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heliads · 2 years

Note

CONGRATS ON TWO YEARS *loud cheering from hundreds of fans*

Okay, so in honour of this I'm sending in a drabble idea. I know you don't like Damon that much from TVD (and you by no means have to write this if you don't want to) but today I was listening to my playlist and Taylor Swift's 'Haunted' started playing, and all I could think of was a Damon Salvatore x reader based on the song. It could be from Damon's perspective where the reader dies and he's like "come on come on don't leave me like this" and it's just filled with angst and memories and utter PAIN and how he deals with it. Or if you don't want that kind of suffering it could be about a breakup or something else! There can be fluff in there if you want, it's up to you but anyway, congrats again! ily and I'm sending hugs!

loving the hundreds of fans (and you and damon)

masterlist

Damon Salvatore was alone when he first heard that she was dead. He only found out through an impersonal phone call, the news read out in the same bland voice as if he were hearing about tax returns or changes in the recycling schedule, not something that could actually rend his world apart.

He was alone, and he picked up the phone without knowing who he’d be when he put it down. Y/N is dead, says the voice. Y/N L/N was killed on the outskirts of Mystic Falls. We don’t know who did it. And that was that.

You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

But I never thought I'd live to see it break

Damon is no stranger to dead bodies. Heaven knows he’s caused his fair share, but this one is different. Even though he’s long since passed over his aversion to blood, and only makes faces over gristly corpses in the hopes of getting Stefan or Caroline to react again, seeing Y/N lying there, still as bone, made him shudder from head to toe.

It was unnatural. Perhaps that’s what had gotten to him. It was Y/N, in a way, and it was also not her at all. Damon doesn’t remember how he reacted at first, but apparently he looked like he might be inches from death, too, when the plain cloth was first pulled away from her face. Supposedly, he practically bit his wrist off trying to get his blood into her system, hoping against hope that it would work and she could still be alive. It didn’t, and his scars healed soon enough even if hers did not.

It's getting dark and it's all too quiet

And I can't trust anything now

Damon was alone when he found out that Y/N was dead, and he is alone now too. He’s become a recluse, even more than usual. Death doesn’t affect him, it never has. When things seem as if they’ll hurt a little too much, Damon can flick off his humanity like he’s knocking over a house of cards, so much hard work gone in a moment. He doesn’t have to feel a thing, and it is perfect.

Damon does not turn off his humanity when Y/N dies. Perhaps it’s because he already feels so numb that there’s no point in going to the trouble of turning it off anyways; he’s already there, already nothing. He tries, certainly, when the sun disappears beneath the horizon and a thousand thoughts hit him hard, but he never quite manages it.

Oh, I'm holding my breath

Won't lose you again

Something's made your eyes go cold

No one knows why he’s still thinking about it. Damon has heard the others murmuring and whispering. He’s not deaf, even if he is blind to whatever the hell is going through his dead heart at the moment. He wasn’t like this when everyone else close to him died, so what is it about Y/N that would shake him up so bad?

Maybe it’s because he loved her. Damon can admit it freely now. Yes, he loved her. Yes, she was the one person in his one hundred and seventy years who actually made him feel worthwhile. Katherine was something, certainly, but she still made Damon walk away from every encounter with a feeling that he wasn’t enough, a particularly bad taste in his mouth. That could just be the corruption of his memories now that Damon knows her for the deeply flawed vampire that she is, but still. The point remains true.

Damon did love Y/N, though. He has vivid memories of meeting her, of talking with her, of realizing that finally, he managed to find someone who looked past his ‘troubled murderer’ exterior and love him back. Sure, Damon is a troubled murderer. He’s rather proud of it, too.

The difference was that Y/N didn’t try to change him, not like Stefan with his bunny kills or Elena with her relentless righteousness. Y/N saw every facet of him and still wanted what she saw. People like that don’t come around every day, and they certainly won’t now.

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Something's gone terribly wrong

You're all I wanted

Damon tilts his head back, closing his eyes so he can stare unseeingly up at the ceiling. Y/N was human, so Damon doesn’t know if she’s somewhere on the Other Side watching him or not. At times, he wishes she was, so he can pretend they’re not separated by time and death and a thousand or things. Other days, he’s glad she isn’t around to watch him throw his life away because he just can’t figure out what to do with himself now that she’s gone.

Today, he’s kind of hoping she’s there to guide him after all. Nobody’s in the house except him, so when Damon starts to speak, the only one who can hear him is Y/N. Probably.

“I miss you, you know.”

Nobody answers, as expected. Damon keeps going anyway.

“I didn’t think I would miss you this much. I know, I know, that’s a horrible thing to say to your ghost, but it’s true. I knew losing you would hurt, but this is different.”

This hurt is a rusty garrote against his throat, cleaving and cutting and brutalizing every part of him. Damon was expecting a clean stab through the heart, and this is far worse.

“If you were here right now, you would tell me—”

Damon lapses into silence. What would she tell him? To pick himself up from the floor and actually do something with his interminably long life, maybe. Preferably something that didn’t involve locking himself away in his house until the lack of fresh air alone killed him.

He doesn’t really want to do that, though. The problem with becoming a sunlight fearing hermit is that it’s actually quite enjoyable, and allows Damon to partake in some of his favorite hobbies at the moment, such as grievous self pity and midnight ramblings fuelled by despondence.

“You would tell me to get over myself, maybe, but you’d also joke about being properly mourned. Remember that one time we were trying to shut down a pack of rival vampires and we stumbled upon them having this crazy funeral rite for one of their dead? I’m talking about ash throwing, dove sacrificing, all of that. You looked me straight in the eyes and said that if I didn’t mourn you with that much extravagance, you’d come back and haunt me yourself.”

Damon smiles fondly, a wave of similar memories crashing over him. The moment slips away soon enough, though, because he can’t think about good times in the past without also realizing that he won’t get to have any more with her in the future.

“Well, I’m kind of hoping you’ll stay true to that promise, but if not, I’m doing my best. I just wish you were here, alright? Why can’t you be here?”

His voice takes on a tinge of irritation. He’s not mad at her, necessarily, more at the world for daring to take his Y/N away from him. After everything he’s done, this feels like some sort of karma, but it’s still unfair. Y/N doesn’t deserve to die just because of him.

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Can't breathe whenever you're gone

Can't turn back now, I'm haunted

If anything, Damon should be the one roasting in some eternal fiery chasm. How many people has he killed or drained of blood over the years? He is a monster, pure and simple, but he’s never really minded it before. Y/N never minded it, and therefore he didn’t have to, either.

That’s what’s getting to him, after all. Every single thing Damon does reminds him of Y/N. How is he supposed to stop grieving all the damn time if he can’t get out of this cycle? All of a sudden, he feels restless, interminably so. Damon picks himself up, forcing himself out of the house for what might be the second or third time in countless weeks.

It’s dark outside, perhaps late at night. It could be anywhere from just shy of ten o’clock to an hour or two past midnight. Y/N used to chide him for letting himself get so far out of the scope of normal human time. That was mainly when he’d put off necessary tasks until the literal last second, and then use his vampire speed to get them all done just in time. Maybe he did it because he actually was that lazy, or maybe it was because he liked seeing her vexed but happy laughter every time he managed to pull off the impossible yet again.

Damon stumbles through the dark, around trees and over sidewalks, until he finds himself in the middle of the street. Again, not entirely uncommon for him; somehow, Damon isn’t surprised that he’s turned to his favorite habit for irreparable emotional damage.

He wanders until he’s a decent way away from the town borders, where he can be sure of finding a car traveling by at some point but the Sheriff or somebody else won’t stumble upon him. Damon carefully lays himself down on the asphalt (do not think about how Y/N looked in her coffin, do not think about how he’s clasping his hands over his chest in the same way that the mortician arranged her fingers) and looks up to the sky.

This far from the city limits, the stars are bright. Damon doesn’t remember when he learned the constellations, only the familiar feeling in his stomach that it was something he was meant to hide, another useless tidbit of information that the leather jacket wearing, blood draining evil vampire brother everyone saw him as wouldn’t keep rattling around in his head.

Damon isn’t one to claim that he’s misunderstood, far from it. He’s spent a good deal of time carefully cultivating his image, pruning and plucking away the boughs that refuse to reveal him as rotten to the core. He doesn’t care about anyone. He’d sooner cause the apocalypse than trouble himself. It’s a shame that he’s gone and ruined all of that now. It’s a shame that he let someone grow so close to him that their death could decimate him like this.

Damon lets his eyes flicker closed. His hand twitches unconsciously by his side, reaching out for someone that isn’t going to embrace him back. He can hear vibrations through the pavement, and smiles quietly. At last, someone has come to take pity on him.

Without opening his eyes, Damon feels the heat of the car approaching him, hears the sudden screech of the tires as the driver finally notices a body lying across the lane that definitely shouldn’t be there. He’s played this part to perfection many times before, and lets his somehow animated corpse take over on instinct, a marionette dangling on strings.

The car door flies open, and the sound of footsteps scurries over to Damon. A voice, half choked on unshed, guilty tears, reaches his ears over a chorus of night breezes and bird calls.

“Are you alright? Did you– I didn’t hit you, right?”

Damon nearly opens his eyes, just to give this woman an incredulous look. Did she hit him? Her car is stopped practically the length of a city block away from him. Obviously there was no actual collision, or she would be able to feel the bone jerking shake of it as her Toyota Camry smashed him into the pavement.

Instead, he stays tranquil, and recklessly lets his voice trail out into the night air.

“Do you think she misses me?”

The woman again, baffled. “What? Are you okay?”

Damon sighs. “Y/N. Do you think she misses me? Do you think she even knows about me anymore? I mean, she’s gone, obviously, I’m not an idiot, but I want to pretend that she’s still out there somewhere.”

The woman seems confused. “Sir, is everything alright?”

At last, Damon lets his eyes fly open. “Ma’am, I’m lying in the middle of the road and talking about my feelings to a complete stranger. Obviously things are not as swell as they could be.”

The woman rears back, but it’s too late. Damon moves on autopilot, straightening to his feet in about half a second and reaching for her. He doesn’t even bother with the whole cat and mouse chase of letting the woman attempt to run to her car only for him to appear by her door. One of his hands finds her jaw, and tilts it away. He can practically hear her blood thudding through her veins, calling out to him. It would be so quick, so fast.

He slips a little, in the moment. When the woman’s face twists in horror, he swears that he’s not looking at some random victim but at Y/N. This woman is just about the right height, her eyes just about the same color. It startles him so much that he finds he can’t commit to the kill after all, even when he manages to blink himself out of it.

He will try to take away my pain

And he just might make me smile

But the whole time I'm wishing he was you instead

Damon lets the woman go. It’s just not worth it anymore. He shakes his head, then manages to pull himself together long enough to compel her into forgetting that he was ever there. The woman moves robotically to her car, starting it up again and driving down the road once more. Damon watches her go. She doesn’t look like Y/N anymore, but for a moment there–

It doesn’t matter. Y/N isn’t coming back, and she certainly won’t be stumbling upon him on a darkened freeway. Damon shambles back down the road, headed towards the town limits. He should be able to pull himself together, but he can’t. Nothing in this world will ever be the same. It’s theatrical and insufferable, but it’s true.

Oh, holding my breath

Won't see you again

Something keeps me holding on to nothing

Damon pauses for a moment by the sign welcoming him to Mystic Falls. He leans against the wooden sign, staring up at the sky. At some point during his brief interlude on the road, the skies have shifted from dark to dawn. The barest threads of light can be seen on the horizon, beginning to weave together a new morning.

Damon isn’t ready for it. With every day that comes, he’s expected to come back to his normal charming self, but Damon isn’t even sure that vampire exists anymore. There’s only him, this half being, left broken in this body. He is numb and lost and gone, and if there was ever someone who could pull him out of a funk like this, she’s lying dead and buried in the cemetery somewhere to his north.

Can't breathe whenever you're gone

Can't go back, I'm haunted

For once, though, Damon lets himself picture it. The life he had with Y/N, the life he should have had. He closes his eyes again, and a thousand memories pour into his head. Sharing leather jackets. Running down dark alleys, both for their lives and for fun. Y/N tossing blood bags at the back of his head, teasing him about being a parasite for the umpteenth time. Watching movies that Y/N calls practically ancient, even though Damon was there to see them in theaters when they first came out. A thousand lives for the best two people to ever call themselves one, and it’s all gone now.

There is moving on, and there is the half state of decay in which Damon finds himself now. He isn’t healed, far from it, but he’s letting go. Damon opens his eyes, and watches the sun appear on the distant horizon. Somewhere, he swears someone is calling his name. He won’t be able to answer her for a while, if ever, but he’ll do his best to get back to her.

You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

Never ever thought I'd see it break

Never thought I'd see it

#damon salvatore #damon salvatore imagines #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore oneshot #tvd #tvd imagines #tvd x reader #tvd oneshot #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagines #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diaries oneshot #tvd damon #tvd damon imagines #tvd damon x reader #tvd damon oneshot

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notmrskennedy · 4 years

Text

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

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If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #mgg #mgg fluff #fluff

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descentivity · 3 years

Text

Depression, Trauma, (and Most Importantly,) My Thoughts on Hello Charlotte EP1 & 2

Eating has been difficult for me for as long as I remember. It started off as an aversion to food, in favour of spending my time more efficiently on what my dumb little mind viewed as more important: Homework, video games.

Over time, it turned into anorexia. I had already gotten used to eating just under 500 calories a day, and my depression took my poor habits and twisted them into a cowardly and slow attempt at suicide.

On my road to recovery, I’ve found that years of poor eating choices have lead to my body struggling to process food. I have to eat at a painstakingly slow pace lest my stomach turns against me, and the smell of food is sometimes enough to diminish my appetite altogether. My bowel movements are, for lack of a better word, a shitshow.

This brings me to today, the 10th of August, 2021. 6 or so years of barely eating enough to survive later, I’m setting the world record for the slowest consumption of a fillet o’ fish in the history of mankind.

In my absolute boredom and unfathomable stomach pain, ManlyBadassHero’s playthrough of some random horror game (I can’t remember the name) appears in my YouTube recommended, and I’m reminded of a horror game I bought on sale on Steam, the last of a trilogy. In all honesty, I only bought the game because it was dirt cheap and one of my sisters’ names is Charlotte. I was too horrified at the time to process the story nor play the previous two games, so I did a quick achievement run and left it at that. I was certainly very confused as I had no idea who any of the characters or what any of the concepts were, but the gore had me too mortified to go and find out myself.

A year later, I’m looking the trilogy up on ManlyBadassHero’s YouTube channel, and decide to start from the beginning of his Hello Charlotte journey, in 2016.

Hello Charlotte EP1

I’m going to be completely honest with you, the first game really didn’t resonate with me too well. It was a cute, quirky, RPG Maker horror game, with two loveable main characters and an interesting world. However, with context from the third game, the events felt too self-isolated and inconsequential. Felix and Charlotte are in a little self-contained TV world created by a fictional race called Pythia - creatures with 3 or 4 eyes that can create miniature dimensions, once brought into a hivemind by an “Oracle,” which seems to be some sort of god. They all seem to be falling apart and have taken a horrific turn as most of the Pythia have been “executed,” and those who haven’t have either gone mad or into hiding in their own bubbles of (albeit temporary) safety.

The ending of the game is somewhat misleading, too. Once Charlotte and Felix escape the TV world by having Charlotte merge with the Oracle itself, the game almost plays off the previous events like they were all a story made up by a young and imaginative Charlotte. Did they happen at all? Is she a reliable narrator or point of view to begin with? (Spoiler alert, she is not.) The explanation for it all seems to be that Charlotte herself is a schizophrenic, though the legitimacy of this is brought into question in the third game, which I will talk about later. Altogether, the game didn’t bring out many strong emotions in me, and I was starting to zone out as I moved on to the second game’s playthrough.

Hello Charlotte EP2

What struck me as odd in the second game is that while the first game seemed to bring Charlotte out of her own strange, black-and-white world and back into reality, we’ve found out that she’s right back where we started last game. A black-and-white world, inhabited by her imaginary friends. Aliens, gods, and the like. However, Charlotte’s seemingly made-up world feels more alive this time. I’m not sure if this is the consequence of the game developer improving their skills or an intentional detail, but even more characters are introduced, and previously shallow tenants of Charlotte’s home are given more depth. The hazmat-suit wearing aliens have faces, personalities and whole backstories attached to them, now. Charlotte has a best friend at school named Anri, who has a obsessive crush on her. She’s friends with a bullying victim named C with horrible germaphobia, who has almost identical struggles to her (more on those struggles later.)

What also surprised me is the continuity between the first and second game. For some reason, I thought that this Charlotte would be starting from scratch, completely oblivious to the fate of the first game’s iteration. However, this concept only seems to be used in the third game, so I guess I was simply mislead. This game, in fact, takes place 3 years after the first, and the Oracle still lives on within Charlotte’s conscious. However, it’s a dying god, on its last leg. It had already been dying during the time of the last few Pythia, but it had used the last of its strength to free Felix and Charlotte from their world. As the Oracle’s health declines, so does Charlotte’s mortal body.

Unlike the first game, most of the themes in this game hit way too close to home. The feeling of second-hand helplessness when someone you barely knew ends their own life. Anri’s obsessive and outright manipulative lesbian crush on Charlotte, bordering on bullying. The schooltime harrassment and trauma Charlotte underwent. The fear and dangers of social interaction. Feeling unlawfully punished by your school teachers for seemingly nothing at all. Depression, self harm, and the primal urge to escape from it. Getting roped into others’ mental health, until both of your issues converge into a disgusting amalgamation of the need but severe lack of therapy and a break from it all. Delusions of what could’ve been and the possible, yet near impossible future ahead. Looking back on everything you’ve ever done and regretting every second of it.

While I ticked off the trauma presented to me on a silver platter in the form of a fucking RPG Maker game like a twisted bucket list, I found myself relating more and more to not only Charlotte, but the students around her. Scarlett, whose life was so perfect that nobody had even thought about her possible mental issues until it was far too late. Anri, who would lay down her life for a girl who simply doesn’t feel the same way. C, who desperately wanted to escape from reality by any means possible.

An interesting fact about Hello Charlotte is that there are numerous omnipotent beings amongst its cast. They aren’t shy about providing very in-depth character analysis to Charlotte, and in turn, to the puppeteer (I suppose now is a good time to inform those who are unfamiliar with the series that the puppeteer refers to a species, character, and the player, all at once. Charlotte has a puppeteer controlling her by the name of Seth. You are/are controlling Seth as the player. Capiche? Capiche.)

What this meant for me watching Manly’s playthrough was the feeling of two gods (in this game, at least) peering right into my soul, analysing characters that reflected my exact experiences and even my personality during my school days. I learned and realised things about myself that I simply hadn’t known before. Just like Charlotte, I’m simply looking for direction in life, and I’m too afraid to act without instructions. I found myself bullied, manipulated and abandoned by someone who simply wanted my affections, and only learned to miss them when they were gone. Like Anri, my desperation for love and approval from an individual in turn lead to anger and resentment for them. Like both Charlotte and C, I eventually turned to hurting myself to make all the pain go away, refusing help from others and developing a shell of false optimism and naivety to forget about the damage I had dealt to my body, personality and relationships.

As much as I hate to admit it on my little obscure Tumblr blog with 0 followers and 0 traction, I still struggle with these things. I have no direction in life, and wander aimlessly, hoping for one of my offshot attempts at content creation to take off. I find myself missing the girl who emotionally abused me to hell and back every day. I resent another girl for never feeling the same way I felt about her. I still don’t take care of myself, and spend every day in a state of denial about my physical decline and sickliness. I’m so incompetent emotionally that I spend days ignoring my own boyfriend, starving him of the proper relationship that he deserves all because of how broken, fragmented and distant my own mind is.

Hello Charlotte EP2 has four endings. All four of them, in my eyes, are bad.

In the first, C and Charlotte overdose together, leaving their mortal realm to become gods. They choose to ignore and forget the pains of their mortal lives, and live the rest of their godly lives in ignorant bliss. Do I want to forget about my depression and trauma? Learn nothing, and forget about everything that made me who I am today? Or worse even, do I dare take the plunge into “godhood,” and leave this mortal plane to end my suffering altogether?

In the second, Charlotte discovers that C isn’t who she thinks he is, and she finds him without a soul. Alive, but empty. Charlotte could not save him. Consumed by grief, she ascends and becomes a god, consuming the entire world around her. After all is said and done, she realizes her mistake. All of her friends are gone, C is still empty and unresponsive, and now she is alone. Sometimes, I feel as though I’ve already gone through this ending, many times over. Countless times I’ve let my depression become all-consuming and take over my life. I’ve pushed so many people away and hurt so many more, and for what? I have nothing to gain from every fit of depression, and the consequences make it seem nothing more but a selfish attempt to make myself feel better.

In the third, Charlotte is the only one who dies. In her last moments, the Oracle comforts her, like a mother cradling her child. They embrace, and say goodbye to each other, as Charlotte’s own life was the only thing keeping the dying god alive. At this point, I’ve started to draw parallels between the Oracle and depression. Depression isn’t always a horrible thing that beats you down and keeps you from being truly happy. Sometimes, wallowing in my own sadness and depression would be the only thing that keeps you sane, stable, and calm. The feeling of hopelessness really is bittersweet, and in desperate times, goes hand-in-hand with acceptance of one’s circumstance. Oftentimes, I find that this is the most realistic way I’ll go out. One day, I may just accept depression, and succomb to it. There may not be a struggle at all. Rather, a quiet, submissive hum, which will fade away into silence.

In the fourth and final ending, Charlotte and C die alongside each other. After her death, Charlotte confronts the Oracle, and wishes to save everyone, and for everyone to be unhappy. Of course, this is where the classic saying: “Be careful what you wish for” comes in. Because of her wish, everyone’s soul, what makes them individual and unique, is erased. After all, no one can suffer if they cannot think at all. In some ways, emptiness is pure bliss. This once again goes back to the bittersweetness of depression. The sheer emptiness it may bring on, at times, is bliss. Feeling nothing isn’t always a bad thing. It’s a way to cope with the horrors of the world. To remember nothing at all is such a tempting yet unattainable solution that I can’t say I haven’t longed for in the near or distant past. Charlotte, of course, is distraught that her friends are all gone, their identities and souls lost forever. Following this, she has one request to make of another god, the observer. She wishes to be killed, as all of her actions have lead to nothing but pain for others and herself. The observer, however, refuses this offer. Instead, he comforts her and takes her hand. They go on a journey together. He suggests that one day, she’ll learn to control her power, and she can recreate the world and her friends. As they leave, Charlotte reflects on her hopes and dreams for the journey. She hopes to learn to be kind, and not hurt others. She wants to change her ways, and become an honest, good person. Charlotte, slowly but surely, is on the road to recovery.

Putting the unsettling sequel to this game aside, maybe I could learn a little bit from Charlotte.

#tw suicide #tw depression #tw anorexia #tw self harm #disordered eating tw #hello charlotte #charlotte wiltshire #anri warhol #scarlett eyler #charles eyler #indie horror #review

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missjanjie · 3 years

Text

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 9

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~2.9k (this chapter) / ~27.2k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), BVK (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo/Kameron Michaels), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E TW: mentions of alcoholism

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: In the wake of Lemon's outburst at the club, those closest to her process the fallout and realize something needs to be done before she spirals to the point of no return.

“Okay, I think that’s the last box,” Juice remarked as she dropped herself down onto the couch. “So, why’d your cousin kick you out again?”

Lemon scoffed and rolled her eyes as she piled up the empty boxes. “She didn’t kick me out, we both decided it was time for me to move.” She decided her college friend-turned-roommate didn’t need to know about the argument she had with Rosé. And she certainly didn’t need to know that she’d rejected her ultimatum of, “if you want to stay here, you can’t keep getting drunk every day.” It had been a week since the incident at the club and she was going to recover from it on her own terms.

“Alright, cool,” she shrugged as she took out her phone and began aimlessly scrolling. “You wanna do something tonight?”

The blonde perched herself on the armrest of the couch, swinging her legs. “We could go to a club and get shitfaced,” she suggested.

Juice shook her head without looking up from her phone. “You can. I mean, I’ll totally go with you and turn shit up, but I don’t drink.”

“More for me.”

Her friend looked her over with a concerned expression, eyes finally pried away from the screen. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently. “I mean, I know you’ve been through a lot, have you considered talking to someone about it?”

Lemon shook her head. “I’m fine, I don’t have the emotional capacity for therapy.” She got back up and looked around. “Shit, I guess you don’t have any liquor in here then. I’ll be back,” and after putting her shoes on and grabbing her purse, she was out the door, leaving a concerned new roommate in her wake.

------

Rosé sighed as she passed the joint back to Mik. “This doesn’t make me a bad person, right? I mean the last thing I want to do is make Lemon’s issues about me. But god, that really is what made me realize that I have to do this.”

Mik shook her head as she took a hit. “It’s not your fault, you saw a trainwreck and realized you needed to keep your ass on the tracks.” She finished off the joint and put it out. “Listen, the last thing you wanna do is be that girl who pines over the person she’s sleeping with until it’s too late.”

“You’re right, I know. I’m gonna talk to her,” she exhaled deeply as she pushed herself up. “If Lemon comes around, please don’t have sex with her.”

“Oh fuck off,” she huffed, “that delayed her mental breakdown by at least a week.”

Rosé rolled her eyes as she left. She wasn’t mad at Mik for that, if anything maybe it did help Lemon temporarily by giving her a distraction. But she had so much more on her mind, things that have been brewing since the club incident.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on Denali’s door, evening out her breathing while she waited for her.

“Hey Rosie,” Denali smiled warmly as she opened the door, leading her inside and shutting it behind them. “What’s up? You usually text me when you’re on your way over.” They sat down on the couch as she spoke, a tinge of concern in her voice.

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “I know I’ve been distant lately with everything that’s been happening with Lemon. But through all the chaos, I realized something, that keeping your feelings bottled up is dangerous.” Another deep breath, this time she forced herself to look into Denali’s eyes, eyes that she found warmth and comfort in every time she gazed into them. “What I’m trying to say is that I have feelings for you. I don’t just wanna be fuck buddies, it’s not enough. I need all of you.”

Denali blinked, taking her time to process Rosé’s confession. At first it was pure surprise, but once she let it sink in, it clicked that she felt the same way, that she had been falling for her all along without realizing it. “You have all of me,” she told her, cupping her face and pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

In that moment, a weight lifted from Rosé’s chest. If only for the duration of a kiss, she could pretend nothing in the world existed outside of Denali’s apartment. She could stop thinking, stop worrying. It was only them, everything else faded to black. “Are we alone?” she asked against her lips.

“Mhm,” she nodded, a slight smirk tugging at her lips, able to fill in the blanks from there. Her hands traveled down Rosé’s body, tugging off her shirt in one swift motion, her own following suit, though they took their time undressing each other, letting their fingers and lips gently caress each other’s skin.

By the time they were both completely undressed, they had gotten each other thoroughly worked up. Rosé had Denali sit up on the couch, then got on her knees in front of her, pushing her thighs apart. She moved in between them, dragging her tongue along her pussy before circling, then sucking on her clit as she eased a finger into her.

Denali’s head lolled back to rest against the back of the couch, a pleased moan escaping. “Mm, Rosie…” she exhaled, her hips pushing up when Rosé slid in a second finger. “Baby, just like that, feels so good.”

She basked in the praise, continuing her movements, occasionally switching her tongue and her fingers, but never leaving her unattended. She was focused and fervent, bringing Denali to an orgasm as quickly as she could, as if she were setting it as a challenge to herself. Once she’d won her game, she pulled back with a smile, gazing up at her. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re sappy,” she teased affectionately, leaning down to kiss her. “Come on,” she got up and pulled Rosé to her feet, “we can cuddle until I gotta get ready for my shift.”

------

Nicky watched Jan with a concerned expression. She wished she knew what to do, how to talk to her and help her. Ever since the incident at the club, she had been quiet, withdrawn, two words she would never think to associate with the bubbly woman she loved so dearly. It killed her to see her girlfriend hurting, enough for her to put her aversion to emotional conversations aside as she sat beside her on the couch, gently taking her hand. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t been the same since what happened with Lemon and I’m worried about you.”

Jan chewed on her lip, her gaze downcast. Logically, she knew she couldn’t avoid this conversation forever, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Lemon is like a sister to me and I’m worried about her. I know what alcoholism looks like… and I know what it can do to someone, it’s not pretty.”

She furrowed her brows, shifting closer to the younger woman. “What do you mean?”

“Well, um…” she swallowed thickly, “my dad’s five years sober now, but it hit a nasty low before it got better. I-I don’t know what that low would be for Lemon, I’m afraid she’s hit it, but I’m even more afraid she hasn’t.”

Nicky nodded as she listened. She had suspected Lemon might have developed a bit of a drinking habit, but not the severity, and certainly not the effect it would have on Jan. “I am so sorry about your father, and about Lemon. Is there anything we can do?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “My dad went to rehab while I was away at college, but I imagine my mom laid down some ultimatums, but I don’t know if Lemon thinks she has anything left to lose.”

“There has to be some way, and I'm going to help you find it,” she promised.

------

“Thank you all for meeting me here,” Juice said as she looked around the two pushed-together tables in the diner. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Julia - Juice - and Lemon moved in with me about four days ago.”

“What happened?” Rosé immediately asked. “Is she okay?”

The blonde hesitated and looked down at the table. “Technically yes, she’s nursing a hangover at home right now but otherwise fine, unless she’s started day drinking. But there’s a bigger issue, and I’m sure you guys have started to suspect as much. What I’m trying to say is she’s developing an alcohol problem, and if we don’t do something about it now, it could get much worse.”

Everyone else had similar expressions - sadness, concern, anxiety. But none of them were surprised. “What do we do, then?” Rosé asked, breaking a tense moment of silence.

“Listen, I’m not claiming to be an expert. I’m twenty-two, sober for eight months now, so I can relate to how she’s feeling. What she’s going to need is everyone to rally around her, because it won’t be easy to convince her to get help.”

“So can we stage an intervention?” Jaida asked. “Do you have someone we can talk to?”

Juice nodded. “I can talk to my sponsor and have her put us in touch with someone who can get her into a detox, put the whole thing together. It goes so far beyond just telling her to stop drinking, especially in a club environment.”

“Speaking of the club environment,” Gigi chimed in, “we have to address the elephant in the room. What are we gonna do about the Priyanka situation? She told Crystal she’s taking a day job until things cool off, but if Lemon gets help… maybe that’ll expedite the process.”

Jackie sighed, but agreed. “I can open auditions to take on another dancer temporarily, I don’t know how long she’s gonna need, but assuming she chooses to get help, I want her to know she has a place to come back to.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m going to reach out to Priyanka too, I know she hasn’t been answering most of our calls or texts, but I think I might be able to get through to her.”

“My god, we’ve been so caught up with Lemon, we’ve barely kept up with Pri. Are we bad friends?” Jan asked, feeling a mix of guilt and sadness.

Juice shook her head. “No, of course not. Everyone here is doing their best. You guys reach out to Priyanka and figure out a way to get Lemon to the intervention when the time comes, I’ll do what I can on my part.” From there, they all just had to hope for the best.

------

Jackie took a deep breath, making sure she was calm and collected before knocking on the door. When a woman with black hair and tattoos opened the door, she greeted her politely. “Hi, you must be Scarlett. Um, can you tell Priyanka that Jackie’s here to see her?”

Scarlett nodded, disappearing back into her apartment. There was a solid few minutes of waiting, but Priyanka eventually came to the door. “Hey,” she greeted meekly and led Jackie inside.

Jackie sat at the edge of the bed in the guest room Priyanka had been staying in. “How have you been? You know we’re all worried about you.”

Priyanka’s gaze never left the floor. She picked pieces of lint off of her shorts as she sat down as well, swinging her legs aimlessly. How could she even begin to tackle that question when everything she had ever known had changed overnight? How can anyone process that sort of thing? “Scarlett convinced me to try therapy. I’ve had a couple sessions so far… It helped, I think, but it’s just scratching the surface, you know?”

She listened attentively, nodding along. “I’m proud of you for that. How did your family react when you and Mark broke up?”

“It’s funny, as angry as he was, he didn’t out me. He said it’s clear I have my own problems to work through. My mom was furious that the wedding was called off, so I threw in the ‘I like girls’ news because, well, it couldn’t get any worse,” she sighed. “I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet. She asked me if it was an excuse to get out of the wedding. I haven’t heard back since I told her it was the truth, and I haven’t heard from my dad at all.” She laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I couldn’t even say that I’m gay. It’s too much, I can’t just be gay,” she sat back up and grabbed a tissue, quickly dabbing the corners of her eyes. “How do you get past it, Jackie? How do you stop being afraid of yourself?”

Jackie pressed her lips together as she tried to articulate an answer. “There’s no easy solution, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. I don’t think I was ever ready to be gay, one day I just came to terms with the fact that I was miserable trying to avoid my own truth and that the only way I was ever going to be happy was by loving even the scariest parts of myself.”

Priyanka went quiet again, crumpling the tissue in her hand and staring at it as if the answers were there. “So you don’t think I’ll be able to be fully happy until I embrace being gay?”

“That’s for you to decide. But think of it this way; when you think about your future, best case scenario, what is it in your life that’s making you happy?”

The answer for that wasn’t in her hand, it was in her heart. It made its way into her throat, choking her from the inside and making her pulse race. After everything, it nearly made her angry that it felt inevitable. “Lemon.”

------

“Juice just texted me that they’re on the way,” Rosé read off her phone, her free hand squeezing Denali’s tight, her leg bouncing anxiously.

The woman they’d brought in to help Lemon, Widow, nodded calmly. “Remember, at the end of the day we are here to help her. We’re not punishing or lecturing her, but we have to be firm.”

After another review of the plan, they heard the door open and looked up to see the two girls walk in, Lemon’s expression immediately becoming confused as she looked around. “Are you guys fucking intervention-ing me?” she asked as she took the empty seat to the right of Rosé.

“Lemon, your friends and family are here because they care about you and are worried about your health,” Widow explained. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘this bitch wants to send me to some random rehab until I come back sober for good’, but this isn’t like that. We get that you’re twenty-one, fresh out of college, no history of addiction.”

“So why am I here?” Lemon interjected.

Rosé arched her brow. “Well, for starters, you haven’t been sober a full twenty-four hours in nearly three weeks, you’ve been acting completely unhinged every time you get trashed. You’re actively trying to alienate yourself from everyone who cares about you, you-” She stopped short when Denali squeezed her hand, her cue to reel it in. “You’re going down a dangerous path and we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“This isn’t one of those ninety-day programs either,” Jackie chimed in. “It’s only three weeks, and the first five days are just for detoxing. We’re not saying you have to be sober for good, this isn’t AA, it’s a program that’s going to give you the support and help you need to still enjoy things in moderation instead of relying on alcohol as a coping mechanism.”

Lemon nodded and listened as the rest of the group said their pieces to try to convince her to go. And she took it in, but she was also looking around and at the door. After a while, it became clear that she was waiting for - hoping for - another person.

“Priyanka wanted to come,” Jackie told her. “But we weren’t sure how you would react and decided it would be better if she waited at least until after you detox to contact you. You have to know, though, she really does care about you.”

She sunk further into her chair, not angry, but embarrassed. It shouldn’t have had to come to this, she knew that, knew better. And she hated that everything they said was right, that she did need help. “Fine,” she mumbled, “I’ll go.”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the tension dissipated throughout the room. “Rosé and Juice will go back with you to your apartment so you can pack, we’re going to get you checked in tonight,” Widow explained. “The facility is in Westchester, you won’t be more than an hour away and visitation is every Saturday.”

Rosé looked at her younger cousin and could tell she was doing her best to cover her fear and anxiety. She wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly. “You’re going to be okay, baby,” she promised, “they’re gonna take good care of you, and you’re gonna be better than ever once you’re done.”

Lemon nodded quietly, wiping her eyes. “I just wanna get this over with,” she mumbled, still unwilling to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of everyone, though the group anticipated that from her and let it be. All any of them could do now was trust the process.

#rosnali #lemyanka #sportsdoll #rpdr rpf

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stardew-goblin · 4 years

Note

why their favourite items are their favourite items for the bachelorettes? you can just pick one item if you like

OH I’ve been thinking about this since I started playing! I tried to do the things that aren’t as commonly thought about as favorites. I hope you enjoy! Thank you ily <3

HA so after doing all of the bachelors I re-read and realized it was only an ask for the bachelorettes SO you get both now hehe

Sebastian

Favorite thing: Pumpkin soup

His dad left them in the fall which is why he has an aversion to most of the autumn seasonal flavors

He was really attached to his dad as a baby so when he abandoned them it hurt Sebastian really badly

The one thing he can’t seem to stay away from is pumpkin soup though

Robin actually has cooked it since he can remember

It was his dads favorite too

It brings back the good memories he has from when his parents were together

Robin only makes it when Maru and Demetrius are out together doing sciency things

They sit on the couch together and watch old movies and bond while they eat it but Robin keeps it a secret because she knows he doesn’t like to come across as a softie

She’ll also make him some if she knows he’s particularly down. She’ll just run it down to his room, kiss him on the forehead, remind him that she’s always there if he needs to talk, and leaves him be

Sam

Favorite thing: Tigerseye

Before Kent could afford the mermaid pendant for Jodi, his mom gave him an old tigerseye ring to propose with

Sam always though it was more romantic than a stupid mermaid pendant (basic, duh)

He used to sit on his grandma’s lap as a kid and she would tell him all about his grandpa who died before Sam was born

He was poor, too, when they got married and he managed to trade some manual labor for the ring

It always reminds him of his family and how much he loves them

100% will propose with a tigerseye ring instead of a mermaid pendant

Harvey

Favorite thing: Coffee

Started drinking coffee in middle school

His grandma would always brew a pot while he was over and they would sit and chat about life

The smell of coffee always reminds him of her

He still makes it how she would make it for him. 2 spoonfuls of sugar. That’s it.

He regularly uses the coffee cup he would always use at her house

It has ducks on it with blue trim

Every year on the anniversary of her death he’ll bring a thermos and two cups and sit at her grave and drink coffee and talk about how life is going

He misses his grandma very much

Elliott

Favorite thing: Pomegranate

He knew Leah before he moved to the valley

They’ve been best friends for years

He gets sick a lot and tends to forget to take care of himself sometimes

Leah has always made sure he was okay

She would bring him fruits and soup and make sure he was staying hydrated

One day she brought a few pomegranates

How the fUCK do you eat a pomegranate ??

Leah help me please for the love Yoba what is this weird ass fruit you’ve brought to me on my death bed

Once he actually ate some though, he could not get enough.

It was the first thing he could actually taste in days and it was so sweet and flavorful

He will not buy his own pomegranates though.

It has to be a gift or it’s not the same

Shane

Favorite thing: Hot pepper

Used to struggle with really bad anxiety

He would disassociate a lot

Struggled with mental grounding techniques

So one day is dad was like

Here son

Bite into this hot ass pepper

It was so spicy that it snapped Shane back into reality

He used to keep a ziplock bag of hot peppers in his pocket

Sometimes will still bite into one if he’s particularly going through it

One time gave Sam one at work and told him it wasn’t spicy

Sam cried in the bathroom for 20 minutes

Now Shane has to keep his waterbottles with him at all times because Sam puts weird stuff in them as payback

Alex

Favorite thing: complete breakfast

Alex never wanted to leave his room after his mom died

He would cry himself to sleep every night

He refused to eat with his grandparents

Evelyn would make him hashbrowns, eggs, and pancakes with a side of milk every morning

And would leave it in his room for him to eat when he was hungry

And would always stick a note on the tray reading “breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I love you always. Grandma.”

She never pressured him to do something he didn’t want to do

But ALWAYS reminded him that he was loved

Complete breakfast reminds him that Evelyn loves him no matter what

It will always feel like a warm hug

Abigail

Favorite thing: Pufferfish

When Abigail was little, Pierre and Caroline used to take her to the aquarium in Zuzu City

Her favorite was always the pufferfish

She felt like she could relate to them

Always keeping people at an arms length

Tough when she has to be

She used to collect pufferfish plushies

Does not actually eat them

She could never

But she likes how you can die from consuming them incorrectly

Kicking ass from beyond the grave

Haley

Favorite thing: Coconut

She actually likes the smell more than anything but is a sucker for coconut shavings on her desserts

She’s allergic to coconut

But it isn’t deadly

Emily used to use coconut body spray to hide the weed smell when she was in high school

Haley thought Emily was so cool

Will always remind her of when her and her sister got along better

Haley has a mean streak but is very sentimental

She’ll still tease Emily about it

Keeps a small bottle of coconut body spray in her room for when she needs to feel better

Will not admit to anyone ever about why she likes coconut so much

Penny

Favorite thing: Tom Kha Soup

Elliott actually introduced Penny to the dish

Penny and Pam had gotten into a particularly nasty argument which left Penny in tears

It was pouring but she needed out of the trailer

She went to sit on the docks to listen to the ocean until she calmed down

Elliott saw her sitting alone in the cold rain and invited her inside

He was just about to sit down for one of his favorites, Tom Kha soup, and gladly prepared a bowl for Penny

She had never been close to Elliott even though she saw him at the library often

The soup was delicious

And she was blown away by his kindness and how easily she felt comfortable talking to him

She tries to cook it (it’s terrible)

She always beings some to Elliott (he never comments on how awful it is, and politely accepts it)

(He throws it in the ocean when she’s gone though)

Emily

Favorite thing: Survival burger

Emily is a vegetarian

Her favorite food before she went vegetarian was cheeseburgers

Her first girlfriend showed her how to make burgers from eggplant

She is the one who showed Gus how to make them and season them properly to taste good

She got Haley hooked on them too

She’s lowkey one of those vegetarians that wants everyone to be a vegetarian

Her favorite recipe to show off because it really does taste like a frickin burger

Maru

Favorite thing: Rhubarb Pie

Maru really wishes that she and Sebastian were still close

As small children they did everything together

She looked up to her big brother

They used to play in the lake by their house during summers

She would always catch frogs. It was her favorite thing.

They would come into the cool house when the sun went down and lounge on the couch watching cartoons

Robin would frequently make Rhubarb pie for dessert

Maru and Sebastian loved it

They would eat it in front of the TV and joke around with each other

Rhubarb Pie still reminds her of those warm summer nights when her big brother was still her best friend

Leah

Favorite thing: stir fry

The first time she ever tried stir fry was right before she moved to the valley

Like literally her last meal in the city was stir fry from a restaurant around the corner from her old apartment

It was their only option that had mostly vegetables and oh my Yoba was it delicious

The day she moved was the most hopeful day she’s ever had in her life

New beginnings were terrifying but Leah knew everything would be okay

She always makes stir fry before she tries something she’s terrified to do

It reminds her that new things are scary but she can really do anything she puts her mind to

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv headcanons #stardew headcanons #stardew valley headcanons #sdv sebastian #sdv sam #sdv shane #sdv elliott #sdv harvey #sdv alex #sdv abigail #sdv haley #sdv emily #sdv penny #sdv maru #sdv leah #stardew farmer

354 notes · View notes

drabbles-of-writing · 4 years

Text

Of Fangs and Fright

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now, being dead came with a few more complications than one might expect.

Or, well, being half dead, if you wanted to be less morbid.

Now, it wasn’t all bad. There were the cool powers. Like invisibility, flying, possession, phasing through objects, being able to convincingly look sicker than a zombie…

Anyway.

Many of these powers ghosts shared in common. So long they weren’t ghosts flickering out of existence, they possessed (heh, ghost joke) these abilities. However, simple powers weren’t the only thing ghosts shared in common.

All ghosts had some green on them, it was their ectoplasm. They all had a core of their powers, and all sentient ghosts had at least one obsession. Plus a couple of smaller traits, mostly physical.

Also, they all had fangs.

Luz had to find that out the hard way.

A loud beeping noise woke Luz from her slumber, jerking her awake as she fell off her bed. The girl groaned, sitting up and rubbing the back of her head as she blindly reached for her clock on the bed stand and turned off the alarm.

“Ow,” She whined, feeling that she’d bitten her tongue in her fall. She felt around her mouth a bit, tasting blood until something made her pause.

She gently poked her tongue around the top of her mouth, and sure enough, two teeth felt...sharper.

It pricked the tip of her tongue again and Luz grumbled, pulling herself to her feet. She figured her teeth had just gotten a bit too sharp from some wear and tear. It’s not like she was averse to biting into some weird-tasting ghosts and objects. Don’t ask.

She stepped into the bathroom and paused, looking into her mirror. It always unnerved her to look into a mirror. The dark circles around her eyes, the way she slouched, the dullness to her skin, all of it. None of it was inherently creepy, but it somehow worked. To Luz, and everyone around her, something about her seemed off. Like she was floating through the motions and was not at all there and maybe never was.

Luz shook off the existential horror of wondering if she’d be unnerving for the rest of her life and stood in front of the sink, yawning.

She froze, her mouth still hanging open.

There, resting in her mouth, were two sharp teeth.

They weren’t remarkably noticeable, in fact if she wasn’t looking for little odd things about her every other day (learning ghostly things about yourself in the middle of a fight was not fun) she never would’ve realized. But she was sure her canines weren’t that pointy before. She leaned forward, curling her lip as she inspected her teeth.

Her tongue had ceased bleeding, it was only a small mark anyway. And she could see flecks of blood still on her left tooth. She shuttered and pulled back, closing her mouth.

This was fine. A bit of sharpness to her teeth was fine. It couldn’t be all that bad.

Three days later, hunched over in her bed with an ice pack pressed to her face, Luz realized, with much regret, that she had jinxed herself.

Her teeth ached. It felt like her gums were being pushed apart from the inside, which, come to think of it, they probably were.

“Show me again,” Willow said, sitting on the bed beside Luz.

Luz sighed and took the ice away and opened her mouth. Willow squinted at her teeth for a moment before stepping back onto the floor, where Gus had a bunch of papers spread about in a weird sort of discussion board.

Luz put ice back over her mouth and watched as Willow muttered under her breath and picked up a picture of one of the ghosts, Adegast, if Luz remembered correctly, and inspected it.

“I really think this is just a regular ghost thing,” Willow said after a moment, showing the picture to Luz. “Every other ghost you’ve fought has some kind of fangs, it's not that big of a stretch to say you’d get some, too.”

“And normally, I would agree,” Luz said, wincing and holding the pack tighter. “Fangs are cool. But not when I’m human!” She exclaimed. “Er, in my human form, I guess. Is that what it's called?” She hummed, staring off in thought.

“Well, you may get lucky,” Gus piped up, taking the picture of Adegast trying to attack the camera and bringing up smaller ghost pictures. “They may just look a little abnormally sharp and that would be the end of it. There are plenty of people who have sharper canines, not everyone's teeth are flat.”

Lux relaxed with a sigh, leaning forward as she crossed her legs.

“But there’s also a possibility you could end up with teeth as long as fingers,” He said, bringing up a picture of a ghost with teeth like a saber tooth tiger.

Luz stared at the picture for a moment before groaning and falling back onto her bed. She grabbed her pillow and covered her face with it, ice pack discarded at her side.

Willow lightly smacked the back of Gus’s head.

“I’m sure it won’t get that noticeable,” Willow assured her. “Aren’t Eda’s natural teeth normal looking?”

“They’re still a bit sharp,” Luz muffled around her pillow. “The gold tooth is, and I quote, a ‘misdirection.’ Like a magician's cute assistant, you know?”

“No idea how that works, but I think I get it.” Gus nodded.

“Well, it’s not like suddenly getting pointy teeth is an immediate correlation for being a ghost, or even Phantom.” Willow insisted. “Worst case scenario, everyone thinks you're becoming a vampire, which actually would be pretty normal at this point.”

“Please be aware there is a group of goths in this school,” Luz said, tossing the pillow aside and sitting up. “And Jerbo is convinced I’m a ghost. Even if nobody believes him, people are going to ask questions about the fangs, and I’m a terrible liar! You know this!”

“I mean, you managed to hide your Phantom,” Gus pointed out.

“That’s because everyone in this town is a moron.” Willow deadpanned.

“Okay, but you have to put this into perspective. Half-ghosts aren’t a commonly known or expected thing.” Gus reminded, pushing his pictures into a pile.

“Neither are regular ghosts! Or werewolves! Or talking bone dogs! And yet, people notice that! Or at least recognize it's not normal,” Willow exclaimed, exasperated. “And only Jerbo has noticed something is off with Luz.”

“I was already pretty weird,” Luz offered, flinching and rubbing at her cheek.

“I can’t win,” Willow sighed, her shoulders sagging.

“This was never a winning situation for anyone,” Luz said matter-of-factly. “Now somebody give me the nail filer on my desk.”

“Do not file down your teeth! Why am I even telling you that?”

“My tongue is going to be so scarred--ow,”

“Maybe refrain from talking?” Willow advised gently as Luz stuck on her tongue, revealing it was lightly bleeding after she had accidentally bitten it. Again.

It had barely been a week and Luz’s growing-in fangs were proving to be more trouble than they were worth. If they were worth anything at all.

They had gotten larger, not to a scary degree, but were certainly abnormal. And she’d even begun to get two small fangs on her lower jaw,

And maybe talking about this in the school hallways wasn’t the best idea. But the group wasn’t known for their intelligence, and Willow was fried.

“Well, either her tongue will get stronger or she’ll learn how to not bite her tongue,” Gus shrugged as Luz shut her locker. “Eda managed.”

“Eda is three decades older than--ow,” Luz whined, covering her hand with ther mouth.

“What did I just say?” Willow sighed.

“Hey, four eyes!”

The group recognized that voice, and you could physically see them deflate as Luz dropped her hand. Willow sighed and mentally prepared herself.

“Here we go again,”

The sound of snickering drew their attention, to where Boscha and her A-Listers, or whatever they called themselves, was passing right by them, smug smiles plastered to their faces. Well, aside from Amity, who looked a mix between bored and mildly concerned. She caught Luz’s eye and smiled ever so slightly.

“Heard a ghost wrecked your pretty little garden recently,” Boscha said, her eyes narrowing in that sadistically gleeful way. “Aren’t you lucky Phantom decided to grace you, huh?”

Luz visibly cringed at that, giving Willow a guilty look. She’d insisted she could help Willow replant that garden, but she had declined. Numerous times.

“Things happen,” Willow shrugged, turning away and checking over her books boredly. “At least I don’t lie about seeing Phantom every other week.”

Luz and Gus glanced at each other with shared concerned looks. They subtly backed off a bit, deciding they’d rather not get involved in the weekly brawl.

“You wanna speak up, fern girl?” Boscha growled, already beginning to take a step forward.

“Leave her, Boscha.”

Amity broke from the group and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, lightly holding her back as she looked at her with a half-lidded expression.

“She’s not worth the energy. We have class soon.” She said calmly.

Boscha muttered and stepped back, shrugging off Amity. The rest of the group quickly stepped aside as Boscha stormed through, throwing a ‘you’ll be sorry!’ over her shoulder for good measure.

“I’m gonna bite her,” Luz muttered under her breath.

“You have no idea how much it pains me to tell you no,” Willow replied.

“Sorry about that,” Amity mumbled, suddenly appearing in front of the trio. Or maybe she was always there, Luz couldn’t remember.

“We’re used to it,” Gus said simply. “Honestly, I was expecting a better insult than ‘fern girl.’”

“Yeah, she's off her game,” Amity agreed as Luz giggled.

“One could say she’s…off her A game--” Luz winced, bringing her hand back up to her face.

“Boo, bad joke.” Gus shook his head distastefully.

“Are you alright?” Amity asked, frowning at Luz holding her hand up.

“Yeah! Yeah, just, uh,” Luz chose her words carefully and slowly as she quickly pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. “Bit my tongue is all,”

“We should head to class,” Willow cut in quickly, appearing next to Luz and grabbing her arm. “Like you said, it’s going to start soon and lord knows how bad our grades are already.”

“Oh, right!” Amity shook her head like she was clearing it. “I’ll see you later, guys.”

“Yeah, bye,” Luz echoed, giving a smile as Willow tugged her away.

Amity watched the three leave with a smile of her own for a moment before her eyes dipped for a moment on Luz. Her eyes widened and she did a double-take, a moment of concerned horror flashing on her features.

Luz, having a guess on what she noticed, suddenly picked up speed and darted around the hallway corner, accidentally yanking Willow with her.

“Whoa, whoa, what happened--”

“How do my teeth look?” Luz cut off Gus, opening her mouth wide. “Do they look worse?”

Willow and Gus recoiled slightly, minorly concerned as Luz worriedly shut her mouth again.

“You have...blood on your teeth,” Willow said carefully. “It, uh, kinda makes you look like…”

“A vampire,” Gus finished for her, unhelpfully.

Luz was about to poke at her teeth with her tongue, but thought better of it. She rubbed a finger instead at one of her fangs and drew it back, noticing that there was, indeed, blood on them.

“I’m going to die of blood loss at this point,” Luz groaned.

“Can you even die again--”

“Not in the mood for an existential crisis, Gus.”

“What, no witty comeback, Phantom?”

The halfa yelped as Roselle’s snarky remark was enunciated by Dottie slamming her against a building. She growled and curled her lips back, shaking the rubble off her as she rose into the air, her green eyes flashing.

Roselle’s smug look fell. Normally Phantom would be happy to see that, but typically that smug expression isn’t replaced by that of gleeful surprise.

“Phantom,” Roselle grinned, and even Dottie paused for a moment to see what her partner was pointing at.

“Don’t,”

“Phantom are you growing your baby fangs?”

“They sure don’t feel like baby--ow,” Phantom winced, sticking out her tongue as she bit it for the umpteenth time.

“Aw, wittle Phantom got her baby fangs.” Roselle cooed

“How cute!” Dottie agreed as Roselle placed her hand on her shoulder.

“I liked you better when you were trying to rip me apart,” Phantom huffed, her face glowing with blush as she crossed her arms and legs, hovering in the air.

“A word of advice,” Roselle said sweetly. “Mouthguards do wonders, if you can find one to steal. Pain medication still works on you, right?”

“Yes, yes, thank you for the words of wisdom, granny.” Phantom grumbled, giving the ghost a glare and a sneer. “Can I go back to--” Phantom flinched, fangs pricking her tongue again.

The teasing grins on both of the ghostly womens faces only widened and Phantom sharpened her glare, electricity sparking through her.

“Can we fight now?” Phantom drawled out slowly, as to avoid biting her tongue again.

“Right, yes, of course,” Dottie said, nodding as she waved her hand. “Where were we, dear?” She turned to Roselle.

“I believe you were trying to throw her into a stop sign?” Roselle hummed, tapping her chin and frowning. “Or was it a pipe? One of the two.”

Phantom rolled her eyes at the two conversing and uncrossed her arms, a ball of green lightning slowly forming above her open left palm.

“No, no, I think you were--”

Lightning crackled and shot right between the two ghosts, striking the wall of an old building behind them.

They slowly looked at the indent on the wall. Then, just as slowly, they looked back at Phantom, who had landed on the ground and was in a fighting stance, another ball of electricity already building up.

“I think I remember where,” Phantom paused and curled her lip again at the pain. She threw her hands in the air. “Or for the love of--”

The lightning flew from her hands, hitting the street a good ways behind her. It exploded and shook the ground, setting off a few car alarms.

Phantom visibly shrinked at the explosion, her shoulders tense.

Dottie opened her mouth, about to say something. Phantom raised her hand quickly and silenced her.

“Not a word,”

“Kid, I don’t know what to tell ya. This is pretty natural for ghosts,”

“It is ruining my life.”

“Your dead,”

“Eda,”

“Right, right,” Eda raised her hands, stepping away from the couch Luz was dramatically laying across on her back. “Existential crisis and whatnot, my bad.”

“I’m wearing a mouthguard,” Luz growled, though it came out like a lisp. “I look like a werewolf.”

“So do I,” Eda reminded her, sitting on the end of the couch where Luz’s feet were. “And I’m doing great.” She said, curling her upper lip and flashing her non-gold fang, which was nearly as long as her golden one. The only difference was that the gold fang was crooked and hooked out of her mouth.

“You live in a shed by an abandoned brewery,” Luz lifted her hands, gesturing to the Owl House, as Eda liked to call it. “With all due respect, I wouldn’t call this the lap of luxury.”

“Eh, who needs luxury?” Eda shrugged.

“Yeesh, you give the kid a taste of the other side and suddenly your scoundrels,” King muffled, poking his head out from under the couch.

“I have been to Amity’s house once.” Luz hissed, snapping her jaws shut when she realized it came out as an actual hiss.

“Aw, now that was adorable.”

“Shut up,”

“Wait, hang on, I was talking about that time you spent in the Guys in White’s fancy van you’ve been to Amity’s house?” King whirled around, staring up at Luz in surprise.

“...I’m suddenly deaf,” Luz lisped, her voice slurred as she lay her head back against the couch armrest. “Words? I don’t know them.”

“You got into a rich girls house and you didn’t steal anything?” Eda gasped, placing a hand on her chest. “I’ve never been more betrayed in my life.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” King deadpanned.

“I’m not stealing from Amity!” Luz gasped, glaring across the couch. “She’s my friend! Go steal from her parents yourself,”

“I was given permission!” King pumped a fist in the air. Paw? Claw? Whatever you call the hands of a ghost dog with opposable thumbs.

“Now, now,” Eda grabbed King by the scruff before Luz could protest, pulling him up and holding him like that. “Be nice. Luz has to make a good impression on her crush. You don’t get a rich girl every day, you know.”

“Crush?” Luz yelped, jerking up so violently she shocked herself with her own stray lightning and fell off the couch with a thud.

“Oh right,” Eda snapped her fingers. “That’s another topic I’m not supposed to mention.” She grinned knowingly, dropping King on Luz.

Luz doubled over when King landed on her stomach, wheezing. King just looked up at her curiously before Luz lifted her head, her freckles beginning to glow green as electricity sparked around them.

“I do not have a crush on Amity! I tell you this all the time!” Luz exclaimed, feeling her face and grumbling when she was shocked again. “And now I lost my mouthguard,” She muttered, looking around for where it fell out.

Eda and King glanced at each other, mirroring the same disbelieving tired faces. But they didn’t say anything as Luz picked up King and set him aside, looking for where she spat out the mouthguard.

“Alright, we’ll drop that obvious lie for now,” Eda relented, walking up beside Luz and putting a hand on her shoulder. “But wearing a mouthguard is only gonna do so much. Sure, it’s nice to wear every now and again, but the more you get used to talking and eating with these ol’ pointers, the easier it’ll get for you.”

“But I’m a fast talker,” Luz protested. “Even if I get used to talking normally, I’m still not used to talking fast. And then I just keep on talking, and talking, and then I keep biting my tongue and then I start bleeding and--ow!” She yelped, recoiling mid-talk.

“Bit it again?”

Luz whined dramatically and turned, thunking her head against Eda’s chest. Eda stared at her for a moment before sighing and smiling as she rested a hand over Luz’s back and head.

“I know it's not fun, but that's just how life, er, this limbo we’re in is gonna be.” She said, patting her back.

“Pros and cons,” Luz muffled into her chest. “Pros, ghost things. Cons, ghost things.” She said, her words slow but enunciated.

“Welcome to my world, kiddo.” Eda chuckled.

“You don’t even fight--” Luz hissed, scrunching up her face before continuing. “--other ghosts,”

“No, but they’re still annoying.” Eda agreed.

“Oh, hey, I found the mouth thing!”

“King you better spit that out!”

In hindsight, sticking to the bottom of the Witch Hunter’s hoverboard, aka, a young ghost hunter known for not liking her, was probably not the smartest idea.

Then again, Phantom’s plans are pretty hit-or-miss.

Phantom crawled up the bottom of the hoverboard, peeking up. The dark purple coloring of the Witch Hunter’s suit nearly blended in with the night sky above her, and she clearly wasn’t paying attention.

With a mischievous grin, Phantom slowly gripped the front end of the board and leaned up, laying her chin on the end.

“Hey,”

The Witch Hunter yelped, whirling her head down as the hoverboard skidded to a stop. Phantom wasn’t prepared for that and went flying out from underneath the board, hitting the flat roof of a building and rolling right off the edge.

But hey, at least the metal trash cans broke her fall.

Phantom groaned, attempting to peel herself out of the trash bags and pulling a banana peel off her head in disgust. She heard a snort and looked up.

The Witch Hunter was crouched on the edge of the roof, peering over. The black plastic screen over her face on the suit hid her expression, but Phantom just knew she was trying not to laugh.

“Alright, so maybe I deserved that,” Phantom relented, kicking away the last of the trash and floating up.

The Witch Hunter quickly leaned back as Phantom placed her hands on the edge of the roof, leaning on it slightly as the rest of her body was suspended by nothing in the air.

“But still, you gotta get better at noticing when I’m around.” Phantom chuckled with a grin, shaking her head.

In a flash, an ectogun was being pointed at her face, right between her eyes.

Phantom’s face dropped slightly, her eyes crossing as she looked down the barrel of the gun. Her eyes then went back to the Witch Hunter, who was still on her knees, but holding the ectogun in a way that said she wasn’t afraid to use it.

“I can never have a single moment of fun with you, can I?” Phantom sighed.

“And yet, you still succeed.” The Witch Hunter said, putting a finger on the trigger.

“I appreciate you trying to put a stop to that. You took the job everybody wanted but nobody was brave enough to try as diligently. Bravo,” Phantom nodded solemnly.

“I wish you luck,” She blinked, a smirk growing.

The Witch Hunter stared at her for a moment. Then another. She glanced around slowly before looking back to Phantom, who was still in the same position as before.

“Okay, two things,” The Witch Hunter said. “One, what am I waiting for?”

“What?” Phantom looked down at herself, inspecting her hand.

“Oh,” She deflated, looking back up to the Witch Hunter sheepishly. “I still haven’t mastered the whole ‘invisibility on command’ thing.”

“...I genuinely can’t tell if your stupid or bad at planning,” The Witch Hunter said, sounding like she was rolling her eyes.

“Fifty fifty on that,” Phantom raised a hand and tilted it.

“Secondly, what is with your teeth?” The Witch Hunter said, leaning her head forward slightly. “Is everyone getting weird teeth today?”

“Oh come on!” Phantom groaned, throwing her head back. “I just forgot about them!”

“What?” The Witch Hunter lowered her ectogun slightly.

“It’s been an issue all week,” Phantom complained, swinging her legs over the side of the roof and sitting on the edge, crossing her legs. “I forget about the fangs, I can talk easier. But when I think about them, I--” She flinched, hissing as she felt a prick.

“...that’s what you're worried about right now?” The Witch Hunter said disbelievingly.

“I’m bad at picking my battles,” Phantom shrugged. “Anyway, you’ve cursed me. You owe me compensation.”

“The hell I do!”

“If there is a hell, I’ll be sure to inform them of your grievances,” Phantom waved her hand casually. “But on the plus side, I’m getting better at not biting my to--ow,”

“You’re a ghost,” The Witch Hunter deadpanned, getting to her feet with a sigh. “Shouldn’t it be normal to have fangs? Why didn’t you have them before?”

“Well I’m sorry but I’m a little new to all this,” Phantom huffed, floating up in the air, her legs still crossed, as well as her arms.

The Witch Hunter paused, looking over the ghost. It was only then Phantom realized that she, a ghost, had stated she was new to being one.

Phantom wished she could see her expression. Not being able to tell what she looked like at that exact moment felt like a nightmare.

“Phantom, are you--”

The halfa darted forward, flying around the Witch Hunter at blinding speeds and proceeding to kick the ectogun out of her grasp, sending it sliding to the other side of the roof.

“Little slow today, aren’t we?” Phantom quickly recovered, suddenly popping up right in front of the Witch Hunter’s face with a wide grin, fangs exposed.

The Witch Hunter grunted as she grabbed a small ectoblade (they really needed to get more original with these names) from her suits belt and swung it at Phantom.

Phantom flew a few feet away, cackling. She landed by the ectogun and kicked it up with her foot, trying to catch it midair but fumbling with it for a few moments instead.

“Somebody ought to put a muzzle on you,” The Witch Hunter muttered, taking a step back towards her hoverboard, which lay on the ground a little ways away.

“Why?” Phantom grinned, tossing the ectogun somewhere off the roof where the Witch couldn’t get to it. “Scared I’m gonna bite you?” She taunted, holding her hands behind her back and leaning forward, though she still remained a few feet away.

The Witch Hunter made a noise that sounded close between a yelp and a gargle. Almost strangled as she nearly dropped her blade.

“Oh wait, actually,” Phantom frowned, looking at the ground for a moment. “Could I bite people? Or would that give them ghost powers?” She mumbled, looking at her hands. “Am I a vampire ghost?”

The ectoblade flew right by Phantom’s head, ruffling her hair. She stiffened as the blade managed to somehow embed itself into the roof behind her, just before it hit the edge.

Phantom raised her head, spotting the Witch Hunter grabbing what appeared to be a regular silver ball from her belt. She pressed a button on the ball, transforming it into a portable ectogun.

“...okay, that’s kinda cool.” Phantom admitted.

“You have five seconds,”

Phantom took the hint and in mere seconds, shot off. She dropped out of sight beyond the roof without a word.

The Witch Hunter sighed, relaxing her arm and sagging. She watched the place where Phantom had vanished for a few more moments before turning around.

And almost crashed face-first into bright, sparking green eyes.

“I almost--ow,” Phantom whined, sticking out her tongue as the Witch Hunter jumped back.

Phantom had somehow managed to silently float behind her and was hovering in the air, upside down and at eye-level with the young ghost hunter.

“I almost forgot,” Phantom said, her voice lisp-y as she kept the tip of her tongue poking out of her mouth so as to avoid biting it again. As well as revealing its neon green color, and the fact it was beginning to become split like a snake.

Phantom probably didn’t realize that was happening yet.

Not that the Witch was looking.

“I will see you,” Phantom said, flipping over in the air so she was rightside up, slowly floating backwards. “On the fright side.” She said, winking and giving finger guns.

“Get out of here!” The Witch Hunter snapped, grabbing another silver ball from her belt and chucking it at the ghost.

Phantom yelped and got knocked in the head, complaining as she finally took off, down the streets of the town.

“I’m hilarious and you know it!” She called behind her.

“You are not!”

99 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Taste of a Poison Paradise, Chapter 9 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: In the wake of Lemon’s outburst at the club, those closest to her process the fallout and realize something needs to be done before she spirals to the point of no return.

ao3 link

“Okay, I think that’s the last box,” Juice remarked as she dropped herself down onto the couch. “So, why’d your cousin kick you out again?”

“Alright, cool,” she shrugged as she took out her phone and began aimlessly scrolling. “You wanna do something tonight?”

The blonde perched herself on the armrest of the couch, swinging her legs. “We could go to a club and get shitfaced,” she suggested.

Juice shook her head without looking up from her phone. “You can. I mean, I’ll totally go with you and turn shit up, but I don’t drink.”

“More for me.”

——

“You’re right, I know. I’m gonna talk to her,” she exhaled deeply as she pushed herself up. “If Lemon comes around, please don’t have sex with her.”

“Oh fuck off,” she huffed, “that delayed her mental breakdown by at least a week.”

Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on Denali’s door, evening out her breathing while she waited for her.

“And you’re sappy,” she teased affectionately, leaning down to kiss her. “Come on,” she got up and pulled Rosé to her feet, “we can cuddle until I gotta get ready for my shift.”

——

She furrowed her brows, shifting closer to the younger woman. “What do you mean?”

“There has to be some way, and I’m going to help you find it,” she promised.

——

“What happened?” Rosé immediately asked. “Is she okay?”

Everyone else had similar expressions - sadness, concern, anxiety. But none of them were surprised. “What do we do, then?” Rosé asked, breaking a tense moment of silence.

“So can we stage an intervention?” Jaida asked. “Do you have someone we can talk to?”

“My god, we’ve been so caught up with Lemon, we’ve barely kept up with Pri. Are we bad friends?” Jan asked, feeling a mix of guilt and sadness.

——

Scarlett nodded, disappearing back into her apartment. There was a solid few minutes of waiting, but Priyanka eventually came to the door. “Hey,” she greeted meekly and led Jackie inside.

Jackie sat at the edge of the bed in the guest room Priyanka had been staying in. “How have you been? You know we’re all worried about you.”

She listened attentively, nodding along. “I’m proud of you for that. How did your family react when you and Mark broke up?”

Priyanka went quiet again, crumpling the tissue in her hand and staring at it as if the answers were there. “So you don’t think I’ll be able to be fully happy until I embrace being gay?”

“That’s for you to decide. But think of it this way; when you think about your future, best case scenario, what is it in your life that’s making you happy?”

——

“Juice just texted me that they’re on the way,” Rosé read off her phone, her free hand squeezing Denali’s tight, her leg bouncing anxiously.

The woman they’d brought in to help Lemon, Widow, nodded calmly. “Remember, at the end of the day we are here to help her. We’re not punishing or lecturing her, but we have to be firm.”

“So why am I here?” Lemon interjected.

#rpdr fanfiction #taste of poison paradise #joley #lemyanka #rosnali #jan x nicky #jan sport #nicky doll #lemon #priyanka #juice boxx #rosé #denali foxx #lesbian au #smut

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flowerfan2 · 4 years

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Part of You Indefinitely

Yes, I’ve found my way into the Schitt’s Creek fandom - it’s a lovely, hopeful place to be. And of course, having met these wonderful people, I need to throw some angst and h/c their way. Please enjoy this, the first chapter of my whump!Patrick fic.

Thanks as always to my beta @perryavenue for coming along with me to yet another fandom :)

David/Patrick, M, A03 (tags/warnings this chapter: injury, hospitalization, loss of consciousness, blood (minor))

Chapter 1

David is arranging a new shipment of lavender sage lip balms by the cash register – he’s not sure they will sell as well as the honey vanilla but they are definitely more interesting – when he hears the crash.

He grumbles again at Patrick’s insistence on spending their Sunday morning at the store when they could have just as easily slept in another few hours, and ambles to the backroom to see what happened. It’s the last calm thought he processes.

There are wires hanging from a ceiling light fixture, a step ladder tilted at an angle against the shelves, and Patrick, lying on the floor, oddly twitching. David crashes to his knees, hands flying to Patrick’s head, as words flow out of his mouth in a panicked stream. “Patrick – Patrick- are you okay? Patrick-”

Patrick is still breathing, David can feel his breath on his cheek when he presses his face close, but he’s not responding. David’s hands are fluttering up and down Patrick’s body, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong. He tries to hold Patrick’s head steady as his husband’s muscles continue to spasm. “Patrick, wake up. Please, come on, please, Patrick.”

David can feel something warm and wet in Patrick’s hair, and he faintly realizes that Patrick is bleeding. “Oh my god, Patrick, open your eyes, please.” He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and calls emergency services, one hand resting on Patrick’s head, trembling so hard he can only hope the operator can understand what he’s saying.

Something in his brain finally connects the wires still swinging above him with Patrick unconscious on the floor and his breath leaves him in a horrified gasp. “Send help now, right now. I think my husband has been electrocuted.”

*****

It’s David’s first time riding in an ambulance while he is sober enough to remember it, and it’s terrifying. He can’t wish for anything to dull his senses right now, though, because he needs to be here for Patrick. He needs to get a grip, to stay strong, to not fall apart like he absolutely thinks he’s about to do, because Patrick needs him to keep it together.

The EMTs don’t offer much information, and the ride to the hospital in Elmdale is a nightmare of spiraling anxiety. David feels like his chest is going to implode, the only thing keeping him from losing it completely is his hand on Patrick’s ankle, his arm stretched out to touch him in the only place he can reach.

He wants to say something, to do something, but his voice seems to have abandoned him. Finally, the questions in his head break through. “Is he going to be okay?”

He barely hears the noncommittal answer. Patrick has to be okay. Their story can’t end here. They haven’t even been married a year. David has plans for their one-year wedding anniversary, only a few months away. He’s going to take Patrick on a hike. He’s going to do it right, make up for how David almost ruined Patrick’s proposal with his grumpy mood. He’s not going to complain, and Patrick’s not going to get stabbed in the foot with a branch. David is going to pack a picnic, with Patrick’s favorite foods this time, and serenade him at sunset - or maybe not quite sunset, because hiking back down in the dark seems like a bad idea, but he still has time to figure that out. They still have time, they are supposed to have time. Lots of time.

David’s come far enough to believe that he’s pretty good at making Patrick happy, and at letting himself be happy, but there’s so much more he wants to do.

So many more smiles he needs to see on Patrick’s face.

There’s a rush of activity as they arrive at the hospital, and David has to let go of Patrick’s ankle, even the loss of that small connection paining him. “I’ll be right here,” he says, although Patrick can’t hear him, and no one is listening. “I’ll be here.”

*****

David is pacing in the waiting room. He has already filled out the necessary forms, his handwriting barely legible since he’s still shaking all over, and now there is nothing to do but wait. He knows he should probably call someone and let them know what’s going on, but Patrick’s parents are on an Alaskan cruise, and his own parents are in Fiji. Stevie’s in New York for a conference, and Alexis is in L.A. He’s got to handle this on his own.

David used to be good at handling crises. He prided himself on it. Even when he was at the height of his drug happy party boy phase, he was always able to make a call to the right consulate and get Alexis sprung from whatever ridiculous situation she had wound up in. He could act the part of a confident, competent savior, equipped with enough money and pull to get things done. But things are different now. Patrick has changed him, has cut right through all the walls he built to protect himself. His defenses are gone. And now this panicking, flailing, frightened man is all Patrick has left.

It seems like forever but finally a doctor comes out to talk with him. Patrick is stable, but still unconscious. Apparently he is more impaired than would be expected from a minor electric shock, because he hit his head when he fell. Tests are being run.

David takes a step towards the doctor as his vision narrows, and someone is there next to him, a hand on his arm. “Would you like to sit down?” He doesn’t seem to have any choice, as he’s pushed into a chair, and a moment later handed a cup of water.

David takes a sip, then shakes his head, squeezing his eyes together and forcing himself to take a deep breath. “When can I see him? Can I see him, please?”

Not yet, they tell him. Soon. They’ll let him know.

*****

<i>Four hours earlier</i>

David wakes to the feel of his husband’s lips on his own, and he hums and wraps a hand around Patrick’s head and holds him close. But instead of finding a sleep-warm, enticingly aroused and naked Patrick shuffling closer to him under the sheets, he opens his eyes to see Patrick sitting on the edge of the bed, already showered, a towel around his waist.

“Mmm, no, come back to bed.”

“Can’t do that. We’re going to the store early, remember?”

David groans and flops over, pulling the duvet over his head. “I don’t want to.”

“But we said we’d do it, and if we don’t, our lovely shelves will be empty on one of our best selling days of the week.”

David doesn’t really care to remember this fact, although it’s true. Thursday afternoon he and Patrick had gotten into a disagreement about whether to keep sourcing peppermint foot cream from a particular vendor, and by the time David shut his mouth long enough to figure out why Patrick had developed a sudden aversion to Mr. Braden (he was unforgivably rude to their intern), some rather less than pleasant things had been said by David, too. David suggested he make it up to Patrick by trading their regular Thursday evening at the store doing inventory and stocking shelves for an impromptu date night, and Patrick had agreed, on the condition that they come in early on Sunday instead.

“I’d like to suggest an amendment to our agreement,” David says, sitting up and slinging both arms around Patrick’s neck, loving the smile it brings to his husband’s face. “Come back to bed for just a little while, and I’ll put all the labels on the body milk bottles myself.” Patrick doesn’t like sticking labels on the bottles, he says the adhesive makes his fingertips itch.

“We’ll be late,” Patrick objects, but he’s already relaxing into David’s arms.

David knows Patrick’s protest is mostly for show. He runs his tongue up the side of Patrick’s neck, inhaling the smell of his warm, damp skin. “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Patrick caves, attacking David’s mouth in a hungry kiss, as they both fall back onto the bed. “You always do.”

*****

It seems like forever, but finally someone comes and tells him that he can see Patrick. They lead David down hallways and around corners and finally into a room. He goes past an empty bed and a partly pushed back curtain and then he’s there, staring helplessly at his husband, laid out unnaturally where he absolutely does not belong.

All the tropes are true, David thinks to himself. Patrick looks small, diminished by the machines and the wires and the strangeness of the setting. He’s lying flat on his back, which is just wrong – Patrick sleeps on his side, his knees always bent, body twisted around a pillow or the sheets or, when at all possible, David. He says it’s because he doesn’t breathe well lying on his back, but David knows he likes the comfort of it, of being surrounded and held. David likes it too.

They’re a good pair, right for each other in all the most important ways. David swallows hard and moves closer to this fragile version of his beloved husband. <i>Patrick has to be okay.</i>

“Here, sit down,” the nurse at his side says, sliding a chair closer to the bed. “You can touch him.”

David sits down, stiffly, and hovers his hand near Patrick’s.

“You won’t hurt him.” The nurse is looking at Patrick’s chart, and then back to David. “He hit his head pretty hard, but there’s no sign of any other injuries.”

“Is he… is he in pain?” David thought Patrick was still unconscious.

“No, he shouldn’t be,” she says. “But we’ll ask him when he wakes up, and go from there.”

David bites his lip, and forces the words out. “He’s going to wake up, isn’t he?”

The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and David forces himself not to flinch. “There’s nothing to be gained by not staying positive,” she says patronizingly, patting him twice and then, mercifully, leaving the room.

David indulges in a moment of fury, imagining himself storming out of the room and demanding to speak to a doctor, throwing a Moira Rose-style tantrum until someone gives him better customer service, but then he sees Patrick’s hand twitch and all thoughts of histrionics disappear.

“Patrick?” David takes his husband’s hand and squeezes it. “Patrick, are you awake?” He reaches over and runs a finger along Patrick’s cheek. “I’m right here. Open your eyes, baby, look at me.”

Shaking, he leans close and presses a kiss to Patrick’s dry lips, and then another. But there’s no response, no Sleeping Beauty moment of grateful awareness. David takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and sits back up.

“It’s okay,” he says, scooting the chair closer so that he can rest his elbows on the bed and hold Patrick’s free hand in both of his own. “You don’t have to wake up yet. You can sleep some more if you need to. Rest all you want. Heal that beautiful head. I’ll be here when you wake up, Patrick. I’ll be right here.”

*****

A doctor comes by a little while later, and tells David what he’s pretty much figured out on his own – they can’t say when Patrick will wake up. So far, they don’t have any reason to believe he won’t, which is good, as far as it goes. It’s not very precise, but Patrick suffered a head injury along with some level of electric shock, so they have to wait and see. They’ll run some more tests tomorrow if there’s no change, but they are “cautiously optimistic,” whatever that means.

After the doctor leaves David makes the mistake of googling “traumatic head injury.” He reads for a few minutes and then practically throws his phone across the room, watching as it slides across the linoleum floor and comes to a stop by the IV stand. He’s historically not very good at looking on the bright side, but he refuses to entertain the possibility that Patrick is going to be permanently disabled from his attempt to make the backroom overhead light stop flickering.

He leans down against the bed, resting his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, his hand still wrapped in his own. He can feel the panic rising in his chest again, and he fights it, not wanting to be any more useless to Patrick than he already is.

“Hey, I know I said you could rest, but maybe just wake up for a minute?” he says softly into Patrick’s ear. “Just squeeze my hand, or blink your eyes. Can you do that for me?” He waits, not really expecting a reaction, but it doesn’t seem fair to ask for something and then not wait for an answer. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, okay? Even if you’re hurt, even if…” David can’t really put into words what it might be like if Patrick doesn’t recover. “No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together. Just come back to me, okay? I can’t… I won’t make it if you don’t. I need you.”

“David.”

David looks up to see Alexis standing by the foot of Patrick’s bed, looking almost as pale as Patrick. Then she moves closer and folds David into a tight hug, squeezing him until he can hardly breathe. It’s the safest he’s felt since he heard the crash in the back room.

After a few minutes of Alexis’s pointy chin digging into his shoulder, David eases himself back. “Maybe give arm day a rest,” he says softly, as she loosens her boa-constrictor hold around his waist.

“Everyone always says I’m stronger than I look,” Alexis says, tilting her head as she gazes at him. “And you are too, David.”

He shrugs and glances away, his gaze inevitably going to Patrick, still just as quiet and unresponsive as he was a moment ago, and then back to his sister. “How are you here?” he asks, not wanting to dwell on the topic of his questionable ability to handle this particular situation. “I thought you were in L.A.”

“That was last week.” Alexis drops her bag to the floor, then drags a chair around from the other side of the curtain and positions it next to David’s. “I was in Toronto, working with a new client, when Jocelyn called me.”

David blinks. “Jocelyn?”

“Yes, David, Jocelyn called me, when you didn’t answer your phone – and so did Twyla, Roland, Ronnie, and everyone else.” She waves her hand, apparently to indicate the universe of people blowing up her phone.

“But… why?”

“David, did you really think that an ambulance could show up in the middle of town and whisk you and Patrick away without anyone noticing?” Alexis boops his nose and looks from Patrick back to David. “They’re worried about you. Half of the town is in the waiting room right now.”

“Wait, what?”

Alexis lets a smile tug at the side of her mouth. “Kidding, no they’re not. But they’ll come, if we need them. Twyla did drop off some food, it’s in my bag. Muffins, or something, she said you didn’t even come get one this morning. And sandwiches.” Alexis reaches down and pulls out a bag.

“I’m not hungry,” David says.

“Yeah, because you and skipping meals is a good idea.”

“I’ve had other things to worry about,” David says, his voice cracking.

“I know, David,” Alexis says softly. “But you have to take care of yourself too. And then we can take care of Patrick.”

It’s what breaks him, finally, that “we,” and David loses it, sobbing in Alexis’s arms at the side of his husband’s hospital bed.

#schitt's creek #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek fic #Alexis Rose #Hurt/Comfort

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lordeasriel · 5 years

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lord asriel’s quick analysis

Or why redemption isn’t always necessary.

Given that some people asked me to finish it and that I want to finish it, here’s my stroke over Lord Asriel’s arc. This is based on a post someone made it on reddit about the lack of redeeming traits on his part and this is my personal take on Asriel, so ok, here we go:

Let me get this out of the way: the thing about Lord Asriel is that he is not a redeemable character; that is not his purpose nor his story. He never seeks redemption, nor he sees his actions as a product of villainy or evil; in fact, Asriel believes he is quite righteous and he is willing to do whatever the fuck it takes to achieve his goals.

We never get a direct understanding of his motives: he does say he fights for freedom, he states his disgust with the Magisterium and the Kingdom of Heaven, and those who surround him believe in his cause and say, constantly, that his side is the right side, and that he fights for freedom and against the tyranny of the Church.

What is contantly overlooked is the fact Lord Asriel doesn’t require a redemption, this isn’t some sort of requirement a character needs every time they screw up. This, well, aversion to Asriel and the need to have him either punished or redeemed is solely based on the fact he killed Roger in cold blood, sort of, to wage his war for freedom. Was that fucked up? Absolutely! Does this means he requires redemption over that? No, and Philip Pullman himself explains why when Mary Malone says:

“I stopped believing there was a power of good and a power of evil that were outside us. And I came to believe that good and evil are names for what people do, not for what they are.” (The Amber Spyglass)

This has a lot to do with the recurring themes of the books, about morals, ethics and the poor use of free will by some, and it personifies almost every character in the books, from Lyra to Iorek. Everyone has committed some sort of bad deed at some point, but that does not label them as evil, and the same rules apply to Asriel. This is a man who’s crossed the very limits of the multiverse to achieve his goals, by being good in looking after the destruction of the Kingdom, and by being bad while killing Roger (plus being a bad father, a bad uncle, a bad lover, but let us remain philosophical for now).

Asriel is relentless, ruthless and sometimes, even cruel, to Lyra, to Marisa, to anyone really. At Jordan, he walks in, puts the fear of God (unironically lol) into almost everyone, including Lyra and the Master, he takes control of the enviroment and sets on to do what he went to Jordan for: to get money for his plot, so he can tear the sky apart and defy the Kingdom of Heaven. Lyra fears him (righteously) and admires his fierceness, she respects strength and brute force, it is the reason why she is so drawn to violent figures or rude characters, being herself quite rude and arrogant because she mirrors her uncle/dad.

He is considered to be a passionate man by almost everyone, and he causes a great impression in everyone he meets, including the reader. He was written as a likable character at first, made from scratch to fit in the role of the aloof, sometimes austere but caring uncle, or the traveler who serves as the inspiration for the hero (Bilbo Baggins, for quite the literal example, or Professor Kirke in Narnia). Sir Philip describes him, in Northern Lights:

“Then Lord Asriel stood up and turned away from the fire. She saw him fully, and marveled at the contrast he made with the plump Butler, the stooped and languid Scholars. Lord Asriel was a tall man with powerful shoulders, a fierce dark face, and eyes that seemed to flash and glitter with savage laughter. It was a face to be dominated by, or to fight: never a face to patronize or pity. All his movements were large and perfectly balanced, like those of a wild animal, and when he appeared in a room like this, he seemed a wild animal held in a cage too small for it. At the moment his expression was distant and preoccupied.” (page 13, Knopf edition).

He is, at first, compared to other men in Lyra’s life (the scholars, mostly) only to be extravangantly praised for being nothing like those men. Stelmaria, quiet and reserved, beautiful and pacifying, is the ultimate contrast for Asriel; together, they are one, and he is an aristocrat with wild temper, and she is a snow leopard, a predator, but beautiful and wise. These are the representation of Satan, as in Paradise Lost: forsaken and forgotten by history for fighting the Authority, Asriel and Stelmaria are the embodiment of disobedience and they are bound to rebel again because that is their nature. All that’s left to them is a reason and the Magisterium, oh boy, they’ve given them plenty.

Now, think about a man who’s had everything, then this rising power that was the Magisterium, comes and takes everything from him, from his money to his daughter over something, not trivial, but certainly something that didn’t require such harsh method of punishment; considering a lot of his wealth was confiscated and assuming he had to pay a lot of fees and taxes because of the Court Trial, he was very much not the man he was before Mrs. Coulter’s affair with him. He obeys the rules and stays away from Lyra, only to discover her mother is with the Church and that they intend to harm Lyra, even after he played nice. His friends in Oakley Street are trying to protect Lyra, but against the Magisterium, after witnessing how powerful they are, how far gone they are willing to go, things aren’t looking very bright for Asriel. He even says, in Northern Lights:

“They’re stronger than anyone, Asriel! You don’t know-”

“I don’t know? I? No one in the world knows better than I how strong the Church is! But it isn’t strong enough for this. The Dust will change everything, anyway. There’s no stopping it now.” (page 394, Knopf edition).

The Asriel we meet in La Belle Sauvage is younger and a man who’s just been massacred by the Church, as he reminds us of in Northern Lights; he is wounded after all that has happened, almost in a tender way, as if he had been softened by it. But he still is himself; proud, arrogant and scholarly, he risks Lyra’s safety and his own to indulge himself and be with her for a while, to spite the Magisterium and its distasteful influence. Under the moonlight, he loves her so immensely, in such a raw and fiery way, that for a moment Malcolm even thinks Asriel might leave with her, and so did I.

Everything Asriel does, everything that leads to his war in the name of the Republic of Heaven, has to do with Lyra’s birth and how he lost everything because of the injustice the Magisterium imposed on the world; how he had an affair with a woman he loved and how she could easily have gotten a divorce to prevent all of that; how they took his fortune and prestige because he was defiant. The murders, the oppression, his career as a scholar, his life as a whole, and then after the affair, his daughter’s, all was threatened by the Magisterium. It’s hard to say when he decided to fuck up the sky, but I like to think by the time he left Lyra at Jordan, he was already working on his revenge, because when he lost everything, that was his turning point. He doesn’t do any of this because he is a caring, loving person; he does out of hatred and indignation, two powerful tools that fuel his existence for the next twelve years, perhaps even before then, in small dosages.

There’s constant evidence of his hatred for the Church and their dogmas, especially on chapter 21 in Northern Lights, when he monologues to Lyra about Dust and how the Church allowed such things as Bolvangar to happen, implying that as many others, including scholars, he knew about what was happening. There could be a number of reasons as to why he didn’t interfer, and the most obvious one is that he was in prison, so there wasn’t much he could in his position. A second, deeper reason, is Mrs. Coulter’s involvement with Bolvangar, and by involvement I mean leadership, basically. He was fully aware she was the one responsible for Bolvangar, even enlightening us:

“That’s why they had to hide away in the far North, in darkness and obscurity. And why the Church was glad to have someone like your mother in charge, Who could doubt someone so charming, so well-connected, so sweet and reasonable?” (page 374/375, Knopf edition).

He speaks of her work with contempt and distaste, but also in a tone as someone who once fell for her masquerade before fully understanding who she was and her ultimate goal. Being his former lover, he sees the fact she works with the very Church who ruined him because of her, as disgusting despite their weird relationship dynamic, (which I could write a whole essay on but I’m not, because I already did it in college and that essay took me to a very dark place lol) and he despises her relation to the Church far more than he despises the nature of her work. And, as we see in the Amber Spyglass, despite inviting her to come with him, he is not eager to be in her company because he simply doesn’t trust himself when it comes to her and neither does anyone who knows both of them.

But the main reason he didn’t interfere, it’s because Bolvangar’s action, however crude and in favour of his enemies, was something he could take advantage of and their cruelty simply didn’t concern his own work, even if it was a discovery of his own that allowed such a thing. While they were doing something awful, they were too busy to notice his domination over his own house arrest or his plans in general, giving him the time and space he needed to finish his work.

Cruel and straightforward, Asriel is too practical and indecent to say he cared about the children: he hated what they were doing because the Church was tied to it; La Belle Sauvage!Asriel might have interfered and cared about it (he saved gyptian children from a flood, restored Malcolm’s boat, was gentle and wise in a rough way), but Northern Lights!Asriel was simply far too blindsided by his wrath against the Authority and the Church to give a damn. The only moment we see him hesitate is when he sees Lyra in the North, and for a moment he is taken by the shock of thinking he might have to sacrifice Lyra to kill God and destroy the Church, who was trying to, you know, kill Lyra. An ironic and cruel position to put him in, and he would’ve killed her, make no mistake; he keeps away from her because he simply knows he would’ve sacrificed her, or anyone else, including himself, to destroy God and the Magisterium.

Understanding this wild, carefree and inconsequential man is a crude task. The thing is, redemption is an overused trope and not everyone that does something bad needs it (or wants it for the matter), Asriel being the person who least requires it, because:

He is not a villain. I have seen this a lot and it honestly confuses me. Asriel, if anything, plays the part of the antihero, and even then he does so very loosely. We are constantly reassured by him and by basically every third party in the book (Ruta Skadi and her infatuation, John Parry and his wise comprehension, Baruch and Balthamos and their first-hand experience of the Kingdom’s brutality, amongst others) that Asriel is the “hero” of the war, that he is righteous and the one with the right views. He is not your conventional saviour, in fact, he is human and flawed, self-centered and ambitious, but charismatic and knowledgeable; that blur our senses and the lines and we’re stuck thinking he is either a hero or a villain when Asriel is, in fact, neither.

His ultimate goal is clear, albeit readable only between the lines sometimes. He is a liar, arrogant and wrathful, but once we get to the Subtle Knife, his goal is more clear, at least from Thorold and John Parry’s points of view (Ruta Skadi too, but she is far too unreliable for being too infatuated with Asriel): he wants to kill God and take down the Kingdom of Heaven. He says it’s for freedom and blah-blah-blah, and although I believe he seeks that outcome in the end, the reason he is doing this is much more self-serving and closer to revenge rather than doing what is right. He is a spiteful man, whom has been robbed of his wealth and his life by a religious institution who serves God and does anything in the name of God. Asriel wants to take them down because it satiates his need for vengeance, alongside his scholarly nature, by being a pioneer and an explorer of multiple worlds. It’s an ego booster, something to pat yourself on the back for.

He is unapologetic. He never apologises, or seems regretful over his actions. He isn’t apathetic, but he clearly does not resent his own choices. Killing Roger was a tough decision, but one he was intent on making because it was what he needed to do to achieve his purpose (hence his hesitation towards Lyra; he would’ve killed her if Roger wasn’t there). That was by far the most beautiful and sensible death ever written by Pullman: he doesn’t extend it or makes it purposefully dramatic and that’s because Roger’s death was merely a switch for everything else: Lyra and Asriel’s journey. Sir Philip makes us believe that Lyra’s ultimate goal is to stop her warmongering father, then he dismantles Asriel’s portrayal as the endgame bad guy for things of higher nature and Lyra simply stop blaming him, instead blaming herself, and everything she does from them on, is to spite Asriel by always staying away from him and his Republic.

These three aspects of Lord Asriel’s character core are relevant because they exempt him of a redemption arc. He doesn’t need to be redeemed, he asks for no forgiveness and he knew, from the start, where things were going. Perhaps not on Lyra’s account, but the overall outcome of his war. He never backs down, nor hesitates and Ogunwe claims:

“We’re not going to invade the Kingdom,” he said, “but if the Kingdom invades us, they had better be ready for war, because we are prepared.” (page 210, The Amber Spyglass, Knopf edition).

Despite the Republic’s claims of being builders, not conquerors, Asriel was the commander of a massive force and he was, fully aware, that the Kingdom would not leave them be to mind their business. They wanted that war, he wanted that war, and everything he did was because of it. That is why he only is granted peace, in a sense, in death as they plunge down into the abyss; it was a price worth paying for wrecking Heaven. He never truly dies, but instead is forged into oblivion.

A villain can be redeemed, and so can a purposeless character, but Asriel is neither of these things. He has a clear purpose, and he has done good and bad things in his life, he never apologises for what he’s done and he doesn’t intend to. He mimics great rebels of epic stories, and he embodies all that is truthful and essential to human nature: knowledge, passion, rebellious mind, the apex of free will and the wrath against those who do us wrong. He is neither a saint, nor sinner: he is both, as are every person in those books, and he embraces fully his nature. Once again, as Mary said: he’s done bad things, but he isn’t evil himself. No one truly is.

And this is it, sorry for the essay, I have thing for academic men in linen shirts who want to tear Heaven apart lol @laciefuyu this is for you hahah

#his dark materials #lord asriel #hdm #long post #hdm meta #this is like me scratching the surface of my previous thesis lmao #but this will have to do #do i have a lot to say on asriel? yes #i love him so much omfg #sometimes i need to remind myself he isnt real and that hurts #pls authority give me a raging academic as a bf/gf #oh its ok im the raging academic i know #lord asriel: a me: you can fight my freedom anyday hun #hdm spoilers #meta by effie

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kristopherwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

A JonDaisy fic - Chapter One

The initial ascent out of the Buried was a long one, even longer than the walk and crawl into it. Each drag closer to the surface, every inch moved through thick, clinging dirt and mud and soil, felt like hours even if it really was only seconds, and Jon dragged himself out of the ground, out of the small wooden coffin, with mud in his hair and dirt under his nails and little loose stones and clumps of soil tickling against his skin, under his clothes, staining his skin an even darker brown as he collapses on the smooth, cool hardwood floor, exhausted and weak.

He could barely acknowledge Daisy landing next to him, shuddering and clinging, her hand finding his desperately, clutching like her life depends on it. Doesn't see her turn to him, eyes squinting and tired but flickering greedily over his face, taking it in, the first thing she's properly seen in six months, even as she gives a faint greeting to Basira. She doesn't even have time to turn to her properly, either, just drags her feet out of the coffin, hand still curled around Jon's, before she proceeds to collapse as the exhaustion hits her hard. That hadn't stopped Basira from lunging forward to check on her, though, or Jon, although her reluctance was clear when she turned to him.

That's why he brushed her off. Struggled to his feet himself, bones aching and the weight of the world pressing down on him, and stumbles around trying to find anything he can to make Daisy's rest more comfortable. After all, there's no way he's going to be able to lift her, despite the weight loss, the muscle mass decrease, the soft, gentle limpness to her pale body that almost makes her seem dead. He would be worried she might be, if it weren't for the slow, shallow shift of her chest, her stomach, rising and falling with each breath. No chance of lifting her, even as painfully close to death as she is.

Finding something, anything, to prop her head up with, to cover her body with, proves more difficult than first expected. He ends up having to steal a pillow from Melanie's lair, an old, worn blanket from his own office, and tries to shift her out the way, just so they can get the coffin out the room when they call artifact storage. After that, the first thing Jon does is get himself a coffee. He knows, rationally, he should read a statement, get some sleep, actually look after himself, but he gets the feeling Basira won't let him do that until she's gotten answers from him. He's gotten far too used to, he feels, her looking down on him and treating him like crap when she wasn't using him herself to get what she wanted. But he won't say anything about it, either, not really. Not how he wants. He doesn't think it's worth the hassle.

"So. You got Daisy out."

"Yes, Basira. I did." He sounds tired, even to himself, sighing softly as he talks, eyes on the kettle brewing in front of him.

"Without my say-so."

"Quite frankly, Basira, I didn't think I really needed your say-so. You were gone a week, two weeks, longer than you were supposed to be, Melanie certainly was in no state or position to do anything about it either, and leaving Daisy down there any longer would have been cruel. The worst that would have happened is that I would have been stuck too. But I wasn't. I got us out. I got her out. Which is what you wanted, isn't it?"

He's not being snappy. Not being snarky. No rudeness or anger in his tone. Just that slow, dead tiredness, one he feels in his bones, as he pours coffee grounds into his mug and pours hot water over them once the switch flicks on the kettle. The sound of bubbling, pouring water fills the silence between them as Basira tries to find words. He does it for her, once his mug is in his hands.

"I'm going to find some people from Artifact Storage to take the coffin upstairs, out of the way, and then I'm going to go take a nap in my office." He's turning before she can say anything, downing half his coffee in one, and walks out of the breakroom, the woman staring after him in mild disbelief and a frosty, almost angry frustration. But she doesn't stop him, and he doesn't wait for her to.

Two hours later the coffin is moved, and Jon had convinced Melanie to help move Basira to the couch, up against the wall and what he usually uses to rest. He, instead, sleeps at his desk, halfway through sorting through statements, coffee mug empty and cold on the end of his desk, safely away from any damage it could inflict or receive. His office is usually dark, so being disturbed by lights is unlikely, and he makes sure to close the blinds in his window and close his door securely before settling down to work and then, eventually, pass out, exhausted and grimy with an ache in his bones he's not sure will ever leave again. He isn't sure if he dreams or not, either. Everything is a soft, filtered blur, flickering too fast to keep track, really. Too many scenes melting through his head, flickering like an old VHS tape, sound like muted static in his head. He thinks he might be dreaming, because sometimes everything will stop, set on a particular scene, stuck in slow motion, and he's forced to watch, dishevelled and dirty, in a torn shirt and stained tie and his hair barely tied back, as he watches an endless hunt, watches friends slaughter each other, watches a man confronted by something posing as his cousin but isn't.

He's jerked awake just as an eighteen year old, book in hand, opens the door to an old house with silver threads around his limbs, ready to be jerked inside and swallowed by the darkness and the creature just inside it. It's Daisy that wakes him, blonde hair grown out from her time in the dirt and dark, tufts around her ears and eyes tired but calm when she looks down at him.

"Daisy," he tries to say, but it's mumbled and slurred with sleep, and he realises he was drooling while he slept, sleeve slick with it, and he wipes it from his mouth and chin absently, cheeks burning. "I, uh, you're-you're awake."

"No shit, captain obvious," is her snorted reply, and he has to laugh, a little, eyes closing briefly.

"Does, ah...Does Basira know you're awake?"

"No. Wanted to check you were alright first." She's quiet, as she looks at him, watches him sit up and rub his face and yawn, forcing himself awake as he reaches for his coffee. The look on his face as he takes a sip makes her laugh, and he shoots her a glare as he spits the cold liquid back into his mug.

"I'm glad you find that amusing, Detective. Would you like to drink cold coffee?"

"Mm. Not anything you've spat in, thanks. Looking a bit of a mess, too, Sims." Daisy is smiling when she says it, quiet and almost relaxed, and Jon rolls his eyes, fighting down his own smile as he sets his mug back down, sliding it back slightly.

"Yes, well, I did have to save a Detective from an eldritch horror in the form of the crushing bottom of the Earth," he says dryly, and lets his lips twitch up as he tips his head to the side slightly. "And really, you can hardly talk about how filthy I am when you probably look just as bad. I suppose we could both use the clean-up."

He gets to his feet, stretching his arms above his head, and then sighs softly. He's still tired, which is really only to be expected, but going back to sleep doesn't sound particularly appealing, either. He'll go home, he thinks. Shower and maybe find food and try to clear his head of the Buried, and the coffin, and the Archives. Just...everything.

That sounds like a good idea.

"What are you thinking about?" Daisy is watching him, eyes big and soft, too big for her face, too soft for the fiery, snapping Detective he knew before this.

"...Having a nice hot shower and watching crappy TV," he sighs, and she smiles, running a hand through the long, messy hair falling to her shoulders, over the small tufts just reaching her ears.

"Sounds like heaven right now. Going home would…"

It kind of hits her, then. The fact she doesn't have a home. Doesn't have anything, most likely. Six months of disappearing off the face of the Earth leaves her with the clothes on her back and not much else. It hits hard; hits her right in the chest, sends her heart clenching tightly, lungs too tight, breath stolen for a moment.

Jon can tell, too. Knows it, like he knows that sugar is sweet and dirt is brown. His heart aches for hers, for a second.

"Maybe talk to Basira?" He asks, hesitant but gentle. "She might be able to help."

"...Yeah. Maybe." She hasn't moved, staring at his desk, and her voice is flat, empty, but he can sense the hurt there nonetheless. "I'll...I'm fine."

"...Get some food, Daisy." Jon knows exactly how she feels and all he can do is hope she'll be able to work something out until getting her own apartment again. "Talk to Basira. It'll work out."

She just nods, and he sighs, hesitates.

"I'm...I'll go and get some tea. Coffee. Basira should be...somewhere. Maybe the back of the Archives? She should be around. I'll be back soon."

Daisy isn't there, when he gets back, but the lack of dirt from her shoes indicates she didn't exactly walk out. He's not surprised; even walking for him is a struggle, like this. Still, he can only hope Basira looks after her.

The confrontation that happens next week is unexpected. Things had gone more or less smoothly, since Daisy had gotten back. She was getting the use of her legs back, slowly, with crutches and physio-therapy and help from Basira, when she was available. She was averse to being alone, they all quickly learnt, although that wasn't unexpected, at least in Jon's humble opinion. Being alone in crushing darkness for six months would cause anyone to be terrified of being alone, honestly.

Apparently, Basira was not as attuned to this simple information as Jon was. She didn't seem to quite understand why Daisy was reluctant to do things alone, why she was always hanging around either her or Jon, or Melanie when she was available. That was, in Jon's opinion, the most likely reason that this had happened.

"Daisy has a favour to ask, Jon." Basira's tone was brisk, stern, arms crossed over her chest as she looked down at the man at his desk, looking a bit better than he had done in a while but she was betting that was just due to his recent return and recovery from the coffin. He's staring up at her, hesitant, confused, although he does relax slightly when Daisy is mentioned, those large dark eyes flickering to her face instead.

Daisy is...slightly uncomfortable, asking this, simply to value what little privacy Jon has left being violated. But Basira has made her feelings clear, and she didn't feel it fair to stay any longer.

"...I need a place to stay."

The silence that follows stretches into the air for what could be years, time trickling to a stop, breaths frozen and hearts still as the information melts into Jon's brain and tugs at the door in his mind, spilling free the information that tells him exactly why Daisy does.

He can't find it in him to be surprised, and he hates it.

"...Right. Well. I...I suppose I could...arrange something. Yes. Well, if you're, ah, quite comfortable…"

Basira isn't. He could sense that a mile away. Two. Ten. It's the last thing she wants, Daisy staying with him. Other than Daisy staying with her any more. Too needy, too demanding, too anxious and afraid and panicked over nothing, in her head. Too silly over the most pathetic things. He keeps his comments to himself, as Daisy nods, arms wound around herself and barely able to meet his face. Keeps his comments to himself and wonders, idly, if any of his clothes will fit her. Probably, with the state she's in.

Hopefully.

"Good. Well...I, ah...I can take you in, certainly." He gives a smile, a little awkward, but he's trying to take it into stride for Daisy's sake. She's just watching him, eyes unfocused, clinging to herself tightly as she stands there, and Jon can see the panic bubbling in her chest. The fear of being alone. Of being in the dark. Of being buried alive under all her fear.

He's touching her before he can quite stop himself, gently taking a hand, instinctive and natural.

"You're okay, Daisy," he murmurs, voice low, soothing. "You're okay. We're out. We're out and we're not going back. I promise."

All she can do is nod, and cling to him, and blink the tears from her eyes, mouth soft and quivering with her anxiety and terror. He doesn't know what she's thinking of, not right now, but he holds her hand and murmurs to her gently, softly, while Basira just sighs.

"I'll leave her with you. Make sure she eats."

Jon just ignores her, stroking his thumb over Daisy's hand, a quiet reminder of himself and Georgie in similar positions, when he was trapped in her apartment and she'd hold him, soothing, after a nightmare. He wasn't even sure he'd ever see Georgie again.

She deserved better than him. So did Daisy. And Martin. So had Sasha. And Tim.

They all deserved more than him, more than his not-enoughness, but he couldn't dwell on that, even as it threatened to curl up his throat as an aching guilty sadness and take over his thoughts completely. Couldn't dwell because there were, always, more important things than him to deal with. Daisy was more important, despite everything she'd done. She was sane enough, sober enough, to admit to those wrongdoings, even though Basira tried to protect her, an old reflex of "protect my own" that Jon had picked up was more than just about any feelings the two had for each other. Cops stuck together, even out of the force.

He wasn't sure how well Daisy would follow that rule now, though.

She seemed better, after some tea and a Statement or two made by Jon. Seemed to settle, leaning against the side of his desk and listening to him talk, steady and secure, voice rising and falling and twisting with the words on the page, shifting from quiet and calm, steady, to lively and exaggerated in seconds. It was a comfort, she found. It wasn't the first time she'd come to him for company, nor would it be the last, but she was always amazed by how...accommodating he tried to be. How easy he was to be around, even with the darkness of his eyes during a statement, the slight glassy sheen when he was knowing something, looking for an answer, the double edge to his voice and the tremor of muted static, like pins and needles but painless, running through someones' throat, over their tongue and probing at their lips. Even then, he was pleasant company, voice soft and laugh gentle, unthreatening, careful. Each fidget and shift and flutter of his hands, fingers twining, picking at threads in clothing, just show off an anxious, shy man, terrified of doing the wrong thing and desperate to do the right one. She knows, in the past, consumed by the Hunt and her own paranoia and desperation for a chase, she would have seen that as a sign of weakness, of guilt (although a different kind of the one he actually feels), of his own exposure of his wrong-doings and crimes and would have taken him down effortlessly, mercilessly. Would have enjoyed it.

She's not like that, after the Buried. She knows he's not like that, either. He tries his best, she can see, and even with his flaws, she can't help but be almost...endeared by him. He was the one of the only comforts she had, and it was why she often found herself in his office so often.

If he minded, he never said. Seemed quite happy to have her around and tried to keep up conversation, as awkward and nervous as he could be, as tired as he was. Jon was warm and sweet on his best days, a smile on his lips as he bantered and joked with her, making her coffee and going to lunch with her whenever she wasn't with Basira. Which was good, because he didn't eat otherwise, as far as she was aware. He'd claim he'd eaten, if asked, but except for their lunches she isn't sure he genuinely does.

She has a feeling today is one of those days.

"...You went to get lunch today?"

He starts, at that, glancing up, brows furrowing slightly.

"Uh...I...Suppose. Yeah, I could get lunch. Basira busy?"

She shrugs, sipping her coffee as she watches him. "Don't know. But you look like you could use it."

"Thank you, Daisy." He's smiling, though, a small, amused little thing as he looks up at her, even with his voice dry and flat. "I appreciate your boost in my confidence and self-image."

"What I'm here for, Sims."

She's so casual with him, sometimes. So relaxed and calm, it's genuinely surprising when he compares it to the half feral woman who tried to slit his throat and dump his body in the woods like she did with all the other monsters she came across. It certainly isn't a bad thing, though. Jon is in need of friends, any he can feasibly get without them ending up hating him for one reason or another, and the fact he's found one in Daisy is...An unexpected comfort, but a welcome one. She cares for him, in her own way, and he knows making him eat lunch with her is just the way she expresses her worry for his health, her quiet concern.

He really does appreciate it, the new little routine they've struck up over the past week or two, although he is trying to push the thought of her living with him to the side, for now. Getting lunch with her is strange enough, even if it's like lunch with anyone else he's ever gone with; they order and he pays and sometimes they'll eat his leftovers if he manages to convince them he really is well and truly full. She doesn't usually eat his leftovers, eats as little as him some days, but at least she is eating. At least he is eating.

The café they go to is small, a friendly little thing with a few neat tables and warm lighting and smiling servers with tired eyes. The entrance is at the left of the building, several tables dotted around the center and a few booths on the sides, and there's not that many people there; a couple or two, a small group of men probably on a lunch break, just the usual crowd. Daisy leads him to one of the booths on the side, sitting down next to him and pulling up a menu.

"Anything at you want?"

"Not really." Jon shrugs, idky scratching at the table top with a finger. "I'm just...Thinking."

"About?"

"Whether my spare sheets are clean for you."

That makes her bark out a laugh, despite herself, despite the situation, and she rolls her eyes with a smile. "I see. That's a shame. I guess I'm ordering for you."

Jon just looks at her. His mouth is drawn in a thin, unimpressed line, brow raised, and he looks so displeased it's almost funny.

"You act like I don't know what to order you, Sims."

"And everyone claims I'm the stalker," he murmurs, but there's a small smile on his lips as he picks up the menu. He ends up ordering just a small plate of sausage and chips, and Daisy gets herself some gravy and chips, and they eat quietly together. They don't feel the need to talk, with the sounds of the café surrounding them, the street from outside, but if Daisy links their pinky fingers together under the table neither comment on it. She needs the support, sometimes. The physical contact, the reminder that someone is there with her. It's common with Jon, since they got out the Buried; little touches, panicked glances, checking that he's still there with soft calls of his name. He's used to it, by now, having her call for him then not actually wanting to talk, just wanting to know he's around, wanting to know she's not alone. Jon indulges her, too. Having her stressed and anxious and on the way to a panic attack isn't worth not holding her hand for a few minutes, and he wasn't exactly opposed to it either, the reassurance she's there, too.

Talking about it would probably be beneficial, but Daisy was determined to return things to normal, as much as she could anyway. She'd only talk about it when necessary, and even then she was reluctant. Jon understood. He genuinely did. There were times when he was in his office, lights off, room illuminated only by the glow of his laptop screen and the blinking light of his tape recorder, that he'd get the overwhelming aching urge to cry and yell and panic, to instinctively reach for Daisy, to grab her and drag her to safety, that he'd feel the heavy, crushing weight down on his spine again. It terrified him, and that was the reason why he didn't speak of it. Who was going to offer him support, anyway? Basira, who only wanted to use him when she deemed necessary? Melanie, who didn't trust him as far as she could throw him and barely tolerated his presence? Daisy, who was in just as bad a place he was, almost certainly worse, and who, judging from how Basira had been looking lately, hardly slept? No. No, he didn't have anyone to go to, and he wasn't looking for sympathy regardless. There were far too many people who deserved it more than him.

Which is why he held her pinky finger under the table, and let her entwine their fingers once they were out the building, and held her upright when she leaned into him for support and comfort.

It's why he let her come home with him that night, and fell asleep on the sofa with their hands clasped tightly and her head on his chest.

#tma #the magnus archives #jondaisy #jon/daisy #slow burn #chapter one #3.8k for this one! just a warning #very long #it needs polishing in some areas but #i hope you enjoy anyway

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

Counterpart Epilogue

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Framework!Steve

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Words: 2k | AO3

A/N: Short and punchy guys! Counterpart has been a wild ride. And thus conclude’s this story. But you know what they say about one door closing... I hope you join me for the Spin-Off: The Liberators. Send me an ask if you want to be tagged in that going forward.

Warning: flashing gif below!

Like, reblog or leave a comment -it’s highly appreciated! ☺

EPILOGUE: THOSE WE LEAVE BEHIND

"And do you regret it?" Your therapist inquired from behind the safety of her clipboard, her eyes shielded by the thick glass layer of her lenses.

You had been startled from your wondering thoughts, fingers shifting the ring on your left hand absentmindedly, "What?"

"Everything that happened?" She used her arm to prop herself straighter in her leather chair. "Every time you come in here, you express regret for your actions, talking about how you wished you could take it all back, how you wished you could return to the way things were before. But you've never actually said it aloud. So, I'll ask you again: do you regret everything that happened to you all those months ago?"

Your bottom lip froze half an inch from the other, your focus drawn to the sounds of rain hitting the roof. It was like being under a meteor shower.

Discontent with the silence, your therapist pushed forward, "Alright. Perhaps we should move onto something a little easier to talk about… How are things with your husband?"

Two separate faces flashed into your mind and for a second, you had lost your bearings, the depths of your mental discord colliding into uncertainty. Visions of another life bombarding your cerebral peripheral and you had to hold your eyes shut for a brief moment.

You therapist craned her neck to study your reactions better, "Y/N?"

"I… S-sorry.” You shook yourself back to the present. Back to the now. “Things with my husband…" You twirled your wedding band some more, a grievous impression permanently stamped to your brow. A kick and a jostle inside of you alerted you to the baby’s movements, your eyes trailing downwards to see a soft bump nudging forward and then systematically retreating over your protruding belly. "They're good. Better now that I'm off active duty. He worries. Though now he's just gotten substantially better at hiding it."

She scribbled something on her clipboard with a thoughtful, "Hmm." When her pen was returned to its resting position, she asked: "And how are you fairing with your impromptu return to civilian life?"

"It's…" You took your time, searching for the appropriate response to sum up the last few months. "An adjustment period."

"And what of the medication? Any further side-effects?"

"My memory gets a little foggy some mornings. But it's getting better. At least I can go an entire day without getting one of those mind-numbing headaches. The prescription change has been beneficial I think," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you watched her jot something down with an elated look on her face.

"That's good to hear," the ticking clock let off a soothing tune for a few beats. "Ah, it seems that's all we have time for today." She placed the cap over her pen and placed her clipboard on the table.

"Same time next week?" You anchored your arms on the arm-rests to make it easier for you to lift your much heavier body out of the tight chair.

Your therapist mulled over a thought, "No, you seem to be improving immensely, I think it's a safe bet to cut down our meeting time to every other week. Give you more time to adjust to your new normal. You can also limit yourself to one pill a day now."

"Got it doc. See you in two weeks then," you grabbed your bag off the floor and stretched out your hand to grab onto the doorknob.

"Oh, and agent Y/N," she called out to you. A huff left your lips as you slowly turned to face her again. She smiled wryly, tucking her hands into the small pockets of her blazer. "Hail Hydra."

You held her gaze for a long pause, the oscillation between raindrops growing farther and farther apart, the grey clouds were starting to part, stray slivers of stubborn sunlight beaming through the skylight.

"Nice try doc," A cheeky smile crept across your lips as you turned the doorknob, a clicking sound emanating off the latch. "Oh, and you asked me if I regret what happened."

She leaned closer, hands keeping her steady over the table, eyes narrowing studiously.

You looked down at the warm metal on your left hand. "Only on the bad days."

Bucky was leaning against the frame of his car, thumbs hooked over the edges of his jean pockets, sunglasses framing his strong jawline. He beamed a smile at you as soon as he caught wind of you exiting the large building. Striding over to smother you in a warm embrace.

He peeled his sunglasses back so he could stare down at you affectionately. His body relaxed and at ease, once you were trapped within the circumference of his protectively locked fingers pressed against the small of your back.

You exhaled contently, a brightness exploding in your chest. It was probably the hormones making you overly emotional, but he loved seeing that side of you. He loved bringing that side of you to the surface. Honestly, he loved everything about you and he wasn’t averse to letting you know it every morning you woke up either.

"How're my girl's doing?" he asked with his cheek firmly planted on your scalp.

"Hmm, we're fine. Just tired," your stomach betrayed you, letting out a whale call from hunger.

"Fine huh?" he teased, placing his hand protectively on your swollen bellybutton.

You swatted him away, not in the mood for a belly rub. "Maybe I am a little hungry."

"Can't have that, can we?" He laced his fingers in yours dragging you to the car with his long strides while you waddled behind him trying to keep up.

After Bucky made a fuss of strapping the seat belt around you, the two of you sat in comfortable silence as he drove back to the compound.

You cradled your bump when you felt the baby become particularly energetic with its kicks, the discomfort from your pressed bladder making you constantly shift your legs about.

"How do you know our baby's going to be a girl?" You blinked up at him.

Bucky grinned like a love-struck fool, hand inching away from the stick shift towards the spot where your belly kept fluttering from the movements within. "A hunch."

You leaned your head against the window, "I think it'll be a boy."

"If he's anything like I was as a kid, we're gonna be in big trouble."

You placed your hand behind his neck, massaging the point where his nape hairs subsided, "Ditto."

He chuckled, lacing your fingers again with one hand on the steering wheel so he could kiss the ring on your finger. "Either way… I'm happy."

You looked through the rear-view mirror. A ghost that looked eerily like Steve glared at you through hooded eyes, sending shivers down your back as you gulped. You kept eye contact with the phantom in silent provocation. A psychological form of warfare reserved for you and those you left behind.

"So am I."

When you got back to the compound you saw Wanda and Sam lifting boxes out of your room. Wanda's boxes hovered close to her, surrounded by the ruby threads of her misty projections, eyes a shade paler than her defensive red. Sam had a sweat patch forming around his shirt's V-neck.

"What's all this?" you asked.

Sam set a box down with a loud exhale, "I thought you were gonna try and keep her away until we were done settin’ up the crib in the new room?" he directed his question at Bucky.

Bucky shrugged, "My girls were hungry."

Wanda held a joyous type of energy in the way she playfully hovered the boxes about, "It was supposed to be a surprise. We're setting you two up in the suite on the top floor. There wasn't much space in your old room for the crib."

Your eyes began to well up from tears of joy, a soft laugh echoing out in the otherwise quiet hallway. Bucky instinctively moved closer to you, the sound of your voice acting as a type of magnet for him, an undisputable pull.

"You guys," you fanned at your eyes. "I don't know what to say."

Sam slinked his arm around your neck, "You don't have to say nothin'…we’re your family now. And family looks out for each other."

You sniffled as Wanda joined in on the hug, her hair tickling your nape, "I always wanted a sister."

Bucky didn't join in, he knew this moment was for you and you alone. He was perfectly happy watching you glow from all the affection and adoration you were receiving. A sensation of pride injecting through his veins with every strong heartbeat.

Wanda kept you blindfolded with her slender fingers, light travelling through the gaps between her fingers as she led you towards your new room.

"Ta-da!" she bellowed when she whipped her hands back.

You opened your eyes and took in the sight of your newly decorated, oldly furnished and spaciously laid out room. The crib was strategically placed in the lightest part of the room. A mobile of palnets spinning above the yellow bumble-bee print spread.

Wanda placed her head on your shoulder, having to bend her knees slightly to reach your height.

"Wanda," you clasped her hand in yours. "It's perfect."

"I know," she said with a proud smile. "It's easy to decorate a room when you move everything with a single thought."

You both laughed.

Leaning against the wall was the same phantom from the car, his dark eyes leering at you with both desire and disgust, venom oozing off his words, mangled by strife and irreconcilability, "I gave up everything for you."

You blinked him away and turned on your heel, nudging Wanda's head off of you. Suddenly a rush of blue and silver screened past your vision and for a moment you saw Pietro in Wanda's features.

She looked at you with concern, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "I've just been thinking."

"What about?"

"The baby," you patted your bump. "And names. I was toying with the idea of naming it Peter if it's a boy, after you brother."

Wanda gasped, her eyes becoming glassier with each stretch of time. A tweak working over her agape mouth.

"And if it's a girl, Wanda. Because you were both instrumental in bringing me back. You both saved my life. That’s one of the reason’s I asked Sam not to destroy the Framework. I couldn’t live with myself if I destroyed the people I had been made to believe were flesh and blood. The people I believed were once as real as you and Bucky and Sam are to me."

Speechless, Wanda threw her arms around you and let out a shaky laugh filled with glee. The two of you swaying about in the room while Bucky and Sam leaned against the door frame watching with satisfied looks.

Talia stared at the bloodied knife she had used to stab Steve in the back in order to save Y/N from his murderous clutches before she disappeared in that strange beam of light that seemingly disappeared with her. The blood had dried now, shavings of red plasma peeling off the serrated blades stainless steel. A trophy of her misgivings.

Tania Belinsky was dead. Her neck snapped without reservation and just like that this cruel, bleak world had taken another person she came to care for. A person she broke down her walls for.

James was gone too. He hadn't contacted her in over several hours. They had a system. A protocol. He hadn't followed it. She knew for certain he was gone and she was left alone in the world once again. The empty feeling in her heart was survived only by the hatred in her veins.

Pietro sat on the cold ground with his head in his hands, tears running down his bruised face as he mourned. Shuri presided over him, an anchoring grip placed on his shoulder as a quiet life-jacket intended to keep him afloat through the maelstrom of grief that he was cast into. Just like Talia, Pietro had lost two people closest to him in the span of a few minutes. To say it was crippling was an understatement.

Sharon sat in the far corner of the brick room, she hadn't uttered a single word since the retreat. Her only constant was the tremble in her hands that refused to subside.

"They know who we are now," Shuri stated gravely. "It won't be long before they come for us."

Rage, pure and unnerving, pooled around Talia's eyes, "Good," she spat vehemently through grinding molars.

Everyone in the basement looked up at her with perplexity tugging on their eyebrows. She stalked off towards the spray-painted graffiti of a raised hand signing out an L, implanting the knife in the centre of it with a single swing, a crack forming around the plugged tear. The assassin in her had been sorely let down when she didn’t draw blood from the stone wall. "Let them come. It's time we stop hiding. It's time to draw the line in the sand."

“It’s time for liberation,” Sharon muttered.

“It’s time for liberation!”

Natalia Romanova's storyline continues in The Liberators.

Counterpart tags, message me if you want to be added to my Steve or Bucky taglists for future stories!

Tags: @ladybugsfanfics @ninaminaromina @xstevenat

AFWHI & Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees @fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @sleepingspacedragon @500daysofbecky @reidreader

Thanks for sticking with me through the end, you guys are awsome! ♥

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #steve imagine #steve x reader #steve x you #marvel imagines #mcu #avengers #framework fic #counterpart fic #reader insert

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mutantsrisingrpg · 5 years

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WHO

Name: Derek Park Dossier: Deimos Age: 35 Mutant Risk Level: Five Affiliation and Occupation: The Jem Family, Interrogator Gender/Pronouns: He/him Faceclaim: Steven Yeun

POWER

PYROKINESIS: The ability to generate and manipulate fire. They are able to create fire from both their fingertips and some external objects such as a lighter or still warm ashes. Control of this ability takes extreme practice and will. Mutants with this ability can generate flames from thin air, not needing to consume oxygen in order to create flames. Derek is one of the few mutants who possess this power that can cause damage at will by simply tapping their finger to the surface of an item.

AESTHETIC

They are the bitter taste of black coffee when two mouths touch, the lingering touches between hands, and the dust in an abandoned home by the sea. The silent moments before a fight breaks out, the air sticky with electricity and sweat. They are need and want and finally giving in to whatever desire has been whispering in your ear. The face of a poker player, bluffing their way to take from the rich and give to the poor. The tingling creep that moves up your arm when goosebumps rise and never leave. They are the scent of gasoline, of napalm, of singed memories that gives way to the scent of ash when the job is done.

BIOGRAPHY

(tw drugs, violence)

Touch has always been tied to pain for Derek. The first thing he touched on this Earth he hurt, and the first thing that touched him immediately recoiled. Him, a fresh, swaddled baby, handed to his mother to be pressed, cheek to cheek— and then the shriek, so out of place in what should have been a beautiful moment, and that unmotherly, wrenching instinct to push the painful thing away. A nurse had to step in before his mother could drop him to the floor, likely saving his life in the process. It was mortifying, Derek’s father looking at his mother like he’d never seen her before, the crease on the doctor’s brow.

And then there was the evidence, left on his mother’s face: a burn mark in the shape of a newborn’s cheek. Tiny eyelashes like red, welted spider legs.

Derek was supposed to be the miracle baby, their first son, but there was so much undeniably wrong about him. They could overlook that first burn— a freak accident— but there was another wrongness that infiltrated everything he did, everything he was. He moved through the world oddly, more like a wizened street cat than a child, always scowling too much for his age. Always somewhere far away in his own head, unreachable. Enigmatic. Hard to love.

Apart from that first incident, his powers didn’t manifest in earnest until his teen years, but when they did there was no stopping it. Derek became all too familiar with the smell of melting plastic, burning hair, and hot metal. He grew an aversion to paper, nail polish remover, and anything that took batteries or gasoline, anything explosive. Worst, though, was how his powers affected those around him. Even a small bump of arm to side in passing was enough to leave a welt, the hiss of burning skin and singed hair becoming all too familiar. Derek learned to pull his body in like a sail. He moved around on cautious, light feet, as if everywhere his skin touched the world hurt him. He stopped sleeping, for fear of what his body would do in his dreams.

It was an impossible way to live, and of course it had to come to a head sometime. One Fall night, he woke up surrounded by blinding light, and a weird taste in his mouth. At first, he thought he was seeing an angel. It was just so bright. A few delirious moments later and he realised what was happening. What he was.

The glowing coal at the center of a house fire.

No one was physically harmed, but in every other way his family was ruined. Everything had to change. The family of a high-level mutant couldn’t move through life like normal people. Government representatives visited to lay out the ground rules of their new lives, all the restrictions they were to follow at threat of having him taken away. In the years following, Derek could never decide whether his parent’s submission to these new rules was driven by some last vestige of parental love they had for him, or over the fear of what having him sent away would do to their reputation. Not that they had much of that left, anyway. In their small community they were pariahs, the reckless family putting everyone around them at risk, harboring that boy of theirs.

At home, Derek’s powers were a confirmation of every bad thought and reservation his parents had ever had about him. He was a death-trap burden, a dangerous changeling child with unknown motivations. He switched to homeschooling, was only allowed in certain parts of the house at certain hours, and almost never went outside. Within the house itself he was surveilled, his every movement controlled and judged against the possible harm he might cause. But nothing he did could ever be enough to win their trust, their approval. It changed how he saw himself, being treated like a liability. He’d spent his life being told what he was, and now he was starting to believe them.

So he decided: if he must be a bomb always about to go off, he might as well do something with it. Might as well become the weapon everyone treated him as. Might as well make a living out of it. He was deteriorating, trapped up in his fire-proofed room, always alone.

A cursed life was better than no life at all.

So he left home and learned to control his powers. He found people who appreciated the worst parts of himself, and paid him well for it. He discovered a talent for interrogation, intimidation, a naturally threatening smile. By his early twenties, nothing he was doing could be called legal. A few years after that, and he’d made a real name for himself as someone who would go further than the others. Dangerous enough that even his employers were afraid of him. Eventually, only the worst would hire him. Looks normal enough, but don’t believe it. He’s fucking crazy. The tougher the employer, the tougher the work, but by that point he had stopped caring. The consequences weren’t real, the threats were just words. Enemies were just people he’d have to deal with later.

Amsterdam was his breaking point. Derek had switched to freelancing for a while, broken off from all alliances after a boss tried to two-time him. He was unaffiliated, impartial, just helping bad guys hurt bad guys. Still, this was his riskiest gig. He’d never gone international before, a Level 5 mutant with fake papers on a commercial airline– it was enough to give any number of governmental agencies reason to take him out on sight. But he was bored, numb, bored, numb. Coming up to 30 years old and sick of the Chicago scene. So he’d tried something new.

The boss there was something else, a real talker, beautiful, had gotten under his skin in a way few ever had. He should have left when the boss had asked about taking out a hit– it had always been a sore subject for him. That’s not my job, dead people can’t talk, I’m not fucking paid enough to kill people. (There was no amount of money could be paid to kill people.)

But the man was just so charming. Derek relaxed an inch, and they took a mile. It was just one drink. He didn’t even taste the ketamine. When he woke up, his mouth tasted like copper, and barbeque smoke. The sweet, musky smell of burning spinal fluid. Three were dead, the boss was laughing, and his return flight was in under an hour.

When he got back, he had a missed call from Damien Matthews, with a different kind of job for him. A job with rules, structure. Protection. He’d heard about the Jems and all the noise they’d been making about Mutant Rights and he didn’t really care about that shit, but he took the job immediately. He needed the discipline, a boss, someone to reel him back in from where he’d strayed too far from his himself, almost at the cost of his humanity. The Jems saved him, and while he may be somewhat ambivalent to their cause, his loyalty to Damien is unflinching. The Jems need him, but he needs them more.

CONNECTIONS

LUCA MENDOZA, Enabler: They know that Luca is bad news, but so are they which makes them the perfect friends. They push Derek to their limit, constantly wanting to show just how much damage they can cause whenever they’re together. The two of them combined can burn all of Chicago to the ground and the thought of that excites them. It takes all of Derek’s pride not to show how excited they are whenever they’re paired together for a job.

ISABEL ACOSTA, Secret: They knew she was trouble from the start, but that didn’t stop Derek from pursuing her. She was like a breath of fresh air compared to the members of Jem they were around all the time. They treasure their time spent together even if it’s in tiny motel rooms on the other side of the city or in dimly lit dive bars near university row or in empty train cars. The worry of being caught is always in the back of their mind though and Derek knows it might not end well for either of them.

FELIX ALVAREZ, Concern: Derek can tell that the Blackburn doctor is onto them. They could swear that they’ve seen Felix lurking around the corner when they’ve gone to meet Isabel. And there’s something in the way they’ve seen the other look at her that tells Derek something bigger is at play, something that they know nothing about. They just need the correct time and place to confront the good doctor to find out exactly what their issue is.

DEIMOS is CLOSED for applications. He is taken by NOEL.

#derek bio #deimos #tj #taken #a

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bezzuba · 5 years

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listen…as much as i love the third film for what it did, i have many, many qualms about its decisions regarding toothless’ character. now, it’s super late and i am super tired and not well-articulated atm but i gotta talk about these things lest i forget to do so later on so here we go! spoilers under the cut.

( many of the things i have to say in the following paragraphs affect the way i understand and hence write toothless as a character, but if you like this film a lot and don’t wanna hear anything negative about it, maybe just skip over this post because my language gets fairly critical. )

before i get into this shit i just wanna say that i love the light fury. i love how pointedly unacclimatised she is to humans and i love how her actions and behaviour consistently portray that. i love her but i don’t love how she was placed in the film as, in the words of many, “toothless’ girlfriend” rather than an individual character of her own right. dean or whatever can talk all they want about how she’s supposed to represent “a call to the wild” because lmao i don’t really buy it. it was so deeply buried beneath all the romantic and sexual subtexts that i just couldn’t and can’t see it.

ANYHOW i already wasn’t expecting much when they talked about toothless “getting a girlfriend” but goddang heck i was somehow still let down anyway?? the way they handled EVERYTHING — from toothless’ interest in the light fury to his reactions to some of her actions — was just. so out of place and off.

i can get behind a curious interest in the familiar unknown and even a drive to propagate to ensure his species’ survival, but that obsessive fixation on one (1) light fury??/? /? to the point where he doesn’t react negatively AT ALL when she literally throws his soulmate off his back??? ? ? like….dude…..idk about you but if anyone were to endanger the life of my soulmate whom i treasure and love, sexual / romantic partner or not, i’d be pretty fucking pissed.

AND I FEEL LIKE IT’D BE EVEN WORSE WITH DRAGONS?? they’re territorial animals and if you attack a dragon’s other half ( if toothless really does consider hiccup his soulmate as dreamwo.rks canonically states + we have seen him showcase in the first two films, i can’t imagine why soulmates wouldn’t be a thing in dragon culture ) without provocation, you can bet your dumb arse that they have all the hecking rights to attack you back on their soulmate’s behalf.

i’m not saying that toothless should’ve or would’ve attacked the light fury when she threw HALF OF HIM into the sea ( because hiccup probably wouldn’t have wished for that to happen and toothless would’ve respected those wishes ), but like. the moment she does that? he throws a goddamn FIT. just a lot of screeching and snarling and “THAT IS HALF OF ME!! YOU WOULD KILL HALF OF ME???”. any interest in her as a mate or flock-member or friend or whatever is completely diminished. i’m not brave enough to say that he would resent her but yeah, he would resent her. at least up until she apologises + tries to make amends.

he absolutely does NOT continue to earnestly chase after her. maybe he would if hiccup insisted and encouraged him to ( “she’s another fury! like YOU! go after her!!” ), but like…..he wouldn’t do it because he wants to.

i can’t remember if there were any other times where she directly endangered hiccup’s life because i’m tired and also because toothless reacted so mildly throughout most of the film, but like. same sentiment.

but stingray, you cry, wouldn’t the fact that she’s a light fury matter to toothless? yeah, i say: yeah, sure, but only in circumstances where she hasn’t committed a big, grievous no-no in dragon society. and it definitely isn’t her fault for doing what she thought was right and natural — toothless is most likely the only dragon alive with a viking soulmate — but it doesn’t excuse the fact that she did it.

does toothless hate, mourn, or is otherwise dissatisfied with the fact that he’s the only night fury in his nest? probably, yes; i just wish they could’ve explored that concept + the idea of toothless encountering another dragon like him after years of being the Only One in a way that wasn’t so contradictory + insulting to the relationship they carefully established and developed over the course of ten years.

another thing that was very weird for me to see was how quickly toothless seemed to disregard hiccup’s absence??? like somehow toothless wouldn’t be just as affected by the notion of leaving him as hiccup is? the only explanation i can think of to justify that is like. maybe he doesn’t actually ever think of leaving hiccup behind? it’s literally unthinkable — it never crosses his mind as an option or a choice. he’ll go after this dragon who is so much like him but not; this dragon who is more dragon than he can claim to be; this dragon who reminds him of what once was and what will never again be; but he won’t go WITH her. because she isn’t home. she isn’t half of me.

i admit that this hc falls apart pretty quickly in the face of the film’s goodbye scene though. it was absolutely heartwrenching to see but again, toothless was so…..mild and understanding and accepting and while that isn’t necessarily a bad thing ( it’s very mature of him, in fact ), it was odd af because we don’t once get to see him grieve. we see hiccup grieve and come to terms with it but we don’t see toothless going through the same process, and the picture it all paints is, again, so contradictory + insulting to the bond they share.

so like….fuck that lmao toothless would’ve abso-hecking-lutely protested. would’ve played it off as a joke. would’ve gotten angry, would’ve gotten desperate, would’ve denied the necessity of leaving and physically splitting that bond even though he himself at his very core understands it perfectly. he leaves eventually, as do all the other dragons, but it’s not the rushed departure we see in the film. it takes days. maybe weeks. just. a lot of time is spent clinging to and hesitating and stalling under the guise of helping the humans recover from grimmel’s assault + helping the humans build new berk before the jig is up. before berk’s collective heart can’t take it anymore and the dragons are. gently pushed. “it’s time. you know it. we know it. it’s time…and that’s okay.”

in addition to these questionable character decisions, i really do not like how they claimed toothless was the king of dragons and then not show him actually, y’know, being one?? sure, there’s that scene in the hidden world where all the dragons roar and acknowledge toothless as their alpha / king ( which is a super weird concept in itself considering they’re not actually part of his flock? i’m just. gonna say that they were paying obeisance to him because he’s AN alpha, not necessarily THEIR alpha ) but that doesn’t count because it doesn’t show WHY he’s being acknowledged as so. what has he done to continue deserving this title, to continue deserving this respect? there are undoubtedly many duties and responsibilities that come with being an alpha, but we don’t get to see him fulfil any of them outside of “scold misbehaving flock-member for comedic effect”; and that’s a huge shame because there were so many opportunities where we could’ve seen him in action!!

e.g. i’m sure that dragons who’ve suffered trauma / abuse from the hands of humans do not integrate into the dragon-human nest easily. maybe we could’ve been shown toothless calming one such dragon down, or toothless mediating a fight between a human-averse dragon and a human-bonded one, or literally ANYTHING that involves toothless dealing with a reminder that not all dragon-to-human and human-to-dragon interaction is meaningful or wholesome. it would’ve fit in so well with the whole “humans aren’t ready for dragons” theme, too!!

god this post has gotten super long but you’re in for a big surprise if you think i’m done!

ANOTHER thing that didn’t sit well with me at all was that bit when toothless ordered his ENTIRE??? FLOCK???? ?? to desist and surrender to the warlords ( or whatever they’re called ) when grimmel threatened to kill the light fury. like. would’ve been a great power move if he wasn’t the alpha who’s supposed to be protecting them all but he IS!! he IS the alpha who’s supposed to be protecting them all, he IS the dragon whose first and foremost duty is TO HIS FLOCK-MEMBERS.

god drea.mworks really be out here throwing the terms “alpha” and “king” around like toothless didn’t have to fight for them. like he doesn’t have to CONTINUE fighting for them. he doesn’t have the call of a red death, nor the call of a bewilderbeast. i’m pretty sure that after all the shit his flock has gone through with previous Bad leaders, they won’t tolerate another. toothless really has to DESERVE that title for him to continue keeping it. he has to actually be such a good alpha that nobody questions his judgement, which probably-definitely-absolutely means putting his flock-members before anyone else.

so like. grimmel threatening the light fury would NOT have toothless subjecting his flock to captivity. it would have him pretty conflicted, yeah, but like….there’s no contest. she’s not a part of his flock. and even if she was, she’s one dragon out of many. she’s not the last of her kind either, not like toothless is.

but stingray, you cry, didn’t grimmel say that night furies mate for life? wouldn’t that have had any bearing on toothless’ decision? and maybe you’re right, maybe that would have influenced toothless’ decision in the end, but i really, really don’t think it would’ve mattered. first off, we can’t tell if grimmel actually witnessed that interesting tidbit occur in real life or if he forced it to become true when he, y’know, decimated the night fury population. secondly, the movie very likely means ‘love’ when it says ‘mate’ because i imagine that, what with the existence of soulmates + the typical non-human outlook on procreation, mating is actually a very clinical, matter-of-fact process for dragons. so maybe grimmel meant to say that night furies love for life, which is all very good for the light fury if she is toothless’ One And Only but the thing is?? she’s not?? that’s hiccup, babes!! definitely not in the romantic sense, but hiccup is toothless’ One And Only through and through.

SO BASICALLY i don’t think toothless would have prioritised the wellbeing of one potential mate over those of his entire flock’s, just like how he doesn’t prioritise his other half’s or his own happiness over the safety of his entire flock in the ending. for real, if toothless wasn’t the nest’s alpha, he 100% would have stayed back on new berk with hiccup. but he is, so he leaves even though it kills him to do so.

there’s probably a lot of other things i’ve forgotten to address, but this post is long enough and i am super duper tired so…tl;dr:

the light fury’s great i love her

toothless doesn’t really

he honestly doesn’t want anything to do with her after her punting stunt with hiccup

would only chase after her if hiccup ( and others, but mostly hiccup ) told him to

toothless never actually has any intention of leaving hiccup

until the whole grimmel incident passes and even then, he really super does not want to

toothless is an alpha and he hecking acts like it which means no light fury > his entire flock

that one’s gonna be a bit hard to work around plot-wise but we’ll figure it out somehow

my portrayal of toothless is canon-divergent as heck yeehaw

#* dragonscale / study.#* humanspeak / ooc.#i gotta warn you folks: there is a veritable essay beneath that read-more #a very rant-y essay but an essay nonetheless #like...don't get me wrong i really do love this movie!! i just. hate some of its execution #hmm idk if anyone will actually read this because long but yeah....here's what i'm gonna be changing about the narrative regarding toothless #httyd3 spoilers #long post

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nerdowritesthings · 6 years

Text

Potato Guns and Physics Defiance

So, here's a small little one shot mainly about how 'vaguely threatening' Harley Keener is.

IronStrange because for some reason I enjoy writing little family things with this pairing.

This is the longest thing I have written in a while, so that's good.

There's a potato gun on the counter when he comes home, a pair of red Converse propped up on the counter next to it. Harley's taking apart the small machine in his hand, not even sparing a glance in the sorcerer's direction. It all reminds him of his high school prom date.

Stephen debates calling out for Tony, debates turning and walking right back out the door. He's gotten talks, encouraging ones from Peter and Friday, and only vaguely threatening ones from Pepper and Rhodey.

But he'd been warned about the Keener kid.

(Mobile Readers watch for the Read More)

Tony took it upon himself, one night, to explain how his 'adopted son' was always a bit of a wild card. How he'd seen Tony at one of his lowest points, shaking through a panic attack in the snow, and had only wanted to help and protect. It was sweet, hearing Tony talk about him, how his eyes lit up and how he can't wait until the next school holiday is.

There were also horror stories. Those had come from Peter and Rhodey, about just how fierce a protector Harley was. Stephen wanted to laugh, but also cringed at his own fate.

Apparently, Harley hadn't taken too kindly to the Rogue's pardons. The first time he saw Captain America, the man's own shield was sent flying toward him. Harley just walked away, eyes trained on the game system in his hand, as Steve stared at the teen in pure bewilderment.

"It slipped out of my hand," Stephen had heard him explain to Tony, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, Peter cracking up in the background.

The time where Clint had opened his mouth, and was promptly pelted with a series of five potatoes.

"The trigger sticks, I'm working on it."

Had 'accidentally' reversed a charge in one of Natasha's famous Widow Bites. Literally stole Redwing from Wilson to use as his own personal floating drink tray? The list goes on.

Stephen had to admire it, Harley's persistence with his pranks, the courage he had. Really, it would be admirable, if it weren't pointed directly at him now.

"He likes space," Harley says suddenly, still not looking up at the sorcerer, "But he doesn't like to talk about his time in the wormhole."

Stephen nodded, watching a complex wave of emotion cross the kid's face. "He gets nightmares, bad ones. He immediately wants to check on the people they are about, that's why he walks the Compound at three in the morning."

He'd known that too. Stephen had woken up one morning, to find Tony shuffling through the Compound, stopping at Vision's door. Tony had just stared, through the open crack in the door, before shuffling on to the next room, repeating his routine for each of the rooms in the hallway.

"He doesn't like to talk about his early days," Harley continued, this time setting the machine down, "Unless he's done something that he feels he needs to fix." Blue eyes pinned him in the entryway, blinking once before climbing off of the stool. Stephen stiffened as the brunet reached for the launcher, but relaxed when he instead pulled his phone from behind it.

"Don't mention New York. Ever. He has a thing about his neck, and his-"

"Chest," Stephen finished, nodding as he said it. He'd known this, he'd lived with the genius for nearly four months now. Harley however, was not amused, cocking one eyebrow before glancing between the launcher and Stephen. Message received, loud and clear.

If anyone asked him, he would obviously later deny it, that he was *not* intimidated by a teenager. It was not his fault that Harley had a vaguely threatening air about him, and he'd fell right into the kid's trap, it really wasn't.

"Look," Stephen snapped his attention to the teen, "You just need to understand two things. One, is that he's not as put together as he seems," Harley exhaled, looking Strange in the eye as he continued, "And two, is that he's the only father-figure I have ever come close to having."

Stephen nodded, not daring to break the eye contact. Tony had told him, before this all began, about his bond with both Peter and Harley, trying to play it off as a casual relationship. It was in his eyes, whenever he got a call from Peter, or he facetimed with Harley, how close they all actually were. They were a family, whether phrased that way or not.

"I don't plan on leaving. I've seen the attacks, and the nightmares. I understand his aversion to being handed things, and I know he hates wearing ties."

Here he was, defending his relationship to this kid. Ask him five years ago if he'd even thought about settling down and he would've laughed in your face, but now. He smiled a bit, the absurdity of it all, and the humor hidden buried below.

Harley nodded, grabbing his launcher and walking toward the lab, pausing in the hallway.

"Hurt him, and you'll be in the same boat as Rogers."

Stephen actually smiled at that.

"So, heard my kid gave you the first degree," Tony said that night, coming in from an SI meeting and plopping himself right in his boyfriend's lap, "Big, scary Harley."

Stephen snickered, leaning down and pecking a kiss on Tony's lips. Tony squirmed against the book currently wedged in his back, muttering about comfort and digitizing, as he removed the red tie from around his neck.

"It was fine," Stephen nodded, moving the book to the end table beside the sofa. Once the man had stopped squirming, he could see the hesitation and concern in his eyes, thinly veiled by humor, "It didn't even come close to the discussion Pepper and I had."

Tony laughed at that, giggles bursting from his lips at the thought of traumatized Post-Pepper Stephen.

Stephen just smiled, lacing their fingers together when Tony's hand found his. It all seemed worth it, really, sitting on the couch while Tony replayed the details of his meeting, going over details about SI's new direction into fully integrated prosthetics, and how Barnes himself was a nice starting point for that.

Peter stumbled in about an hour later, dropping his school bag as he stumbled over to the sofa. Tony asked about school, only recieving a mumbled affirmative in response. It was a long weekend, so the spider would be staying with them for a few days.

Harley walked in minutes after, not looking up from his phone as he sat in the other side of Stephen. Tony peered up at his from his position in his lap, raising a questioning eyebrow.

They both froze when the brunet leant against his shoulder, his back pressing against Stephen's side. After a moment of hesitation, Stephen smirked, relaxing into the sofa once more.

Maybe he could be a part of this little family.

Hope you guys enjoyed, I'll probably be posting another Prompt List fic, as a challenge for myself, so look out for that.

Don't forget to like/reblog to let me know what you think!

#tony stark #stephentony #stephen strange #harley keener #peter parker #ironstrange #strangeiron #vaguely threatening Harley

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th-em-vibes · 5 years

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untitled spencer fluff pt 2

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Plot: untitled spencer fluff part 2 requested by @cleocc

Word count: 2411

Genre: fluff and smut (mostly fluff tho)

Warning: smut at the end. Kind of graphic? Idk enjoy y’all

Spence: I’ll pick you up at 7:00 pm, we have a date. Dress comfortably.

You: Is it a surprise?

Spence: Yes.

You: Damn. Fine. Lucky you’re cute.

Spence: :)

It’s 5:48 and you just got home from work, so you rush to hop in the shower, excited for tonight. You didn’t really care what plans he made, so long as you got to be with him.

It’s been a few weeks since your night at Spencer’s, and the two of you had gotten closer than ever. You started spending more nights at his place, becoming disgustingly domestic. You were helping him cook and do dishes, even do laundry. You loved it. You loved playing house with him, and though you had only been dating a short three months, you knew you were completely in love with him. You loved how intelligent and driven he was, and how he touched you more gently than you had ever felt.

Finishing your shower, you throw on some light makeup and dry your hair, tossing on some jeans and a comfy t-shirt and check the time. 6:50. You grab your favorite sneakers and tie them up just as you hear a knock on the door.

“IT’S OPEN!” You wonder if you were loud enough for the people down the street to hear you. Probably. You can hear Spence come in so you grab your wallet and phone and come out to meet him. “Five minutes early, how’d you know punctuality turns me on?” You smirk as you lean in to kiss him and he eagerly returns it. After a long moment you pull away.

“W...What was the question?” You laugh loudly and he rolls his eyes, pulling you in for another quick kiss before tugging you towards the door. “Before you ask, I’m not telling you where we’re going, because you’ll figure it out by the time we’re halfway there.”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal,” he opens the car door for you, and closes it when you’re seated. You watch him round the front of the car, taking your time to appreciate the sight of his ass in those khakis, and his adorable sweater vest. Your boyfriend was such a nerd and you loved it. Made you wanna ruin him a little.

As Spencer starts the car it shakes you out of your little reverie. Almost. You were holding a conversation with him, but your mind kept drifting to slightly dirtier things. You knew he wasn’t a virgin, but he also wasn’t very experienced. You didn’t mind that, and you didn’t mind waiting, but it’s only natural for your boyfriend to drive you a little crazy.

Before you knew it, you were recognizing streets and started bouncing in your seat. “Oh my god! The carnival? I haven’t been there in years!” Spencer laughed and shook his head.

“I remembered you recalling some fond memories so I thought we could create some of our own,” he said as the carnival came into view. Kids were running around everywhere, lights were flashing all over the place, and you could already smell the kettle corn. As he pulled into the parking lot you pressed your face to the window to get a full view of the towering ferris wheel.

“Oh we are going on that monster wheel and we are bringing a butt load of cotton candy. It’s tradition. Can’t break tradition.” You muttered, fogging up the glass, recalling the nights of sugar highs and spinny rides and throwing up after too much of everything. Those were the days.

“As if I’d say no to you. Come on, let’s get tickets and get going!” He ran around to your side to open your door, ever the gentleman, and you thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. Walking hand in hand to the ticket booth, you purchased the largest packet you could.

“Okay, spinny rides first?” You gazed up at him with childlike glee and he couldn’t help but smile and nod, letting you drag him to the tea cups, the big swing ride, the tea cups again, and then this weird anti gravity spinning spaceship ride. He was surprised he didn’t throw up, but he really thought he would for a minute. You couldn’t contain your giggles as you ran your hand up and down his back while he took deep breaths.

“Do you wanna play some games now? Take a break?” He nodded his head, so you dragged him to a concession stand and bought two bottles of water. You played the basketball, shooting, ring toss, and balloon dart games. You both lost the ring toss and basketball games, but Spence ended up winning the balloon game, and you surprisingly kicked his ass at shooting.

“You’re not even an agent! Have you ever even held a gun before?” I laughed loudly from behind my large stuffed bear and winked at him.

“Is it time for the ferris wheel now?” Was your only reply, and he rolled his eyes and chuckled before offering to carry the bear, since it was almost as large as you. “No thanks, but you can get the extra large bag of pink and blue cotton candy.”

The two of you made it to the ferris wheel with only one near wipeout due to the oversized bear, and the cotton candy remained safe. Sliding into a yellow cart you sighed and leaned into Spencer’s side, feeling his arm wrap around you and pull you closer. Reaching for the bag of cotton candy, you opened it and took a piece, then offered one to Spencer. As the wheel turned and you went higher, you turned to watch the sun as it dipped down almost below the horizon, spreading reds and purples through the fading sky. You barely noticed that Spencer’s eyes were only on you.

Spencer was completely in love with you, too. You were always sweet with him, understood his aversion to contact (though his aversion to your touch didn’t last very long), and you were the only person who ever let him just ramble on about his facts. Even though he knew his teammates didn’t mean anything by it, it always stung him just a little when he was getting excited and they cut him off. One of his favorite things about you is that you get just as passionate about knowledge as he does.

“I wanna kiss you so bad right now.” He doesn’t even realize he’s said it until you turn to him and smile so brightly he thinks it’s daylight for a moment. You grab a fist full of his shirt and pull him close, connecting your lips. It starts sweet, and for once, Spencer is the one to deepen it. When he uses his hand on your back to pull you flush against his chest, the kiss turns a little desperate and dirty. You only break apart when you feel the wheel jerk to a stop. Looking around, you realize you’re at the very top.

Spencer is still breathing a little heavy and you turn to him in worry. Your worry quickly fades however when you see how dark his eyes have gotten. “Why don’t we continue that back at my place. Little more private. A lot less kids.” Your eyes widen and you nod, and he kisses you again. This one is short, but still dirty, and it still leaves you a little breathless.

Though he didn’t kiss you, he kept his hands on you, teasing you. Running along your thighs, brushing your hair off your neck, grazing the side of your breast. By the time your cart comes to a stop at the bottom, you’re a little flushed and a lot wet. You practically drag him to the car, pushing him up against it when you’re sure no one else is in sight. “You’re mean. You’ve been driving me crazy for months, and now you’re just teasing.”

“It’s not teasing if you follow through.” He reply is short, and any reply of yours is silenced by his lips. Of course you melt, just enough for him to escape your pin and open your door.

The drive to his apartment is tense, but not in a bad way. You can feel his eyes keep glancing at you, but yours stay steady on the road. The only indication that you’re affected is your swollen, red, bitten bottom lip, and the pool of arousal in your panties. When you get there, you’re the first one out of the car, meeting him on his side and taking his hand. As soon as you step into the empty elevator you’re on him. He manages to take control this time though, and now you’re the one pinned. Not that you’re complaining.

When you step off onto his floor, hair is a mess, lips are swollen, and Spencer has a little bruise blooming on his neck. Ha. Cover that for work, Reid. He manages to unlock his door and open it enough for you to shove in and close it behind you. He has you up against the front door, lips hot and heavy on yours, and his hands up your shirt. They travel up your back to your bra clasp, and his nimble fingers quickly unsnap it.

You gasp and push him back a little. He watches you as you pull your shirt over your head and rid yourself of your bra. He yanks his vest off and gets to work on his button down as you saunter to the bedroom, unbuttoning your jeans. By the time he gets there, you’re in nothing but your little black panties, and he’s just pulled his belt off. He takes a moment to stop and admire your form. He’s completely entranced by you, barely noticing that you’ve moved to your knees on the bed until he feels your hands tug him forward by his belt loops.

You start unbuttoning his pants and he cards a hand through your soft hair. You look up at him and have to ask, “Are you sure you’re ready?” He smiles softly and nods his head, leaning down to place a soft kiss on my lips before straightening back up. Your soft smile slowly turns to a smirk as you unzip him and pull his pants down off his hips. He takes a deep breath before shoving his boxers down as well and stepping out of them. When he stands back up, his cock is almost fully hard, and your mouth is watering for it.

“Oh you don’t have to-” he starts as you lean forward, but gets cut short when you wrap your lips around his tip and suck a little. Pulling back you place a soft kiss on his head, and then a soft lick, before sucking him halfway down in one go. “Fuck-” he gasps a little as you bob your head, and bucks his hips a little as you slide further down his length.

By the time his tip hits the back of your throat, you can taste the precum dripping from his slit, and you’re moaning around him, one hand down your panties, one hand massaging his balls. That’s what throws him over the edge, and in no time he’s cumming down your throat. He takes a second to catch his breath, but before you can catch yours, he’s grabbing you by the waist and tossing you back on the bed.

He crawls on his stomach between your thighs and lifts them onto his shoulders. One of his fingers traces the side of your panties, and you know he can feel your wetness soaking through. He slips the fabric to the side and uses his other hand to trace a delicate line up your soaking slit. He parts your folds with a tentative swipe of his tongue that has you gasping, and then wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard. Your back bows off the bed and your hands slide to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging. He pulls you right to the edge of release, gasping and moaning and pleading, before he pulls away, leaving you cold and whimpering.

He’s only gone for a moment though, his warmth returning as he comes to hover over you, peppering your face with soft kisses as he lines himself up. He pushes in slowly, cradling your face in his hands and pressing his forehead to yours. He pauses when he’s fully inside you, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The feeling of him, hard and pulsing inside you, is almost enough to make you cum. Almost. “Please, move, please,” you gasp out, and he does. He starts slow and sweet, capturing your lips as you gasp and moan with every thrust.

You clench around him and he stutters, moving one hand to grip your hip, before thrusting in hard, making you arch up under him. “Fuck, you feel so good, oh my god,” he barely gasps out as he starts up a brutal pace. He pulls himself up on his knees, both hands on your hips for better leverage, and starts pounding into you. Once your orgasm starts, it doesn’t seem to end. “Oh my god! Spencer, fuck!” You’re practically screaming, nobody has ever made you feel this good before. Tears roll down into your hair and he slows down, rolling his hips into you.

“I’m gonna cum, can I-” he starts, but you nod, already knowing his question. “I’m on the pill, it’s okay, please cum inside me, fuck,” you’re practically begging him at this point, but what throws him over the edge is when you thread your fingers into your own hair and pull, back arching off the bed again and giving him the perfect view of your breasts bouncing. His hips stutter as he releases inside you, and the feeling of his warmth filling you up triggers one more orgasm.

He pulls out slowly and collapses on the bed next to you. You turn to look at him, and his eyes are closed, his chest if heaving, and there’s a small, satisfied smile on his face. Leaning over, you give him a slow kiss, which he happily returns, before you run to the bathroom to clean up. By the time you get back, he’s already asleep, so you curl up next to the man you’re sure you’re going to marry and fall into a peaceful, blissed out sleep.

Okay, so I’m pretty new to writing smut but I think that went well. Hope y’all enjoyed the read! Let me know if there’s anything you want to see, or anything you think I could do better!

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