#we have lost the plot & forgotten that 'just' these experiences on their own can still be deeply distressing & chronic & endangering
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i feel passionately about the need to enfold people experiencing (or diagnosed) with "just" depression or anxiety into the mad pride project. the more people who view themselves as mad, the better. much as the rhetorical move from "neurotypical" to "neuroconforming" emphasizes the artifice & social construction of "neurotypicality," so too will expanding identification as "mad" expose the sane/mad dichotomy as a false one.
it's true that (some) people with "just" depression and/or anxiety have an easier time navigating the psych system than people who have more stigmatized diagnoses. but this is not to say that they necessarily have an easy time — the carceral psych system is hostile to everyone subsumed by it, even the most "privileged" patients. we should of course critique & examine how our experiences are shaped by various intersections of privilege, but we cannot forget or ignore how someone with "just" a depression/anxiety diagnosis can still experience the full force of the carceral psych system brought down upon them (including but not limited to involuntary institutionalization, police intervention, & forced medication or other forced treatment).
we must encourage, if not insist, that those with the least-stigmatized diagnoses view their difficult experiences navigating the psych system as bound up with the liberation of people who have more stigmatized diagnoses &, often, a more violent experience of the psych system. we need more people to drop the "i have anxiety/depression but i'm not crazy" line and say loudly, "i have anxiety/depression & i am crazy. my access to just treatment is linked to the conditions of all other crazy people, who are my allies, peers, & friends. we are united in our cause & we all deserve a more liberating system of care."
#mad pride#mad liberation#disability justice#the way that one IG influencer who called depression & anxiety “vanilla” diagnoses has lived rent-free in my mind for the past five years..#i was soooo upset by that for like three years & now i'm like. okay. it is a little funny.#but also i do think that somewhere in the 'destigmatization'/commodification of anxiety/depression (treatment)#we have lost the plot & forgotten that 'just' these experiences on their own can still be deeply distressing & chronic & endangering#& can make people (be viewed as) just as 'crazy' as someone with a more stigmatized diagnosis#& for me personally my experiences of anxiety & depression have been far more disabling than anything else#sorry i keep editing this post to correct typos...story of my life
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Okay, I just got here. Sorry for intruding and I'm kind of freaking out about part 4 of Star Swap.
Because there are two Jotaros. Why is nobody talking about the fact that there are two Jotaros? Am I missing something???
Unless I am completely failing in Star Swap lore, in order to not become super convoluted and insane, a universe is localized to a Swap… probably? Anyway from what I understand three universes have an event happening in them and Star Swap is a series… except there's also an OLDER Jotaro here in Part 4! which would be the same Jotaro that experienced part 4 as Josuke! Which is causing problems in my brain.
… I was thinking it's either Joseph and Giono is the exception -Thanks to Hermit Purple Rrequiem- and swaps actually jumps across universes making Older Part 4 Jotaro have that Canon backstory.
…Or… hear me out..
JoJo
Specifically, Jotaro gets some of that Time Jumpy Amnesia and has not a single fucking clue what happened to himself.
JUST HIM
No one else
He is the sole one that gets bonk with a forgot stick
For all Jotaro knows: he blacked out, got possessed, and went to Egypt. Everything went well. His mom got cured and people survived, but STILL. said person that possessed him made a bunch of friends and now Jotaro has to deal with them. HE has to rely on other people's information to figure out what the hell HAPPENED.
Jotaro still gets that Battle Experience in and gets those cryptic forgotten fog of memories from the trip But Yeah
Jotaro has no idea what happened to him when that guy was possessing him. Jotaro doesn't know! he doesn't remember shit!!! All people got is theories.
I have a lot of thoughts and this is probably not even an issue.ARGGGG
.. I'm here thinking that for The Star Swap parts 3 and 4 to connect in an interesting way is Memory Blockage or else Part 4 Older Jotaro would have to walk on fucking eggshells if something wasn't blocking his memories because if he talks or says anything that doesn't link up then he breaks time. Jotaro's fault for actively getting involved!
Probably. I don't know!!! I'm just thinking!!!
you're correct, Parts 3 and 4 have been criminally neglected amongst all this chaos, so this is p e r f e c t
to clarify the universe shenanigans of everything: I've always been thinking that each "set" exists in its own universe. 1 and 6, 2 and 5, and then 3 and 4 all exist in their own sort of "pocket universe" just so we don't need to keep track of of all the inevitable changes and how they influence each other
that being said, funnily enough what you've brought up with Jotaro is REALLY close to what I've been imagining too!
Jotaro is So Fucking Lost when he wakes up back home. He feels like complete and utter shit and is covered in more bandages than he's ever had before. The last thing he remembers is his mom leaving after visiting him in the prison cell after he tried to shoot himself with Star Platinum
only...... when did Star Platinum have a name? When had it stopped being an evil spirit?
when had he stopped being scared of it?
Kakyoin and Joseph are of course INCREDIBLY worried by Jotaro's apparent and very sudden shift in personality. And of course, this panic only multiplies when they find they think Jotaro's stand has been changed as well. They immediately think it's a Stand attack......
but then Holly steps forward and denies this. That this is how Jotaro normally acts and more importantly, that she remembers seeing Star in the jail
now, technically this might be bending the rules a little bit, but I think it would be interesting to give Holly some..... memory weirdness. Maybe we can tie it into her Stand somehow, or maybe it's just For The Plot, but Holly has two distinct sets of memories before she collapsed from her illness
One where Jotaro comes home with her, quiet and awkward and open in a way he hadn't been since he was a child. And another where he refused to leave and shot himself in an attempt to goad a spirit hovering over his shoulder
this then raises the incredibly uncomfortable idea that the Jotaro they'd gone to Egypt with was the imposter. That there had been a fake in their midst the entire time and they never knew. Was he working with Dio? Another group? What was his goal? Why had he done it? And of course, the biggest question of all, where was Jotaro the entire time and why doesn't he remember?
because it's obvious Jotaro was somewhere. He has skills and knowledge he hadn't before. He's different, he's grown in some ways, but has receded in others
Electricity and loud sounds terrify him in a way that can't be described as simple fear
they do what they can to help and figure things out, but they can never find any leads. It actually during these investigations that Jotaro decides to start working with the Speedwagon Foundation on the side and "rekindles" his friendships with the Crusaders
(he finds himself drawn to Kakyoin at times. Or to be more specific, he's drawn to his Stand. The colors and shapes and eyes all feel so tantalizingly familiar, and sometimes he finds himself talking to the being as if expecting a response)
years go by, and the fog around his memories stays. It bothers him less as more time passes and he makes new memories with people who had a headstart on their relationship, but there's always a quiet niggling in the back of his mind about what could've happened
and then a decade later he finds a boy with a different face but identical Stand and temperament to match
#star swap#jjba#jojo’s bizarre adventure#stardust crusaders#jjba part 3#jjba jotaro#jotaro kujo#star platinum#jjba kakyoin#noriaki kakyoin#jjba holly#holly kujo#sb answers#angstaceanon
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So I’ve been following George RR Martins updates on his progress on Winds of Winter…because of course I have. His most recent update, going surprisingly more in depth than he has been lately, has caused quite a stir because he’s alluding that his ending and plot direction may have changed. And it has me in all sorts of emotions about it.
First, when the finale of GoT aired and it got a bunch of backlash, I hoped that that gave him “the best motivation I know of - spite.” Some of my best writing juices come from seeing a story done *in my opinion* badly, and I have this innate desire to correct it or make it better. I don’t know if this is what George is doing, or if just the fact that he’s taken such a long break from his story that his mind has changed, or his flow has simply taken him in a different direction. A person can change a lot in 10 years, and ideas that just live in the brain can fade away and be forgotten, sometimes to be found again or be lost forever.
When I wrote the Jonsa compendium, I added at the end that GRRM has every right and ability to change his mind now before the books are done and as he’s writing. So I’m not surprised or upset about it either. I find this to be an issue with “gardeners” or “pantsers”, but even “plotters” or “architects” can run into writers block resulting in changing directions, too.
The day after the finale, GRRM posted on his blog that (paraphrasing) “yes, this is the ending. The journey there will be slightly different, though. Afterall, how many children did Scarlet O’Hara have?” Which some fans took as him saying the ending will be different, but since Gone with the Wind is considered one of the best page to screen adaptations of all time, I took it as him saying that it’s still the same, but books have more details and time to cover small plot lines than TV shows. Details always get lost in the adaptations. (*cough secret tormented incest feelings and political Jon? cough*)
And I have to wonder, after GRRM admitted that this spin-off sequel show about Jon Snow was Kit Harrington’s idea, how much of “huh, I wonder what Jon does after the war. I never thought about that before.” has inspired George to write more, or go further down a certain path.
But this new blog post feels like, *to me*, to be much more deviation than just small details. To me it feels like even he is surprised at how much change has happened. And for all of us who have found and pointed out the subtle hints that could be leading to a Jon and Sansa endgame, what does that mean for us? If that was in fact what he was leading towards, has that changed in his mind as well? Honestly, we just have to wait and see.
Small side tangent: if I could ask GRRM any question, it would be about “curing” writers block. Not for the memes, or to kick him while he’s down, but because as a writer I would love to ask all writers this same question. (And I would hope that by answering it, it might give him that motivation to break through his own.) It appears to me that he’s got his mojo back for the moment, and that mojo after being shelved for a decade has taken ahold of him in a new headspace, in a new world, and with the hindsight of seeing it done on screen without him. There’s still one more book after WoW, so fingers crossed we see where this new plot bunny has taken him off to all the way to the end, but I know from experience that sometimes the idea of starting another massive book immediately after finishing one feels like getting pregnant again immediately after giving birth. Sometimes your brain just needs a break.
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Rules
🔪 This blog is NOT for the faint-hearted.
🔪 You MUST be 25+ to interact with me in any, way, shape or form. I’m an old guy in his thirties and while I don’t have anything at all against the underage set or young adults just over the line– I just feel more comfortable interacting with people closer to my own age. Please respect this.
🔪 If you want to follow me you MUST control your own online experience. I understand having squicks, triggers, and just general things that make you uncomfortable. If you make me aware of your discomforts, I will do my best to tag them as uncomfortable thing here cw. What I won’t do is cease to write about it, talk about it, reblog pictures of it, etc. Naturally, anything that makes you uncomfortable won’t be featured in any writing we do together. Just please, have and make use of xkit or tumblr savior. Basically, I don’t believe/agree that depiction equals endorsement. IC is not OOC. And fiction is not reality
🔪 I can and will talk the hind leg off of a horse if given the chance. I was once called The Church of Communication by a friend. A writing/rp’ing partnership will always work best with me if you’re someone who is communicative and has little to no qualms with expressing yourself. I value that shit almost above all. I take the word no like a champ! In fact, I like being told no because it immediately lets me know that you’re not just being polite when you do say yes. If I pitch an idea, a plot, or a verse and you’re not into it? PLEASE say so. I won’t be offended in the least and you’ll get so many brownie points from me, trust me, I’ll love you for it.
🔪 I love reminders! If you feel like I’ve forgotten or misplaced a thread, or maybe not been notified, don’t hesitate to give me a poke about it. I’m always down to go find what I’ve lost, and if there’s some other reason I haven’t gotten to it yet, I promise to let you know about it. For me, reminders are never an annoyance.
🔪 I read tags and I tend to follow their instructions. For example, if you make or reblog an ooc post about something you feel strongly about and you tag it ‘Unfollow me and block me now if you don’t agree/reblog/etc’ then… I’m probably going to unfollow you, as requested. Ideally, I’m all for agreeing to disagree when it comes to pretty much any subject. However you feel about something, I’ll respect that even if we don’t see eye-to-eye on it. Much like tagging squicks/triggers, if we don’t feel the same about something, then that something isn’t going to be brought up or argued or discussed continually between us. I’ll respect that you feel how you feel about whatever it may be, and act accordingly. However, my pet peeve are those posts with those kinds of demanding tags, unless they’re being used in a playful sense.
🔪 At the moment, I don’t have any banned fc’s and I technically don’t have any banned fandoms/media. There are shows/books/movies that I’m not into, but I don’t just ban them as a whole. Rp’ing is all about chucking muses into the unexpected and seeing what they do, so I’m almost always pretty open to whatever as long as we can customize, compromise, and find something that works for us both. Fuck SPN tho. I liked the first five seasons and then ragequit. I’m still open to playing around in that world though.
🔪 I don’t do exclusivity. I don’t judge the people that do, live and let live after all, but it’s just not for me. I like being able to play with multiple versions of the same muses because each writer brings a different take on them to the table and I’m greedy. I’m also an arrogant asshole, confident in my version of muses, so please, play with all the multiples that you like with no concern for me about it.
🔪 I used to say that I didn’t do mains, muses made a liar out of me. Some shit just clicks sometimes and getting guilted about it makes me sulk and fuck off of my blog.
🔪 I prioritize partners that don’t rp via the queue system. Again, no judgement– do what you need to in order to stay sane and happy, I’m just an excitable impatient person.
🔪 I will give pretty much anything/anyone a shot. Friendly to OC’s, crossovers, au’s, fandoms I know nothing about, etc. I don’t mind doing research into media I’m not familiar with, but depending on how much I have on my plate, I might be a little slow about it.
🔪 Last but not least, the big one that’ll run people off the most: THIS BLOG IS A GRIMDARK BLOG. Wiki explains it here, if you’re not familiar with the term. It means that this is a trigger-heavy blog. It is a dark blog. It’s contents will feature themes, thoughts, actions and speech that are real-world deplorable.
🔪 Finally, I have preferences when it comes to writing/plotting. Angst is my jam. I’m also a sucker for gritty realism weaved into these stories that ask us to suspend so much disbelief. Fine, Thor’s walking the earth, vampires are real, the impossible and probable are all very likely– but rent still needs to be paid, minimum wage sucks, NYC apartments are tiny and get easily cramped, etc. Fluff and coffeeshop au’s do nothing for me and I’m not any good at writing them. I’m not anti-happiness, but I do like to throw roadblocks in it’s way. I like stories that are painful, I like things that are hard, and threads/verses that fit those preferences are always going to be my favorite.
🔪 This is pretty much it? My rules page used to be like four lines about needing to be of age, tumblr etiquette, and communication– I actually kind of hate having really long rules pages, but I also want people to know what they’re getting into and be making well-informed decisions. I don’t want to ever unpleasantly surprise anyone with either IC or OOC content.
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Desexualized Mammy & Strong Black Woman, too busy for “frivolous love”
“Alyse” (Anon Submission) asked:
My science fiction story includes a black woman (Talia) who raises two children that aren’t her own and takes on two young adults as apprentices. One of the children she is raises has Arabic background and was taken into her home upon his father’s death (his mother’s whereabouts are unknown). She was a close friend of his father and the closest thing he had to a relative. The second child has mixed French-Latinx background and was taken in after becoming shipwrecked with no means by which to contact her people. Talia was the first non-hostile individual she encountered and one of the few who would so openly embrace a stranger. Since Talia is Master Medic (the highest medical authority in her community) she is training two apprentices (think residency) and eventually mentors the second child as well. She was once married and passionately in love but lost her husband to illness. In this setting, some technology we take for granted is inaccessible and violence against their people is commonplace. Most have experienced sudden loss. This particular loss was the catalyst that drove Talia into medicine- a desire to protect her loved ones and prevent others from experiencing similar tragedy. She is usually kind (though businesslike) but sometimes succumbs to a frigid, furious depression when, despite all her knowledge and determination, she can’t save someone.
I worry that her maternal association with the two children (one of whom is an outsider) mires her in the mammy trope. On top of that, she hasn’t pursued romance since the death of her husband. I’ve considered giving her a romantic subplot but there are already so many characters to keep track of. Furthermore, I just can’t see her engaging in the frivolous pursuits of new love when she’s dealing with kids, students, and an extremely taxing career.
In terms of race and culture in this story, practically every character can trace their ancestry back to populations displaced through war. Even Talia’s second child was shipwrecked during a botched evacuation from a military science lab. The people who live here have been isolated for generations and no longer have a real concept of their ancestry. Cultures have blended, new religions have formed, and many of our familiar racial/ethnic issues are forgotten. However, new and different but equally toxic ones have replaced them. In this way, Talia’s blackness doesn’t carry the same associations in her world as it would in ours. However, readers may still make these associations. Do you see any issues with her character that I could amend?
So! You have:
A highly educated Black-coded woman (the highest medical authority in the community)
She raises two kids alone
She also looks after two apprentices
She is widowed (not sure the race of the husband, was he Black?)
Having experienced heartbreaking love, Talia's drive to look after, protect and save people through medicine is a great motivation for the way she is. Her experiencing depression and taking losses seriously is also very human and is dynamic characterization.
However, such characterization with Black women is prone to brush across several tropes. You have a Black woman who gives and protects, but what does she get in return? Who cares for her?
Prioritize your Black character’s happiness
"I’ve considered giving her a romantic subplot but there are already so many characters to keep track of. Furthermore, I just can’t see her engaging in the frivolous pursuits of new love when she’s dealing with kids, students, and an extremely taxing career."
Priorities, priorities. Is love a frivolous pursuit in her eyes, or yours? Because I strongly disagree. You probably don't mean to but you, as the author, having an excuse to NOT give the Black woman romance is showing that you do not think she's worth being loved. TV viewers and stans who are uncomfortable when Black women characters have relationships find similar excuses to explain away not wanting BW in relationships.
"She's too strong and independent for a man/relationship"
"I liked her better alone."
"It'll take away from her character."
“A romance doesn’t feel right for her”
These sorts of statements above are grounded in racialized misogyny.
Relationships do not lessen the woman.
Relationships does not lessen Black women.
Love
Whether that love is romantic, familial, or friendship, it can come in many forms. Give Talia love. Because Black women characters deserve it! Either one or all!
Let her have a loyal best friend, a cat, and a girlfriend. Because why not? And not to downplay the love of children to parents, but please provide her love beyond what she gets on a maternal level from the children she looks after.
The stories that Black women are in today severely lack love for us, so why add to the narrative of Black women being all work and no play, and too [insert excuse here] to be loved?
Of course, you didn't provide all the details from your story, but I'm not seeing much of a balance from the struggle. She is a caretaker, teacher, doctor (or doctor-like figure).
Her position and background in itself is okay. It's the Strong Black Woman being presented with seemingly no commentary that strikes me.
Where is her team to help balance the weight of the world?
Who takes care of her when she's depressed from another loss?
What does she get in return from taking an emotional and physical toll to heal her community?
Do those around her recognize all she does for them and offer their friendship?
When does she get to relax and turn off the need to be everything for everybody?
Fitting love into a book with many characters
There are many books with several characters to keep track of. People tend to manage. Also, I'm sure some of those characters are in and/or out of relationships. Even stories that couldn’t be classified as romances have relationships of some sort. It’s unrealistic to have a ton of characters and none of them be in relationship(s) of some sort. Not when there’s so many forms of it and many sexualities.
Friends, frenemies, enemies, romance, affairs.. Relationships make stories (and life) interesting. By no means do I think adding these dynamics harm your tale. And what’s one more for a hard-working Black woman who sacrifices a lot and clearly deserves a shoulder to lean on? And, if you use an existing character to be that friend, family, or lover, then you won’t need to pencil in another character.
For romance specifically - I think a misconception when it comes to including romance in stories is that they have to somehow take over the story. Romance does not have to bombard the plot nor be described in lavish detail. Not every story is a romance and those sort of details aren’t everyone’s style or things they’re comfortable with. A sentence or two establishing relationships does not take away from the story.And how those relationships look and affections expressed will vary based on the characters, sexuality, etc.
Not every character needs to have a deep level of detail.
“Katie and Lisa, a newly engaged couple, walked into the meeting.”
“Jack and Jamie are a married couple in their 40s.”
“The two met in college. After two months of blissful courtship, they eloped, eager to start their happily ever afters. Twenty years together, they were still blissfully in love and never too far from one another.”
Sentences like the above are enough for some characters. You don’t always need to put in paragraphs worth of relationship-establishing details or plot.
When it comes to the characters whose love you would like to highlight, at least a bit, you still don’t have to go over the top.
Use subtle details.
“As soon as Talia’s back was turned, he gave her a longing look before shaking his head and getting back to the patient.”
“He squeezed her hand before taking hold of the stethoscope.”
“She kissed her wife goodbye before racing out the door.”
“You mean the world to me.” he had said, holding her face. Those words stayed with her all day, making her heavy load light as a sack of feathers.
“She soaked his shirt with her tears and he just held her tight, saying nothing, silently holding her together.”
As for Talia specifically…
Talia having the mindset you described, as love being frivolous and not a priority, is understandable knowing her background (I just don't agree with you as the creator using this as a means to keep her alone. Whether she’s romantically alone or without close friendships). She has lost so much, and continues to experience loss with patients. This can be extremely traumatizing. I gave some examples of being subtle, so perhaps that will help with the burden of feeling a thick subplot of romance doesn’t fit in your story.
And as Talia doesn’t strike me as someone who would go looking for companionship, what if she stumbles upon it without trying? Is there someone on the medical team that can offer her friendship? Someone who admires her and feels the urge to care for her that she feels the same for, or has pushed feelings down for? What happens when she can’t hold those feelings down anymore?
Takeaway
Talia deserves healthy love, even if she doesn’t believe it or feel she has time for it. That love can come in any and many forms, not necessarily romantically required, although it is a plus. A struggle-ridden novel is balanced by love, support and rest for characters that hold the weight of the world. If you do not, evaluate why you want to write Black characters in these struggle roles without at least a social commentary.
~Mod Colette
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Southern Hope (Arthur Morgan x Female Reader)
❝ If by any chance...in another lifetime, we happen to see each other again, I'll come and find you. And I'll make you fall in love with me, over and over again ❞
In which romance novelist, Mary-Beth under the pen name of Leslie Dupont, writes a coming of age love story based on her favourite gang members in the past, You and Arthur.
Trigger Warnings; Violence | Blood | Angst | Sexual Intentions
A/N: This is a project I've been working on for quite a while. I had the idea in mind when I had the chance to experience the musical composition of Aaron Copland's quintessential American Dream, 'Appalachian Spring' -one of my favourite pieces with such a beautiful storyline. And I wanted to retell it in the form of a book that is available on my Wattpad (ongoing) for you to enjoy from Mary-Beth's POV. I hope you show love to this book as much as I loved writing it. Have a sneak peek at the prologue!
Read on Wattpad here for more chapters to come!
PROLOGUE
Leslie Dupont; Mary-Beth Gaskill
Lemoyne, Saint Denis
November 1907
-
“Mademoiselle Dupont, we expect your next manuscript to be submitted by next summer. Now is not the time to be reminiscing.”
Here we go again
Mary-Beth sighed as her editor, Céline Laurent, had warned her once more for not meeting the deadline to her books. She was in a crucial position in her life. After her debut as a romance novelist, The Lady of The Manor was an instant best-seller across the country. It was the kind of thing she specializes in, silly ol’ romances.
“I promise you, I’ll get it done by then.” Or maybe, at least not for now. She shouldn't have promised something she couldn’t keep, especially in the meantime.
“I’ll take your word for that, if you don’t meet the deadline by then. Y’know what will happen to your contract, Leslie.” Céline stood at the door frame of Mary-Beth’s office with hands on her hips and raised eyebrows.
She knew exactly what she had meant. In fact, she knew the consequences on the back of her head when she first signed that contract with her publishing company. Two more books were requested of her. Or else she would be evicted of her apartment and be forced to live along the streets of Saint Denis for the rest of her life. A life of luxury slipping between her fingers.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mary-Beth disclaimed, the moment her editor slammed the door as she left her office. Heaving yet another exaggerated sigh, she crosses her arms on the grand rosewood desk, flopping her head on top of it. “What am I going to do now…” She murmured into the crevice of her arms.
Mary-Beth was in the middle of a major writer’s block for a few months now. She lost sight of that imaginative space of hers, consisting of the most swoon-worthy romances to the picture-perfect life she portrayed through her characters. A part of Mary-Beth that her readers absolutely adored. But, her head was now a clouded space of everlasting void. It was difficult for Mary-Beth to come into terms of writing again, but she couldn’t quite identify what had put her into this position.
Once she gathered the courage to write again, it all came crashing down like violent tidal waves when she came face to the daunting blank page of nothingness —almost drowning her.
It was as simple as that. Come to work, have a cup of tea, sit down, and a blank page.
Every. Damn. Time.
Maybe it was because she was already nearing her mid-thirties, and she hasn’t found someone to sweep her off her feet. Maybe it was when she first held Tilly’s baby that she found the need to be a mother someday. Maybe it was the overwhelming response towards her writing, she felt the need to hide away into an abyss. Or maybe she couldn’t stop thinking about the time she had come across John again after so many years that the memories just come flooding back.
Or maybe, just, maybe. It was because it’s November.
The most dreaded time of the year. November, in which the seemingly fearsome Van der Linde gang had officially broken up. Guns were fired, ties were broken and deaths were grieved. An unforgettable, painful memory.
She would often think about campfire songs, the girls and, Miss Grimshaw’s constant nagging about undone chores. Oh, how best of friends Céline and Miss Grimshaw would have been if she had heard Mary-Beth had been slacking again. It was her coping mechanism, think more about the good times to get rid of the bad ones.
Mary-Beth remembered when she took in her hands at being a matchmaker. Prancing around the camp, she would eye her two best contenders. You and Arthur.
She knew from the start when you had laid your eyes on each other for the first time, she could see through the inexplicable connection in between. You were both extremely awkward when it came to small-talk or addressing each other as you walked by across camp. However, it never stopped Arthur to come to camp as soon as he could just so he could see you, even just for a second.
The conversation would often start with Arthur while on his way to Dutch’s tent,
“Hey,”
“Hey.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Yea sure…”
—and that would be it.
At the same time, every single day, at the course of sunset.
You poor socially inept fools.
Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen would always see the interaction happen in the middle of their afternoon chores. Grinning from ear to ear. They would elbow each other whenever there was something different about the correspondence.
One time, you would walk past him, suddenly kissing him on the cheek and scurrying away.
Arthur would stop in his tracks, stunned, with a hand-over where your kiss tingled on his skin. Then he would look back at you as you laid down, smiling to yourself against a tree with a book in your hands. And Dutch would yell his name, knocking him out of his stupor before he noticed he was staring for a little too long.
The girls would start applauding for your heroic performance, it was like a groundbreaking plot twist Mary-Beth couldn’t wait to write about when the idea came into mind.
The both of you were like a walking excruciating slow, slow-burn romance novel. That was when Mary-Beth would cue in her entrance as matchmaker as soon as the interaction slowly died down. Your story had to have a happily ever after in her book.
She would pester you and Arthur separately, mentioning each other’s names and slipping in hints of romantic intentions from the other side so the both of you can address whatever this relationship was.
Mary-Beth knew it was a mission accomplished the night Sean was rescued back to Horseshoe Overlook. When she stood aside of the camp watching Dutch and Molly ballroom dancing into the moonlight, she caught a glimpse of you and Arthur behind them. Running into the woods, hand in hand, giggling to yourselves like prepubescent teenagers.
After that night, it was a considered job well done when your chance encounters slowly turned into planned ones. He would take you on dates, and you would show him affection like nobody’s business. A perfect couple, your American dream.
Until it became a nightmare.
And Arthur had passed,
your Arthur.
Ever since then, Mary-Beth wondered what had happened to you. Were you still alive after all these years? She couldn’t imagine how hard you must be coping with the news. Or what if you didn’t know at all? Even when she asked John and Tilly, they said you disappeared that night he passed.
Not even a single trace. Where were you?
Mary-Beth dismissed the thought out of her head, lifting her head away from the desk. She had to let go of these memories for her own well-being. For what seemed like yesterday were merely years ago. But it couldn’t have hurt to reminisce just a bit, for old times sake.
The story of You and Arthur was unwritten, left to collect dust from the lack of content. The perfect example of a sepia-tinted photograph, forgotten. Mary-Beth believed the both of you deserved something much more than a devastating ending. She wasn’t as ruthless as the other authors she had met that held an iron fist when killing off their characters. Mary-Beth wasn’t like that.
And the idea came to mind. She was a romance novelist for a reason; to fulfil all the possibilities for the unconditional love you shared.
And so Mary-Beth picked up her beautiful fountain pen,
She began to write on the great desk in her quiet room.
To write the most beautiful story of the century,
You and Arthur. Arthur and you.
A perfect couple. The American Dream.
A life that could have been so much more,
A life to remember…
#rdr2#arthur morgan x female reader#arthur morgan ff#arthur fanfic#arthur morgan rdr2#arthur morgan fanfiction#arthur morgan fic#rdr2 arthur#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan#red dead#red dead redemption 2#red dead fanfic#rdr2 fandom#rdr2 tag#rdr2 community#rdr2 fanfic#red dead fandom#arthur morgan x y/n#mary beth gaskill#van der linde gang#rdr ff#arthur morgan fanfic
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I’m about to go into another very long Marvel rant/dissertation here— mostly for myself— that I started writing soon after the Loki Series finale so please feel free to just scroll past this, because honestly I think I kinda overdid this one. It’s jaded and overly dramatic even for me. You have been warned:
The last 4 Marvel movies/shows I’ve watched left me feeling so completely depressed and unsatisfied and hopeless about the future of popular entertainment and story telling in general, and I know I’m not the only one. The fact that fans are going into these experiences hoping for a good story and character arcs that make sense with prior characterization, and leaving feeling… empty is a very clear sign that their approach leaves a lot to be desired.
Infinite War had some valid reasons to end the way it did, because by having our heroes fall so much harder than ever before, it built up the tension and high stakes for the next film. But what does that do when Endgame leaves us feeling even worse? I wanted them to triumph and finally come together to be better. I expected there would be losses of course but not enough to negate the wins. Instead the characters were subjugated for plot, characterization was watered down, and we lost all the original Avengers besides Thor and Bruce (who was no longer even Bruce). Peter loses Tony, Thor’s previous loses are permanent, and so many other things that, in spite of loving a lot of the movie, mean I haven’t been able to stop being sad about it for literal years. And the amount of thoughtless destruction that seems to be at an all time high when it comes to character’s lives and disregard for properly exploring emotions just doesn’t leave much to be expected at this point. Far From Home was good. It was. I liked it a lot. The acting was wonderful and there were some really interesting themes they grappled with but I still walked out of the theater feeling like there was still so much detachment surrounding a lot of the decisions, a little too much thoughtlessness (that, and the gaping hole of Tony). I’m not going to talk about WandaVistion but I’ll say that I was invested until the start of episode 8, and finished episode 9 feeling drained and tired and sad.
Then we get to Loki, a show which has plagued far too many of my thoughts since I started watching it, and has crushed my hopes for ever truly being happy with a Marvel project ever again. Loki is a character who’s ostensibly felt alienated and unseen for most of his life, and that’s before finding out about his parentage. His first movie ends with his suicide attempt and subsequent fall into the void. His second takes place a year into working under Thanos and ends with him being taken away in chains (yes I know he’s the villain he’s done bad things etc. etc. but for the purposes of this I’m only focusing on his pov). Then his third involves his solitary imprisonment, his mother’s death, and his near-death (considering the likelihood that he was actually stabbed), although it does end on a lighter note with his acquisition of the throne. Then we get his redemption and reconciliation with Thor in Ragnarok, immediately followed by the utter tragedy that is the first 10 minutes of Infinite War, which I don’t think I need to explain.
So what I suppose I’m saying here (very very inadequately) is that after all of that, I can’t believe the proper story to tell in his first chance at being a main protagonist was one where he’s constantly degraded and beat up, convicted of things he didn’t actually do, given no focus on backstory or implied/established motivations, and labeled as a clown and a narcissist! His powers are weakened, he displays almost no recognizable mannerisms or competence, he’s held to a higher moral standard than every other character, shown no respect, and ultimately loses EVEN MORE. We’ve seen him lose and lose and lose and lose again. We’ve seen him die THREE TIMES, we’ve seen him redeemed TWICE. So who in their right mind thinks that the most compelling story to tell after all of that was to see him LOSE AGAIN?! And not only lose, but lose without any real triumph, dignity, or acknowledgment beforehand. Death to the author aside, reading the utter nonsense the team behind it have spread, it’s so clear that it wasn’t made in good faith. Whether in ignorance or true maliciousness, they just don’t care. They didn’t research. They didn’t try and see things from his point of view. They didn’t truly sympathize with him as a person while writing. They didn’t understand. And they truly, truly wanted him to fail.
I’m tired of feeling hopeless at the end of everything, of leaving the theater or turning off the TV wondering why I even bothered, why I even care when I’m just being strung along with as little consideration as an audience as my favorite characters. I wanted to actively see him strive to be better, not just be told he could be. I wanted to see him triumph over his demons, not forget them. I wanted to see him be the “master of magic” that every other damn movie has alluded to, and to use his powers effectively. I wanted him to be powerful. I wanted him to, if not win, then win on a personal level at least. I wanted to see him take agency in his life and PROVE EVERYONE WRONG! And, though it’s now bafflingly controversial to say, I wanted it to be told by an experienced and competent writing and directing team that knew and understood his character and were passionate about telling his story.
I would ascribe to the notion of “don’t like it, don’t watch” if I could but I care to much to not be affected by this obvious decline in quality and awareness. And I’m a relatively recent fan. I haven’t been waiting for Loki to get his moment in the sun for 10 years. I’M NEW HERE, and my heart breaks so much for fans of the original movies who have lost their love of Marvel or Loki because of the way it’s been handled. No one should fall further than they can climb up from, and I’m tired of watching loss after loss and never getting the release of gaining enough of it back. What’s the point of caring about these characters if the writers won’t? Of investing in a connecting cinematic universe if it lacks continuity? Of looking for clues and foreshadowing when there isn’t any and the only twists are random and pander to shock value? The way these pieces/characters are being created and interpreted is reductive and incompetent, and for once I’d like to watch something that feels crafted, inspiring, and gratifying to see to the end.
If some people like the Loki show we got, I have no argument against that, because my own opinion is just as subjective as theirs. Though, I’d like to think that if what I want is for the show to be better out of love for the same character, then what they enjoyed from the show can coexist in that. If anyone’s actually read up to this point, I have to admit I’ve forgotten mine. Mostly I just wanted to express my frustrations over how unfeeling and stale most entertainment, specifically from Marvel as of late, has been.
TL;DR: I care too much, waaay too much, Marvel cares too little, Disney doesn’t care at all, and I don’t know how to accept that.
#jazzy’s thinking too much again#marvel thoughts#marvel critical#loki series critical#loki series negativity#marvel#loki series thoughts#Loki series#why am i like this??#loki
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15x19: So bad, that it’s actually good
Yesterday I had the experience of my life. I couldn’t watch the show (hi, everyone stuck in UTC+ shithole), but I couldn’t sleep either, so I ended up at 3 AM reading my people livestreaming it on Tumblr. This was one hell of a roller coaster, given the absurdity of the plot and the weakest writing in this season.
(I don’t mean the excellent and ironical and powerful message to the fandom, we’ll get there)
I was aware beforehand what I was getting, so no major disappointment regarding not seeing Cas back this week. Also, it kinda was my call, that he’ll be back in the final final.
The Ultimate Happy End, the biggest win of Dean Winchester. Chuck’s book ended, and Cas is not in Chuck’s book.
Was it bad? Yes, it was. Did I enjoy it? Hell yeah, I did.
Everyone on Tumblr already gave their two cents of hatred regarding the writing, the montage, the solemn aim of this episode (spoiler alert: to please the general audience and bronlies), and I will give mine, too. Watcha say?
It was so bad.
I didn’t believe it was the same show as the rest of Season 15. It was like rereading the fanfic my stupid 13 y.o. self wrote after like half a season and no skill or whatever. Full OOC, everyone. Learn what not to do.
I am so happy I didn’t watch ep 18 and 19 in one night. Could you imagine? That would be like getting kicked in the balls after a pretty good blowjob or something. Idk, but I can imagine.
It was lazy, it was just connecting two dots in the shortest way possible, although, leaving dozens of gaps! How, in the name of God, did they manage it?
Why Chuck could bring Lucifer back, but Jack didn’t pull Cas out of the empty before evaporating?
Why Sam has no fucks to give about Eileen?
How did Michael miss the whole thing of Jack gaining powers, don’t angels, like, have a nose for such things?
What battle is he talking about? It’s was a single stab!
It’s all just so easy, so short sighted. God is bad, let’s defeat God. Lucifer is bad, too, let him do bad, again. Michael is petty, and with Adam gone he’s back to his tropes being daddy’s boy, let him not being appreciated one more time and lets kill him off, too. I mean, my speculations on this ep were stronger.
Let’s make our characters retell the villain what was happening off screen. Let’s put some direct call backs to the previous episode, but make it feel like a grain of sand in the eye. Let’s give Dean a miracle, just for Miracle to be yanked away from his hands a moment later (parallels to Cas, anyone?).
Let’s pretend there’s no Eileen, there’s no Cas, let’s pretend they don’t matter! Let’s pretend “Just us” is a happy end. Let’s have two bros driving in sunset, because after all those years and all their losses, that’s the only thing that matters. “To everyone we’ve lost along the way”, my ass.
(Totally following my call in here, though, I hate being right)
It was everything I’ve hated about the show back in 2013 when I left. And it was everything this show is not now, which I am so thankful for, and why I am back.
All those sloppy plot decisions, episodes with no logic, awkward and ridiculous montage, “only bro” dynamics, bending and totally ignoring the rules of the universe. The episodes with Lucifer, too, for crying out loud.
Forced happiness, fake smiles, a lingering touch, close up at the beer bottles. It’s just them, the Winchesters, and the whole world can go fuck itself, as long as they get to drive their Impala to the end of the world and back.
This is something Chuck would love to be their ending. You see what I’m doing here? This episode - it’s Chuck’s book, it’s the bad ending Becky’s been talking about: all action and no Cas. In other words, not good.
So, what’s good about it then?
In this episode we hear “the old Supernatural” talking through the words of Chuck and “the new Supernatural” answering, with Dean’s and Sam’s help:
Chuck: “What did you do?”
Dean: “We won.”
Chuck: “So this is how it ends?”
We won. The Author (TM) is defeated.
Chuck: “For the fist time I have no idea what happens next. Is this where you kill me? Dying of hand of Sam and Dean Winchesters. It’s kinda glorious?”
Chuck - the old Supernatural - wants the story to end this way. With killing God, with this bittersweet aftertaste, because Cas says all those beautiful words, but Dean still feeds off his anger and kills. Typical Chuck, right?
But, no! Not this time!
Dean: “See, that’s not who I am. That’s not who we are.”
Chuck: “What kind of ending is this?”
Sam: “His power. You sure it won’t come back?”
Jack: “It’s not his power anymore.”
It’s not their call! Writers tried to control the narrative so hard, but just kept circling around, killing one of the brothers just to bring him back. This time, there’s another ending.
Dean: “It’s the ending where you grow old. You get sick. And you just die”
Sam: “And no one cares. And no one remembers you. You’re just forgotten.”
Because that, my people, is the destiny of Supernatural if it ends this way. It’s the ending of “Supernatural” by Chuck Shurley. If it is the story of two brothers hunting evil for fifteen years and finding themselves back in the place they begun in, what’s the point? Yes, we love the characters, but the story is empty.
Everyone is going to forget about it before the final credits end. And the writers are well aware of it.
Quoting myself, If we keep taking the same route - we end up in the same place. How many seasons ended with Winchesters together, just the two of them? You’ll find one, that’s for sure. There’s no novelty in that ending.
(And Bobo didn’t provoke The Ultimate Shitstorm of 11/5/2020 for nothing!)
The episode 20 will be something Supernatural will be well remembered by. It will be a game changer!
I’ve written here about the change of the philosophy of the show (point 6). I’ll be a bit of a Chuck myself and put my own quote here once again:
The message the show wants to give the world has changed. From “it’s all about the journey, about saving people, killing things, no one ever gets what they deserve”, the philosophy has changed drastically toward the “good things do happen, you deserve to be saved, to be loved”.
And this, my people, is what we are getting in the next episode. Because Chuck’s story was about killing your brother, killing your son, one apocalypse after another, Lucifer, Michael, all that shit.
But Dean’s and Sam’s is not. And in their book, there’s Cas, there’s Eileen, and everyone they didn’t lost along the way.
So, brothers driving in sunset? Not the end, but the beginning of their own story.
“Supernatural” indeed ended tonight. But our story didn’t.
#I AM LOSING MY MIND HERE#WRITERS COOKING THE BEST STEW AND WE ALL LIKE MEH SHIT BL ENDING BLEH#spn#spn meta#spn spoilers#spn positivity party#destiel meta#spn 15*19#supernatural#destiel#dean winchester#supernatural meta#dean meta#castiel meta#sinnabonka talking#supernatural finale#Sam Winchester#jack kline#spn spec#supernatural speculation#spn positivity#endgame positive#my meta#watching spn#inherit the earth#hope vibes#sinnabonka talks
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I’ll Take Care of You
Ok so this is pre-shift Jacob because he’s the only correct Jacob, also I’m ignoring the whole “imprint on Renesmee” thing bc it’s MY fic and I get to pick the plot lmaooo.
Requested by @bisexualturtledove
Jacob Black was a charmer, to say the least. He’d only had to ask you out three times before you said yes, which is more than any other guy could say. You respected his tenacity, and ended up going out with him for no other reason than to put him out of his misery, fully expecting it to be awkward and a solid end to your guys’ thing. Safe to say that’s not what happened. 5 months later and you were in a happy relationship planning your lives together. However, there was always a bump in the road with you. Something that had ruined every relationship you’ve had so far, and you hadn’t told Jacob in an effort to keep him around as long as you could. But the truth had to come out sooner or later. You couldn’t keep avoiding his heated kisses, his undressing gaze, his wandering hands.
The truth was, you were terrified to have sex with Jacob. So many insecurities run through your mind whenever he tries to take things to the next level that you freeze up, and Jacob being the sweetheart he is, stops immediately in an effort to make you comfortable. You knew that this was the only thing keeping your relationship from being perfect. You wanted to, I mean really wanted to have sex with him. But you were insecure about your performance. It wasn’t that you didn’t think you could please him… it was that you knew no guy had ever been able to please you and that made them insecure and resentful, which always ended in a messy breakup. You weren’t sure if it was the antidepressants you had been on, the nerves of being intimate with someone, or if you were broken, but for the life of you, you could not orgasm.
However, you knew it was time for a change. You had to face this head on. If he didn’t accept you for you, then as painful as it would be, he wasn’t the one for you. So you invited him over, putting away anything in your room that could be a distraction to the serious talk you were about to have with him. Jacob climbed in through your open window, his usual suave entrance, and immediately rushed over to you, out of breath.
“Is everything okay?” he panicked. You took him in. It looked like he got ready in a hurry, hair messy and… Jeez, was he shaking?
“I think the better question is, are you ok? You look like you just saw a ghost, babe.” you worried back.
“Well when my girlfriend just sends me a text saying We need to talk. That doesn’t exactly put a good feeling in my stomach.”
“We do need to talk. Or I guess, I need to tell you something. About.. Me.” God, why were you so nervous? Just spit it out!
“Okay. Whatever it is, you know you can tell me,” he encouraged.
You grabbed his hand and moved to sit on the edge of your bed. He sat next to you, waiting intently for your next words. After a long pause, you found the words. “So… I’m sure you’ve noticed that we haven’t had sex yet.” Wow. Nice one.
“Umm, yeah. I’ve noticed. I mean, I know that.” He seemed even more confused at this.
“Yeah,” you laughed awkwardly, gaze focusing on the carpet. “There’s a reason for it. I’ve had some past experiences that are making me… hesitant, I guess?” you tried to explain. He only nodded for you to keep going, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. “Okay, this is going to be awkward. So I have a really hard time,” you sighed deeply, already cringing at your next words, “finishing.” You looked up at him at this. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he had the beginnings of a smile on his face.
“Finishing,” he repeated. “Like, having an orgasm?” You guys had always had a super open, communicative relationship. You could tell him.
“Yeah. Because of that, the guys I’ve been with normally end up getting really frustrated and mad at me and, I mean, there’s not really much I can do about it but I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t want you to be disappointed and end up resenting me because I make you feel insecure when I won’t cum and,” you take a deep breath, feeling yourself about to cry.
“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” he moved you onto his lap, rubbing your back soothingly. “Y/N, I would never do that to you. I don’t care if we never have sex. I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Okay?”
You nod, tears rolling down your face at his kind words. He brings a hand up to your chin, lifting your face so you are looking him in the eye. He smiles softly at you.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I just didn’t want you to think it was your fault or anything,” you replied.
“Baby, you know it’s not your fault either, right?”
You didn’t respond, just stared at the wall over his shoulder in deep thought, brows furrowed. Truthfully, you did think it was your fault. If you could only finish like any normal woman could, this wouldn’t be a problem.
“Babe. Look at me,” you did, hesitantly. “Its. Not. Your. Fault.” he paused between each word to emphasize his point further.
“Jacob, how can you say that when I’m the one that’s keeping us from having sex? When I’m the one that’s broken.” Something snapped in him at this. He became stern, grabbing the sides of your face to keep your gaze on him. Gently, but firmly.
“You are not broken. Don’t ever say that. If you need some extra attention, that’s fine. We can figure all that out. But don’t ever say you’re broken or not good enough. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” you murmured. He wiped the tears off your face and sat with you while you fully calmed down before speaking again.
“Good. We’re gonna have an open, honest conversation about what you need so that I know how to make you happy. So… what gets you off?”
His bluntness made you huff out a laugh. “Okay, umm. Well, the only thing that’s, ya know… done it for me, is,” you made a gesture with your hands while Jacob waited patiently for you to finish. “A… thing.”
“A thing.” he parroted, still wildly confused.
“You know!” You continued making nonsensical gestures, so Jacob knew he would have to start guessing.
“What? A dildo?” you shook your head, blushing. “A vibrator?” At this, you looked at him, smiling quickly before burying your face in your hands in embarrassment. “Babe, lots of girls need that. It’s not a big deal. I really don’t mind using one with you, I just want to make you feel good.”
“Really?” you were genuinely surprised. Most guys hated the idea of using toys in the bedroom. They always thought they should be enough for you, when they just weren’t no matter what they did. So you always ignored your own needs to fuel their egos. But you hadn’t anticipated that Jacob might actually be willing to use one with you.
“Of course. Do you have one?”
“Yeah,” your voice was small once again, eyes peeking through your fingers.
He paused for a second. Two seconds. “Can I use it on you?” his voice seemed an octave deeper as he asked.
You sucked in a breath. In your wildest dreams, you thought maybe he’d be okay with you using one on yourself while you guys were intimate. But here he was, asking to use it. On you. Wow. All you could do was nod.
“Yeah? Where is it?” at this, you pointed to the drawer of your bedside table. He reached over, opening it. His hand rummaged around for a few seconds before he pulled out a small pink bullet vibrator, holding it up to the light, and testing it. He pressed the button, the toy immediately making a low buzzing sound, as he teasingly held it to your upper arm, laughing as you jumped. “This is gonna be fun,” he smiled wolfishly. You were still perched on his lap. He turned the vibrator off, leaning in to kiss you deeply. Jacob had always been an amazing kisser, and today was no different. His lips were so gentle, sucking at your bottom lip before swiping his tongue over yours, occasionally nipping lightly. You guys heatedly made out for a couple of minutes before his hand trailed under your shirt, and his lips travelled down your jaw and to your neck. He suckled at the skin here as you gasped, tilting your head to the side to allow more access. He’d always been a fan of leaving marks on you, but it never stopped feeling good. The next minute happened in such a frenzy of lips and gasps and wandering hands, that you found yourself lying under him with just a bra and underwear on, him lying over you, still kissing at your neck, with just his own underwear to keep him covered. He still held the vibrator in his hand, but you had forgotten about it until he held it to your inner thigh, flicking it on. The sudden sensation had you jumping out of your skin, breath laboring quickly. He was holding it a good 5 inches away from your center, but the feeling had you squirming nonetheless.
His other hand came up behind your back to unclasp your bra. You sat up for a second to slip it off your shoulders, and came back down only for Jacob’s lips to latch around your right nipple. You gave a soft moan, only encouraging him to swirl his tongue lightly over it. Your hands found purchase in his long, thick hair, tugging whenever something felt especially good. He was teasing you. You could tell, because your hips were grinding on air, trying to get him to move the toy upwards, but he kept it firmly planted on your thigh.
“Jacob,” you panted. He ignored you. “Jacob, c’mon,” you tried again.
“Hmm?” he hummed around your other nipple.
You were becoming frustrated. “I thought you said you wanted to use it on m-oh!” your back arched off the bed as he suddenly moved it up directly over your clit, pressing down firmly. You were moaning openly at this point, hips continuing to writhe on the vibrator. He began moving it in small, tight circles, letting you grind your hips however felt good. He moved to kiss you deeply once more, your moans getting lost in his lips. You two remained like this for God knows how long, your stomach eventually beginning to cramp from clenching and unclenching, your body practically begging for release. But you just could not get there. Jacob seemed as calm and patient as ever, but you wanted to cum so bad it hurt. You thought you might cry.
“What do you need?” he whispered in your ear, lovingly.
You blinked away a tear as you replied, “I don’t know.” He could hear the sadness and frustration in your voice, so he pulled the vibrator away, sitting up.
“Alright. C’mere love.” You knew he would give up. They always did. God, you were so useless. “Take these off for me,” he tugged at the waistband of your underwear as he reached into his pants pocket off the floor and pulled out a silver square. A condom. Of course he still wanted to get off. He’d given you so much time, it was only fair he get his fill. You did as he asked and slipped your underwear off, tossing them to the floor as he stripped himself of his and rolled the condom onto his painfully hard cock. He moved back over to you still on the bed, grabbed your face between his hands, and gave you a loving kiss.
“I’m gonna take care of you baby. Okay?”
Again, all you could do was nod. Wait. Was he still at it? He still wanted to get you off? Damn. This boy was determined. And you were thankful for the effort. He grabbed you by the waist, turning you around to kneel on the edge of the bed, back facing his chest as he stood behind you. He wrapped one arm across your chest, hand landing on your throat. Oh god. He applied a small amount of pressure as his other hand lined him up with your entrance, pushing in lightly. You had been so desperate for any sort of friction that there was no resistance from your body. Inch by inch. By inch. By inch. He slid into you, keeping the pressure on your throat. When he was fully seated inside you, he paused to let your body fully adjust to his impressive size. You grinded back on him, and he took this as his cue to start moving. He pulled out slightly, pushing back in. Again and again and again, each time building speed and force. When your breathing once again became labored, he brought the hand that was on your waist down to hold that beautiful pink vibrator right onto your clit. This time, there were no undergarments in the way. This time, he had his hand around your throat, keeping you in place. This time, he was fucking you, and God it made all the difference. You began to moan again, feeling that knot in your stomach tighten more and more. He kept everything consistent for the next several minutes, encouraged by your moans and grinding hips. Your back was flush against his chest, and you could feel the definition of his abs as he fucked you.
Once again, you felt right on the edge. Right at the point where you felt yourself about to fall, but something kept holding you there. If you weren’t able to come from this, you might die. Jacob seemed to be able to sense you starting to get frustrated once more, so he began pounding into you at a much harder pace than before, desperate to get you there before he finished. Your moans went up in pitch, that soft spot inside of you practically jolting with electricity every time he hit it. Your eyes rolled back in your head, never having experienced any pleasure like this before. It was raw, animalistic, aggressive. And you loved it. Suddenly, Jacob shifted his hand on the vibrator, turning it up to high. You screamed. Your whole body shuddered, the feeling going from your brain to your toes, and you came hard. Your body was shaking, center throbbing and juicier than ever. The sight of you cumming, the feeling of you tightening around him, had Jacob coming just minutes after you.
When he had come down, he pulled the vibrator off you, switching it off and tossing it onto the floor. Your clit was swollen and sensitive. Jacob brought his other hand off your throat, not noticing that that was the only thing holding you up. You collapsed forward onto the bed, having just enough energy to turn your head to the side before you hit the mattress. Your legs still trembled violently, and Jake was super careful as he got a damp towel from the bathroom and wiped you off. When you were both cleaned, he lay down on the bed, grabbing you under the arms and pulling you up next to him. Your eyes couldn’t even hold themselves open. He soothingly rubbed your back as he teasingly whispered into your ear, “Told you I would take care of you.”
#jacob black#jacob black x reader#jacob black smut#paul lahote#embry call#sam uley#twilight#wolf pack#vaginismus#smut#jacob smut#werewolf#new moon#eclipse#breaking dawn#taylor lautner
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Looking back on Phil's actions now that we know Wilbur lied to him
So if you haven't seen it yet, I recommend going and watching the first hour or so of Phil's stream from today, 5/3. He gives us some lore, which initially we expected to only be about Phil breaking the news to Fundy about Wilbur's revival. But halfway through Phil drops some news that has completely changed everything about his feelings and relationships with some key characters.
Phil has lived for years believing Tubbo was president of L'Manburg since Wilbur "left to start a new nation." Wilbur told him he passed along his title to Tubbo, his younger adoptive brother, and created Pogtopia as a new nation of its own.
Phil hears for 2 years of Wilbur's escapades through mail, which may or may not include him talking of Schlatt's changes to L'Manburg disguised as Tubbo's actions. He's given half-truths and psuedo-stories of what's happened. He has no idea there's a festival, or that Wilbur and Tommy were exiled, or that Tubbo was executed and lost his second canon life to Techno's hands at the order of Schlatt.
And after 2 years of continuous correspondence it goes silent. Phil, worried for his son, joins the server only to enter into a warzone. There's wreckage, broken potion bottles and worn armor everywhere, and upon whispers from his crows he finds Wilbur huddled alone in the button room seconds from devastation. In the end he can't fix what's been done, Wilbur is too far gone and he has no idea how long he's been this way, and he takes the matter into his own hands quite literally.
He's stuck in the server now, destined to live with his decision and tries to make the best of it. After all, he's got a grandson here to look after. And Tubbo. Tubbo is the only other person Phil has canonically confirmed he's raised, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Wilbur is his only biological son, but he took Tubbo in when he found him on the roadside. Tommy was sort of part of the household, but he says he raised himself and doesn't view Phil as a father figure, like Wilbur and Tubbo both have.
The start is rough, but he helps rebuild L'Manburg despite not knowing the full story of what happened, and Tubbo is so withdrawn into himself he doesn't explain a thing. Phil's left with nothing but the letters to think back on, and in the end draws the conclusion that Tubbo became corrupted, and was the reason for Wilbur's descent. He never learns about Tubbo's role as a spy, or the pain he suffered under Schlatt, or even him losing his second canon life to Phil's close friend Techno.
So when Phil finds out about the Butcher Army, of course he thinks it's too far. He has no reason to believe Techno is deserving of any of this, we don't even get confirmation of if he really knew what happened with the Withers after Wilbur died. As far as Phil seems to know, Techno helped Wilbur and then moved away after L'Manburg was blown up. It only helps to paint Tubbo in a terrible light, like a tyrant using his power to hurt innocent civilians, when in reality he was enacting justice for both himself and the nation he was forced into running. He seems like an unfeeling monster when he exiles Tommy for the good of the nation, when in reality he had no other choice.
It also means he doesn't understand the true connection between Tubbo and Tommy, and how it's been strengthened through their mutual trauma and experiences. So it feels ridiculous to him for Tommy to choose Tubbo over Techno after Techno admits he wants to destroy L'Manburg again. Phil can't see why it means so much to them, he doesn't know how hard they fought to take it back, the pain they suffered to reclaim and rebuild, for years.
And in the end he takes Techno's side because in regards to what he was told in Wilbur's letters, Tubbo wasn't fit to be a president. He was a monster, who abused his power and hurt others, and that's why he thought destroying L'Manburg would teach him a well-needed lesson. Even after it's chunk errored to the point of no return Phil keeps a very negative relationship with Tubbo, the two never crossing paths willingly until months later when Ranboo invites Phil and Fundy to meet Michael.
Phil takes his anger out on Fundy at one point during the visit and Tubbo asks why Phil isn't treating him the same way. At that point Phil tells him he hasn't forgotten and Tubbo's got a lot to do to make it up to him. When he first said this as a viewer it felt almost ridiculous, what would Tubbo possibly have to apologize for that couldn't be made up for with the annihilation of his country? But knowing now that he thinks Tubbo was at fault for Wilbur's downfall, for L'Manburg's first destruction? It makes so much more sense why he'd feel he was owed something.
A few days later the Syndicate investigate Snowchester and Tubbo complies completely, and in the end Phil praises him, saying it seems like he's "reformed" and made some changes. Again, looking back on it now with the knowledge that Phil thought Tubbo's been president for years and running L'Manburg into the ground? I can understand why he thought Tubbo needed to answer for things.
We ended the stream today finding out Phil knows hardly anything about the reality of L'Manburg and the SMP's history, and the biggest things he just found out are that Pogtopia was Wilbur's exile, Schlatt was the actual president who brought things to ruin, and that Tubbo was executed at some point during this time. He still has no clue Tubbo's true role in things, nor does he know who killed him.
I'm hoping with this train of plot we'll be getting a lot more of Phil piecing the puzzle that was Wilbur's time in exile together, and perhaps him finding out who took Tubbo's life and why. We also learned recently Ranboo doesn't know Tubbo died during the festival as Tubbo specifically left that part of the story out. It would be amazing to see them both finding out and confronting Techno about the truth.
Before this stream I've always considered myself a casual c!Philza anti. His motives didn't make sense to me, he felt cruel and over the top with what he did to Tubbo and L'Manburg. This stream has answered so many questions I didn't even know I had, and opened the door to many more questions that need to be answered.
#spoilers#c!philza#philza#phil#c!phil#c!wilbur#dream smp#c!tubbo#meta#character analysis#dsmp theory#l'manburg#l'manberg#this is more of a rundown for my own sake of whats changed with this new knowledge#but i figured other ppl might like it too#this has changed SO much for me on my thoughts about phils character i swearrrr
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I may or may not have read all bad buddy fics on ao3 already and this may or may not be me looking for a new fix
nonny i admire your strength so much, im still working thru my 'to read' list of bbs fics omg. but okok, i have a PatPran pirate AU for you!
okay so like, real quick, this potc meta post on elizabeth's kiss of death inspired me to rewatch the pirates of the caribbean trilogy. and normally, this wouldnt mean anything, except i have a compulsive habit of making Pran a god in everything i write, and then we wound up...here... Technically a pirate AU, but we're also dipping into foggy nautical lore with it (also heads up for talk of character death at the end--not big, same level as the potc 'verse and nothing graphic). I put this one under a read more because it got...long, but i hope the messy plot sketch and WIP snippet help satisfy your needs nonny!!
i haven't really found a story for this AU yet, so this is going to be pretty disjointed, but to start: the story before our story begins (*quick note: until we're given canon names, my name claim for Pran's dad is Santhad and my name for Pat's mom is Nam)
Dissaya is a deity of the sea. Santhad is the Davy Jones equivalent, a figure tasked with guiding souls lost at sea into the next life. Ming is a very skilled sailor and heir to a very successful merchant company.
Dissaya finds humans to be very curious. It's hard to say she's friends with them, just because of the sheer scale between her existence and anything a regular person would experience. Santhad is the closest she's come yet to loving someone. But there are other people she's still friendly with, in something that comes very close to friendship.
So Ming and Dissaya are something close to friends. The sea is still as fickle and tempestuous as it always is, but it's perhaps a little more kind for him (or perhaps he's just lucky). It's difficult to say if Ming's skills at sea are his own innate talents, or something borne of her favor.
(But Ming doesn't just want skill at sea, he wants mastery. He might, perhaps, even begin to search for a certain ritual pertaining gods and bindings...)
Who knows why he betrays Dissaya in the end. Maybe it was selfishness, information in a desperate gamble for his life, or maybe it was greed, a smokescreen for someone else to trap Dissaya and take her wrath so that his merchant ships were stronger and luckier sailing. In the end, it doesn't matter: Dissaya is bound to a human form, Santhad goes mad tracking down the perpetrators, and Ming's killed at sea
But Ming, deity touched, has a little more awareness than your average lost soul, makes his way back to shore. He stays there, unchanging, for years and years and then decades and decades. And so long as he stays on dry land, he's beyond his punishment and the sea's scorn
so that's the start of it. as for the story proper, i only know some details for how it begins and its ending, but i hope you enjoy it all the same:
Pran, the son of a goddess trapped in human form and a human man who's grown beyond himself, washes up on shore as a child remembering nothing but his name and a half-forgotten lullaby no one else has heard before.
Pat, the son of the most successful merchant up and down the coast, finds him and is immediately drawn to him. He never questions why he is, all he knows is that he wants to know everything about this strange boy there is to know.
Nam and Paa find Pran to be quite endearing. Ming finds Pran to be disturbing. He doesn't know what it is about the boy that sends him into such alarm, but Ming has not survived a century of avoiding larger punishment by ignoring his instincts. Ming can't stop Pat from being friends with Pran, no matter how hard he tries, but Pran always returns to open water, a compulsion he can't fight, and Ming can at least forbid Pat from following Pran into the open ocean.
(Pat is as sea-mad as his father once was. But Papa forbids him from even stepping foot on a boat. The closest Pat has ever come to the sea is the inlet so shallow and rocked in it's more river than sea, and Pat yearns.)
In this world, Junior's mom does become a famous pirate--a faceless phantom known as 'Captain', otherwise only known as a modest merchant sailing for Ming's company--and Pran joins her crew as a teen.
Ming knows exactly what's going through Pat's head when they hear the news, and he catches Pat sneaking out that night, trying to join her crew as well. It's the first time they fight.
Here's where things grow murky. Stuff certainly happens in here--Pran's visits to port, Pat trying to go with him, the growing number of fights between Pat and Ming. I have plenty of childhood PatPran ideas distracting me from the main plot, but eventually, Pran's piracy is discovered, and Ming issues a death warrant for him over Pat and Paa's protests. That inspires Pat and Paa to conspire for Pat to finally meet Pran out on the open seas (and he does eventually go). I have no idea where Dissaya and Santhad are just yet, or how anyone gets tangled up in the goal to free her, or what Paa does to reunite with her brother, or even what Pat and Pran get up to. I think the most concrete idea I have for the middle is Pat somehow winding up on Santhad's ghost ship, and Santhad immediately recognizing him as the son of someone he hates. But then he comes face-to-face with Pran, who he ofc recognizes as his son, but Pran doesn't recognize him. The second most concrete idea I have for this story is Pat and Pran on the open seas, both of them taking to sailing like they were born for it, and thinking nothing feels like freedom the way the winds over an open ocean or the salt spray of the waves on their cheeks do. They both love the sea's fickle nature--you're only ever you before the sea. Titles, names, ranks; none of it matters under the endless skies or over the open waves, and both of them thrive in the uncomplicated bluntness of it, Pat especially.
I don't know how any of that ties into the larger story yet though. But I do know what I want for the end:
Somehow, someway, there is a confrontation on the open seas after Dissaya has been freed. It's the first time Ming's taken step on a boat in a century, and it's going to be his last.
Somehow, someway, Pat is hurt and near dying. Santhad sacrifices himself so that Pat can become the new ferryman, and as the corrupted sea falls from his body, that's when Pran realizes that's his father, right before the man goes overboard to reunite with his first and only love.
As the ship sinks, Pran's pulled away by his friends, and Santhad's crew carves out Pat's heart.
Pat wakes to the deep water abyss. The waters are black from lack of sunlight, only lit by dim green soul lights that glitter like stars in the sky or light breaking on water, and everything is still and silent without time to push them forward. One soul, more defined than the rest, drifts a little ways before him. It's of a man, peacefully resting. When Pat tries to take a step closer, something like a tide pulls him back, and abruptly Pat knows. She's omnipresent and gone simultaneously, ubiquitous in the currents curling around his limbs, as fleeting as a gust of the wind.
Pat presses his hands together and bows. "Madam," he murmurs politely. His quiet greeting is swallowed by the drowned depths yet ripples through them like a shout.
Madam Dissaya is...difficult to look at. Even beyond his father's guilt, she is everywhere and nowhere. Between one blink, she's a shadowed version of her human form curled over the drifting soul, the next ripple she's the crushing dark waters. There's nowhere for Pat to look, and nowhere for him to look away.
She takes pity on him, and the form curled over the soul solidifies just a bit more. She looks almost like she did when she was human, except the ripples of her hair are wild and free, her skirts turn seamlessly to tide, her skin subtly ripples like light swelling on the waters. Her eyes are the only fixed part of her, never turning away from the soul resting in her arms.
"I trust you understand what you've been tasked with."
Pat tries not to shudder at the sound of her voice. It's like the roar of the waves and crushing pressure of the depths, and his bones know the terror it should inspire. It's also when he notices that his heart should be pounding but is not--or rather, it is pounding, but its thundering is not where it should be. His eyes slide to the drifting soul. Now that he knows what to look for, he recognizes the man's peaceful face from the echoes in the sea-logged nightmare of his memories.
The thought of what he's become is more difficult to swallow than the idea of his death. His swallow scrapes down his throat like salt. But he thinks of the horizon filled with waters shining unearthly green and littered with boats of souls still as lost as they were when they had died, and Pat bows his head solemnly. "I'll do everything I can to help those that die at sea."
"That's nice, but I was talking about my son."
Pat snaps his head up to meet Madam Dissaya's gaze head on. Her eyes are the drowning dark of the deepest ocean, and so familiar to him Pat aches.
You have the sea's eyes, she had said to Pran the first time they met, more literal than he or Pran had considered before they'd dismissed it.
Pat gapes at Madam Dissaya as she turns back to her love. "The hearts of men aren't built to love the sea completely," she says. "It's a heavy burden to bear, loving something so vast and unchanging that won't or can't return it in equal fervor. My love was special, but even he was overwhelmed in the end."
For the first time, Pat's mask cracks in irritation. Maybe she intends the warning as a kindness, or maybe she just doesn't want her son to be with the son of her betrayer, but it doesn't matter. He'll love Pran until it's too much to bear, and then he'll still love him even then. If all he'll gain is a broken heart in the end, he'll have it because of what he takes, not because of what he gives up.
Madam Dissaya's lips gain the hint of a smile. "You're lucky my son has his father's heart," she says before Pat can even begin his case.
The words slam into Pat like a cresting wave. He's now almost certain she's smiling, but it's difficult to muster any anger over it. As far as tests could have gone, he's getting off scot free.
He swallows, eyes burning, and bows. "Thank you for trusting me."
"I didn't. My love and my son did. Do not let them down."
And with that final warning, she waves her hand, and the waters churn into a crushing swell around him that carries him and his new ship up and up and up to the surface sparkling anew and cloudy skies breaking into gentle sunbeams.
Whatever happens next happens, but Ming will die and Pat will ferry his soul across the sea to where he should've gone on long ago. Pat and Pran continue on in the liminal space beyond the horizon, free to cross over and back again as they explore the seas they so dearly love together. And even when they're apart, both of them still carry a piece of the other with them--whether that be the sea itself or one's heart, though truly those are both quite the same.
[[ask me about the fic im not writing]]
#bad buddy#patpran pirate au#confession time#this AU is fueled purely by the two magic words: god!Pran#so i have a lot of the mythology in place for how it'd come about and what it might mean for the two of them#everything else? ehhhhhhhhhhh#im just here for them Vibes(TM)#stuff sure does happen!#idk what but it definitely happens#but what i care about is pran being otherworldly and pat being free and both of them being disgustingly in love#anything else is for someone thats not me to deal with lmao#the snippet is still in its really raw stages and ill probably cry from embarrassment when i look at it again later but#i spent too long trying to trim this ask down hjghjfhfg i dont wanna /edit/ too rip#ask game: fics im not writing#*please ask before writing anything using these specific ideas
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The A/PI Heritage Month interviews are coming to a close soon! For Day 8, we have lovely Aster! :chinhands:
Aster, author of Nevermoore
A/PI Heritage Month Featured Author
They say that curiosity killed the cat, but it won’t be satisfaction that’ll be bringing you back. Again. And again. And again.
The simple act of visiting your parents turns into something much more than what you were expecting when your car suddenly breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and you find yourself right beside a small town that’s engulfed by the trees.
Some of the residents you met right away were welcoming enough, happy to try and lend a helping hand when they can. But their smiles seemed more apologetic than happy, and their eyes looked at you with regret.
You never really did understand why that was…
Until you died.
So now, you are an unwilling participant in an endless cycle of death and resurrection. And the more you learn about the bloodstained history of the town and the past of its people, the more you'll get tangled up in a web of secrets that threatens to keep you there forever.
So welcome, newcomer… to Nevermoore.
(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)
Q1: First of all, introduce us to your project! What is it about?
Nevermoore is planned to be is a supernatural story wrapped in a little horror bow about a cursed town that’s both lost to the trees and lost to the ages. Relatively normal lives can still happen there...well, as normal as it gets when not only is aging put to a pause, but dying isn’t even a permanent thing. And the duration of the stay, as far as the town is concerned, is forever.
And unsurprisingly, these effects of the town are barely half of the secrets and mysteries that it holds...But the question is, does the latest new resident that ‘accidentally’ stumbled across it (spoiler alert that’s you) really wants to know what they are?
...Perhaps some things are just better left forgotten.
Q2: If it’s not too spoilery, what are you most excited about your project?
Oh, there’s so many scenes and reveals I want to get to already that it’s hard to choose! But if I had to be specific, the one I’m most excited in writing out is Sterling’s (an RO) backstory! I don’t mean to play favorites or anything, but I like to think that their backstory as having the most Hollywood movie levels of drama and intrigue.
Sterling was honestly the first character I made for this story, even before the MC, so I can’t help myself in having some fun with this!
Q3: What inspired the current project you’re working on?
Believe it or not, Nevermoore’s first iteration was supposed to be a very specific, very self-indulgent AU fanfic of this piece of media I was into back in like, 2014? The drafts of that had remained in my Google Drive, unchanged and unworked on, that is until about two years ago when I discovered the wide, diverse world of interactive fiction.
Inspired to create a story to share with others, I ended up reviving those old documents. The plot and the characters had to be massively overhauled to make it more my own of course, and some inspiration was also been taken from shows like Stranger Things and Dark for their eerie and secretive small-town aesthetics.
Q4: Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?
...Admittedly, not so much. It was an embarrassingly lack of foresight on my part (as a first generation Filipino-Canadian), because it somehow never occurred to me that I can, in fact, add characters who are like me into my own writing. Well, lesson learned. Good news is that I already have some side characters planned who’ll be Filipinothat will show up later on in Nevermoore’s demo, as well as have a Filipino RO in a future wip. The latter of which I am very excited about!
With that being said, I will share that MCs parents in the story are actually loosely based on my own parents who were Filipino immigrants! I won’t elaborate on what parts, but I’m planning on integrating some more of their personalities in the upcoming patch. I really want dedicate those characters to them, since they’ve already sacrificed so much to bring me and my sibling here in Canada to have a better life! :)
Q5: What’s been your experience so far? With writing, with the if community...
There’s no doubt in my mind that getting involved with the IF community has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, despite being incredibly internet shy at first. I’m glad to have meet so many amazing IF writers and readers, and I definitely wouldn’t have gotten as far as I did with my projects if it weren’t for our constant support, help, and hype for each other.
This community has been so wonderful and welcoming, and I can’t wait to see it grow even more!
Q6: Do you have any future projects in the works?
At least three so far, actually! Nothing is fully established yet, just some concepts and vibes. But the genres are high-fantasy, postapocalyptic-ish, and sci-fi.
The first is about a character who’s an aspiring writer (heh) that suddenly finds themselves ‘isekaied’ into the fantasy world of the still-incomplete book they were working on. The second is about an immortal from the dawn of humanity trying to live through the endof humanity ft. zombies(?). And the third is about a volunteer of a cryosleep experiment gone wrong and ends up waking up 1000 years in the future instead. It seems here that my brain won’t let me rest and is telling me to try my hand in as many genres I can haha!
Q7: Finally, what piece of advice would you give to fellow authors?
This is advice that I still have to work on following myself but: Don’t stress too much on your first drafts, it’s called that for a reason! Focus on getting the basic ideas/dialogues/etc down and don’t be afraid to write ‘badly’, since there’s always time for you to polish it into something you’re happy with later on!
Otherwise, you’ll only get into this cycle of editing the same sections over and over, and that can burn you out before you even have the chance to work on the parts you’re actually excited for!
#if: events#Happy Asian and Pacific Islander month!!#Asian/pacific islander month 2021#a/pi month#a/pi month 2021#aapiheritagemonth#aapi month#interactive fiction#authors of color
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Tangled Salt Marathon - “Rapunzel Knows Best!” ( A first half of S3 Recap)
So I decided to place the recap after Be Very Afraid for several reasons. For starters it’s where the season three hiatus took place. It’s also framed like a cliffhanger episode the same as The Great Tree and Queen for a Day; so while Cassandra’s Revenge is technically the midseason finale, Be Very Afraid functionally servers this narrative purpose better. Finally I want to keep the Cassandra heavy stuff contained in it’s own recap later same as I did for Varian’s arc in season one.
Also keep in mind, everything I discussed in previous recaps still apply here. Nothings changed and you could argue that the issues I bring up now could have also apply to past seasons; they just happen to be at their worst here.
Here are the past recaps
To Filler or Not to Filler
Hey, What Ever Happened to That Varitas, Guy?
What Is the Point?
‘Whatta Twist’
And here are the episodes that’s covered in this recap
Rapunzel’s Return Part 1
Rapunzel’s Return Part 2
Return of the King
Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf
The Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne
No Time Like the Past
Beginnings
The King and Queen of Hearts
Day of the Animals
Be Very Afraid
Poorly Defined Conflicts
I’m not just talking about Cassandra’s lack of goals here either, though that is a part of it. I mean in several episodes the central conflict isn’t laid out clearly enough before being resolved. We flip from one set up to the next without ever resolving the first; like in Rapunzel’s Return when Cass and Varian fight for screen time or whenever Rapunzel is suppose to learn one lesson only for someone else to learn a completely different lesson in every other episode. And to this day I don’t know what Rapunzel and Feldspar’s subplot in Lost Treasure was suppose to be about.
There’s also of course the ill-defined overall conflict; which at this point has become convoluted and nonsensical to the extreme, and will only grow more aggravatingly stupid as the season progresses. The main villains lack clear goals, their motivations don’t align with previously stated facts, and the actual interesting conflict involving the threat of the rocks and their destruction of people’s lives and homes is just shoved under the rug and forgotten about.
There is no story without conflict. Having the conflict be all over the place is not only confusing but makes it harder for the audience to invest in what’s going on.
Failed Narrative Promises
Tying in with the above statement regarding conflicts, we have failed narrative promises. Rapunzel is repeatedly told to that she needs to learn something in several episodes only for her not to learn it at all. She either learns some unrelated ‘lesson’ that wasn’t established, (like in Rapunzel’s Return with her pervious goal about ‘opening up to others’ being switched out for a generic ‘responsibility’ lesson that at the last minute, where she doesn’t even do anything responsible,) or she winds up ‘teaching’ the opposite lesson to a different character thereby rewarding her for her bad behavior.
And that’s just within the induvial episodes themselves; there’s also broken narrative promises through out the overall story arc; like...
no justice/redemption for Lady Caine,
no acknowledgment that the Saporians are the victims of colonization
no conclusion regarding Corona’s murky past
no satisfying ending to Varian’s plot that sees everyone in involve grow
a poor copout of an explanation for Cassandra’s face/heel turn
The Dark Prince reveal going nowhere
The Brotherhood being put on a bus
King Frederic, or any royal, not being held accountable for their past actions
Lance’s new found responsibilities just being thrown away for the tenth time
The Disciples plot being being dropped
next to nothing in season two winds up being relevant
And Rapunzel, the protagonist of a coming of age story, fails to learn anything at all
I could probably go on but you get the gist. Tangled is incredibly frustrating show to watch because doesn’t deliver what it promises. You’re not being clever by ‘subverting audiences expectations’ unless you can justify your narrative decisions with previous set up. Tangled is too lazy to build proper set ups so it’s ‘twists’ leave you wanting to punch things rather then impressing you.
Character Assassinations
Every single character in Tangled the Series gets thrown under a bus, driven off a cliff, and then allowed to drown in the ocean of their completely unaware self-congratulatory smugness.
Rapunzel is turned into a bully
Cassandra is given the idiot ball to hold permanently
The King and Queen are lobotomized
Quinin gets replaced by a robot
The rest of the Brotherhood are pale shadows of what they could have been
Edmund is transformed from tragic complex figure into a dumb jerkoff who abuses his kid for a laugh
Zhan Tiri, once an ancient demon warlock, is reduced to a floating impotent ghost girl
The Saporians become poor hipster parodies
Cap is put on a bus
Any villain who isn’t Cass is gets ignored
Lance is infantilized to the point of absurdity
Eugene becomes a doormat
and poor Varian is forced to become a complacent victim to his abusers as oppose to being allowed to keeping his dignity
I think the only person who escapes this mass murder of characterization is freaking Calliope, and she’s hasn’t even appeared yet! (Well okay her and Trevor, maybe)
This all ties back into the poorly defined conflict and failed narrative promises. Rather than let the characters drive the story, they’ve become puppets to the plot, and plot is really stupid and forced, and circles back in on itself and is full of contradictions.
Manipulating the Audience’s Empathy to Do the Work for the Writers
The reason why the creators believe they can get away with such poor characterization and lazy writing is because they expect the audience to do all the heavy lifting for them.
Cass isn’t given an on screen reason for what she does because they’re hoping her fans will just automatically excuse her because they like her/relate to her and not, you know, get mad at the writers for dumbing her down. And after all who doesn’t love the creator’s pet? Meanies! That’s who!
No one calls out Rapunzel’s bullshit on screen, because if everyone likes her, then you, viewing audience, should too. Because if you have any sort of independent critical thinking abilities and a sense of right and wrong then clearly you’re ‘just a hater’.
Everyone should just shut up and be satisfied that Varian is even on screen now and be grateful for the scraps that they get cause he’s not the real point of the show and according to Chris ‘Varian fans aren’t real fans’. Even though they make up most of his viewing audience.
I could go on, but it’s just variations of the above. The writing in this series is very fond of gaslighting the audience and trying to trick them into justifying the absolute worst behaviors while desperately hoping they doesn’t noticed the continued downgrading and dismissal of characters they do like or once liked.
And the sad thing is, it’s worked. There are people to this day that still try to justify this show’s shitty morals and bend over backwards to excuse the likes of Rapunzel, Frederic, Cassandra, and Edmund. Worst, there are loud sections of the fandom, (usually on twitter) who think bullying is okay and follow in Chris and his characters footsteps. Most of them young impressionable girls who are now ripe for TREFS to indoctrinate because they use the same bullying tactics and excuses for authoritarianism.
Media does effect reality, but not in the way purists and antis would have you believe. No one is going to become a violent manic from playing a video game nor a sex offender because they read a smut fic. But they very much will conform to toxic beliefs if it’s repeated enough at them by authorities they ‘trust’; like say the world wide leading company known for family entertainment and children’s media, and the ‘friends’ they find within the fandom for said company...
I’m not saying you can’t enjoy Tangled the series or that you’re some how wrong for liking it’s characters, nor do you have to engage with every or any criticism thrown it’s way. But yes you need to think about the media you consume on some level and valid criticism is very much important to the fandom experience for precisely the above reasons.
Conclusion
This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg of what’s wrong with this show, but it is most of its biggest problems laid bare. Anything that haven’t covered here or in the past recaps will be explored in the final recap. Cause this is it folks; the last leg of the journey for this retrospective. When come back, hopefully next week, we’ll tackle Pascal’s Dragon.
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Imagine being loved by me
Levihan | rated for mild mentions of sex + spoiler warning for that one forest scene levihans y’all know what’s up | [I hope you find this xoxo 🤍,🐇]
More notes on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/31001030
“You’re shit at kissing...” Levi coughs. Everything hurts, and him hacking up his lungs is testing the integrity of Hanji’s stitches. The loud humming of the forest fades to a whisper when she breathes life back into his ribs.
The shock and desperation fades from her face and she’s laughing now, “but Levi...” she drawls, “we’ve had so much practice...”
Not enough... He breathes. In a world full of people he chose her, and he has built a home in her. Now he just needs a little more time. And Hanji understands. But this world has been kind. Thirty four revolutions around the sun and she’s here in the forest with him. Everything has gone according to plan. At least in all the ways that matter. There’s still time. The world is suspended in a sunbeam, dancing like dust glinting when it catches the light.
There’s still time... We can pretend we’re the only two people left in the world...
—
To build a home in another person, all you need is a little wonder. But in this time and space, Levi is young and whatever skills he exhibits in the battlefield, he makes up for with lack of imagination.
Because imagine that- Levi having anything to do with Hanji Zoë.
“You’ll love me Levi, just you wait!” Hanji had teased, three days after first introducing herself to him with a smile and enough sunshine to last Levi a lifetime, “we’ll be best friends in no time”. To which Levi responded with a glower and a seething “not even if we’re the last two fucking people on earth.” And Levi hates himself for saying that. How fucking childish. But the need to be eloquent with Hanji is always lost under the temptation to bicker like children. They all tease him about it. Tell him that Hanji is just- well- an inevitability. And she’s never wrong. But Levi doesn’t think much of it. Her prophecy is mostly forgotten beneath the humdrum of routine death and destruction.
Until now.
Except it really isn’t a prophecy, because prophecies are mostly right aren’t they? And Levi is sure whatever they’re doing is testing the boundaries of friendship. Maybe people do kiss their best friends around here. After all what would a street rat from the underground know. But Levi’s pretty sure it’s just Hanji.
“What are you thinking of?” Hanji asks, breaking the silence that comes with being the only two people awake in the dead of night.
Levi pulls himself out of his thoughts, the lines on his forehead relax, Hanji’s words looping monotonously in the back of his mind like a mantra. “Nothing,” he says, because he’s not quite ready to give Hanji the satisfaction of being right. But it’s mostly an inevitability anyway.
“Well... Just imagine I’m a girl you like... Or a boy... Both are fine,” Hanji says, “I don’t really care,” she winks at Levi.
And Levi still thinks this is a ridiculous idea. Then again they’re young and the experiences they have in this life are limited by the affordances of what comes with the job- or the people that come with the job.
Except they’re not young. Hanji has made it twenty two rounds around the sun without dying, without so much as a scar on her arm from that one time she had failed to check her blind spot. And that means something in their line of work.
And Levi has always been susceptible to persuasion. “Join the Survey Corps.” Erwin had said, sure it took near drowning with his head dunked in a drain and a plan he has since abandoned, but he’s here now. He’s here now in Hanji’s room in the dead middle of the night and maybe it means something because he’s here even though his head is still above water and nobody is commanding him to do anything.
But there’s still this feeling in his chest, like everything is wet and he’s drowning.
He clears his throat, “why are we doing this again?” Because he’s lost the plot somewhere between genuine annoyance and realising his annoyance is a farce.
“I don’t know... Pretend we’re the last two people on earth or something?” A shrug, then “got a good image in mind?”
Everything is so simple with her and Levi struggles to come up with an image to make it easier to breathe.
But Hanji is so close to him now that they’re bumping noses. And even in the dark she’s more vivid than any image Levi can think of.
He figures he doesn’t want to imagine.
He tucks a stray strand of hair that had escaped his braiding behind her ear. His fingers skim her cheek. And at this point, Hanji thinks maybe it’s pointless to pretend that she’s imagining that boy who tends to their horses back home, or the girl from the Garrison she couldn’t quite keep her mind off- until now.
But this is just practice, a little experiment, an experience bounded by its own set of rules- this is all just pretend, it doesn’t mean anything.
So Levi thinks fuck it, because Hanji might be right, they might die tomorrow, might as well live a little.
He doesn’t tell her he’s imagining daylight- the sun streaming through the day curtains, warming the sheets. He’s imagining that sliver of light on her face, catching fire in her eyes. The place within this ray of light is one of safety. Nobody can touch them there. And Levi wonders how long it will last them.
Hanji is surprised when he leans in first and kisses her. Tentatively at first, like he’s waiting to see if she will change her mind. But Hanji is resolute in all the ways he is, and she kisses him back with fervour. She imagines they’re younger. Imagines meeting under different circumstances. Imagines they don’t have a war to fight, and they’re sitting on the edge of the wall, shovel by their sides, peering far past the fields and she’s telling Levi all the ways the earth moves to form hills and valleys. And she thinks maybe they’ve always been friends.
But the image fades a little when she brings a hand to his face, cupping his cheek, and he sighs into the kiss. Besides, she’s already told him countless times how the earth breathes.
They pull apart to breathe because breathing is somehow necessary, Levi thinks maybe he’s getting used to drowning. His eyes are glazed over.
But he snaps out of it fast enough when Hanji breaks into laughter that sounds like the morning. He scowls and pulls her close by her ponytail, pressing his forehead against hers.
“You’re shit at kissing...” he murmurs.
“Really?” Hanji drops a peck on the tip of his nose, completely unconvinced, “I guess I just need more practice...”
—
But the clumsiness of youth doesn’t quite abate with practice.
They’re on an expedition and it's storming outside the tents and Levi makes himself at home in her tent. He’s so close to her now that she can hear him breathing. And she feels like a stupid teenager with a stupid crush. But that's exactly what she is.
When she's done pretending she's asleep, she opens her eyes only to find him staring at her in the dark. She holds her breath, but she doesn't look away. Because that's how they get you right? You lose some sort of secret competition and then everything goes down hill from there and you'll have to deal with the humiliation of it all. So she forces herself to look at him, thanking the gods for her bad eyesight.
A shock of lightning illuminates the inside of the tent like a paper lantern and finds the greys of his eyes. Hanji thinks she sees her reflection swimming in his irises. Swimming or drowning- well, there's a fine line isn't there? He shifts closer to her, scowling like he's moving against his will, and Hanji holds her breath. He wraps an arm lazily around her, pressing his face into her shoulder.
"Wha-" Hanji starts, clearing her throat before continuing, "what's this?"
"Whatever you want it to be..." Levi doesn't look up, but even so, Hanji knows he's frowning, "I'm cold..."
"Alright then..." Hanji chuckles, fingers scratching at the short hairs on his neck, "we're the last two people on earth waiting for the storm to pass..."
Levi thinks about thunderstorms, and sure enough, there’s a steady patter of rain he had tuned out earlier in favour of the thrum of Hanji’s heartbeat beneath his finger tips. He hates wet weather. It’s inconvenient to say the least. Earth becomes mud and everyone tracks said mud into the mess hall. He still remembers the way Isabelle looked when she died- the rain washed away the blood, she looked peaceful almost. Maybe it’s apt. The girl who loved storms spent her last moments on earth listening to the sound of thunder.
His breath evens out against her blouse, "and?" Levi wants her to continue, to fill the gaps of thunder with her voice, because that’s all he’s been thinking about lately and he thinks he knows why.
“And we hate each other’s guts...” Hanji grins.
“Why?” Levi asks, thinking Hanji is missing the point here.
“Everyone loves a good enemies to lovers story...” Hanji laughs.
“That’s dumb...” Levi says, but Hanji is so warm that it pulls him in.
“You’re dumb.”
He scoffs. “Fine.” He says, because Hanji is an inevitability, “and then what?”
She hums, thoughtful, “we hate one another until a storm rolls by...”
—
But it's not always storming, and in fair weather, it’s hard to say what you mean. And Hanji finally realises what she feels, it’s somewhat of a breakthrough. Yet, the first thought that flashes across her mind is how inconvenient this whole situation is. She had just been teasing. She just wanted to get a rise out of Levi. And now they’re spilling over the edges of “more than just friends”.
But there’s little time to think of the details. They get into trouble and Hanji blames it on the potent mix of youth and reckless abandon. Levi blames it on Hanji.
They crash a party for the high society snobs within the inner wall only because Erwin told them they couldn't come along. Hanji’s in a borrowed dress and Levi wonders why he lets himself get dragged into these situations. But there’s more alcohol and food than they’re used to, and they learn champagne goes straight to their heads.
“What now?” He asks, when they’ve stuffed themselves full of roast and potatoes and Hanji almost feels sick.
“Wanna dance?” She replies, pupils blown wide so he knows she’s not all there.
They’re too drunk to actually call it dancing, but Hanji remembers the basics. So she leads. And Levi thinks if he looks into Hanji’s eyes now his heart will explode and he’ll be a dead man. So he opts for staring at her clavicle and mumbling the first thought that comes to his mind.
“What?” Hanji grins down at him.
“What’s this?” Levi says again, because his heart is beating out of his chest and he feels like he's going insane.
Hanji looks down at their feet, still keeping rhythm in her head- they're doing a simple box step so they can't fuck up, no matter how drunk.
"A waltz?" She says, confused, because it should be obvious enough.
"Idiot..." Levi mutters, and Hanji thinks it could be the alcohol because his cheeks are red and he's leaning too much into her. So much that she trips.
They fuck up their rhythm.
The streets are cold. That's the only reason they're holding onto each other for dear life.
That and the copious amounts of champagne in their bloodstream. Bold, brash, bubbling. They had bolted the moment Erwin had spotted them, finger raised accusatorily in their direction, mouth agape with shock. And they had done such a good job avoiding him the entire night too, only to have their cover blown when they tumble to the ground in the middle of the ballroom, with Hanji falling atop of Levi, a shared gaze between them like a cliche.
Hanji is laughing so hard she has to crouch down in the middle of the streets, arms wrapped around her belly to stop the shaking. Her dress is stained at the hem and she'll have to wash it out before returning it to Lynne. But Levi has abandoned all notions of hygiene and neatness and he's now sitting on the ground with Hanji, watching her laugh. There's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. And he thinks to himself yeah, this is inevitable.
"You know what one of the old snobs told me when you were busy chugging champagne?” Levi says, because the moon is out and it's so full that it's almost bursting at the seams. Nothing matters. The streets are cold, but Levi feels a fire coursing through his veins.
Hanji looks up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes, "what?"
“He told me ‘your wife’s a real handful’” Levi doesn’t know why he’s quite so breathless. But it doesn’t spare him the fact that he is.
“And what did you say?” She chuckles.
Levi makes the mistake of looking up into her eyes. Her eyes with their own gravitational pull, and Levi gets dragged into orbit. “yeah she is...”
“Ah...” Hanji replies, thinking maybe she needs more alcohol. Maybe they could stop at the pub on the way back. But the churning in her gut tells her otherwise. Besides, there's enough of this to go around- this thing she calls youth and reckless abandon. In a few years she'll call him an old man, the cadets will call him a relic. But that's the distant, distant future. For now they're young and the only thing that matters is the way she's smiling at him.
The rest of the walk is quiet, and Levi makes a passing comment about being the last two fucking people on earth with how empty the streets are (“did everyone just die?”). She chortles and he doesn't quite let go of her hand. Somewhere between the party and her room, Levi drapes his jacket over her shoulders. Well, technically her jacket that he borrows all the time. It smells like him now and Hanji holds it close to her with her other hand. And when they’re back at the barracks, he walks her to her door like any boy on a date would. So Hanji tells him just that- that he's behaving exactly like a boy with a hopeless crush-
A lover boy.
And she's not at all embarrassed at the words slipping past her lips. Then again, she has never been one to be particularly careful. She’s been told she’s not exactly good at holding her tongue.
They stand there in the silence, the partial darkness of the corridor. Levi only realises he’s staring at Hanji’s lips when he glances up momentarily and catches a glimpse of her eyes widening in realisation. Realisation like she has found something about him that only she knows. Levi feels vulnerable. But all he can think of is how the blush on the bridge of her nose is beautiful. Hanji looks like she’s about to say something, there’s something amusing about this situation and it’s bubbling between them- bold and brash. In another universe, she would have the opportunity to say it. Probably something along the lines of told you Levi! Enemies to lovers! and this is the part of the story where you kiss me...
But Levi decides he doesn’t want to hear anything she has to say, so he grabs the lapels of her jacket and pulls her close. The kiss that follows, a far too gentle succession to the feeling of crumpled fabric in his fists, a press of lips against the bridge of her nose, and another one- a chaser- on the tip of her nose.
She chuckles and he frowns at the offending noise. “What’s so funny?”
“You missed...” Hanji says before pulling him close by his belt loops and kissing him on the lips.
And there's a hunger that's ignited.
His jacket hits the floor first- the one he had draped around her shoulders. Then his shirt- the only fancy thing he owns. Then her dress-
Like a waltz for two- fingers reaching, exploring, lips crashing. But they're too drunk to call it dancing, sober enough not to call it a mistake. So when they're both naked, breathless forms in the dark, Levi reaches out to press their palms together.
“I don’t know how to be anyone’s lover...” he says just before they fall asleep, and Hanji's vision has adjusted to the dark. There are stars in his eyes, brilliant enough to pull Hanji into their orbit. This is the part of the story where she falls in love with her best friend, and he falls for his, and they know one another a little too much to use the word “love”. She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face-
“Neither do I...”
—
In uncharted waters, Levi can only hope for fair weather again. And maybe it comes in the form of Hanji knocking on his door the night he becomes captain.
“I like you Levi... Does that scare you?” She says from his bed. She’s never had the best timing. But this moment is as good as any other. One terrible mission, too many deaths, and the burden of greater responsibility later, and here they are. One too many revolutions around the sun. Enough for him to be seen as some sort of god, and her, an enigma.
“How much?” He answers. The bed dips where he joins her.
“What?”
“How much do you like me?”
There’s silence. Levi can hear his own heartbeat in his ears when he lies beside her.
“Like a sunbeam...”
He scoffs, “you’re not making sense four eyes...”
She chuckles, a kiss to his forehead, where lines have gathered- hold your horses Captain...
“Imagine you’re lying in bed and it’s been raining so it’s a little cold. It’s not uncomfortable, but you notice the chill and it wakes you a little. But then the sun filters through that gap in the curtains, soft and warm and it kisses your face,” she turns to him to press a kiss to his lips for clarity’s sake, “and there’s nothing in particular you have to do, so you go back to sleep, cradled by that sunbeam, like a cat... Nice huh?”
“Yeah...” Levi says, breathless. The atmosphere is thinning and if Hanji doesn’t let up, he’ll be gasping for air soon.
“That’s how much I like you...” she grins, matter of fact, like she’s talking about the weather, about how the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.
When he goes to sleep lulled by her soft snoring he’ll dream of Hanji. In his dream he tells her he’ll steal a cat for her. Because that makes sense somehow. He needs her to know how much he loves her too. It ends with her naming the cat Albert. Levi absolutely hates it. Or at least he pretends to.
But it’s the present and they’ve sunk back into comfortable silence.
This is the part of the story where you kiss me you idiot... he hears it in her voice, warm and playful.
So he does just that. And Levi figures maybe some part of him is a sucker for romantics.
—
“Help me capture a titan, Levi!”
Levi would glower at her, tell her no before she’s allowed to finish her sentence. But they head back to camp, titan in tow, captured alive. And perhaps this is as far as romance goes in this world.
And it becomes a ritual of sorts- if we make it back, dinner’s on the sucker with fewer kills.
Except this time the date is them tearing at each other’s clothes.
Hanji never understood why anyone would put this world at the centre of the universe. There’s just too much pride in that assumption. There’s nothing particularly special about this world, yet she will live, love, and die here. A cursed rock, a beautiful rock, orbiting the sun. This is the world in which the death greets them with the hospitality of an old friend. Of an old god that whispers in their ears-
Welcome home, my children.
But at twenty five revolutions around the sun, she can’t imagine being dead. She knows she doesn’t want to die, not really, not when there’s still so much beauty to behold. There’s so much beauty in the way his heartbeat feels against her temple, in the way her toes are peeking out of the duvet, in the way he’s holding her like she is his.
“You won this time Levi... You captured a fucking titan!” She says, meaninglessly. It doesn’t matter in the larger scheme of things. Hanji would get drunk mid-way through dinner and Levi would pay. That’s just how things work around here.
“You nearly died...” Levi says, “you nearly fucking died...” he’s calm now, all the anger, all the frustration he had, has now been wrung dry from his system. Now his face is pressed against her chest, and the marks he left are just starting to surface, more brilliant than her bruises from battle are.
“Yeah... Scary huh...”
So she thinks now is as good a time as ever. This moment is precious enough. She presses a kiss to his forehead.
“What do you want to do when this ends?” She asks, because a little wonder never hurt anyone:
“If you died, all that wouldn’t even matter...” Levi says accusatorially, a petty way to be in their line of work. But it’s only because it scares him that nothing has come close to scaring him this much. If she dies, she takes everything that’s left of him with her. Levi doesn’t make the rules. That’s just how it works.
Hanji chuckles. “I’m sure you can easily find someone else... A nice little wife, an apartment in the city, a brood of kids?” She quirks a brow at him, completely missing the whole irony of lying in bed naked with a man she’s selling her little fantasy to. But she hears the others talk about it all the time- about settling down, having children. Besides this sliver of light will not last them.
“Is that what you want?” He asks.
Hanji ponders this for a moment, she thinks maybe not. It’s best not to drag someone into this life of hers, where nothing is guaranteed, where death lives on her doorstep and she knows it on a first name basis.
“No...” she answers simply. “I just want to sleep. Take a long nap... Wake up and realise it’s mid-day, then fall back asleep again.”
That sounds nice. That has always sounded nice. He thinks of sunbeams, of dust, of a stupid cat named Albert.
To build a house in another person all it takes is wonder and reckless abandon. And being around Hanji has granted Levi both.
“Maybe we could build a cottage in the forest...” he says like he’s dreaming and he has nothing to lose.
Levi doesn’t miss the crack in her voice, “didn’t peg you for a forest kinda guy...”
Levi shrugs, “figured you’d like the forest... Enough dirt for you to play in...”
Hanji chuckles breathlessly, turning to face Levi. She locks eyes with him, and she sees the boy she kissed in the dark “just to see what it feels like”.
“I don’t know how to be anyone’s lover, Levi...” her voice is a whisper, “I don’t clean, I hardly wash... I don’t know how to make bread...” After all, all things weird and abnormal come with their warning labels.
There’s a smile pulling Levi’s face.
“I do,” he says, “I’ll make the bread... Just promise me you’ll take a bath before dinner...”
Levi pictures that- a cottage in the middle of god forsaken nowhere, the last two people on earth- he glowers at her first, then they become friends, an inevitability. And now they will fall in love over a loaf of warm bread. Maybe there’s a storm outside. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. They’re waiting on that sunbeam that always comes through their curtain in the mornings.
“Yeah...” she answers, it’s hard to breathe in vacuum. It’s hard to breathe when Levi has taken her breath away, “yeah okay...”
—
Hanji never understood why anyone would put this world at the centre of the universe. There’s just too much pride in that assumption. There’s nothing particularly special about this world, yet she will live, love, and die here. A cursed rock, a beautiful rock, orbiting the sun. This is the world in which the death greets them with the hospitality of an old friend. Of an old god that whispers in their ears-
Welcome home, my children.
But Levi isn’t dead yet- not yet.
“You nearly fucking died...” Hanji had said, accusatorially. And even though she has fought it for years, she thinks maybe she has allowed herself to take him for granted. The invincible Captain Levi, now dredged up to shores like old treasure. And Hanji nurses him back to a soft glow. “What the fuck... You nearly died...” she says again, as if it isn’t already obvious by the state he’s in.
He looks at her, because moments like these are rare as of recent. He feels the ghost of her lips against his lingering under his bandages. From when she had breathed life back into his lungs. There’s still blood on her face- his blood. And even so, god, even so-
There’s sunlight percolating through the clouds, a sunbeam that reaches down to caress her face. She’s here now, this lover of yours, it says. And Levi almost confuses this moment for his dreams. But life on this unspectacular little rock has been kind, and this is reality. Slightly grimmer than he’d hope, but Hanji is still here. And he sees the years that have gone by in the way responsibility has weighed her down.
No matter. She’s here now. Waking up next to him in a beam of sunlight, dust rising and dancing like bubbles underwater. He’ll get up, warm the bread, and she’ll set two cups in front of them. And Levi would stare at his cup.
“It’s tea, idiot...” Hanji would say, but she has no business defending the cup of something that looks far too dark, too murky to be tea. So she laughs and adds a- “you know I’m really shit at making tea...”
He knows. And that’s a problem for later. For now, Levi imagines they’re the only two people left on earth.
“Maybe we could live here together... Right Levi?”
The thing about the sun. It will always be alluring to the little creatures that dwell in the leaf litter. But too much of a good thing would blind them. This little cursed rock will turn on itself, like a little ball of dirt being rolled off to some pre-determined spot. Completely meaningless in the larger scheme of things. But god, does Levi want to fly into the sun.
Instead he replies, best he can, “I don’t know how to thatch a roof...” And that’s unacceptable. It has to be. How are they going to survive in the forest without a roof. What are they going to do when the storm comes. And his reply reads with familiarity- I don’t know how to be a lover... Now a meaningless phrase exchanged between the two of them like a habit. As a warning to themselves to not get too comfortable in this world.
He hears his own heart shatter. This is the moment he realises there might not be a happy ending to their story. This is the moment he realises he had been hoping for one.
Hanji understands. She understands because she’s the same. So she breaks a smile at him.
“Neither do I...” she says. She can’t even make a decent cup of tea to save her life, and now she wants Levi to run away with her. What will they do. But god, she knows she can brave any storm with him.
“But when this is over... We can figure out how...” Levi says, laboriously, and he links his pinky with hers. He’s humanity’s strongest, surely he can learn to thatch a roof.
“Yeah...” Hanji says, breathless. She’s smart. She’ll figure it out. And she thinks she never wants to die. “Yeah okay...”
She takes this as her cue to lie beside him, head leaning against his good shoulder, hand over his heart. Hanji was right all along. Levi kisses her forehead and tells her he wants her.
“What’s this?” She whispers, eyelids getting heavy, like she’s going to drift off to a long sleep. By morning, the sun will caress her cheek, and if this life permits, she will fall back asleep again in Levi’s arms.
“Whatever you want it to be...” he replies.
“Okay...” she says-
We’re the last two people on earth, waiting for the storm to pass.
#hope you like it💖#levihaneggschange2021#levihan#Levi x hange zoe#Levi Ackerman#hange zoe#mine#my fic#shingeki no kyojin#i hope there are no mistakes I rewrote this a few times!#Levi x hange#Levi x Hanji
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I Was Enchanted To Meet You
This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓
"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”
One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.
A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.
Read the rest below or on ao3!
There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.
Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.
On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.
____
“Dad, are you sleeping?”
Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”
“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”
“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.
“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?” While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.
“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.
There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.
In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.
“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”
With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.
Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.
“Dad?”
“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.
“Aaron.”
“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.
“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”
Emily .
The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.
“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.
“Accident? What kind of accident?”
He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.
But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.
“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.
It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”
“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
…
“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”
“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.
“Word travels fast.”
“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”
JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”
“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”
...
The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.
“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.
“The ICU.”
He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.
“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.
Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.
“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”
“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.
“So you haven’t met.”
“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.
“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”
“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.
“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”
“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.
“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”
“JJ didn’t tell you?”
“Just that there was an accident.”
Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”
Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.
“When will that be?”
“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.
“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.
“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”
The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.
“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”
The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.
“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”
Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”
“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.
“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”
It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.
She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.
“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.
Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”
...
“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.
“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.
Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”
“Yeah.”
Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .
Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”
It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.
…
“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”
It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.
“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.
“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.
“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”
He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”
“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.
Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”
“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”
“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”
“I certainly had no idea.”
“No one did. It never really came up.”
“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”
His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”
__
Twenty-Four Years Ago
DC
Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.
Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.
She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.
They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.
Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.
“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”
“Who said anything about being miserable?”
“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”
“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.
“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.
He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”
“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”
“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”
“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.
“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”
“My story?”
“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Agent …”
“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.
“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”
“Are we that transparent?”
“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”
“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”
“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”
“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.
“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”
“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.
“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”
“And go where?”
“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.
It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.
“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”
He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.
“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.
He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”
“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”
“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”
His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”
“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”
“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?
“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.
“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.
Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”
“Is that so?”
“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”
“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.
“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.
There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”
“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”
…
In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.
Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.
His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.
“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.
“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”
“Silver Spring.”
“I thought you said DC.”
“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”
It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.
“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.
Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.
“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.
“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”
“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”
They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.
“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”
“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.
“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.
“Someone like me?”
“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.
It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”
Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”
“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”
“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.
“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.
“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”
“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”
“So what happened?”
“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.
“Girlfriend, huh?”
“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”
She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”
“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.
“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.
“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”
“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”
He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”
“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”
“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”
“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”
“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.
“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.
“We don’t have to be.”
“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”
“Who says?”
“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”
“Is that so?”
“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air. “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”
“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”
“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.
He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”
Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.
He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”
“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”
“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.
She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”
“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”
“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”
“And?”
“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”
...
“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.
“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.
“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”
“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”
“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.
“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”
The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”
“I think that’s for the best.”
“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”
“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”
She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.
Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.
He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.
A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.
They name the baby Jack.
In some ways, the stars aligned.
He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.
…
Present Day
“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”
Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.
“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”
“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”
“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”
“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”
“You and Krystall made a choice?”
“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”
“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”
“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.
“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.
Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”
…
The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.
“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”
The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.
“We’ll be right here.”
Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.
“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”
Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”
“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”
—
Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.
Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.
“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.
“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.
Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.
“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”
“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”
“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”
Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”
It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”
“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”
“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another, their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.
“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.
“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”
“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”
“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”
“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.
“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”
#hotchniss#hotchniss fanfiction#young hotchniss#Aaron Hotchner#Emily Prentiss#aaron hotchner x emily prentiss#Aaron x Emily
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Remember Me (4/???)
I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO FINISH. Honestly I lost a lot of motivation to write after Bloodbound because PB has greatly decreased in the quality of their books. I am still trying to find the time and motivation to write and am forcing myself to finish my series at the very least but if I am being completely honest I feel like the Kamilah fandom has died, PB’s books mostly suck and I don’t even really play choices anymore. Who knows, I’m trying to learn to write the code for episode so maybe I’ll start posting my own stories and choices on that platform with better plot, smut and less diamond focus since it would be a hobby. This chapter is ASS and mostly just moves the plot along - so if you want action I would wait for a different series or later chapter - okay bye!
Pairing: Adrian x MC x Kamilah (Amy)
Tags: I paused the tag list since it’s been so fucking long but if you want a tag please let me know because I’m pretty sure most people think this series died with me :)
Words: ~1500 (Short because I needed to finish a chapter to motivate me to finish the next)
Kamilah took a deep breath as she knelt on the floor beside Adrian, carefully wrapping her arms around her brother, her heart sinking with every sob that left his lips. She didn’t speak, she knew her words would come off too harshly and she couldn’t blame Adrian for feeling that way, after all she knew how much he loved Amy.
“Adrian, I’m sorry. I...I truly don’t know what to say.” As their eyes met Kamilah saw exactly how devastated he was, and even in her two thousand years of life, she had never been in his situation.
“Kamilah, do you think she’ll...well she says we’re just friends but do you think she’ll fall in love with me again?” His lips trembled, his hands shaking and his eyes glistened with tears.
“I don’t know. As much as I believe love is a silly mortal affair, and a simple chemical reaction, it can’t be forced but I’m sure if you just be yourself and do your best to be her friend that any romantic feelings will follow.” Kamilah moved away as Adrian calmed himself, both of them passing a nod of agreement as he wiped his face clean with tissues.
“Your wisdom has always guided me well Kamilah.”
“I suppose that is two thousand sixty three years of experience speaking.”
“Heh, I guess my two hundred years don’t nearly compare...”
“You’re still a simple child in my eyes, I just took a liking to you.”
“Well, thank you Kamilah. It seems I owe you quite a bit.”
They both stood from the floor and took seats on Adrian’s office couch, Kamilah folding her legs and crossing her arms and Adrian crossing his ankles and folding his arms.
“We’re practically siblings - you don’t owe me anything. Just try to take care of yourself and well...don’t expect anything from Amy. I’m sure this is difficult for her, difficult is an understatement. I can’t imagine what she’s experiencing.”
“Maybe I’ve been too selfish Kamilah...I’ve been thinking more about what I want from her instead of focusing on if she’s okay or what she wants.”
“Sometimes it’s alright to be selfish, and I can understand why you felt that way but you are correct, we need to focus on what Amy wants now, not what she wanted before the accident.”
“You’re absolutely right. I can only hope for the best...I just really...I really wanted...I believed she was the one.”
“I know you did. I wanted her to be the one for you as well, I still hope she comes back to you Adrian.”
“Me too.”
Adrian’s phone buzzed at the same time Kamilah’s did, Lily having texted both of them to rendezvous with her and Jax at Amy’s old apartment to talk about the recent events.
“We should go, but do you feel okay?” Kamilah patted Adrian’s shoulder as they both stood from the couch.
“Yes I think so.” They hurried to the elevator and got into Adrian’s black Mercedes as they navigated towards Lily’s apartment. Once they arrived Lily greeted them before guiding them up to the apartment where Jax waited on the couch with a beer in hand.
“Hey guys...how ya doin?” His words were slurred and he was obviously under the influence to a decent extent.
“Tell me you have something other than beer Lily.” Kamilah grimaced as Jax took another swig of the beer. She had no problem with beer but she hated that brand and would rather remain sober than allow herself to drink that brand.
“Yeah, vodka or wine?”
“Vodka.” Kamilah spoke without hesitation while Adrian grabbed a beer from the fridge and took a seat next to Jax on the couch. Lily began to pour Kamilah a shot, and once the glass was full Kamilah took the bottle from her and took two large gulps before sitting on the leather chair and holding the bottle with one hand.
“So we’re here to get drunk? I thought we were supposed to talk about Amy?” Kamilah’s voice broke the deathly silence that filled the room. Adrian leaned in the door before removing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and, grabbing three bottles of the cheap beer and sinking into the recliner opposite of Lily and Jax.
“I didn’t want to drink...well grieve...alone. I mean I can’t do this with Amy anymore...well I could but it wouldn’t be the same... and I have my friend back but it’s really just...it’s not the same. I don’t know I just didn’t...you can leave if you want but I didn’t want to grieve alone…” Lily began to sob, her tears falling into her glass of wine as Jax and Adrian frowned. Kamilah held her stoic expression, but even the alcohol could not erase the ache she felt in her chest.
“I see, well I guess we all process grief differently…” Kamilah spoke calmly, but deep down she felt her own sense of grief. As she gazed around she realized how messy Jax’s hair and clothes were, and how exhausted and drained Lily was. “You guys look a mess…”
“Thanks Kamilah.” Jax drunkenly snickered and Lily sniffled. Adrian remained quiet, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand before switching to the other glass and downing it just as quickly.
“Does this not fucking hurt you?” Lily drunkenly scolded as Kamilah flinched ever so slightly. None of them had ever heard Lily so fragile, so devastated. She had every reason to be - she had lost her best friend - even though Amy had survived the accident, the memories were all gone and everything they had once shared was gone.
“It...does...I was just remarking on-”
“I don’t care about your remarks, at least not now. Don’t you fucking get it? I lost my fucking best friend and I have to watch her find everything again! Do you know how that fucking feels Kamilah? I’m sure you do from all your time as a vampire, but please, for the love of god and for the sake of our friendship just shut the fuck up. I can’t handle this.” Lily’s hand gripped on her bottle as it shattered against her palm, the beer pouring onto the tile floor and seeping into the edges of the carpet.
“I...apologize Lily…”
“It’s fine! It’s fine! Everything is fine I guess. I don’t know I just...I’m not coping well...and I feel guilty for saying that because Amy has it the hardest of us all and yet here I am getting wasted to be in her position - to forget everything while also being the person who put her in this position in the first fucking place. I don’t think it’ll ever be the same as it was before…”
“Maybe that’s for the best…” Adrian finally joined the conversation. Kamilah, Lily and Jax turned to face him as he swirled the bottle around in his hand - his brown eyes shiny from the tears that had built up. “...we all lost someone...Amy was a different person to each of us...but maybe we have to lose that person for some reason…”
“Adrian, do not try to give me that ‘it’s for the best’ bullshit.” Lily took a deep breath as Adrian shrugged.
“I’m not. I guess it’s just the alcohol talking, but I was going to propose to Amy that night and maybe it was a sign I shouldn’t have, or maybe the world is punishing me for my sins...but fuck all of that...it’s...it’s a forgotten memory and we need to forget just like Amy...”
---------------- Amy’s POV ------------------
It was a weird feeling that I couldn’t describe. Having people who seemed like strangers tell me all about the things we’ve done together gave me such comfort and anxiety at the same time. I wanted to believe and trust each of them but at the same time, it would be so easy to lie about it. Maybe I’m just being paranoid about the situation - nobody would really benefit from creating an elaborate story just to mess with my mind.
God this IV really stings...and now that I’m thinking about it, my ribs really hurt too. I should call the doctor or nurse but it’s nearly midnight. I mean it’s their job but they’re humans and I don’t want to be that super needy patient…
At least that Lily girl seems genuine, I can see why I was her best friend. I appreciate her sincerity more than I can verbalize to her. I’m still wary of Jax though - that man looks like he could kill in an instant and I don’t want to get on his bad side. I’m glad they’re friends with each other though - they seem to get along really well and...Adrian. Poor bastard. I broke his heart. I broke his heart and I can’t even help it. How am I supposed to even really process that whole fucking mess. He’s so sweet and gentle and genuine and I can’t even reciprocate it back to him...but maybe with time I could…? But Kamilah...she makes my heart skip a beat too...but she’s so unlike anyone I’ve even taken interest in - callous and stoic most of the time with very few soft spots. It wouldn’t be any type of understatement to claim my heart is as confused as my head.
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