an eyebrow at her two counterparts. “I take it you have no equivalents?”

“None that I’ve heard of,” Flora taps at her chin. “But it does sound familiar…”

“I haven’t seen such a thing, either,” Sun admits. “Last time he was here, Link told me they were pursuing a shapeshifter.”

“Flora and I witnessed that firsthand yesterday,” Artemis explains. “He took the form of several of the heroes as he fought.”

“Sun,” Flora draws her attention. “Perhaps you could say, when was the last time you saw the Links?”

Sun frowns. “A little more than two months. You haven’t seen them, either?”

“I’m afraid not,” Artemis sighs.

Well, that isn’t good. Sun glances between her descendants, Flora anxiously playing with her fingers, while Artemis does her best to avoid catching anyone’s eyes. And then, there’s the anger. The anger so fiery, so righteous, that it drowns out both the excited and fearful parts of herself, because these are her girls, those are her heroes, and how dare anyone hurt them?

“Then it’s decided.” Sun straightens herself, standing tall and proud, all the goddess she might still be. “I’m coming with you.”

#linked universe #lu sun #lu artemis #lu flora #fanfic #rpita #rav's writing

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thekryptonianandthecitygirl · 3 years

Text

Post-Zack Snyder’s Justice League

The door slowly creaks shut behind her. She’s always loved that sound - it’s the exact same one theirs used to make, back when she was just a kid and they were stationed in Florida. Her mother hated it, she truly did, and her and Lucy used to tease her about how that unimportant, barely noticeable little thing was the only one that could get her mad in a world where apparently, nothing else could.

She was always so calm - so kind. Lois’ been thinking a lot about her, lately. Missing her more, too.

The day is almost over now, and the sky has turned a beautiful shade of orange that covers all of Kansas. In the distance, both Kents are still chatting with the movers and neighbours that have shown up to help, Dusty happily jumping and running circles around Clark, who distractively reaches to pat him as he throws his head back and laughs at what’s just been said.

He looks perfect.

The stupid, love-struck smile that grows on her face at the mere sight of him should probably be considered embarrassing, but she’s too busy memorizing every detail of what she’s seeing to care.

Without looking away, she leans on the wooden balustrade and hands him a bottle. From the corner of her eye, she makes out his small nod of gratitude. “Thanks.”

Ironic, really, that he's the one uttering the word first.

“Well, thank you, actually.” The happiness on their faces today, and days ago, when they first understood Martha had the family farm back, made her heart soar.

It still does. “It really means the world to them.”

He shrugs it off. “It was nothing,” and she guesses it must indeed be a drop in the ocean that is the Wayne fortune.

Still. Oddly enough, the words ‘it’s the gesture that counts’ do apply, despite it implying a gigantic amount of money. “As I’ve said to Clark, I just undid a mistake, that’s all.”

More than one, in fact.

“Thank you for bringing him back to us," and he finally looks at her at that. “To me. Yeah, I know - you did it to save the world and all that,” she smirks, glancing in his direction when he chuckles. “But that really doesn’t change anything. So, thank you,” she says again softly, making sure to meet his eyes this time.

There’s a lot behind them, all of the sudden. Guilt too, she thinks. But soon enough, they light up, just a little.

“You’re very welcome. Although you did save our asses at Heroes’ Park - and after, technically, so that thanking each other thing could go on for a while.” Lois snorts, amused, and takes a sip of her drink.

“Yeah, let’s not.”

“Congratulations, though,” he adds, gesturing in her general direction with his own. She smiles, her thumb finding the diamond of her ring on instinct.

“Given that you brought the groom back to life, and that you bought back his childhood home we’re going to have it in, you won’t be surprised to know that you’re invited to the wedding, of course. Alfred too, by the way - I don’t think they’ve talked much, but Clark really likes him.”

It’s his turn to snort, and the fact that she’s chatting and laughing with Batman as they both wait for Superman to end his own conversation almost makes her do the same.

“Yeah, Alfred likes him too. We’ll be happy to come.”

He glances back at her, just long enough for Lois to see something close to smugness reflect on his face. “But I wasn’t referring to your engagement - I was actually talking about the baby.”

Well. She’s willing to admit that on this one, the Dark Knight did manage to sneak up on her.

“Don’t tell me I’m showing already - it’s barely been two months, I’m not mentally ready to accept that."

The amusement is clear in his voice. “Not at all, no. The non-alcoholic beer you’re currently sipping on is a big clue, though.”

“Maybe I just prefer them to the regular ones,” and this time, it’s his disgust that transpires.

“I think it’s safe to assume that nobody in the world does. Also, this afternoon you and Martha were carrying around a baby basket, baby toys, and I saw her take heavy boxes from you with a very impressive scowl a couple of times.”

Lois chuckles. “Spoken like a true detective, I see - you should join us at the Planet.”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t deserve all the credit: I was pointed in the right direction from the start,” he adds. Then, continues at her questioning look. “Let’s just say the way Clark touched and looked at your stomach when I arrived was pretty telling. The non-stop beaming didn’t help his case, either.”

Her stomach warms up at that, at that dork of hers whose happiness had indeed done nothing more than grow since she told him he was going to be a dad, his blue eyes sparkling and the most beautiful smile on his face.

“Yeah, he’s pretty excited.” So is she. Excited, happy - so happy, when just a couple of weeks before, she thought she’d never get to be ever again.

If only she could shake off the heavy weight that settled in her gut. “Let’s just hope that baby doesn’t get to live in a world ruled by Darseid.”

She doesn’t have to look at him to feel the tension that suddenly fills him. She’s starting to know it pretty well herself, after all.

“We’ll make sure he won’t.” She can see it in his eyes: the same worry, the same fear that’s been haunting her since Clark told her everything. There’s something else behind them, too, something she can’t quite put her finger on. A burden.

He looks so sure, though - so determined. A hero taking up a mission to save the world, once again.

Before Lois can add anything, the sound of engines starting up resonate, and they both look ahead to see the cars backing up the alley, and Martha and Clark turning away from them to head up to the house.

“I better go, too,” he says, straightening up.

Following his lead, Lois leans back, smiling when her eyes find Clark’s in the distance. When she looks back at him, the shadow has left Bruce’s face, the troubles of the world’s fate momentarily fading. She has no doubt it will be back soon enough.

Lois smirks, raising an eyebrow at him. “You can try. But I hope you don’t have dinner plans, because there’s no way Martha is letting you leave her house before she puts food in you.”

Taking a sip of his beer, Bruce smiles.

#clark x lois #clois #lois lane #amy adams #bruce wayne #ben affleck #clark kent #henry cavill #zack snyder's justice league #fics #clois fics

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vg-sanctuary · 3 years

Text

Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling

Moonsprout Games - Switch, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, PC - 2019

I don't like the core gameplay of 99% of all RPGs, but the ones I do like have been some of my favorite games I've ever played. case in point, Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling, a modern interpretation of the classic Paper Mario formula and an ideal example of indie developers adding to the legacy of a cult classic. its main feature is turn-based combat with action commands, like old Paper Mario or the Mario & Luigi series, and strategy in its intentional design and small health and damage numbers that goes way beyond "spam damage and heal every third turn, use mana items as needed". (in case you want to be 100% blind for your playthrough, past the Keep Reading link are some very minor spoilers: an item a specific cook can make after a side quest, some basic enemies, environments that are about halfway through the game, and the names of some medals.)

“wow, vg-sanctuary posting about a game that's not even two years old at time of writing? and it's an RPG? are you not a retro/legacy blog anymore? who are you and what have you done with the writer?” I still am a retro/legacy blog, mostly, just this time I thought I'd share something that its developers still get money from, and whose developers aren't mega corporations. and I just beat it, enjoyed it, and really felt like writing about it because it still doesn't have the popularity it deserves even after that puppet guy on YouTube talked about it. not that this post is going to reach any significant number of people, but still. I'll write about some more indie games sometime in the future. (and indeed I am writing about another RPG and you better believe it has a lot to talk about.)

anyway, Bug Fables starts with a brash little bee called Vi and a polite and honorable beetle named Kabbu wandering into an explorer's guild and not having a partner to join the guild with. they reluctantly decide they're going to fight together because companionship is a requirement for this guild, foiling off each other and sometimes off their third friend Leif, a blue moth they find in a cave, for the whole game. every character has a distinct personality and all the party members get some valuable character development through a side quest, which I really liked, but I'm no connoisseur of RPG stories. while I'm on story, people that come here looking for a well-made world will get what they want from the many optional lore books hidden around the world.

the plot becomes more complex and compelling as the game continues, though it generally lets gameplay take the spotlight. which is great, because the gameplay is also mostly great. about a third of it is doing puzzles on the overworld using the abilities of each character to move forward a la the Mario & Luigi series. they generally make use of whatever your newest overworld ability is, and some areas early on have inaccessible things you have to come back to, sort of like a Metroidvania except it isn't required to do this for progression. some puzzles take longer they could because they involve using Kabbu's horn to repeatedly fling an ice block many times over a distance. it's never egregious, but it could have been faster if the guy would use his arms. this is a minor caveat and not a majority of the game.

a lot of people probably don't know how the combat for this or Paper Mario works, and it's really important to Bug Fables, so I'll explain that here. it's turn based, which is typical, but basic attacks and skills need you to time a button press to do as much damage as possible. you can also time a button press when an enemy attacks to take less damage. Paper Mario and Bug Fables also both have medals instead of other equipment that give characters higher max HP or a new skill, for example. you have limited medal points and stronger medals require more points.

this is going to sound like a lot, but any RPG's combat will sound like a lot if you try to detail it in a single paragraph. the game introduces these things slower than I am here. in Bug Fables specifically, the character standing in the front of the group does one extra damage but is more likely to be attacked, and you can pass turns from one character to another in exchange for that character dealing one less damage (which is a lot because basic attacks only deal two damage by default). certain enemies can only be hit by certain attacks; some enemies fly, so Kabbu can't hit them until Vi knocks them down with her beemerang. not a typo, beemerang. and many of Bug Fables' status effects have upsides -- being paralyzed reduces damage taken everything by one, poison has many medals that make it a good thing, and being asleep heals the sleeping character every turn. there are others that are straight up bad things, though, and usually don't come until later. all of this adds up to even small encounters having strategic depth, which is great, and if you don't feel like small encounters you can just avoid them. skills that would typically be relegated to one character, like healing and support skills all going to one, are instead split between party members to make decisions more difficult in a good way. there's also a lovely medal that instantly kills any enemy the game deems too easy for you, sort of like in Earthbound.

I figure I spent more time doing housekeeping like cooking (simple A+B=C or A-becomes-B crafting), buying items, and arranging medals in Bug Fables than in any other RPG, which is because it was designed that way. by the way, cooking recipes start hidden, but a foodie at each restaurant will share some strong ones for free, which is a big help early on. anyone who's played The World Ends with You (i.e. me) will be spoiled by its excellent quality of life: no consumable items and you instantly heal to full after every encounter. it makes items seem like a ridiculous formality that RPGs only still have because they've had them for years, but in Bug Fables any item that isn't simple healing -- a lot of them aren't simple healing -- has great strategic use, and the exact way you spend your medal points can determine whether you win or lose any fight, especially bosses. for example, one character having one extra damage for two turns when they typically only do two is pretty important, especially when they use an attack that does multiple hits, and having it in item form saves valuable medal points and skill points. part of that time was kind of a waste, though, because I generally had one set of medals I use for multiple enemies and one I use for single enemies like bosses. being able to save loadouts would have helped a lot. I would like to compliment Bug Fables on allowing you to restart any boss with different medals without having to repeat cutscenes, and commend it for letting you do-over your level up bonuses late in the game when it starts to matter.

it's not like spending a lot of time on strategizing before fights is strictly mandatory. I was mostly playing on hard mode where enemies have more health and more difficult attacks, and mostly with a medal called Hard Hits that makes all enemies deal one extra damage in exchange for extra money after each fight. it can be less difficult if you'd like, but it's never mindless; even if you're doing a strategy that manages 20 or 30 damage (again, a lot in this game) in a single turn, it takes effort to choose your medals to do so much damage and actually play the strategy out in combat. the combat strategy is the best part of Bug Fables, and it makes each fight almost like a puzzle. I've typed some form of "strategy" six times so far, which is fair because it's the best part of Bug Fables. don't let it put you off, though, it's RPG combat strategy, not chess-like or RTS or something, so if you've enjoyed any other turn-based RPG it should be easy to get used to.

it's also worth mentioning the ample side content. each chapter of the game unlocks a handful of side quests, some about trading, some about combat, and almost as many bonus bosses as main bosses. you're allowed to fight them fairly early on, and a few become available after the final boss that are actually a bit harder than it in classic Paper Mario fashion. basically, if you like Bug Fables, there's a lot of it to play. there's even a trading card minigame because of course there is. it's fairly fleshed out, too, and unlike the one in Chocobo Tales the animations between turns don't take six years. the reward for the whole card side quest isn't something that's important for combat, so you can skip it if you don't like it; I didn't especially like it so I think that was a great decision on the developers' part.

rewards for some of the other side content, though, are so good it's kind of a wonder they can be completely skipped. it doesn't make the game harder to not have those skills or medals, but they are some of the best in the game and undeniably really useful. they make great side quest rewards in that sense, but it's important to know for the people that usually wouldn't do side content. I don't know if that's a common kind of player, but just in case. (this game's 100% achievement has been earned by a sky-high 5.9% of players on Steam. usually it's more like 2% or less. the point is none of the extra content is overly obtuse.)

I will complain about the forced stealth sections though. and be astounded that they fixed the main issue with them in the last stealth section. these are minor caveats and take well under an hour total unless you're really, really, really bad at sneaking, but they bothered me when I got to them. I mean, I understand why they're in the game, I understand why Zelda has them, but I didn't really like them. the main issue for all but the last stealth section is that there's no vision cone or other indication that "if you stand here they will see you" or even an opportunity to recover from mistakes which are incredibly important for playable stealth. the last stealth section does have a vision cone and does have an opportunity to recover from mistakes, which is a great step up. I would like to use even more italics to remind you that these sections total less than an hour of gameplay. Zelda: Breath of the Wild's forced-ish stealth was much worse than this.

I don't know where else to put it, so I'll add here that the soundtrack is great and the graphics are perfectly Gamecube-y and the sprites capture the cuteness of Paper Mario really well, even though they're, you know, bugs. each environment is distinct and themed well, and each one’s music matches well. I really wish I knew how to talk about music because there are a lot of different songs in this game that work well for what they go with. boss music sounds intense and boss-y and appropriate for each boss you're fighting, the not-music hits just right, and everything else feels good. some songs use Nintendo 64 MIDI instruments, which I loved. and the bee boss music has a synth that sounds like bees buzzing.

anyone that likes RPGs -- and even some people that don't -- will probably enjoy the story and strategy that make up the excellent Bug Fables. it goes beyond being a homage to Paper Mario and becomes its own thing entirely, though its roots are obvious from the art style. not that this takes away from it -- Paper Mario is a great legacy, and this manages to be even better. for all its little bad things there are a dozen great ones. I admit I haven't played the classic Paper Mario games, but this made me want more -- I guess I'll have to go back while I hope for Moonsprout Games to continue forward.

#bug fables #bug fables the everlasting sapling #my writing #this was also on amazon luna but i didnt figure anyone would care if i omitted it #also screenshots i took myself wow

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brywrites · 4 years

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Flight Risk IV

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IV: In which airplane food is disappointing and the context of a case is heavy.

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Arthur stands waiting for her outside the jet stairs. “So you’re on speaking terms again?”

She freezes, hands still lifted in the middle of adjusting her cap. “What do you mean?”

Arthur gives half a shrug and begins climbing up into the plane. He’s not one to pry into the lives of other people, but she’s discovered he does make occasional exceptions to this rule. “Simply that you seem much happier to be around Dr. Reid today. Your scowl is gone.”

Her face flushes and she’s grateful he can’t see it as they file into the cockpit. “We talked, yes. I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

Arthur gives a noncommittal, mmmm, and gets to work adjusting Geff’s controls. She does the same, going through routine checks, only to be interrupted by a quiet, “Just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Y/N blinks, then looks down quickly. She doesn’t ask him to elaborate; Captain Dobson isn’t one for sentimental attachments or expressions. The fact that he’s saying this at all speaks volumes. It makes her happy, to know he considers her someone close. The BAU is obviously close-knit, she’s heard them refer to themselves more than once as a “family.” But the two of them, bound by similar schedules and shared challenges, they’re something of that sort too. Perhaps that makes them distant cousins of the FBI.

The team boards the plane, they’re cleared for takeoff, and it’s all smooth flying and blue skies for a solid three hours. They’re both tired, and the thought of being able to go home and sleep in her own comfortable bed lifts her spirits – until the cockpit door slides open and Agent Rossi steps in.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he says. “We just got word of a case in Houston. Two previous victims and now there’s a kid missing.”

A kid. Oh, god. Rossi looks genuinely apologetic, but Arthur nods.

“We’ll change course immediately.” Rossi murmurs a thank you, then slides the door closed once more, muffling the voices of the other agents, already discussing the case behind them.

Y/N follows all orders, gets in touch with the air traffic controller, telling Indianapolis Center that they’ll be changing directions and heading for Houston. Other than exchanges with ATC and instructions to shift speeds and change controls, they fly in silence. It’s a heavy quiet, weighed both by an acknowledgement that somewhere, something horrible has happened, as well as the fact that they won’t be going home tonight.

It’s harder for Arthur, he has a boyfriend to go home to, people who need him. She has less attachments, but has no desire to spend more time in a small motel once again. Still, things could be worse. It’s important work.

“I think we’ve still got lunches prepared that I could heat up,” she offers. “What do you want – the chicken or the pasta?”

“Pasta,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“You always take the pasta.”

“I’m the captain. When your epaulets have four stripes, you can claim it first.”

“I don’t know why we even bother with the chicken,” she grumbles. “We both hate airplane meat.”

“You know the rules. We can’t have the same meal.”

Y/N carefully clambers to the sliding door. “I know. But honestly, how many planes have gone down as a result of the food?”

“There have been some close calls. Japan Air, 1975, omelets. Overseas National, 1982, tapioca. British Airways, 1984, hors d’oeuvres.” She rolls her eyes, but begrudgingly goes to fetch the saran-wrapped meals. Slipping out of the cockpit, she catches bits and pieces of conversation as the team begins to work. The previous victims were a little older, most in their early and mid-twenties. All women with blonde hair.

“But Caroline Chapman is only twelve,” Morgan adds. “Though she fits the physical type.” Twelve years old. Her stomach turns, and it has nothing to do with the plane. She swallows hard and grabs the meals from the warm tray, hurrying back to the cockpit before she can hear anything else.

Their world is so different from hers. Their work is so heavy. Sometimes, in the silence of the flight, she pretends she’s a commercial pilot, bringing passengers somewhere cheerful. Maybe part of the crew on one of those Make-A-Wish flights.

The pilots eat in silence, then Arthur, sensing she needs a distraction, begins one of their infamous verbal games.

“Fortunately,” begins Arthur, thinking it over, “I’m taking a vacation in Seattle.”

“Unfortunately,” she counters, “climate change has turned Seattle to a frozen wasteland.”

“Fortunately, I’m an Iditarod champion and getting around won’t be an issue.”

“Unfortunately, the number of confused squirrels on the snow is distracting the sled dogs.”

Back and forth they continue, trying to create the most complicated situation until one of them has no counterpoint, or says something so absolutely outlandish they must concede. Sometimes their games can carry on for almost an hour; depending on which one they’re playing. This one finally ends when Arthur claims he’s saved up enough vacation time, and she rebuttals that the BAU has called in an emergency and he has to come fly the plane.

“Ah,” says Arthur, “fortunately Seattle is a frozen wasteland and no planes can take off.”

Y/N admits defeat. They sit in silence, cloud rushing past them. Then she says, “They’re only twelve.”

“I heard,” he says, starting straight ahead at the sky. She shifts in her seat, searching for the words to explain how she’s feeling. Arthur adds, “You can’t think about it too much. That’s their job.”

That’s all he has to say. A few hours later, they touch down just outside of Houston, and the agents file off to SUVs. She and Arthur prepare Geff for his overnight stay at the little airport they’ve landed at, before going off to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and they end up staying at the same one as the team. After a nap, she takes a long hot shower, and they order takeout, exhausted from the long flight.

Dinner arrives at nearly 8 pm; Arthur takes his to his room, and she makes herself comfortable in the lobby. Wet hair thrown up in a bun, a sweatshirt and leggings. That’s the nice thing about traveling. Nobody knows her. She can be anyone in a new city, only to disappear a few days later and leave only faint traces of herself. The sun has nearly disappeared outside the lobby window, when half of the team comes in, looking entirely drained. They head off in different directions, and she’s pleasantly surprised when Reid goes not to his room, but to join her on the hotel lobby couch. Y/N tries not to look too excited.

“You look tired,” she remarks. Holds out the container of pad thai and chopsticks. “Have you eaten yet?”

He politely refuses. “I have, thanks. Besides, I don’t know how to use chopsticks.”

“What? We’re going to have to fix this.” Her joking smile shrinks to one of hesitancy when she asks, “How are you doing?”

Reid shrugs, runs his hand through his long hair. It seems the more stressed he is, the messier it gets, and something makes her want to sit him down and brush her fingers through it until he looks calm.

“We’ve got enough for a partial profile, but that’s it. We still don’t have – I mean, we still can’t find the girl.”

Arthur explicitly warned her not to get involved, not to think about it. And yet, she asks, “So… what does that mean?” She knows enough to realize it’s not good.

Reid purses his lips. “The first hour is the most important. When a stranger abducts a child, it doesn’t always mean they’ll be killed. But of the children who are, almost half die within the first hour. Nearly all of them are killed within the first twenty-four, and we just passed that mark. Hotch, JJ, and Rossi are still out looking, with the CARD team. In five hours, they’ll come back and I’ll go out with Morgan and Kate.”

Kate Callahan is the newest member of their team, a short woman with dark hair and no time for anyone’s crap. She likes the way they look out for each other, making sure they have a chance to rest. But twenty-four hours, it’s such a short timespan. Gone too soon already. What does that mean for Caroline Chapman?

“Are you okay?” Reid asks, tilting his head. His voice is gentle, making it easy to admit to him what she hates to admit to herself.

“This job – it’s different for us, you know? As pilots,” she says. “You’re trained for this. It’s what you know you’ll be doing, going off to fight evil and save lives. I never thought I’d be involved with that. I mean, I like this job, don’t get me wrong. But I love flying. And lately, every time I get a call from work, my heart breaks because I know the only reason I’m going up in the air is because something terrible has happened to someone, and I just don’t know how to reconcile that. Every time I get into that plane, every time we get Geff off the ground, we’re taking you all to danger, and I only get to do what I love because someone else has suffered a tragedy.”

It’s so complicated, to have her great love for the sky tangled up in this mess she feels when the phone rings. It’s fear and it’s anxiety and it’s sorrow – grief for people she will never even meet. And flying back can be just as difficult. A case closing may mean a happy ending, but it also might mean that a victim is dead, or that an unsub – she’s picked up their lingo – is dead. Either way, there has almost always been some sort of loss. Perhaps in the form of innocence or hope or comfort. She can see it when they board before heading home. This job takes things from them. Will a day come when they have nothing left?

“I know it might sound selfish, but it’s just hard for me to understand. And you,” she adds. “I’m always so happy to see you and talk to you, but that only happens when there’s a case. I feel like I shouldn’t feel that way, not when someone’s life is on the line.”

Does it make sense to him? She hopes it does, because otherwise it’s going to sound so self-centered. Of course his job is more emotionally taxing. Of course she’d rather be a pilot than a profiler. But it hurts her heart each time she hears there’s a case. She grieves for them too. And she worries for the team, her team, their team.

He must understand though, because he places one hand over hers, just long enough for her to understand it’s meant as a comforting gesture, and not purely accidental. Reid doesn’t touch many people, she never sees him shake hands with anyone he doesn’t know. Crossing that barrier is a big deal, and that’s what leaves her all the more surprised.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “It’s okay to feel whatever you feel – about this job, or a case. You don’t have to disconnect from things or stop being affected by them. But you also don’t have to feel guilty about liking your work. You shouldn’t – you’re a great pilot, and a really good person.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Reid gives her half a smile, then looks nervously down at the floor. His pulls at his fingers. “You know, maybe we could meet sometime outside of work. That way we can actually talk for a normal amount of time, and we don’t have to worry about anything else.”

“That would be really, really nice.” At that, his smile widens, and she can feel her own mouth mirroring his expression. “Maybe after all this, when we’ve both had enough sleep, we could go get coffee or something? Go to a library?”

Reid’s grin makes his eyes seem less tired, and for a moment it’s so easy to forget the circumstances. “I’d like that.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #flight risk

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