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devildom-moss · 9 months ago

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Signs of Affection (kiss)

Part 2 of this request (Lucifer, Leviathan, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon)

(Mammon x gn!MC) (Satan x gn!MC) (Asmodeus x gn!MC) (Belphegor x gn!MC) (Solomon x gn!MC)

(Suggestive)

Word Count: +4,100 (we aren't going to talk about the size difference between these shorts okay?)

Mammon

“Geez, that sucked. Two hours of silent studyin’ for an F? I got a different F for that guy: a big ‘fuck you,’” Mammon grumbled to himself with his hands folded behind his head as he walked out of his mandatory extra lessons – or rather, they could have been classified as lessons if he had actually learned anything. Instead, Mammon spent the first 5 minutes trying to read one paragraph four times and the next 3 minutes trying to read the following paragraph before he became acutely aware that the supervising professor for today was watching him. He was clearly disappointed and judgmental of Mammon’s ongoing failure to turn the page. For the rest of his lesson, Mammon alternated between daydreaming about you – twisting your image in his head into a variety of different scenarios from innocent dates to the most depraved acts – and counting how many times he could spot the first letter of your name on the page. At least with the latter, it looked like he was reading.

“Mammon! How was delinquent rehab?” you teased him from your spot on the bench outside of the class.

Mammon shrieked and jumped. “W-what the fuck are ya doin’ here?!”

“MAMMON!” The supervisor poked his head out of the door. “Stop yelling in the hall and go home before I decide to keep you for another hour.”

“Sorry, that was my fault, Professor Amy. I startled him.” You stood up and bowed slightly, hoping the astronomy – and somehow, simultaneously, art – professor would go easy on Mammon if you took the heat.

“Oh, it’s you.” You were right to hope; Amy’s tone instantly softened. “If you’re on your way home, please take this loudmouth with you.”

“Who ya callin’ a loudmouth, man?” Mammon growled. You cupped your hand over his mouth; better late than never.

“Yes, I’ll be on my way now. I was just waiting for Mammon to finish his lessons.”

“Does being an idiot pay off after all?” Amy mused aloud – mostly to annoy the muzzled Mammon. “Very well. Be safe on your way home.”

“Alright, thank you, sir.” You smiled at him and began to drag Mammon down the hall. You only uncovered his mouth once the professor had gone back inside, and you were safely out of earshot.

“’Thank you, sir,’” Mammon mocked you. “Fuck was all that? You ain’t fuckin’ that teacher now are ya?”

“No, you pervert. It’s called being polite. You’d probably get in less trouble if you tried it with a few of your professors.”

“What’cha doin’ bein’ all polite to him for, anyway? Guy’s not even a good teacher, and he clearly has a human kink. Just stay away from him.”

“I almost never talk to him outside of our classes.” You rolled your eyes at Mammon. His jealousy had been excessive recently. As a slight punishment, you decided to tease him. “And why do you know so much about human kinks that you can recognize it in someone else?”

“Shuddup. It ain’t like that!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t have a human kink or nothing,” Mammon yelled. His cheeks burned, and he blurted out, “it’s only you.”

“Sorry, what was that?” you teased, biting back your smile.

“I didn’t say shit. Forget it.” Mammon crossed his arms as he picked up his speed just enough to walk ahead of you, hoping to avoid showing you the blush that stained his face.

“Okay, Mammon.” You dropped it, allowing him a bit of his dignity.

You both walked in silence for a minute until, finally, Mammon slowed down and started to walk beside you again. His blush had calmed. He glanced to the side briefly, trying not to draw your attention, but you noticed and smiled at him. Why do ya always look so cute ‘n happy when you’re walkin’ home with me, huh? What gives? Mammon wondered. If something as simple as walking home could make you smile like that, you were going to start charming demons left and right, and Mammon had no intention of sharing any more of you than he had to. That’s why he was so annoyed by you being nice to that professor. Just thinking about the way that demon’s face softened around you was pissing him off.

Suddenly, Mammon remembered what you had said, and his cheeks reignited in a faint blush. Nervous and masking his shyness with aggression, Mammon asked, “Hey, were ya serious about that back there – about just waitin’ for me to get out?”

“Yeah, of course I was.”

“For real? Ya waited two whole hours?”

“For my favorite hole? Yeah.” You smirked.

“Shuddup!” Mammon’s face burned. “Now who’s bein’ a perv?!”

“At least we’re even.” You smiled sweetly, as if you hadn’t just said something so vulgar – on a public street, no less.

Mammon stopped in his tracks, confidence surging in him. You stopped and looked back, confused. He grinned. “Ya must really love the Great Mammon, huh?”

“Sure do,” you readily agreed.

“I knew it!” Mammon pronounced – as if the occasional doubt had never wandered into his head. While he still had the courage to act, Mammon grabbed the sides of your face and quickly placed a kiss on your cheek. He whispered in your ear, “Thanks for bein’ so sweet to me, MC.”

Before you could register what had just happened, Mammon took off running towards the House of Lamentation. He pulled out his phone, skillfully dodging random obstacles and other demons as he appeared to start typing something. Seconds later, your D.D.D. buzzed.

Mammon: First one home gets a real kiss from the loser. Deal?

You laughed and stared down the street, watching as Mammon increased the distance between you. There was no way you were going to catch up to him.

MC: Deal. 💛

Satan

Satan was utterly thrilled when he found out the library had finally received the book that he requested two months ago. He insisted upon checking it out immediately after class, and since you had studying to do anyway, you went along with him.

With his new book acquired, Satan joined you at the small table you had settled into and began to read. However, his attention’s lifespan was uncharacteristically short despite his initial excitement. Satan’s eyes wandered away from the page, drifting up to you. Each time he tried to refocus on the book, his gaze punished him for a failure to indulge himself by lingering on you.

Few things enticed Satan more than you – especially when you got that serious look on your face. He had tried to keep reading too many times to keep track of, and now he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from you again. So, he just sat there, watching you read over your notes, recopying the most relevant points on a fresh sheet of paper. You were being so diligent.

One of the awful things about demons is that the alarm bells that go off in your head when you think someone is watching you are stronger and scarier when that someone is a powerful demon – and the fear your innate human senses created under the predatory gaze of a demon like Satan, whose sin was a destructive and devastating wrath, was intense. It sent a shiver up your spine, and when you looked up to find Satan’s eyes locked on your face, you jumped in your seat slightly. He didn’t need to look so hungry.

“Please stop staring, Satan.” You looked away, trying to turn your attention back to your studies.

“You don't want me to stare at you?” Satan got out of his seat across the table and took the spot right next to you. He propped his chin up in his hand and stared at you up close, eyeing you up and down with a smug grin on his face. “I want to. What's the problem?"

“It’s a bit distracting to have your eyes on me.” That was at least mostly true. There was no need to mention he was also turning you on in public. “I’d rather you not just stare at me.”

“Is that all?” Satan laughed. “You don’t want me to just stare? Very well.”

Satan leaned in, slowly shutting his eyes, and kissed your cheek. His warm lips lingered on your skin and his hot breath tickled. You could feel another chill run up your spine when his eyes fluttered back open. Even when he pulled back, his mouth hovered just over your cheek.

Another set of eyes landed on you. From a few aisles away, another library regular was stunned in their spot, mortified to have witnessed the Avatar of Wrath kissing a human in the library – not that they hadn’t seen worse. They gave you an awkward wave before turning and walking in the opposite direction, abandoning the book they had been searching for.

“Satan,” you chided him.

“What?” Satan hummed, inching closer to your ear, and whispered, “Do you still want more?”

“Someone saw.” You felt a bit guilty about it, too. Their embarrassment matched yours; in fact, it may have been even worse. “Why did you kiss me?”

“I wanted to. And who cares if someone saw? What are they going to do about a kiss on the cheek? It’s fine.” Satan placed another kiss on your cheek before returning to whisper seductively in your ear, “Besides, we’ve done worse. Don’t act so shy and innocent now. Do you need a reminder of all the things we’ve done – or perhaps you’d prefer a physical demonstration?”

What did you do to deserve this? You were just trying to study.

Asmodeus

“You weren’t waiting too long for moi, were you?” Asmo rushed to the table that you had grabbed when you arrived. He had a grin on his lips, but that charming smile was a cover for the guilt and anxiety he felt about being fifteen minutes late for your date. He couldn’t figure out which pair of socks to wear to complement his boots and skirt – and in the end, he just ended up pulling on a pair of lace stockings. Usually, Asmo didn’t care if he was a little late, but the idea of leaving you all alone in a demon-infested night café didn’t sit well with him.

“I would have happily waited much longer – especially when you show up, looking this cute.” You smiled at him sweetly, and every inch of Asmo’s body burned.

“Ooh, you little charmer.” Asmo giggled. “Did you order yet?”

“Of course not; I wanted to wait for you.”

“Such an obedient human,” Asmo teased, leaning over the table and resting his chin on his hand. He stared at you affectionately.

“I’ve never been called that in my life.” You laughed, and that only made Asmo happier to have said it.

“Want me to go up and order? Just tell me what you want – other than me, of course.” Asmo got to his feet and waited patiently for you to relay your order. With a smile and a wink, Asmo booped your nose. “Excellent. Now make sure to enjoy the view.”

Before you could question him, Asmo spun around and walked toward the register. Each step was a deliberate effort to draw your attention to his legs and ass. Oh. That view. Asmo was a hopeless flirt, but he was awfully sweet, too. Besides, you couldn’t deny that it was a good view.

Unfortunately, as Asmo returned from placing the order, he was faced with the irritating realization that he was not the only view in the café. He caught a handful of demons leering at you – and one of them appeared to be approaching. Not on Asmo’s expensive, crystal watch. He hurried back to the table just in time to cut off the tall demon, placing his delicate hand over your shoulder possessively. With a haunting smile, Asmo stared them down. He announced – more to the other demon than to you, “I’m back, hun. Did you miss me?”

A shiver ran up the demon’s spine, and their eyes went wide. They weren’t about to square up with Asmodeus over a human – not after all the rumors they had heard about bloodlust being stronger in lust demons than those ruled by wrath. The demon awkwardly tried to escape by blurting out, “enjoy your date.”

The demon scurried away quickly, and you looked up at Asmo just in time for his menacing aura to dissipate. “That was weird, right?”

“Some people just can’t act right around cuties.” Asmo dismissed your worry with a lighthearted laugh.

“So, you get that a lot?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t mean me.” Asmo leaned down to whisper in your ear, “You’re so cute it’s drawing attention.”

“I’m not as cute as you, though.” You smiled. “Now, sit down with me.”

“Actually, I was hoping we could snap a few pictures first. Do you mind?”

“Sure, I guess.” You shrugged and started to stand, but Asmo used his hand that was still resting on your shoulder to push you back down into your seat.

“No need to get up,” Asmo cooed. He took a step back and leaned over your chair so he could get right next to your face and drape his arms over you. “This position is perfect.”

Asmo snapped a few pictures. With each one, he seemed to get closer until his cheek was pressed to yours affectionately. He asked you to make a half heart with your hand and completed it with his own. Then, catching you off guard, Asmo kissed your cheek tenderly, waiting a few seconds before finally snapping a picture. He immediately pulled his phone back and stood up to discreetly examine the photo. The shit-eating grin on his face spoke for itself. He was all too pleased with it.

“What was that?” You scoffed. You probably should have anticipated that level of physical affection from Asmo, but sometimes, he still surprised you.

“Hmm? Isn’t it obvious?” Asmo looked down at you, innocently tilting his head. “I had to mark my territory.”

“What?” Your eyes widened. Sure, Asmo was always teasing you and flirting, but you hadn’t quite expected that answer. Asmo giggled and bent over, getting indecently close to your neck.

“I had to mark you,” he repeated in a low, seductive tone. “Would you rather I leave a hickey on your neck right now instead? I’d be happy to.”

“Just be a good boy and sit down.” You sighed. It wasn’t that embarrassing, but all you could do was imagine Lucifer’s voice scolding you for indulging Asmo too much in public.

“Ooh, I do want to be your good boy. Okay.” Asmo grinned, biting back the urge to call you one of a myriad of unacceptable titles, and returned to his seat across from you. He pulled his phone out and started messing with it. “See, I’m behaving.”

You laughed. Something told you that he was not, in fact, behaving. It only took a few minutes of mindless chatting while he continued tapping away at his phone – a habit you were so accustomed to that it usually didn’t strike you as rude – for your suspicion to be confirmed.

Your D.D.D. buzzed with an alert from Asmo’s Devilgram. He posted the picture of him kissing your cheek with a pink heart emoji covering your face – for the sake of your privacy. That was decent of him. You smiled softly, certain that Asmo was watching you. It already had over 6k likes by the time you scrolled down to read the caption: Ugh. My date is so cute that they’re attracting all sorts of attention. No one else deserves to see that cute face tonight but moi~ What do you think, everyone, should I mark them for myself?

Asmo was spared a playful lecture when his name was called at the counter. You got up to help him carry the drinks and food back to your table. The barista seemed to be staring at you, but when Asmo put his finger up to his lips, they got flustered and looked away, returning to their work. Covering your face in the picture served another purpose: Asmo was hiding the gloss mark he left on your cheek. You didn’t need to know about it yet.

Belphegor

Belphie was lucky that you had chosen to sit in the back of the lecture hall where he could comfortably lean up against your shoulder and fall asleep without immediate repercussions. At least he was polite enough to nap on the shoulder for your non-dominant hand so you could continue to take notes as you listened to the lecture. Occasionally, you glanced down at his sleeping face; he looked so sweet, peaceful, and adorable.

The clock ticked down the few remaining minutes of the lecture, which was your cue to begin the wake-up process. Although Belphegor seldom cared what his brothers or the professor thought about him using you as a pillow during class, you found that it was easier to just wake him up before the complaints came rolling in. You set your pen down, pet Belphie gently, and whispered his name so that only he would hear you. A soft moan left him, and he nuzzled into your arm before leisurely opening his eyes with a content smile.

“Good morning, MC.” Belphie whispered into your ear.

Reluctantly, Belphegor forced himself upright and away from the warmth of your body just in time for the lecture to be dismissed. The professor and other students gathered their things and collectively made their way towards the doors. You, however, waited on Belphegor to shake off his nap and get to his feet.

“C’mon, MC. Catch up,” Mammon shouted from the front of the class.

“Give us a second,” you replied at a lower volume.

“Man, you two are so slow. I ain’t waitin’ around forever.” Mammon groaned and made his way slowly towards the door.

“He would know slow,” Belphie muttered just loud enough for you to hear as he stood up.

“Belphie,” you chided him, but your tone went ignored.

“Hey, can I borrow your notes later? Maybe we could review together.” There was a soft, sweet neediness in Belphie’s voice.

“Didn’t you catch the lecture in your sleep like you usually do?” Sometimes Belphie’s ability to remember things that happened around him while he was asleep creeped you out. He was like an unassuming monitoring device if he wanted to be.

“Indulge me.” Belphie knocked his shoulder against yours playfully.

“I always do, don’t I?” You sighed. That was the unfortunate effect he had on you: you always found yourself spoiling him, even when he didn’t deserve it – or rather, especially when he didn’t.

You were just about to walk into the hall when Belphie grabbed your hand and pulled you back into the classroom before the others spotted you. He played with your hand, caressing you with his thumbs. His cheeks were stained light pink as his eyes flitted from your hand to your face.

“What’s the matter, Bel?”

Belphie closed the distance between you, springing forward to kiss your cheek. The sudden movement surprised you, but it wasn’t especially shocking; Belphegor had always been physically affectionate. He inched closer, causing his hot breath to ghost over your skin. His lips curved into a precious grin as he whispered in your ear: “Thank you for always spoiling me.”

The honey-sweet tone of Belphie’s voice was undercut by a sharp yell from the corner of the room. “I saw that.”

It was Solomon. He stopped shoving his books into his bag to glare at the back of Belphegor’s head. Unfortunately for Solomon, Belphie wasn’t bothered; he simply rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Cool shit, bro.” Belphie replied in a condescending tone and lifted his arm up in the air to flip Solomon off. You watched Solomon’s jaw drop slightly as he physically recoiled. Sometimes Solomon forgot how rude Belphegor could be. It was hard not to laugh, but you really shouldn’t encourage his bad behavior by laughing. “Come on, MC. Let’s go.”

Belphie grabbed your arm and dragged you into the hall. He was attached, and he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon. In fact, he planned to stay glued to your side until his desire for your attention was fully satisfied.

Solomon

The warmth of Solomon’s hands as he caressed your cheek was nothing compared to the warmth of his praise and your own pride swelling in your chest. Solomon hummed, “You did such a good job.”

You had successfully used a heating spell on the first try, evidenced by the warmth in Solomon’s previously cold hands. It had been a while since you got a spell that Solomon taught you perfect right away – let alone one that required you to manipulate another person’s body (and you could worry about the ethical dilemma involved with that later). Neither of you had expected you to raise his body temperature at such an ideal rate and stop at the perfect temperature. Of course, Solomon trusted you not to hurt him, but he was impressed by your control. He wanted to test you further.

“Excellent. Let’s try something similar.” Solomon began to search his shelves for the right ingredients. He continued to talk as he scanned, “I want to see if you can cool down an external object with the same level of control. If you can do it, I’ll reward you.”

“Bring it on,” you accepted. Solomon offered you plenty of praise when you did well, but he so rarely gave you an actual reward for your work. It was exciting to imagine what you could earn. Maybe he would teach you a cool, secret spell or give you a magical item. But more motivating than a reward was the idea of making Solomon proud.

“That’s my apprentice – so eager,” he mused, grabbing a bottle of glowing red liquid.

“Oh, but no home cooking as a reward,” you added, sparing your future self from potential suffering.

Solomon whipped his head around with a pout before returning to his search. He found a beaker and brought everything to his desk. By then, the pout had reshaped itself into a smirk. “I didn’t have cooking in mind when I offered you a reward, so it looks like we have a deal.”

Solomon poured plain water and the glowing red liquid into the beaker. They failed to mix. You asked, “What do I have to do?”

It was simple – or at least that was what Solomon said. All you had to do was cool the contents of the container between 32 to 36 degrees below the freezing point of water. If the red substance dipped under 36 degrees below the freezing point of water, it would become unstable. If you failed, the ice and glass would break open. Solomon didn’t tell you anything about the red substance or what “unstable” meant for it. All you knew was that you had a four-degree margin of error.

“And you’re sure it’s safe?”

“I wouldn’t put my favorite apprentice in danger for a game, would I?”

With that reassurance, you focused your magic into the beaker. As the water slowly solidified, the red liquid became concentrated at the center until it was encased in ice. You just had to keep lowering it until something felt right. You stopped and nodded. Solomon inspected the beaker.

“A beautiful job,” Solomon praised you.

“Really? What did I do though?”

“I’ll tell you once the ice melts,” Solomon waved off your curiosity. “For now, it’s time for your reward. Close your eyes.”

You did as he instructed and listened to him moving about the room. His presence got closer until you could feel his warmth. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, causing your eyes to shoot open and your face to burn. Solomon chuckled at your response.

“I could feel your cheeks getting warm. Did I embarrass you?”

“No. I was just surprised.”

“Really?” Solomon leaned in and kissed your cheek again. “I don’t know. Your face burns under my lips.”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” you retorted. That wasn’t what you were expecting, of course he flustered you.

“Oh? That can’t possibly be true. My adorable apprentice seems to be doing quite well,” Solomon laughed, all too pleased with his successful attempt to tease you. “You learn so quickly. Should we try something even harder? Think you can handle it?”

There was a seductive tint to his words, and you narrowed your eyes at Solomon. “Same shady reward system? Pass.”

“Nope,” Solomon leaned close, trying to entice you. How were you just now noticing how sweet he smelled? Was he wearing perfume or cologne today? You didn’t have time to linger on the thought. Solomon dropped his voice, and through a wicked smirk, he added, “even shadier. If you succeed, I’ll do whatever you ask for a full day.”

“And if I fail?” you asked cautiously.

“I get to punish you.”

(gift version - Beelzebub, Thirteen, Raphael, Mephistopheles)

A/N: These ones got really flirty. . . oh well. Uhm, leave me nice comments or something. I don't know. I feel like I'm forgetting to say something. . .

#requests #gn!mc #mammon #satan #asmodeus #belphegor #solomon #obey me short fic #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #oh and enjoy a new OC. . .don't let me bring him back unless y'all have a teacher kink or something...

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cookybananas · 6 months ago

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Do I Know You? - Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker x Reader {Part. I}

a/n: an alternate universe/timeline!au fic! this is the first part, the second part is in the works!

summary: Where Darth Vader is sent on a mission and finds himself traveling through another timeline and meets another version of you where you aren't dead. part II: Do I Know You? II

"I am going to have a few words with you once I get back Sheev..." Vader thought to himself. His large frame was trapped in a tiny capsule that was rapidly moving downwards onto the surface of Tatooine.

His master had sent him to retrieve the Death Star plans on a rebel ship when all of sudden, the rebels managed to crowd him into this tiny capsule and drop him out of the ship.

There was a faint beeping heard below him. He looked down at his hand and noticed a device strapped on the back of his hand. Those damn rebels. Vader toyed with the device, hoping to shut off the beeping, but the beeping increased and flashed the words on the device:

Coruscant, 20 BBY

"Huh?" He thought to himself once again, what could this possibly mean? The light above him began flashing red. Out of the small window of the capsule, the dark space soon turned into a blue clouded sky. The Sith Lord let out a sign of frustration, how the hell did I get into this position?

The capsule came to an abrupt stop when it had landed on the ground, sending the Sith Lord face forward into the door. Vader groaned to himself. The door slid open, revealing a dark alleyway, similar to the alleyways in the Underworld in Coruscant.

Vader walked out of the capsule, turning around to admire the machine that the rebels had managed to squeeze him in. Interesting... The Sith Lord thought to himself before making his way towards the dimly lit streets of Coruscant.

The people off the streets eyed the tall, towering figure as Vader strolled along the sidewalks of the Underworld.

"Do you want to buy some deathsticks?" A Rodian man said as he approached the tall dark figure with death sticks in his hands. To which Vader took a step back and eyed the man.

"No..." He let out, debating on whether to take the deathsticks or not. This day was already terrible as is with how everything had gone.

"Are you sure? You'll have a great time-" Vader raise his hand, force choking the reptilian humanoid.

"I would rather not you pest. Now, you will go home and rethink your life."

"I-I will to go home and rethink my life." The man nodded up and down. Vader released his grasp, allowing the Rodian to scramble away from him.

There was whispering and murmurs from other onlookers, witnessing what the Sith Lord just did.

"Did he just use the force?"

"You saw that right?

"Do you think he's one of those Jedi?"

The Sith Lord looked around the people who backed away from him. Pathetic, he thought. He needed to find Palpatine and tell him that mission was a failure, the rebels had gotten away, and he was unable to get the plans. Meaning, that there will be a severe punishment waiting for him once he returns to his Master.

Vader walked into the nearest club and approached the Twi'lek bartender, hoping to find a speeder or station to get him out of here.

"Where is there nearest station? I need to get to the Emperor. 5127th level." Vader said to Twi'lek man who had just gotten done serving a drink to a customer.

"Emperor? Where on Hoth did you come from? Do you mean the Chancellor?" The man questioned, throwing his towel over his shoulder.

Vader sat in brief silence, thinking to himself, Chancellor? He could have sworn Sheev didn't go by that name anymore.

"Y-Yes, the Chancellor...Do you know where I can find him." Vader finally let out, after moments of awkward silence.

"Well, you won't have much of chance finding her. She's either too busy in her office or helping the people clear the debris that was left from the Clone Wars ever since the previous Chancellor was killed."

"She...? How strange." Vader said to himself. "And remind me, what is the name of the Chancellor is again?"

"Kriff dude, did your head get smack with a bunch of Ewoks throwin' rocks at it?" The man questioned, now cleaning cups with his towel.

Vader sat in silence again, staring down at the man. Debating on whether he should have killed his man sooner, or wait until he got a response. Luckily, he chose the latter.

"Chancellor Y/N L/N is her name. She was the former Senator of Naboo before she was elected right after Chancellor Palpatine's death. There's rumors that she had a fling with a Jedi Knight, by the name of Anakin Skywalker-"

"Tell me. Where is she." Vader said, his tone revealing his impatience.

"Woah woah, don't you want me to finish telling-"

"Where is the nearest station. I will find her myself." He stated.

"O-okay fine. The nearest station is quite a distance. But we do have this old speeder at the back of-"

Before the bartender could finish, Vader had already made his way out of the club and around to the back to the speeder. Chancellor Y/N? It couldn't be possible. You were dead, but he needed to see it for himself.

"Your Majesty, do you think-"

"Who cares, she has already told you how she felt-"

"Oh I wasn't talking to you-"

The doors of my office slide open, revealing Obi-Wan with a tray that had two cups on it. I smiled at him, to which he returned. But that smile soon turned into concern as he looked over at my two handmaidens who were having a little dispute.

"Are they still fighting about it?" Obi-Wan said, approaching me and handing me a cup of warm tea.

"Yes, yes they are." I responded, sipping and savoring the earthy taste of the tea.

"Chancellor! Chancellor!" A voice from outside my office called. I looked up at Obi-Wan who looked down at me. The doors to my office slid open, revealing Cal?

"Cal? What's the matter?" I said, now standing up from my chair and making my way towards him.

"T-There's. there's someone looking for you. We don't know who o-or what their name is." He breathed out, trying to catch his breath. "I'm just gonna take a seat here." before plopping himself on the loveseat.

"Astra, could you grab Cal a glass of water please?" Both my handmaidens stopped their bickering and turned to look at me.

"Y-yes of course your Majesty." Astra bowed, both handmaidens leaving the three of us in my office. I turned back to Cal with concern.

"Cal, take a moment to catch your breath. Now, what is this you heard of someone needing me?" I asked him, taking a seat next to him on the loveseat, my hand resting on his shoulder.

"Of course Chancellor. There are talks in the Underworld, that there is this dark figure, who I think is a force-user, is looking for you... I don't know if he's from another planet or something, but there's something off about that thing." Cal spoke, still breathless from running to get to my office.

"Thing?" I furrowed my eyebrows at his words. I looked up at Obi-Wan who was standing next to Cal, caressing his beard in thought.

"Well, it could be a droid of some sort. The thing sounds mechanical." Cal continued, gnawing at his lips nervously.

"Interesting Cal, do we perhaps have another other information of the individual?" Obi-Wan inquired.

"N-No Master, but I felt this dark energy from him. Almost as if it was evil, pure evil." Cal responded. He pulled out his holoprojector, showing footage of a tall dark mysterious figure force choking an innocent bystander.

Obi-Wan and I looked at each other before looking back at the hologram.

"He doesn't look like he would be friendly. Perhaps we may need to take action and find what this individual wants to do with you." Obi-Wan said, still stroking his beard. I thought to myself. How strange, what could I have possibly done that I was involved with this individual?

"We may need to tighten up security among the people and the rest of the sovereign powers. I don't want to draw too much attention to this. I already have much going on. Perhaps I'll bring this up to the Jedi council tomorrow morning and see what they think." I said sighing to myself, as I walked over to the large window that overlooked beautiful skies of Coruscant.

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, Cal sat there looking between us.

The skies of Coruscant were pitch black, but littered with stars in the sky. The Sith Lord arrived at the small landing pad with his airspeeder, just outside of a familiar penthouse. The penthouses and apartments in Coruscant were always open air. Since they were high up in the skies, the only way to get in was with an airspeeder or the elevators to the buildings. So it was fairly easy for Vader to walk into your penthouse without needing to break a sweat.

The Sith Lord made his way into the penthouse. The lights of every room were turned off, except for one. Light faintly emitted from a set of closed doors, assuming that was your room, Vader made a beeline towards your bedroom doors.

Even with his ultraviolet and infrared vision, it was still limited to where Vader missed the Jedi that was hidden behind one of the large pillars of the penthouse.

"You're not welcomed here. You are trespassing a politician's home and I advise you to leave this instant." A familiar voice spoke up.

"I will not leave until I see her, the Chancellor." The Sith Lord turned around, but did not see anyone behind him. Vader turned back around only to be met with Obi-Wan with his hand on the hilt of lightsaber.

"M-Master..." Vader let out, only for Obi-Wan to quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Do we know each other?" Obi-Wan responded, his hand still resting upon his saber.

"Master, it's me... Anakin Skywalker." Vader spoke out to his former Master.

"Foolish nonsense, Anakin Skywalker is dead." Obi-Wan stated.

Both the Sith Lord and Master Jedi eyed each other, waiting on who would make the first move. After moments of deafening silence, Vader took off his helmet. Revealing his burnt, scarred face, and yellow Sith eyes. Obi-Wan watch him in disbelief, taking a step back from the Sith.

"Obi? Obi-Wan are you there? Who are you talking to in there?" Your voice was muffled on the other side of your door. Anakin's desperate eyes darted over to Obi-Wan and to your door, hoping he'll say something.

"Y-yes Y/N! No worries, it was just a false alarm! It was just a hawk-bat!" Obi-Wan shouted.

"If you say so Obi. I'm heading to bed now!" You shouted in response. The light emitting from your bedroom doors shut off, leaving the entirety of the penthouse dark and only for the Coruscant moonlight to shine through the large windows.

Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed to himself. "You have some nerve for showing up here. And to say that you are Anakin Skywalker? Ludicrous." He spat at Vader.

part II: Do I Know You? II

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ckret2 · 10 months ago

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You know, after seeing your evil Ford au, I wonder what would happen if evil! Ford, met cannon! Ford. I feel like Cannon! Ford would hate him because he's just an example of what would happen if he haven't learned his lesson on perfection and how it's impossible to reach and how he doesn't need to impress people to be happy. I wonder what evil! Ford would think of his original counter part..would he be a little regretful? Since his cannon counterpart got more happiness than him? It's honestly intriguing to think about.

That's actually part of why I made Evil Ford: I was thinking about a dimension of lost Fords (like the dimension of lost Mabels in Don't Dimension It) and asked myself, which Ford alternate would Canon Ford most hate to meet?

So yeah you're right, Canon Ford would HATE Evil Ford—but not for thematic "you haven't learned the moral lesson about perfection & family" reasons. That's how audiences think about characters, it's not how people think about other people. When's the last time you hated somebody in real life because they missed the point of their own narrative arc—rather than because, say, they're rude to cashiers?

No, the reason Canon Ford hates Evil Ford is much simpler.

Similarly, meeting Canon Ford wouldn't make Evil Ford feel regretful because Evil Ford still thinks he made the right decision. What does he care if Canon Ford is "happier" if he only found contentment by—what—giving up on his high ambitions and settling for being a washed-up burnt-out ex-academic with no memorable achievements to his name? Evil Ford would rather die as a miserable overachiever than live as a peaceful slacker.

And he didn't spend thirty years on a completely different life path from Canon Ford without developing a totally different perspective.

Note: when Canon Ford found out Bill lied about the portal and declared he'd stop Bill no matter what, Evil Ford thinks that's Ford betraying Bill, not the other way around.

Also note: Evil Ford thinks Canon Ford is only motivated by anger over being deceived—not concern for the safety of the whole planet. Like yeah sure, he's HEARD that excuse; but that's what he thinks it is: an excuse. If he'd decided not to forgive Bill, he probably would've used the same excuse himself. A convenient, heroic-sounding moral justification for a thirty year vengence quest—but he doesn't really care that much about who's running the Earth, why would his alternate self?

(And really, Canon Ford? Thirty years? Thirty years?? You never found anything more productive to do with all that time than stalk your former mentor because you're MAD about ONE LIE?? If Canon Ford had said he thought killing Bill would net him more interdimensional fame and praise than he'd ever have as his underling, then Evil Ford could understand THAT—he himself has had misgivings about the fact that he's signed up to spend all eternity playing second banana—but as it is, though...)

Also also note: Evil Ford never reconciled with Fiddleford because he never acknowledged Fidds was "right" about Bill. He spent two-thirds of his life estranged from his brother. He moved across the country from his family. He made no friends in Gravity Falls, and likely no other college friends than Fidds. But he spent over half his life working with, dreaming with, living with Bill Cipher.

Evil Ford is evil; but he's not heartless.

Bill's the muse that gave him the blueprints he needed for his greatest invention and for the culmination of his life's work as a scientist and explorer. Bill's a near-god who hailed Ford as the greatest genius of his century, the man who's going to change the world, and via divine weirdness intervention he personally made sure that prophecy come true. Bill's the guy who—after Ford's embarrassing failure of a portal accident—welcomed Ford into his gang with open arms and the assurance that all his hard work wouldn't be for naught. He's Ford's longest-lasting friendship, his partner in crime and in science and in just about everything else by now, the person he trusts to puppet his body.

Is that a very skewed perspective on Bill? God, yeah. But it's Evil Ford's perspective.

If someone told you that all your suffering is due to the one person you trust most in all the world and the one person outside your family you care about the most—someone you've known for over thirty years—and your life would be so much better if you'd ditched this person the very first time you didn't get along—and that ditching them would have been the moral action—and that, in fact, you should have dedicated your life to killing this person...

Would you regret your life? Would you envy the life of the man who told you all this?

Or would you despise him?

How much more would you despise him if you knew he was you—had lived the same life as you—and that he had killed the most important person in your world?

Oh, Evil Ford resents the hell out of Canon Ford. Who are you—you slacker, you betrayer—to say you're "happier" than your counterpart? How do you deserve that "happy" ending? How is that fair?

Evil Ford only has one regret: not locking up his entire family before Weirdmageddon, where they'd all be safe... and where Bill would be safe from them.

#stanford pines #grunkle ford #gravity falls #evil ford au #fanart #my art #(I made these pictures much tinier than i usually draw to ensure they'd actually upload lmao)

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fivelasanctum · 1 month ago

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Let The World Burn

Five was willing to let the world burn for more prolonged time with Lila. Showed how deeply he was in love with her. Hiding away from the world to be with her and nobody else. That she was enough. Around season three's climax he was already becoming settled in the mindset to let go of trying to save the world. The chaotic struggle is an addiction. Yet after 6 years of going without his chaotic fix with the added temptation to spend time with his best friend (Kemosabe)...he did easily agree. Believe Lila represented temptation to fall back into his 'chaos junkie' issue yet also serving as the temptation of caring about her. Making him backslide with his control and burying his feelings. Even with the aim to save the world, solve the cleanse issue, once lost in the subway his love overpowers that need to fix everyone's problems, including time and the world. Being just a man and embracing the romantic he has always been. Just secretly concealed outside of his time with Dolores. Realizing both he and Lila could afford to be selfish given their situation.

Here Five is hopeful he won't be pulled into another apocalyptic event he would have to struggle to remedy. Even though Lila made the choice to return to her kids (Not exactly Diego) I think their was that hope that they could still be together in reality and not just in their space outside of time. Without the overbearing weight of the cleanse. His family doing something without him for a change.

We know how that turns out. Messy misunderstandings, stress from the chaos of the personal and cosmic issues transpiring. Thinking Lila made her choice made retreat to the subway. Not caring about the world. Saving his family because Lila had become his world. Song's lyrics put it best: "Dead to the world"

Anti Fivela fans had made the argument over how he wasn't in character. He was determined to save the world and his family for 40 years and how this five would never do what he has done in Season 4. I vehemently disagree. As Viktor said, he was old and tired. His rough, long life has beaten him down to the point of him being more numb and aimless at the start of season 4. He wanted retirement desperately even before that. Add to that, in 7 years his love for lila was enough to overpower his previous responsibilities. Technically known her for close to 13 years. Shows the intensity of his feelings for her despite it not be 40 + years to be what's most important to him. More than the world. When his heart was broken he retreated to the subway. Knowing what he was signing up for. Solitude in apocalypse worlds. Just like how he started. Where he formed his psychological scars and ptsd. Only worse since Five seems to feel deeper than other characters despite the walls and masks he projects. Succumbed to despair. For all we knew, he may have been suicidal since he maybe lacks the energy to keep fighting. He made it through again when stuck in the subway most likely because Lila was there with him.

Makes sense his psychological mindset with wanting a solution to fix the world so they all could live, yet hearing all his alternate selves struggle to fight and try to accomplish the goal resulting in failure...coupled with his broken heart made it easier to give in. Dying alone or together...wasn't a prospect that Five was eager for but their was a certain tragic beauty to him realizing they wouldn't die alone even as the world was ending and burning.

While I was making screen captures noticed extra glances they share with each other. Not just in their final moment but leading up to it. Thought it was significant that lila had her gaze locked on him while he was talking and then that same side glance turned more heartbreaking as she revealed her love in her eyes. Letting her sadness show with her tears, much like how she only felt comfortable breaking down with Five in the subway minutes before. Then the last moment when five shows his sorrow and love in his eyes I thought I noticed his mouth move subtly in a ghost of a near smile in acknowledgement and possibly comfort with her holding his hand and understanding the love that was left unspoken.

#fivela #five x lila #live #fila #five/lila #shipping essay

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bonny-kookoo · 8 months ago

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Jungkook

𝐎𝐟𝐟-𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 | 10-24

"We're partners."

Tags/Warnings: Police Officer!Jungkook, Dog Hybrid!Reader, Partners to lovers?, Alternate law-system/made up laws, crime, futuristic, sci-fi, body-modifications?, Fluff, romance, angst, medical themes, injuries

Length: 4.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

A/N: the fic was supposed to end with thispart, as there seemed to be no more interest for it, but I decided against it haha

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You know your fate the moment you wake up.

From the apologetic looks of nurses to the sighs then leading doctor keeps making as he checks your reflexes- or lack thereof- you know that you’re done for. How will your life change? Will the carecenter at least be nice to you? How will you adapt?

Is Jungkook going to at least say goodbye to you?

You kind of.. Exist for an entire week in the hospital, not really interested in anything as they prepare you for your next surgery. Bodymods- Paid for by the government due to your outstanding work in the police force. It’s normal, a regular thing, you’ve heard about it all the time and you know somewhat that Jungkook was covered by the same program as you are right now- but Jungkook had had time to adjust. Hybrids, as far as you know, don’t get that time.

Because they take much longer to figure things out.

When you wake up after your surgery, you’re yet again alone. You see no familiar faces, only the nurses who keep trying to cheer you up, and you honestly feel bad for not reciprocating at least a smile every now and then. You feel horrible. Like a failure.

What’s going to happen to you?

It’s the day after your surgery, that something happens. Someone enters your room, and you believe it might be someone who’s been working with Jungkook recently due to his faint scent, maybe having been sent to give you some important notice or something- but when you turn around to look at who’s closing the door, bags rustling in his hand, you’re surprised to find Jungkook himself here.

“I’m sorry I only came now.” He apologizes quietly, putting the plastic bag down before he lets another black backpack slip from his shoulder down to the floor next to your bag. “There was.. Some stuff I had to take care of.” He says, and you nod, quietly.

Of course. He’s got to find a new hybrid now, after all.

“How are you?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed near your legs, watching you. He looks tired- more exhausted than you are right now, clear fatigue on his face as he waits for an answer. You shrug, because that’s all you can offer. You’re physically doing good, surprisingly so according to the doctor who’s overseeing your condition, but mentally, you’re not sure. “You’ll be okay.” Jungkook offers, a hand on your leg feeling weird. You know its there, but its still an odd sensation.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You stare at his hand on your leg, limbs tucked away beneath the blanket you’re sleeping under most of the time. “When will they pick me up?” You ask, and he frowns a bit, obvious sign of confusion on his side, before he realizes what you might be asking about. He shakes his head.

“They won’t.” He denies. “We’re partners, remember?” He offers, and you can’t help but feel your throat clog up and eyes sting as they fill with tears, forcing you to look away.

And then, he moves, gets up before he leans over the bed- hugging you close.

“We’re partners.” He whispers to you, while you can’t help but begin to cry- both in relief and also because he finally makes you feel safe enough to let it all out. “and we’ll stay partners.” He reassures you, hands softly holding you.

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It turns out that the reason Jungkook didn’t visit you for this long, was because he really did have to take care of stuff. That ‘stuff’ not actually being just finding a good place for your physical rehabilitation, but also adjusting his home so you can still somewhat move around freely. Everything is suddenly a lot more.. Open almost, not disconnected from you anymore. It feels like you’re actually supposed to live with him from now on, and not just alongside him any longer.

It’s odd.

Jungkook’s request for official ownership has been sent out despite the fact that he’s technically not yet eligible for it due to you both not having worked together for enough time. But he’s found a potential loophole, has made use of the fact that you got injured on duty and that he himself has to resign soon anyways- so with a bit of luck, and his good writing skills that described your situation and dedication towards your job in the past, he might just get it approved.

He hopes he will. He can’t imagine letting you go.

You’re on heavy medication, similar to how he used to be years ago when he got himself injured enough to require such a surgery. But bringing you back home into a familiar environment surely helped your sleep- your body knocked out on the couch with your legs close to his own. He’s watching TV when he notices them twitching while you dream- nerves still confused and healing as they adjust to the changes and new situation.

He’ll be there every step of the way- figuratively and literally.

Everyone wants to visit you- even Yoongi- but that’s too soon yet. Jungkook fears that it might overwhelm you to have people roaming around already, and also, he kind of wants to be selfish just for a little bit, and use this time to be for you who he’d wanted to be for so long. Not just a coworker- but a friend.

Because you deserve it.

His hand carefully help you turn onto your other side when you wake up itching to move into a new position to nap, and this time, you put your legs over his lap just to see what might happen. And he lets you, accepts them, even makes sure to try and comfort you when they begin to hurt a little later in the day. He doesn’t know if he will get the papers approved, but he also knows he’ll fight for it- so there’s no reason to keep you at an arm’s length anymore.

He can let you in.

Suddenly, you want to move again, whining for him to help once more as he makes sure not to cause you any harm as he helps you adjust your position once more. And as soon as he sits down again, a pillow of yours is slapped onto his lap, boldly so, before you pull yourself even closer, laying your head on his thighs. He’s got no choice but to lay one of his arms over your shoulder now, and you receive it well- even holding onto his hand in your sleep now, as he turns down the volume of the TV just a tad bit more so you can sleep better.

This is heaven to you.

This is who you would’ve loved to be- if your tail was working properly it would be wagging at a constant, heart warm at the way he finally offers so much gentle affection. You love your job- but you also love the idea of this maybe potentially being your future. Just a normal hybrid, nothing to fear, and nothing outstanding to expect from.

Just a normal life.

You turn around somewhat by yourself this time with some help of his to guide your legs, face now hidden in the soft fabric of his sweater, hands still holding his.

And he lets you.

Because, He honestly doesn’t want to let go either.

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Jungkook enjoys life like this- though he could most certainly do without you in a state of hurt and discomfort. The brace you wear currently for both your pelvis injuries and your new mods, so that they can heal properly and that the movement and possible disturbances are reduced to a minimum clearly limits your movement and makes you feel stiff- but its there to make sure you heal properly. You’re fidgety with it, and he knows you’re clearly not comfortable- but it’s necessary.

He’s trying hard to both distract you from it, and help you adjust to your new situation.

“See? You’ll get to swim a lot there.” He tells you, currently showing you the website of the rehabilitation place he chose. “I’ll be there too if you’d like. There’s trained people there too but-”

“I want you to!” You burst out, turning your head to look at him. “I’d.. Like if you’d go there with me.” You say more quiet now, noticing that he might not actually want that. What if he simply feels bad you got injured on a job with him? You never thought of this all potentially just being a fruit from his guilt and nothing more.

But be smiles, and nods, and maybe that’s enough for now.

“Listen..” He starts, closing the tab of the website for now to do something surprising- a gentle hug from where he’s got you sat on his lap, arms around you and chin on your shoulder, careful not to cause you any pain. “..even if it get’s declined, I’ll fight.” He says.

“Fight for what?” You wonder, and he’s quiet for a second, before he speaks again.

“Fight to stay at your side.” He mumbles. “They’re not taking you away from me like that. I know you want to stay, and you should have the right to do so no matter what.” He sighs.

“jungkook..” you start, unsure what to really say. He’s right that you want to stay with him, but does he know why? Your reasoning might not be what he thinks, considering he never really gave you any hint as to how he feels about you. You’ve got a crush on him basically- wouldn’t that make living here together make it unbearable for him? “I’m scared.” You admit.

He turns towards you right away.

“of what?” He worries, not sure what your problem is. Maybe the incident had left you with some more psychological trauma as well?

“..the future.” You say. “I don’t.. I don’t know if living here is such a good idea.” You tell him, and at that he becomes a bit nervous. You don’t know he has some deeper feelings for you. He’s kept it quite secret from you after all- so you don’t know. Right?

“What do you mean?” He asks back, eye contact not as strong as before.

“I don’t think I can.. What if you want to live with someone?” You ask, shrugging. “What if you.. Find someone you like, then what?” You worry.

“I won’t ever like someone as much as you.” He simply sighs, a bit relieved and hopeful he’s interpreting your words correctly. And from the way you look at him full of wonder, he knows he is- which makes him visibly relax now as he watches you. “I think.. As weird as it might sound..” He starts, shrugging as he helps you adjust your position a little, making sure your brace is still properly placed. “I always believed that we meet people for a reason. That I.. that we always got the jobs we did for a reason.” He explains. “From the little girl we found when she ran off a few years back, the veteran we made sure was safe when he was having a flashback, or even that last one.” He sighs. “I think, just maybe, things happen for a reason.”

“I like the idea of that.” You say, leaning into him to rest your head against his shoulder. “It sounds better than.. Having to accept that people are sometimes just plain evil.” You say, and he can pretty much feel you not only physically leaning into him-

But emotionally as well, as you relax in his hold.

“Hey, kook?” You wonder quietly, and hems his answer to you. “can you leave your.. room open, maybe?” You ask, and he nods.

“Of course.” He tells you. “I can also.. sleep in the living room. So you can see me when you keep your room door open- just in case you need something.” He offers, but you fidgety again.

“I kind of.. it’s not for that.” You deny. “just.. if we live together now.. “ you mumble, unsure how to say it, before you take a deep breath and rush it out before you can chicken out again. “I don’t wanna sleep alone anymore!” You say, eyes closed as you wait for the inevitable.

But instead, he just hugs you again, and softly laughs.

“Alright.” He simply agrees. “You could.. also just sleep in my room. My bed is big enough, after all.” He offers, and you turn around to look at him.

“wait- really?” You ask, and he nods.

“Really.” He nods, and at that, you both notice something remarkable happening.

Because despite everything you’ve both been told, and even though it’s very uncoordinated and weak-

Your tail starts to wag again.

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Despite Jungkook not getting proper rest due to you turning and waking up so much during the night, he still enjoys having you so close these days.

You often wake up sore or with pins and needles in your leg- most of the time just one, but sometimes, like tonight, it’s both. He’s tired, but he pushes through that as he helps you get through those tough episodes of your healing process, having given you your medication, before he began running his fingers and hands over your legs like he’s been taught at the hospital to help circulation.

He’s yawning, and so are you just seconds later. It’s a hard time for both of you- but you’ve got each other, and that makes it a lot more manageable.

And right now, after you’ve caught up on some of the lost sleep with a good nap on the couch in the living room, you’re floating in water with Jungkook holding your shoulders so your head doesn’t accidentally dip beneath the surface. He’s listening to the instructor while you do the same, moving your legs a lot more easily this way, as you work up your strength again with the aid of the pool you’re in. And, in a way, it’s also partially a good way to bond with Jungkook- at least in a more personal way compared to before. And you know that it’s more than just friendship- he’s clear in that department, just simply moving it slow, most likely until he knows if he can live with you permanently or not.

Which makes sense. He probably doesn’t want to make you feel worse than you have to if he doesn’t get it approved after all.

Still, you let yourself enjoy this made up dream for as long as it lasts. “You’re adapting a lot faster than other hybrids.” The instructor comments, watching how you kick the water the way he told you to- not very strongly, and a little uncoordinated, but there’s clear control over your legs. “I’m very sure you’ll be just fine by the end of the year.” He says, making you proudly look up at Jungkook, who smiles encouragingly.

You can take as much time as you need- he doesn’t mind one bit.

“I saw you had mods as well?” He asks Jungkook, who nods. “that’s good. A lot of the things you went through will most likely help her too in her recovery.” He informs him, and Jungkook smiles down towards you. “But it’s a good sign that she’s in such high spirit. Usually, hybrids tend to become very shut off and withdrawn, especially former police hybrids. It’s good that she’s got emotional support as well.” He comments, making your tail wag again beneath the water surface.

“well, she deserves it all.” He says, looking down at you with a fond smile-

And you feel like he really means it.

Later, you’re both stopping at a park just to unwind, but you don’t want to really get out of the car at all. The sight of all the people playing around, children running, hybrids having fun, just makes you feel way too melancholic. You’ll most likely never have this again. You’ll never be able to run like that ever again, no matter how hard you try. From now on, you’ll always have to be careful, always have to keep in mind not to overdo it, always have to make sure you’re not pushing any limits you now have.

Jungkook sighs. He’s most likely at a loss on what to do as well- and even if he was to ask you, you’re not sure if you could even tell him what could make you feel better.

“Here.” He suddenly says, catching your attention again as you’re sitting in the open trunk with him, watching the people at the park before you look at the phone he’s showing you. His phone- and there’s a video playing.

It’s him- he has a bit less tattoos clearly, and his hair is a lot longer, pulled back into a tiny little ponytail while he’s holding onto two bars set up at the sides. He’s unsteady, a lot of medical tape covering his back and neck, while he holds onto the bars for dear life, taking step after step in a hardly coordinated way. He’s concentrated, clearly.

“It took me months to take those steps.” Jungkook explains, swiping away into his gallery again to find other videos and images he shows you. “And at first, I really thought ‘that’s it’. I believed I’d have to just resign and accept the fact that I’m going to have to rely on help for the rest of my life.” He tells you, letting you scroll through the videos yourself. “But I got back up. It just took a little time.” He tells you.

“But that was you.” You disagree, giving him his phone back. “What if I can’t do that?” You worry, and he just reaches over to pull you into his side, running his hand up and down your arm in comfort.

“Then I’ll carry you anywhere you want to go.” He reassures you. “I’ll be your legs.”

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“Is there a reason you’re carrying her around?” Seokjin asks, watching you sit in the middle of the police headquarter’s training grounds, while Yoongi plays simple tug-of-war with you. Everyone can see that while he doesn’t outright show it, he is a lot gentler than he would usually be.

“She hates the wheelchair.” Jungkook sighs, sitting at the sidelines with his coworker. “And she’s still too weak to use crutches. So I carry her.” He shrugs, making Jin nod.

“Will she even ever walk again?” Taehyung curiously asks, not even aware that the question could hit a nerve for Jungkook- though he takes it lightly.

“She will.” Jungkook says with a final tone to it, shutting every different thought about the situation down. And he also makes it clear that he doesn’t allow any other opinion about it- or at least doesn’t want to hear it. He knows there’s a possibility you might not recover as well as he did, after all, hybrids tend to statistically have a harder time adapting to modifications than humans do. But Jungkook believes in you.

He knows if he doesn’t, you will stop believing in yourself as well.

He hears his name being called instantly and gets up even faster, as if his body reacts earlier than his brain can comprehend what he heard, walking towards you who’s still sitting in the grass outside. “She’s tired.” Yoongi chuckles from the side, leaving the toy in your lap as you hold onto the long bunny.

“I’m not.” You defend yourself. “But I.. do wanna go home for now.” You say, and Jungkook nods.

“Alright then. Up you go.” He jokes, as he positions himself in front of you for you to climb onto his back, so he can carry you out of the building and back into the car that you both take to drive back home. Only once you’re back in your bed is when you finally reveal to Jungkook why exactly you wanted to go home so suddenly.

“..can you maybe give me one of those painkillers?” You wonder quietly, and Jungkook nods, fetching your medication for you together with a bottle of water.

“I had them with me, you know?” He says as you take them, clearly in pain by now from the way you seem so stiff in your movements. “It’s not bad at all to admit when you’re hurting.”

“I know..” You mumble defeated. “I didn’t want Yoongi to feel bad or something. I had fun.” You say, and Jungkook smiles.

“I’m glad you did. But don’t overdo it.” He teasingly scolds, putting your water to the side for now. “You wanna nap alone, or should I stay?” He asks, and you look up at him hopefully. “Alright alright.” He laughs, easily able to interpret your subtle body language into proper answers by now. You instantly cling to him, bolder than ever before, and he’s a little suspicious about it. “You’re pretty cuddly today.” He comments, and you nod.

“Shouldn’t I be?” You wonder. “Do you not like that?” You ask, and he immediately denies that claim right away.

“No, I love it. It’s just sudden, that’s all.” He shrugs off, helping you adjust your position a little to lay even closer to him.

“I just don’t want to.. waste time. You know. If we do end up being unable to live together.” You mumble into his chest. “I don’t want to.. have to regret not using my time with you good enough, you know?” You explain, and he nods.

He understands this. After all, your words hold a lot of true meaning in them.

But for now, you both can pretend. That nothing is wrong, that you’re just two people, that you have all the time in the world.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

“I came as fast as I could. What’s wrong?” Jungkook worries, having left you at your physical therapy place for now when he’d gotten the text from Seokjin, who made sure to emphasize how urgently jungkook was needed.

“You might want to read this.” Seokjin says, handing him a letter that the younger officer opens to unfold it, and read what it’s about.

He has to sit down.

Letting it all sink in, Jungkook just sits in silence for a good moment, as he sets the letter down on the small plastic table that he sits at. “Yoongi is actually pretty upset over it.” Seokjin admits. “That’s why he’s not here today. He just doesn’t want to hear any of it.”

Yoongi has had a bit of a tough time bonding with you at first, as far as Jungkook knows. Yet over the course of time, you two had bonded very closely, like two pups of the same litter so to speak. He’d watched over you, had always made sure you’d feel included and valued even when you struggled at first to really find your place. And when you were paired with Jungkook, and that whole fiasco went down, Yoongi had been there too- to make sure you know that everything’s going to be alright.

And now, that all ends. Not right away- but it will.

Later, as he brings you home, he’s not sure how to really break those news to you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it, what you think about it- but he also knows that you’re already aware that something’s off about his behaviour. You’ve been trained to sniff out such things after all.

And you’ve always been damn good at your job.

You finished eating your dinner, when Jungkook presents the letter to you- having you read it, and make up your own mind about the contents of it. “I don’t.. Really understand.” You admit, giving the letter back to him. “What does that mean?” You ask with worry- which he understands fully. It is also worded quite complicated, so he doesn’t blame you for having trouble interpreting it all.

“Remember how I filed in for official ownership?” He asks, and you nod. “Well, it neither got denied, nor approved, basically.” At that, you tilt your head a little, confused. “Once you’re rehabilitated enough to return to basic service, we will basically resume our jobs until I fulfilled my time before retirement.” He explains, as you listen. “And then, they’ll transfer me to you, basically.”

“So, right now, I’m still belonging to the.. Police?” You wonder, still not quite getting it.

“No. Right now, you’re fully under my care, until you’re healed enough to get back to work. At least for regular patrol.” He tries again to make it even simpler to understand. “Once you do, we both resume work, until I have fulfilled enough time to retire since my mods prevent me from continuing service.” Jungkook says. “Right now, we’re basically on pause. Once we’re back in service, we work together until I retire together with you. And you’re automatically transferred under my name.”

“So.. Right now, we’re just.. Making sure I heal, and then we just get back to work? Until we both retire again in a year?” You ask, and he laughs, nodding.

“Essentially, yeah. It’s pretty complicated, but I guess it’s protocol.” He laughs.

“But that means.. We can’t be together anymore. Until we retire.” You worry.

“Not really. We can still be together, openly, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our work. You’ll have to take a test basically, and when you pass it, we’re good to go.” He explains.

“So.. I’m not useless?” You ask, and Jungkook’s face instantly falls.

“What? You were never useless, what do you mean?” He worries, pulling you closer to hug you. “What made you think that?”

“Because I can’t even walk right now. I can’t do anything.” You huff, clearly still upset with yourself.

“You can. And you’ll get better soon, promise.” He says. “They already praise you for your quick progress. They don’t just lie and say that to everyone, trust me!” He reassures you, while you cling closer to him. “For now, lets just enjoy the time we have. This isn’t a final decision yet, so there might even be a chance they decide otherwise and just let go of the year missing entirely.” He tells you, as you sigh.

“But we’ll stay together?” You ask, and he nods, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours with a smile.

“We’ll stay together.” He tells you.

“We’re partners after all.”

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts jungkook fanfic

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thegnomelord · 1 year ago

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what if reader worried about speaking around the 141 boys because he worries what if his voice alone is too overwhelming for simple human minds to grasp and the sound of it alone could accidentally melt their brains into mush? Being finally comfortable to say a few words around them but still being hyper-aware of keeping his voice and all aspects of his form under control so nobody gets hurt.

Okay the absolute angst you could come up with this is astounding anon but also I'm in the need of fluff after a depression inducing exam sooo;

Imagine Calling Their Name For The First Time

CW:SFW, Fluff, Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost x Eldritch reader (separate) slight hurt/comfort with Price, each part is roughly 600-700 words.

Imagine GAZ — As a cat, your presence used to help him sleep calmly on nights when his mind was hell bent on reminding him of his failures. Petting your belly or scratching down your spine while you laid on his chest gave his hands a mindless task he could succeed in, the sensation of your fur on his fingers just enough to keep him lucid and grounded when it felt like his bed wanted to swallow him whole. But now that you've revealed your true nature... things have changed.

He was the first one on the taskforce to trust you again; but make no mistake, it still took him months to stop jumping at shadows in the corners of his eyes. He still touches you, but it's different. Now his touches are contained to a pat on your shoulder or a small scritch under your chin when he thinks no-one's looking.

Even in the body of a cat you'd been silent as the grave, so he knows better than to force you to speak. Hell, he even offers an alternative after he sees how you struggle to express your thoughts through paper and pen: Sign language

It's a joint effort as he doesn't know it either, but you can't be mad at him when he giggles so sweetly every time your uncouth hands sign something ridiculous. It's hard to move your fingers with finesse when you've forced yourself in such a limited body and it translates to your language with it ending up bastardized and warped when compared to the real thing just as you are to reality itself.

On a night when his mind has run him ragged and chased away any hope of sleep, you find him on the roof of the base. He's easy to track when millions of your eyes dot the night sky; though you may be a god, you are so small you escape his notice as a storm of thoughts clouds his bloodshot eyes, not even the blanket you drape over his shoulders gets a reaction.

So like a young fool, you try something else.

Just like your sign language, just like you, the sounds escaping your throat are a distorted mockery of the real thing. What should be clean notes come out filled with whistles and chirps and the whispers of a million dead sacrificed to you over the millennia, each one speaking a fraction of a second out of sync to form a low and warbled "Kyle."

His name comes out like tar and sticks to the fabric of all that is, the air around you vibrating. He deserves far more than this, but it's the most human you can make yourself sound.

His head snaps to look at you, mouth agape and wetness around the corners of his eyes. For a second your nonexistent heart shreds itself into pieces thinking you'd broken him and you're ready to disappear into the blackness you crawled out of in an attempt not to harm him further; his hand stops you, pulls you by the front of your clothes so his sturdy hands can wrap around your body.

"Took your sweet time." He whispers so quietly even you need to strain your ears, burying his head into your shoulder. His rapid heart drums so hard against his ribs like it's trying to leap into your cold chest, and for a moment you can almost believe you have one of your own.

Against your better judgement you open your mouth again, speaking in just as quiet a voice as him, yet it still shakes every bone in his body. "You broken?"

He hugs you tighter. "Nah." Gaz gives a weak chuckle, squeezes his arms to check if you hadn't disappeared; that you're more solid than the dead men in his nightmares. "Keep talking to me, please? Say my name again, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

Imagine PRICE — At first, he doesn't know what to do with you.

Finding out the cat Soap and Gaz had begged his ear off into getting is actually some unspeakable god is one thing. Realizing he'd been letting said god use his tits pecs as stress balls and nap on them is a whole 'nother can of worms. Having to chastise a damn god about what is and isn't appropriate, let alone why trying to burry your head into his pecs in front of recruits isn't, is just down bizarre.

But he still treats you like any other soldier in need of guidance, he gives you structure despite the fact you, by definition, are structureless. He's strange like that, perhaps due to age, perhaps due to his asinine stubbornness, but he's a little more resistant to your existence than most. This lets him sit you down every week on the same day and try coaching simple words like 'yes' and 'no' and 'here' out of your throat, wearing ear muffs more for your sake of mind than protection.

Granted, you're as bullheaded as you are old, so most days he ends up talking with himself. But he considers it a small victory every time he manages to pull a word out of you.

Then your hubris makes a mission go to shit, because while you may be immortal in your human disguise, the three bullets in Price's chest that nearly kill him can attest he isn't.

Humans often speak of a god's wrath and they are right; you make a blackened hole out of the enemy base when you find him bleeding out, steel and stone bent into obtrude ways to ensure it may never be restored. You are lucky he's too exhausted to see parts of you burst out of your human back, tentacles of liquid abyss reaching through solid walls to grab the enemies and pull them down into the waiting jaws of nothingness. Not even a bug can save them from being erased from existence like they're drawings on a paper sheet...

But they hardly speak of a god's sorrow; you stay by his bedside while he sleeps, every inch of every surface of the room dotted by your eyes so you can make sure his chest continues to rise and fall in an even tempo, bearing your teeth at Death until it scampers off.

But it's still not enough with how regret claws at you, so you lean over to cover his body with your own, mindful of his sutures as you bury your head into his chest and let out all the words clogging your throat.

It's the tremble of his bones that finally wakes him, his eyes fluttering open to be met with a sea of maddening eyes across the ceiling staring back at him. But with exhaustion clouding his mind the incomprehensibility of the sight simply washes over and past him like a small wave, not even tickling his brain.

But your voice gains his attention, the soft saccharine croon in your voice, the little crackle of lightning in the bleakness behind each syllable vibrates every rib in his chest as you mutter something into his skin, like you're trying to pass a secret to his heart without him hearing it.

"Now what's that, Mittens?" He calls you the name he used when you were a cat, raising a hand to ruffle your hair. Your body hovers over his, enough to feel you against him but not enough to crush him. "Speak up, c'mon, ain't going to hurt."

You raise your head to look at him, his eyes are too blurred to see the gateways to oblivion yours have become, little drops of starry tears bleeding from the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for getting you hurt." You speak before you can even remember you shouldn't, "I'm sorry John."

He just chuckles as much as the stitches will let him. "Well look a' you." He slurs and kneads the muscles at the nape of your neck, hand trailing down to hook his fingers over the harsh edge where your back is still hollowed out like a rotten tree until he can feel solid nothingness press against his skin. "Only took me nearly dyin' for you to finally talking in full sentences." He draws in a sharp breath and pulls you by your back so you're splayed out on top of him fully. "Go on, purr for me some more."

So long as he forgives you, you'll speak until the whole world's gone deaf.

Imagine GHOST— Ghost is the most vary of you after you reveal what you are, he still is in a way. You can feel his eyes on you whenever you two share a space as if he's just waiting for you to drop the charade and turn monstrous, but at the very least his fingers don't twitch for the trigger of a gun each time you draw close.

He doesn't force you to speak, not when he's not much of a talker himself. A simple grunt or a shift of the eyes is all it takes for you to understand him and vice versa, he even learns a few simple words in sign language, though he doesn't acknowledge it when Soap calls him out for growing soft on you.

Because your control of your human body is amateurish at best, he pulls you into sparring frequently. Of course he won't admit that he likes the power trip he gets when he pins you down, even if he does mock your godhood in his deep baritone that makes something new churn in your stomach. And he pins you down frequently, your superior strength of little use when he knows better techniques.

Somehow, this time you manage to knock him down on his arse with only a little cheating on your part. He stares back at you and you grin down at him to the best of your ability, not quite right but close enough, and with a happy glow in your eyes you let out a short and quiet "I win." without even noticing, the air around you vibrating with the laughter of reality.

You freeze and it feels like the cold oblivion in your veins turns to ice, and Ghost uses that distraction to grip your shoulders and roll you over so he's on top of you. But this time something feels different; you can't read his mind like you do communicating with your kin, but you see the tenseness in his muscles, the stiffness in his shoulders, the dark look in his eyes like he's on a mission.

"I win." He growls, pushing all of his weight down to pin your shoulder on the ground despite you not struggling as he rests his hand on your throat with his fingers on your silent pulse points. "Now, say my name." He orders. "Go on, sing fer me."

You swallow and feel the tightness in your throat from the resistance of his hand. It's funny; he is like a fly to you, yet you're the one who feels small. "Ghost?" You warble out with just enough intonation to phrase it as a question, something echoing in the silence behind your voice like the crackle of flame and the snapping of old bones.

A shiver races down his spine as he feels the you wiggle and shift beneath your human suit, pushing against his hand as if to caress him through the thin separation of skin. It makes something hot burn in his chest, something primal demanding to feel this supposed god trapped beneath him; to taste twisted divinity and maddening oblivion.

"No, not that one." He growls, lifts his mask just up to the bridge of his nose and then leans down so his eyes are level with yours. "Say my name." His order is clear even as he mumbles it against your cold lips.

You breathe in his scent, the edges of your form rippling in and out like fog or a glitching computer in a desperate attempt to hold on to your body. You tilt your head so your lips brush against his, suddenly short of breath despite the fact you don't need to breathe. "Simon." You whisper and you can taste heat on your tongue with each letter, the ground beneath you shuddering.

You feel him smirk. "Much bettah." Then the hand on your throat is tilting your head up further and his lips descend on yours. Distantly you can feel a bit of your oblivion seep from the pores of your skin, dark abyss clutching him tightly as the sweet taste— of heat, of life, of Simon —steals your ability to think.

You suffer a thousand deaths when he pulls away, the air turning heavy like cement. A low warbled whine escapes your throat and Ghost just chuckles. "Say it again."

You do, you do it as many times as he asks, each word rewarded with a kiss that leaves your eternal mind blank like paper.

Imagine SOAP — You think he's gone mad when he's more bummed out about losing a cat than learning you're actually a creature beyond human comprehension that can destroy him with a blink. If anything, it's like he sees no difference between human 'you' and cat 'you'.

He's touchy and tactile, his fingers always lingering on your cold skin like he's trying to pass the warmth of life into you; his hand ruffling your hair after a job well done, his fingers feeling up your bicep when you work out, the little tap tap tap on your side when you and him cross paths in the hall, his possessive grip on your hip whenever some recruit gets too close to you.

And all the while he's yapping for the two of you, talking with you as if you'll answer only to continue speaking about some other topic a second after you remain silent. You let him because the sensation of his touch and the sound of his voice outweighs the annoyance you feel when he tries to pry words from your mouth.

Even after witnessing first hand what you can do, how reality pours through your fingers like wet sand, he's arrogant to think he can withstand what you are. He's worse when he's drunk, booze loosens the chains on his tongue and inhibitions and makes your Icarus to jump into your lap when you're reading.

"Now what's thaet for?" He slurs as he knocks the book out of your hand, "Thought yea was some all knowing dobber." He nearly makes you topple over when he winds his arms around your neck and pulls your head down until your noses touch, the scent of booze washing over your face.

He hopes to get a reaction out of you- even elephants swat away flies when they buzz in their ears long enough -maybe a curse or a harsh 'MacTavish' with how many mannerisms you've picked up from them; the only thing that makes it's way out of your hollow throat is a small hum of surprise, ringing like the inside of a dead planet and scrapping against his ears like an iceberg on the ocean floor.

Soap gives you an indignant huff like you've offended him, shifting in your lap until his knees are on either side of your hips, thick thighs caging you in on the couch as if something without true form can be contained. "What's thaet s'posed tae mean?" He tries to lean in but overshoots, bonking your foreheads together before nuzzling his nose into your hair. Under the veneer of standard issue bodywash and cologne he can smell something exclusively you, like the heat of a dying star and the cold of the void you spawned from.

You furrow your brows, worry gnawing on your stomach. You know alcohol is poisonous to men though you've seen them drink plenty of it, and Johnny is more out of it than usual. "You are drunk." Each letter crackles though the air like firecrackers, his hair standing on end as your words are warped by an accent of a language so ancient the earth is too young to know it.

"Nea I'm not." His brain is so drowned in booze your voice barely gets pop rocks to fizzle in his ears, but he wiggles his hips like a tempter and when you don't catch the hint he grabs your hands and places them on the curve of his arse. "'M nae as think as ye drunk ah am." He whines, pulling back to look at you with wide blown pupils before he grinds his hips down into your lap.

His name flies so fast out of your mouth it nearly sucks the air out of the room, "Johnny." the lights overhead flicker, your traitorous hands gripping his rear tightly. Your voice continues to echo after you've closed your mouth, each letter creating little pockets of nothingness in the space you share for a second before reality can fill them back up.

"That ah am." He grins like a child and bonks your heads together, placing a wet kiss on your cheek seconds before he passes out on top of you. You sigh and recline back into the couch, letting him use your shoulder as a pillow while he snores like a pig.

And, perhaps, you let yourself whisper his name a few more times...

#Gnome's Imagines #Eldritch reader #cod mw2 #x reader #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x male reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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rumriverautos · 1 year ago

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Wondering what is the lifespan of a car starter? Ask your auto mechanic for advice on how to maintain alternators and Auto electric problems.

#what is the lifespan of a car starter #auto electric princeton mn #auto electrical repair princeton mn #car starters princeton mn #alternators princeton mn #car starters shop near me #how to tell if your car starter is bad #signs of alternator not working #what happens when a starter goes out #how do you know if you have a bad starter #what are the signs of alternator failure #how often do car starters need to be replaced

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seeingivy · 2 years ago

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family rules (alternate version)

satoru gojo x f!reader

in which you’re the one who gets in the accident this time, not satoru and megumi

**read the other ones here

content warning: car accident, mentions of glass and blood, reader in pain satoru says daddy, megumi wants you to break satoru’s neck

an: for all my very lovely family rules fans, this is the part for the request I received here. I hope you all enjoy :D

Satoru pushes his key into the door, swinging the door open as he calls out to the three of you. He’s balancing the pink box in his hands, very excited to see your very irritated face when you open it.

He stops for a second, eyeing the light purple around Megumi’s eye as you push green peas into his face, before turning to the fridge to steal your leftovers from last night.

He can feel you opening the box out of his peripheral vision, preparing his silly little consolation piece to calm you down. He knows you’ll be irritated, obviously, but he’s always sweet talked his way out of situations, especially with you. He just wanted to ease the air after the lecture you were probably going to give Megumi, settle everyone down.

“Megs, do you mind joining Miki upstairs? I need to talk to Gojo over here.” you say, watching you press a very strained smile to your face.

Maybe the cake was too far. He should have settled for balloons instead.

“You have got to be kidding me, Satoru. You bought him a cake for punching another kid in the face?”

“It’s just a joke, my love. No harm done. I’ll talk to him about it later. You know, all that cheesy stuff you say - words before violence, be the bigger man by walking away.” he leans over, pressing a kiss to your cheek, before he sets out to set the plates for dinner.

“Satoru. Be serious for one minute. Megumi is our responsibility. You’re doing him a disservice if we keep letting him process his anger this way. Don’t lead him down the wrong path.”

He can feel the stinging in his chest, the anger developing in his chest. He would be lying by saying things were perfect between the two of you, as of late. The two of you were polar opposites, something he always considered as a strength to your relationship. When he was drifting away too far, you grounded him in reality. When you were too stuck in the little things, he always reminded you of the big picture. You worked - moon and sun, salt and pepper, black and white. However, the two of you had been finding it harder to find compromises lately, arguing more lately, especially when it came to Megumi.

It’s a few fights, not mass murdering people. If anything, Megumi’s doing very well, considering who his father is and what happened. He’s doing very well, considering the fact that he’s being raised by two twenty year olds. Satoru’s doing very well, considering the fact that he’s trying his best to be there for him.

“I’m not leading him anywhere wrong. You’re setting him up for failure if you keep letting kids push him around like that. You’re the one leading him down the wrong path.”

“Solving your problems with fists isn’t always the right answer, Satoru. This is why he doesn’t talk to us when we ask him what’s wrong. We just have to wait for him to explode, just to find out he was suffering the entire time.”

He feels your words sink into his chest, burning him in a place he hadn’t been before. No. Surely you couldn’t be insinuating what he thought you were. You wouldn’t.

He thinks back to the third grade, his parents' faces engraved in his mind. He learned all too quickly that punching another kid in the face, pulling a girl's pigtails, running out of class would get their attention - faster than asking them to tuck him into bed, eat breakfast with him, or come to a school play. They would drop everything, run to his side to see him at the first sign of trouble. There’s no way you’re insinuating Megumi is doing the same.

It kills him. Even the thought of it being right. Megumi’s mimicking him, when he was younger, acting out to get someone to look at him. The two of you tried your best with him, he was always a little more closed off, but you were doing everything you could.

No. No. Satoru Gojo was not his father. You had to be wrong. You had to be wrong because if you were right, he was no better than his father.

“Whatever problem he has, I’ll deal with it. Remember, he’s my kid, not yours. My responsibility. So I’ll figure out what’s best for him moving forward.”

He comes to realize that this was his first mistake, one he’ll come to regret in a few hours.

He can feel the words hanging in the air, waiting for your anger filled response. But it doesn’t come. You compare him to his father and then have nothing to say?

“All quiet now, Y/N? Have nothing to say to me?”

“No, I don’t.”

“And why’s that? You sure had a lot to say a few minutes ago.”

“Because. He’s your kid. Not mine. It’s not really my business what he does, is it?”

He feels his heart sink in his chest, his cheeks burning with regret already. Why did he say that? You didn’t mean it like that. There’s no way you would ever compare him to his dad, in earnest. He curls his fingers around your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Kiss it better, Satoru.

“Hey, hey. Wait a minute.”

You shrug him off, swiping the keys off the counter and running out the door. This is his second mistake - letting you run out that door - and surely the one he’ll regret even more.

He stands there in shock, your absence chilling him. What the hell is he doing? The table is half set, your sweet strawberry smell absent, your glimmering smile gone from the kitchen.

You left. You actually got up and left. It’s his fault. He hit it where he knew where it hurt. He can feel his heart sinking in his chest, the stinging vertebrates through his bones. Why did he say that to you? He loves you. He reaches around for his phone after a few seconds, his fingers shaking as he texts you.

i’m sorry love

you know i didn’t mean it

just come back. you know he’s our kid.

i know you’re right. he shouldn’t be punching people every time he disagrees with them. i just have trouble being too hard on him, i don’t want to be like my parents

not an excuse. i know i’m in the wrong. we can have the talk with him, just like you wanted. just come back y/n.

Satoru nearly drops his phone into the sink, at the sight of Megumi pushing into his legs. He presses his arms around Satoru’s legs, hiding his face against in the fabric.

“Hey Megs. You okay?”

“Did Y/N leave?”

He leans down, intending to talk Megumi down. You were always better at it, but there’s no harm in trying.

He looks over, really observing the bruise on Megumi’s eye for the first time. His eye is swollen, coloring into a dark purple. There’s a tiny bit of pink in the whites of his eyes and he doesn’t miss Megumi keeping his eyes closed, squinting whenever he makes contact with the light.

He reaches down, pressing the green peas you were pushing into Megumi’s face, back to the spot. He didn’t realize Megumi was hurt this bad.

“Yeah. We just had a little argument. She’ll come back.”

He feels Megumi clench his fist, his hand crumpling the fabric of his slacks.

“Do you think she hates me?”

“Megumi. Y/N loves you. She’s mad at me for being stupid, not at you for fighting.”

He feels another set of tiny hands, this time resting on his arms. Tsumiki’s tear filled face is at his side. He’s messed up.

It’s in this moment, Megumi’s stressed out expression and Tsumiki’s tear stained face, that he realizes how small they really are. He’d been teaching Megumi how to master his cursed technique and he was always impressed with how self-sufficient Tsumiki was, but he never realized how wrong it was until now.

They were kids. They’re small, tiny little kids acting like adults. He leans down, pressing the two of them against his chest. He won’t let them burden it - that’s what you and him were for. You, when you were still here anyways.

He reaches for his phone again, shooting you another text.

kids are getting real upset with you gone, they miss you already

“Satoru.”

“Yes, Miss Miki?”

“Why did she leave?”

He sighs. Because he’s an idiot. Because he can’t control his tongue, because he can’t accept his faults, because he’s in over his head.

“We had an argument. I got upset with her and said something that wasn’t very nice to her.”

“Does she still love us?”

“You’re her entire world. She loves you both, so much. That’s partially why she’s so mad at you Megumi. She doesn’t like to see you hurt and gets upset when you willingly put yourself in situations like this.”

He feels his phone buzzing on the floor, basically collapsing trying to pick it up fast enough. He presses the phone to his ear, without even checking the caller ID.

“Y/N?”

“Am I speaking with Mister Satoru Gojo?”

“Yes, this is him.”

“This is Tokyo Medical Hospital. I’m calling regarding a Miss Y/N L/N. She was in a car accident around thirty minutes ago, near the central line highway. She’s just been transported to our Emergency Department where we are responding to her now. It would be best if you could arrive as soon as possible. Do you know her blood type? We need to attempt a transfusion.”

He feels his voice strain in his neck, fighting to get the word out. Blood type. They need your blood type. You were in a car accident. Blood transfusion.

“O negative. Her blood type is O negative.”

Shoko and Nanami meets him at the front of the hospital and he nearly breaks down right there. He was a mess without you. You had to be okay. You had to stay alive.

“I’ll watch the kids.”

Nanami walks off, his hands holding their tiny ones as he takes them on a walk around the block.

“Am I going to lose her, Shoko? Is she okay?”

“She’s really hurt, the glass shattered on impact. Just go through the doors, Satoru. She was asking for you.”

Glass. He nearly runs through the double doors and is met directly with the sight of you.

The air is gone from his lungs and the room is on fire. No. You’re lying on the gurney, the two nurses balancing shining, silver surgical tools in their hands. They’re digging shards of glass out of your soft, soft skin - from your arms, your chest, and the sides of your face.

He can see the tears streaming down your face, your eyes pinching in pain every time they pull a piece out. The worst part, he can hear you murmuring his name and asking for him every time they do. He walks up aimlessly, interlocking his hand with your free, uninjured side. He can feel his hands shaking in yours, his blood burning in his skin.

“Satoru?”

He reaches forward, patting down your hair.

“I’m here, i’m here.”

“It hurts, Satoru.”

He feels his resolve break at the sound of your voice. He’s crying, full on crying at the sight of you like this. In pain, sitting alone for the past hour. He lifts your uninjured hand, pressing a kiss to the top of your knuckles before resting your fingers against his eyes.

“It’s best if you can distract her while we do this. The silence makes it easier to focus on the pain.”

He nods, turning his face away from the nurse and towards you.

“Hi love.”

“Hi Satoru.”

“Don’t…don’t die on me, okay? I still have a lot of things I want to do with you.”

“Like what?

You hiss in pain, squeezing his hand as they keep going deeper into your skin.

“Eat breakfast with you tomorrow. Make you those strawberry pancakes you love so much. Watch you yell as me as I squish whipped cream into Megumi’s hair.”

He watches you laugh, the pain still pressed on your face as you try to respond.

“Don’t respond. It’s okay, love. Just listen to me, yeah?”

You nod, squeezing your hand in his own.

“I…I love you.” he can feel his voice breaking, trying to stop his tears from returning. He clears his throat, his heart screaming in his chest.

“I love you so much, Y/N. You’re everything to me. You and me, we’re going to be okay. I- I…there’s just so much we have to do still. I didn’t even get to marry you yet. Or put my own kid in you.”

“Gross.”

“Out of all that, that’s what you chose to respond to?”

He sees you smile, your eyes all watery at the sight of him. He loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

You wake up a few hours later, to a very pink eyed Satoru sitting on the chair next to you. He looks horrible.

You make the slightest bit of movement, attempting to reach out for him, and he jumps up from his chair. He presses his hands to your face, shaking his head profusely at you as you put your hands down.

“No, no love. No moving, okay?”

You nod and he gives you a soft smile, before locking his fingers with your own. You can see the tears building in his eyes, his smile being replaced with tears streaming down his eyes.

“Can you put on a little nurses uniform? We’re about to live out my wildest dreams.”

He laughs at your joke, his teary smile returning.

“Shut up. Stop copying my fantasies.”

His hands don’t leave your face, his entire body shaking at the sight of you. He’s scared, scared shitless and you don’t know how to fix it. You’re okay. You’re both going to be okay. You try to sit up, Satoru’s hands helping you most of the way. He has his arm secured around your waist, holding you steady.

“Satoru. I’m okay.”

“You’re not allowed to do that. You can’t just pick up and leave every time you get mad at me. I thought I lost you. I almost did lose you. Do you think I could live if I actually did?”

“I know, Toru. I’m sorry.”

He presses himself against your shoulder, crying into your arms. He’s ran his hands over your arms multiple time’s now, his fingers resting against your beating pulse at your wrist. You can feel the guilt twisting in your chest, for leaving, driving so recklessly, upsetting him in the first place. Any normal person would get up and run right about now.

“You are the only family I have. Please don’t leave me, Satoru.”

You feel your heart clench in your chest at the sight of his defeated resolve and can’t even remember why you were mad, why you drove off in the first place. You squeeze his hand twice, rubbing small circles into the back of his hand.

“You’re the one who left me. I would never leave you. It’s you and me, in life and in death, Y/N. Preferably not the death part from you, if that’s possible please. That’s against the rules.”

“In life and in death? Those are wedding vows, Satoru, we aren’t even married. And we don’t have rules.” you deadpan.

“You didn’t get the memo? We’re married in my head, sweet thing.”

The two of you laugh, the giggles filling up the little medic bay you were sitting in. You feel him lean over, his face still wet and pink from his tears, and press a soft kiss to your forehead before pressing one to your lips.

“Did you eat chocolate from the vending machine?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie. I can taste it on your lips, idiot. Your supposed wife is maybe possibly dying and you’re eating candy?”

“You’re so vulgar. Talking about my lips like that in public. And I was eating for both of us. In your honor. I knew it’s what you would have wanted.”

You roll your eyes at him, giving him a smile, before leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Where are Megumi and Tsumiki?”

“With Nanami, outside. I’ll go grab them now that you’re all bandaged up.”

As he sprints out the door, you readjust in the bed, sitting up. You watch the two of them run in, their little faces swollen from crying. You feel the tears well in your own eyes at the sight of it. You open up your arms (which hurts like a bitch), signaling at the two of them to climb up. They press their bodies against you, their distinct smells pressed against your nose (vanilla for Tsumiki, clean laundry for Megumi).

You can feel them sobbing against you and press kisses to both of their heads as they shake in your arms. You can feel your skin burning at them pressing against your bandages, but you don’t want to let them go.

“Okay, kids. Off. We can hug her as hard as we want when she feels better, okay?”

Satoru Gojo, mind reader. They climb off, the three of them facing you at the side of your bed. They all have their hands pressed against you - Satoru’s resting in your hair, Tsumiki’s in your hand, and Megumi’s at your shoulder. Satoru speaks first.

“I was thinking.”

“You can do that?”

“You wound me, Fushiguro Megumi.”

The three of you snicker at the sound of his whiny voice, the smiles reaching all the way to Tsumiki and Megumi’s cheeks.

“I’ve always had mental rules you should be following in my head, as I am our benevolent, perfect, spectacular leader. But we should establish real ones, for each other. We are a family after all.”

“You’re not our leader.” deadpans Megumi, rolling his eyes at Satoru before eyeing you exasperatedly.

“I like it, Satoru.” you whisper.

“Me first, then. My first rule is for Miss Miki. You have to do anything and everything I say.”

The three of you stare him down, pinching your eyes in annoyance.

“I’m kidding. You guys are such a tough crowd. My first real rule is for Megumi. You’re not going to fight anymore. No punching people when you get angry.”

He nods, whispering a promise to you, more than Satoru, that he won’t fight again. You squeeze his fingers that are interlocked with yours, nodding at the promise.

“The next one is for you, missy. No running away, Y/N. Ever. We can argue all night for all I care. You don’t get to leave.”

You nod, promising all of them that you won’t leave them again. You don’t miss the way their tensed shoulders relax at your promise, shocked that they were even worried about you leaving again in the first place. You would never leave them again. Tsumikis’ quiet voice fills the room next.

“Third rule, no fighting if we can avoid it. We’re all on the same team here so we can just try to work it out.”

You reach forward, pressing your hand into Tsumiki’s hair, you and Satoru promising her you won’t fight, at least if you can’t help it, again. The three of you nod, smiling at each other at your new rules.

“I have one.”

You reach over, running your hands through Megumi’s hair as you smile at him, encouraging to speak up.

“No one leaves the house without saying goodbye. You especially, Mom.”

Mom. Mom. Fushiguro Megumi, in the six months he has been staying with you, has never called you Mom. You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, wanting to crush him in a hug for a better part of the next hour or the rest of his life. You’re his Mom.

Before you can reach forward to do so, Satoru’s whiny voice stops you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s not even fair.”

“Toru, shut up.”

“Megs. If I break my neck, will you call me dad?”

You roll your eyes. Way to ruin a moment.

“How about I break it right now and we test the theory?”

Megumi and Tsumiki break out into giggles and you and Satoru can’t help but join them at the sound of their laughter. The three of them press themselves against you, wrapping your arms around as you all laugh.

“Hey, one more rule, okay?”

You all nod, turning to face Satoru.

“Everyone calls me daddy from now on.”

“Can you actually break his neck now? Please? I can help.”

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soobszzn · 2 years ago

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shut me up!

synopsis: despite his tough and confident rockstar persona, even beomgyu needed reassurance sometimes.

pairing: rockstar!beomgyu x reader

genre: fluff, semi-comfort, established relationship

content/warnings: kissing, (playful) teasing/bantering/yelling, beomgyu says ‘shut up’, beomgyu is in a (rock)band that isn’t txt

wc: 1.2k

a/n: this one’s for u, G🌼

you’d be lying if you said being a rockstar’s girlfriend wasn’t absolutely exhilarating. you’d fall asleep in one city and then wake up in the next. you’d go from private jet, to tour bus, to private jet again. life was insane, but it didn’t matter how crazy and unpredictable life had become, because beomgyu was your constant.

you knew the band’s setlist by heart at this point, but the atmosphere and energy of each night’s crowd was always a new experience. what never changed, though, were the loving gazes you shot your boyfriend as you watched from stage side.

you’d hand him a sweat towel or a bottled water whenever he stepped backstage. with no time to chat, you’d occasionally shoot him a thumbs-up or a “fighting” gesture. in return, beomgyu would alternate between quick pecks and forehead kisses as a sign of thanks.

watching him up on that stage was the best part of each day. when he was performing, he was completely in his element: his expressions were always filled with joy and excitement, and with his electric guitar in hand, he’d move dynamically across the stage without missing a beat. he’d look out into the crowd affectionately, face beaming with gratitude towards the dedicated fans.

he’d never miss a chance to turn to you and shoot a loving glance back. you knew how grateful he was that you could follow him on his first major tour. you were there for the first performance jitters, mid-tour anxieties, and now for the band’s long-awaited performance at lollapalooza.

the band had a couple hours before showtime to film content and do interviews, which left you passing time in their trailer with some staff members. you’d already sped through a book on the plane ride here, opting to mindlessly scroll on your phone as you anticipated your boyfriend’s arrival. eventually, the group returned, giving them time to decompress and prepare for their set.

you were sprawled on the couch at the end of their trailer. when beomgyu walked in, he motioned for you to lift your legs so he could take a seat. plopping himself beside you and letting your legs fall to his lap, he let out a sigh.

“how’d it all go?” you asked, turning to face him while still laying down.

“i don’t really know why we need to do so many interviews when they just ask the same stuff.” he complained as he fiddled with the hem of your pants.

“it’s only cause so many people love your music.” you lightly nudged his arm as you sat up. you leaned your arm against the sofa backrest as you rested your head in your hand. this put the two of you face to face, giving you the opportunity to look at him closely.

you loved the way his ashy purple hair fell onto his face. as a matter of fact, you loved every damn part of his face. from the warmth of his eyes to the softness of his lips, you could just never get enough. those blush pink lips of his were so irresistible, you just wanted to lean in and kiss him right then and there.

he looked at you quizzically. “what?”

“you have something on your face.” you lied, reaching to brush nothing off his cheek in embarrassment. he smiled, but it quickly faded. he let out another sigh.

“what’s wrong?” you asked with a slight pout.

“it’s my song. i’m scared people aren’t gonna like it.” he confessed, now hunched over with his forearms resting in his lap. you had almost forgotten that the band was planning to premiere a new song tonight. and it wasn’t just any new song, it was a song beomgyu had produced.

“what if nobody reacts? what if they leave during our set? what if they start booing? i’d be a failure of a musician!” he cried, now sitting slumped on the couch. he was bouncing his leg and staring off into space, and you just knew his mind was racing.

“stop stop stop!” you exclaimed through a laugh. his concerns were understandable, but you had to admit he looked a bit silly whining the way he did.

“why are you laughing?” he asked with a pout this time.

“because you sound a bit silly,” you replied cheekily, in hopes the teasing would cheer him up a bit.

“i’m being serious.” he said quietly.

“i know, and i get it. but you’re so good at what you do.” you reassured him.

“but this is lollapalooza. it’s a big deal. it’s a huge deal for us.” he replied in a bothered tone.

you had a feeling beomgyu’s worries were the main contributor to his now souring mood. but a part of you was beginning to get annoyed at the fact that he just wasn’t listening to you.

“you’re being stubborn.” you blurted out, regretting it immediately.

“i am not! god. maybe i should just take it off the setlist now while i still have a chance.” he replied defensively, quickly standing up from the couch.

“can you stop it!” you cried, also standing up to face him. “you’re being so annoying. you don’t see what i see.”

he looked at you perplexed.

“i know how much time and effort you put into your music, gyu. but most of all i see how talented you are,” you spoke earnestly, unintentionally starting an impromptu rant at your boyfriend.

“people love your music. why do you think you got invited here?” you continued, noticing his expression soften. “even though you’re the one on stage, i watch the crowd too. they eat it all up, they love you guys!”

“it annoys me because you don’t get it. you don’t get that your music is loved by so many!” you continued on your tirade. beomgyu inched his way closer to you. “you annoy me because you don't see how much you are loved!”

“and not just by me-mmph-” your words were suddenly interrupted by a pair of lips on yours.

cupping your cheeks in his hands, beomgyu guided your face closer to his. he deepened the kiss before pulling away and saying “and that’s all that matters.”

“i’m sorry for being stubborn,” he apologized, looking at you softly. you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck.

“everyone’s going to love your new song. i promise.” you mumbled into his chest after a few seconds of silence. then, you looked up at him.

he whispered “thank you” before kissing your nose.

an absolute success; that’s what you’d call their performance.

beomgyu was absolutely electric on that enormous stage. and maybe it was the bias in you, but his band had to have been the highlight of the weekend. the energy of the crowd was unmatched, and the familiar melodies of their discography were transformed into amplified versions of themselves.

the reveal of your boyfriends’ newly produced track was met with an eruption of cheers. you watched fondly as beomgyu gleamed, face softening with both relief and delight. your heart was bursting with happiness, feeling so incredibly proud of him.

the second his band finished their set, you watched beomgyu hug his bandmates as they made their way off stage. they were all smiling so brightly, but your boyfriend’s smile was most infectious. on his way backstage, he thanked the stage crew and staff members as he caught his breath, coming down from his “performance high.”

then, you noticed his eyes start to wander and you had a feeling he was looking for you. you raised yourself up on your tippy toes and waved to get his attention. you met eyes, and the sweaty, out-of-breath boy made his way directly to you with absolute excitement. his ashy purple hair was almost matted to his forehead, skin glistening with perspiration. and you loved it.

immediately taking you into his embrace, he lifted you up and spun you around. you latched onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“i told you they’d love it.” you said cheekily as he set you down.

“can you shut up?” he teased with a smirk before pressing your lips together.

#soobszzn #choi beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu x you #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fic #beomgyu fanfic #tomorrow x together #txt #txt beomgyu #txt x reader #txt x you #txt fluff #txt oneshot #txt headcanons #txt imagines

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gingergofastboatsmojito · 4 months ago

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Escalation

This keeps escalating and I'm sooooo here for it!

Carmy:

S1 → Carmy gave her a job and his trust.

S2 → Carmy gave her a restaurant and a jacket.

S3 → Carmy gave her an agreement to share his family business and possibly an award, (although that would be shared, because if he gets it, they actually get it together, not just him because she's also busting her ass at that restaurant) which we haven't seen yet bc S3's time span was only 3 months, and a year's run is required to even be considered. So, the awards are most likely gonna start coming in next season as I anticipated → here. That being said, he wants to give it to her, that's why he leaves her out of everything and she resents him.

Syd:

S1 → Her patience, forgiveness, and trust.

S2 → Her patience, work, forgiveness, and trust.

S3 → Her PATIENCE, work, and we are not so sure about whether she will continue putting her trust in him and therefore forgive him and stay by his side till he changes for her. Well, actually I am.

So there's a pattern here. An escalation.

He keeps giving her more and more as time goes by. Maybe it's not what she wants from him... Wait, it sure isn't. But it's definitely more and more every time, that's undeniable, whether she appreciates it or not.

We all know by now that this is how Carmy expresses how he feels because words are not his forte. After all, he's avoidant and transferring his undealt-with feelings for Syd to a more attainable prospect, or at least that's what he tried to do last season, and failed and it's quite clear why. More about that failure → here.

Now, what's next for both?

Is he gonna keep on giving her more until he has nothing left to give -and if so: what does that look like?- or will the star be the limit?

Will he be able to give her that star before she has enough of him giving her what he thinks she wants but not what she really wants?

Will she be able to actually clarify for him exactly what is it that she wants from him?

Does she know that herself by now?

Is she willing to admit it?

Or will she just give up on him, on them?

If so: Does that really solve anything for both?

The answer to ALL those questions was given by Storer already in:

The loop:

Bonus track: There is a chance the review is not exactly what the montage shows, maybe it's actually good. We know this because Carmy's perception is altered. His mental space tends to alter reality, we saw that → here. So we shouldn't 100% trust everything we think we see through his eyes. Those missed calls and texts could be congratulations because the review was not bad or not that bad, or good enough for Cicero to continue funding the restaurant, etc. Carmy's “motherfucker!” could be his overachiever talking, maybe he focused on the one word that wasn't amazing and disregarded the rest, and in his head, he actually read a terrible review. Which is common in people with the mental disorders he has. It wouldn't be totally farfetched.

Even if the review was as "mixed" as the montage shows, right after that we see the L.

We're looping back.

Hopefully to a more Sydcarmy-friendly place. Because this was rock bottom. Now we gotta bounce back.

This means that Carmy's escalation will continue.

He will keep on giving her more, better, bigger, more meaningful, deeper, and more intense in both a bad and a good way because the change will not be clean, it will be messy, till all he can give her is the one thing he hasn't yet.

The truth.

Either because she stayed and signed the agreement (my money is here) or because she left and he got her back WITH A BIGGER DEMONSTRATION OF HOW HE FEELS, WHICH MIGHT INCLUDE WORDS AT THAT POINT BECAUSE HE HAD ALREADY TRIED PRETTY MUCH EVERY OTHER NON-VERBAL ALTERNATIVE (then she'll sign the agreement anyway). The breaking point they got to already is not just emotional → The crying game. It's also practical. None of them can go on like this much longer and if this keeps escalating like their pattern indicates it will, the next logical progression is to admit and uncover what has been covered for 3 seasons now. It's time. Maybe Luca will be one of the catalysts too for this to happen. Most likely, actually. But that's not necessarily a bad thing if we take into account Carmy's escalation tendencies.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

#sydcarmy #the bear #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #the bear hulu #carmy x sydney #syd x carmen #carmen berzatto #the bear meta #sydcarmy meta #the bear season 3 #sydney x carmy #the bear fx #gingerpovs #the bear season 4 gingerpredictions

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felassan · 2 months ago

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Story elements, Campaign Map, and Garrus character sheet from the Mass Effect The Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz Rulebook [source]

bonus: move names of Garrus' and Wrex' that just made me happy :)

Text version of first three images under cut -

Opening blurb:

"In the year 2186, the civilizations of the galaxy are at war with a relentless, artificial enemy called the Reapers. Commander Shepard’s warnings of their arrival were all ignored, and now the Reapers have invaded the galaxy in force, crushing all resistance. Earth has fallen. Palaven, the turian homeworld, is under siege, and their military might barely holds the enemy at bay. The Reapers are pressing into the galaxy on all fronts, and it is only a matter of time before the races of Citadel Space are crushed beneath their onslaught. But there is still hope. Commander Shepard has assembled a crew of trusted allies aboard the Systems Alliance stealth frigate, the Normandy. They have the schematics for the mysterious Prothean superweapon, the Crucible, but constructing it alone will not be enough. Shepard and the Normandy crew are racing to forge alliances, build a unified front capable of defeating the Reapers before they overtake the galaxy and complete their harvest of all biological life. All the while, the insidious terrorist organisation Cerberus advances their own agenda of human supremacy at any cost, led by the mysterious Illusive Man and his army of ruthless operatives."

Note from Admiral Hackett:

"“Commander Shepard, Since you took out the Cerberus lab on Sanctum, N7 Special Forces have hit every other lab we could find. Cerberus has caught on and moved their research efforts off-world. They’ve retrofitted one of their cruisers as a mobile research facility and now keep it on the move. I’ve received reports of more abductions, like the one you stopped on Benning, and several refugee ships have unexpectedly dropped off the grid. Cerberus could be holding those abductees on that cruiser as hostages, or worse, as test subjects. Their latest hiding place was the storm above Hagalaz. Taking a page out of the Shadow Broker’s book, I suppose. We only found them because the cruiser appears to have suffered a massive systems failure and crashed on the night side of the planet. Although these nights are a lot longer than Earth’s, unfortunately it’s almost morning and daybreak will bring the most powerful storm on the other side of the Attican Traverse. The Normandy is the only Alliance ship in range. I need you to see what Cerberus was up to. Interference from the storm is degrading comms, so there’s no way Cerberus can get their research off-planet except by portable data transfer. We have recovery assets on the way, but they won’t arrive until after the storm hits and tears that ship to pieces. Shepard, your orders are: Whatever you do, keep that research data out of Cerberus’ hands. When the storm is over, I don’t want them to recover their work from the wreckage. Denying them those assets will be a major blow. Retrieve the research if possible, or destroy it if there’s no other choice. Alternatively, find a way to fortify the ship until the fleet arrives. If you find prisoners along the way, get them out of there. The storm is coming, Shepard. Get it done.” – Admiral Hackett"

Note from EDI:

"“Shepard, analysis of the crashed cruiser has isolated three primary objectives. The reactor, the research data core, and the kinetic barrier generator. You only have time to reach one of those before the storm arrives. Accessing the data core will allow us to steal Cerberus’ research, but they could salvage the ship’s wreckage after the storm has passed. Overloading the reactors will destroy the ship – and all hope of any data recovery or salvage. I am also detecting signs of the captives Admiral Hackett mentioned. By diverting power from the research core, you can boost the ship’s kinetic barriers long enough to preserve it and protect the prisoners until the Alliance arrives. However, if you do this, the data banks will be lost. The storm is only a few hours away, Shepard. I recommend moving fast. Displaying potential routes to each objective. The mission is yours.” – EDI"

#bioware #mass effect #garrus vakarian #best boy #long post #longpost #video games #lul

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cryobabyy · 6 months ago

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Realistic predictions/analysis for the dynamic between Syd and Carmy for s3 and what the writers will potentially do with Claire.

Pls keep in note that my sydcarmy brain was OFF and the Film/Television production student brain was ON when I wrote this. I am trying to imagine their potential romance in the most realistic and grounded way possible don't be mad at me please I'm sensitive sjhdsajdsjdhsfafafjskdlfh okay lets get into it

Carmy is back in a high-end kitchen environment, which means toxic ocd perfectionist Carmy is back because he has yet to deconstruct that part of himself

that being said, he wants that star, not only because it'll justify the pain of gutting his dead brother's restaurant and perhaps soothe his self-loathing, but also because Sydney wants it- and Carmy wants to keep Sydney. He wants to see her get what she wants.

Carmy still has the toxic mindset that success is defined by how much you suffered for it, and how much pain you've endured. He is back in an environment where he will forever be chasing perfection that doesn't exist. He has an incessant need for control that makes him difficult to work with.

Carmen holds the staff, especially Sydney, to impossible standards of perfection

IMPORTANT TO NOTE THAT CARMY IS A VERY EXTREME PERSON

HE WILL BE PLAGUED BY BLACK AND WHITE THINKING THIS ENTIRE SEASON (as opposed to the wishy-washy, one-foot-in-one-foot-out vibe we got last season)

Enter the partnership contract lol

To Carmy, the contract is a testament to his commitment to Sydney. He would have a professional and legal obligation to operate at the highest standard. You have my full focus, and I have yours. He's basically trying to correct his mistakes in s2 in the most extreme way.

The problem is that Sydney knows this means she would be legally and professionally bound to Carmen. It means she would have to subscribe to his toxic standards and warped ideas of success to uphold her end of the contract.

Sydney will be forced to reevaluate if the path to success Carmy has laid out will be worth the suffering. We saw last season that the stress literally made her vomit. She is asking herself: does it have to be like this? Is this really the only way?

Sydney will be presented with alternative opportunities because of the attention she's received from being professionally associated with Carmy.

They will become increasingly tempting as The Bear continues to bring out the worst in Carmy

Maybe Carmy catches wind of the attention Sydney has been getting, which he thinks explains why she has been stalling signing the contract.

Carmy feels rejected. Of course, he doesn't realize it's rejection that he's feeling. He confronts her from a professional angle. It devolves into a fight because he'll probably end up lashing out.

"This is what you wanted! I'm giving you what you want!"

It is, in fact, not what Sydney wants. LMFAO

Sydney, of course, wants Carmy. But she wants a version of Carmy that doesn't exist, and she's not sure he ever will.

Sydney's relationship with failure is important for her character. She initially wanted the success Carmen has.

At the end of s3 she realizes she just wants Carmy. As a friend and a creative partner (and in my most unhinged fantasies a lover :P). She wants the Carmy she gets when they're riffing off each other's ideas in his kitchen. She doesn't want the tunnel vision perfection machine version of himself when he's in his chef whites. She grows to resent that version.

s3 wraps up with their relationship on rocky terms

Best case scenario, Carmy tries to change

worst-case scenario, Sydney steps back from the bear

CLAIRE PREDICTIONS

Carmy operates at extremes. He either pursues a personal life or his professional life. In his mind, it is impossible to have both.

Claire and Sydney/The Bear are on opposite ends of the spectrum

If he commits to Claire, he can't commit to the restaurant

If he commits to Sydney/The Bear, he can't commit to Claire

Instead of trying to find balance, Carmy throws himself into Sydney/The Bear

Fak obviously observes that this makes Camry worse, and decides to talk to Claire to suggest some sort of contact between the two. He probably thinks this might keep Carmy from nosediving further. I don't have any guesses for the context of their conversation though. It could be anything. I think it would be hilarious if Fak hurts himself during dinner service and has to go to the ER and the convo unfolds that way lol.

Meanwhile, Carmy thinks he's doing the right thing by presenting his most extreme and professional self to Sydney because he thinks it's what she wants. He wants to give her his full focus.

What Sydney actually wants is fucking BALANCE. Which is exactly what Carmy NEEDS, but doesn't think is possible.

Sydney potentially walks away to find it elsewhere with someone else.

Carmy is angsty about it, obviously.

Carmy and Claire will probably reconcile, before or after his potential falling out with Sydney

If they do get back together, I don't think it's sustainable for Carmy. They both have very demanding careers, and Claire triggers trauma associated with his past. They might like each other, but they are incompatible, IMO.

I do think Sydney and Carmy will end up together eventually tho lol. Eventually, Carmy will realize that Sydney is his balance. The problem is that Carmy currently is incapable of providing Sydney balance. But if he learns that he can be that for her, he might realize that he wants her beyond professional partnership. Fingers crossed lol.

#the bear fx #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #Listen #I think it's gonna happen #but we'll have to wait for it #they both need to figure out what they want #my bad if u read the version of this post with all the spelling and syntax errors i forgot to proof read before i published :P

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sequinsmile-x · 9 days ago

Text

What A Valiant Roar

It’s easier to tell herself that it’s the grief, that everything else - her missed period, her irritability, her exhaustion - are all signs that she’s about to start the menopause. That this part of her life, the part that had been over for her before it had truly begun, was on its way to its final curtain.

A Sequel to Our Field of Dreams, Engulfed in Fire

-x-

Hi besties,

I got this anon asking for a follow up to Our Field of Dreams, Engulfed in Fire:

literally haven't been able to stop thinking about Our Field of Dreams, Engulfed in Fire since you wrote it...any chance you could do a sequel where they get pregnant again by accident? I can't stop thinking about the possibilities (although I'm hoping you go for a happy ending <3)

This was something I'd been toying with doing anyway, but I never know if people are interested in sequels.

Please note the tags/respect your own boundaries with them if you need to <3

As always please let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: Pregnancy. Mentions/discussions of miscarriage and stillbirth throughout.

Words: 5.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

At first, Emily tells herself the ever-present nausea is just a physical reaction to seeing her friend with her new baby.

It isn’t something that makes her proud, but it’s what she’s convinced it is. Her stomach rolls with grief every time she sees JJ with Michael, every time she sees Henry proudly hold his little brother with a wide smile on his face - an expression she’d never had the chance to see on Jack’s face and one she would never see.

JJ had been nothing short of supportive since she’d told her about Elliot, any disappointment she may have at her best friend being unable to be involved with her pregnancy pushed to the side. She’d spoken to her privately before she let Penelope announce the baby shower she was throwing her, giving Emily a heads up on the date so she could make an excuse for why she couldn't be there. She’d tried to say she could go, that she could grin and bear it for a few hours, as if the mere sight of JJ’s bump wasn’t enough to make tears well in her eyes, but JJ had squeezed her hand and told her that she didn’t mind. That she’d rather she was okay, and she did a good job of distracting Penelope from asking too many questions when Emily acted as if the date was a surprise a couple of hours later when she claimed she and Aaron already had a weekend away booked.

Emily loved Michael, just like she loved Henry, but she couldn’t deny that every time she looked at him it hurt. When she held him for the first time - the weight of him in her arms so much heavier than Elliot had been when she was able to hold him - Aaron had taken him from her after a couple of minutes, his hand on her back before he took the baby, able to feel the tension spreading through her by the second. Seeing him hold Michael hadn’t been much easier on her, everything that she considered her own failures, her inability to keep her babies safe when they were still inside of her, lingering just beneath her skin as she watched him smile down at a baby that wasn’t theirs, a shake to his lips that only she could see. She’d excused herself to the bathroom in an attempt to gather herself. He’d found her a few minutes later, the two of them gathered in JJ and Will’s downstairs bathroom, Emily’s head on Aaron’s chest and her fingers gripping the E pendant on her necklace as he ran a hand up and down her back.

The alternative was too much to think about, too ridiculous to even consider, so when her doctor tells her she’s pregnant, her smile achingly kind and understanding, Emily laughs. It catches in her throat, makes her choke on the sadness that had lived there since she’d lost Elliot, and she shakes her head, wondering why her doctor who knew everything would even try to make a joke like that during what she thought was an appointment where she’d get menopause advice.

It’s only when the doctor does an ultrasound, when she shows her the tiny dot on the screen and tells her she’s about 8 weeks along, that Emily believes her. She doesn’t get the rush of joy she did the last two times she was pregnant, moments of happiness that may as well have happened to another woman. Instead, dread fills her gut. Preemptive grief floods her lungs until she can’t breathe and all she can think about is how she’s going to tell Aaron.

If he thinks she’s acting strangely when she gets home, he doesn’t say anything. They had no secrets, not usually - which makes the ultrasound picture feel heavy in her pocket - so he knew why she’d gone to the doctor. He’d been supportive, just like he always was, and had even offered to go with her. Part of her wishes he had, so he’d been there when she got the news that had shocked her to her very core, but she’s grateful that they could have this conversation in their home. The place she felt safest in the whole world. Love and sorrow and joy painted across every wall, the space that they had cultivated for them and Jack something that was beautifully theirs.

She waits until Jack is in bed, the almost 10-year-old arguing the entire way about how long he could play his game until he had to turn off his light, because she knows it won’t be an easy conversation even if it was supposed to be.

She’s in the kitchen putting away dishes, the glass of wine Aaron had poured her for dinner still untouched on the counter, when he walks in, his familiar footfall both a blessing and a curse as his steps towards her create a strange kind of countdown.

“He talked me into 10 extra minutes,” he says, smiling at her when she looks at him over her shoulder, “I don’t remember him being this good at negotiation before you were his mom.”

She chuckles, the sound caught in her throat as she slips the last plate into its place in the cabinet, “What can I say, I’m a great influence.”

He smiles, but it fades, everything she isn’t saying thick in the air around them, and he steps towards her, worry etched into the lines on his face as he shoves his hands into his pockets as if he’s unsure if he should reach out for her, “Are you okay, Em? You’ve been…quiet all evening.”

She huffs out a sound between a laugh and sob and she crosses her arms over her chest, turning so her back is leaning against the kitchen counter, the smell of the glass of red wine next to her making her stomach roll, “I don’t know how to answer that question.”

He furrows his brow and takes another step towards her, “What did the doctor say, is everything okay?”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head, blowing out a slow breath as she holds herself together, pieces that she’d glued back together bit by bit over the last few years starting to come unstuck, “I…I don’t know.”

Any worry he’d had about her all evening, any concern he’d tried to tamper down, ignites in an instant as he stands frozen in place, worst-case scenarios flooding through him, “Sweetheart-”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, the words escaping before she can capture them, any attempt she’d made at practising easing into the conversation wasted. He stands there and stares at her, clearly as in shock as she is, and for a moment guilt supersedes everything else, every other emotion she’d felt in the last few hours gone for a moment as she thinks she should have at least let them sit down in the living room first, “I…what I thought were menopause symptoms were actually pregnancy symptoms. A lot of the early signs are very similar which…” she fades off into a bitter laugh and shakes her head, “Feels like a cruel trick from mother nature to say the very fucking least.”

“You’re…” he fades off, his shock not fading with it, their agreement to never go down this road again rattling around in his head. The sadness she’d had in her eyes when she told him she didn’t want to do this again clear in his memory when he blinks, two versions of her with similar expressions on their faces replacing each other every time he opens and closes his eyes.

“I’m 8 weeks along,” she says, digging through her pocket to pull out the ultrasound picture, the edges of it slightly creased as she hands it to him, “She said everything looks good. So far.”

He didn’t have to be at the appointment to know those two last words were Emily’s, not the doctors. That she would have already started to prepare herself for what she felt was inevitable. He looks at the picture in his hands, treacherous hope sparking in his chest, and he looks back up at her.

“This is…” he clears his throat, “How do you feel?”

She laughs bitterly and shakes her head, “How do you think I feel, Aaron?” She shakes her head again and starts to pace back and forth, her arms still crossed over her chest, sure that if she looked at him for too long she’d burst into the tears she’d been trying to avoid for hours, “I am 45 in three weeks. That makes this high risk anyway. Then you take into account everything else…” she clenches her jaw, “We weren’t even trying. We haven’t been in years. It would be kind of funny that I’m apparently the most fertile fucking woman on the planet if it didn’t always end with my heart being broken.”

Her almost hysterical laugh breaks his heart and he puts the picture down, stepping towards her again but making sure he still keeps his hands to himself, knowing his touch could tip her over the edge either way, “If you don’t want to do this-”

“Of course I want to do this,” she half shouts as she turns to look at him, her jaw tight as tears finally slip past her lashline when she takes a calming breath as she desperately tries to remind herself Jack is upstairs, “I want this so much it hurts, Aaron. It physically hurts. But…I can’t go through it all again. I can’t. Losing Elliot almost destroyed me.” She grabs her necklace when she says his name, a habit she isn’t conscious of as she traces the E, the only tangible evidence she had of her son’s existence other than the box of keepsakes the hospital had given her that was in their safe along with all their important documents. “I can’t do that again.”

He knew she didn’t remember much about that time, that she’d been lost in her grief in amongst soft sheets in hotels across continental Europe as they tried to escape normal life whilst they came to terms with how it had changed forever, but he remembered all of it. It had been easy to push his own grief away at the time - all of his energy focused on looking after her whilst she was unable to look after herself - but it had come back to haunt him later. The acknowledgement of what they’d lost still prone to nip at his heels whenever he saw someone with a toddler who looked to be around the age Elliot would be.

“I know,” he says, stepping closer to her so they are practically chest-to-chest, their breath skipping across each other's faces as they both still hesitate to reach out for each other, both of them aware it would open the flood gates of everything they were feeling, “Whatever…” he clears his throat, an attempt to push down emotions just pushing them to the back of his eyes instead, “Whatever you decide, sweetheart. I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”

She chokes on a sob and nods, her chin trembling as she finally leans forward, her face pressed against his neck as she clings to him, her arms hooking under his as she grips at his shoulders, unsure she’d ever be able to let go now she was anchored to him, “I can’t…I don’t want to have an abortion, Aaron,” she says, finally addressing what they were talking around, “I want to have a baby with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He tries to soothe her, as if she can’t feel his tears hitting the top of her head, and he kisses whatever part of her that he can reach, his lips catching dark hair as he rubs firm circles on her back, “I know, Em. I know.”

“I just don’t know how much I believe that this will end with us having a baby we get to keep.”

He holds her close, squeezing her tighter before he pulls back just enough to look at her, one of his hands on her cheek, her smudged makeup catching on the callouses of his thumb as he swipes them under her eyes, “We’ll take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time okay?” He promises, smiling sadly when she nods, his forehead against hers as he catches the agreement between them, “Whatever you need.”

“You,” she replies, swallowing thickly, something that feels dangerously close to hope sparking in her blood, “I…always just need you.”

___

It’s as hard as she thought it was going to be.

Every twinge, every feeling that didn’t feel quite right threatens to tip her over the edge. Panic wrapping its hand around her throat as she spends what feels like more time in her doctor's office than she does anywhere else. Her doctor is endlessly patient with her, and ends up offering her weekly appointments - both justified by her history and her age - and it goes some way to making her feel better. The few minutes a week when she can see her baby wiggling around on the screen the calmest she feels until the next time.

When she hits 17 weeks and 6 days, the same amount of time she was pregnant with Elliot, she can’t get out of bed. Convinced that if she did something would happen. She half expects Aaron to try and tell her that she was okay, that the baby was too during their last appointment, but his usual assurances are nowhere to be found. Instead, he calls in sick for both of them and as soon as Jack is at school he climbs back into bed with her. They spend all day there, only leaving when Aaron makes them food, and when the clock ticks past midnight, when she officially makes it to 18 weeks - the longest she’d ever been pregnant - they wipe away each other’s tears. A milestone they didn’t need to mention the importance of easing something in both of their chests.

They don’t tell anyone until she’s 24 weeks pregnant, her doctor’s assurances that she’d hit viability the last thing she’d needed before she was happy to tell people. She knew even if she went into labour now, if her body decided to fight against her again after so many weeks of working with her, that they’d have a long road ahead of them still. But her baby had a chance. And that was all she wanted.

They tell Jack first. And then Jess. And then Elizabeth, who mercifully doesn’t question any further about how long they’d waited to tell her when Emily explains they just wanted to be sure everything was okay. A look in her eyes that makes Emily wonder if she and her mother had more in common than she might realise.

They decide to tell the team at Dave’s house, one of his regular pasta nights well timed as it fell on the same day as Emily’s 24-week appointment. She spends the entire evening either plucking at her baggy sweater, hoping that it doesn’t cling to her bump like she thinks it does, or with her hand pressed against it when hidden by the dining table, the roll of the baby in her stomach a feeling she’d never grow tired of.

Aaron reaches for her hand once dinner is done and squeezes, his smile soft when she turns to look at him, a look in his eyes she knows means ‘it’s up to you,’ and she isn’t sure she’s ever loved him more. She nods and squeezes his hand back, her heart thumping in her chest as she shares the news she thought she’d never get a chance to share.

“We have something to tell you,” she says loudly enough to be heard by everyone, her teeth sinking into her lower lip when everyone turns to look at her, their other conversations dying off as she has their attention. She looks back up at Aaron, her throat tight as she suddenly finds herself unable to speak and he nods, happy as ever to take over for her when she needs him too.

“Emily’s pregnant,” he says, smiling when the others gasp, joy and genuine surprise written across their faces, “We’re having a baby.”

There’s a moment of silence before the room descends into what he can only call chaos. Happiness filling the air in a way that was almost suffocating. Penelope is out of her seat in a flash and has her arms wrapped tightly around both of them, standing between them as she plants kisses on both of their cheeks in her excitement.

“I’m so happy for you,” she says, turning her attention to Emily entirely, holding her so tightly she has no choice but to lean into it, “I had given up hope that you two would ever give me a gorgeous niece or nephew.”

Emily squeezes Aaron’s hand a little tighter at her friend's well-meaning, but unknowingly hurtful, comment, but she laughs it off, the sound only empty to Aaron and JJ who was sitting across from them, her eyes shining at them both.

“Well, if you keep hugging me like that you might just squeeze her out of me.”

There’s another pause before Penelope squeals again, “Her?”

Emily wasn’t well known for her patience, so finding out what they were having was a given from the start anyway, but she wanted to know so she could prepare herself either way. She knew she would have been just as happy with another boy as she was about having a girl, but the grief would have been different. Sharp in a whole new way as she tried to get her head around it all.

“Yeah,” she says, looking over at Aaron, “We’re having a girl.”

The team throw endless, loving, questions at them for what feels like hours, especially once they find out just how far along she is, but they accept their answers about her age and the complications it brought with no further prodding. Emily steps away eventually, assuring Aaron that she is fine, that she just needed a minute, with a smile and a small nod as she disappears towards the bathroom down the hallway from Dave’s dining room.

She almost walks into JJ, her focus on how the baby kicks against her hand, the sugar from the dessert Dave had insisted she had a second slice of making her more active than normal, and the only reason she doesn’t is because her friend clears her throat. Emily feels tears press at the back of her eyes the moment they meet JJ’s, a similar expression on her face that she’s sure is on hers.

“I am…” JJ starts, choking on a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, “I am so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” she replies, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just-”

“Em, no,” she says, reaching for her hand and squeezing it, pressing all the love that they’d missed out on in recent weeks and months into her skin, the distance that had been created between them through no fault of their own finally starting to close, “Please don’t apologise. I get it. I promise.”

She nods and sniffs, laughing at herself when a tear slips past her lashline, “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and that this isn’t real. That it’s some kind of cruel joke my mind has come up with,” she shakes her head and puts JJ’s hand on her bump where the baby is moving, “But then she kicks me like that and I know it’s real. Because…well he never moved like that. He never got big enough.”

JJ smiles and then pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly as she runs a hand up and down her back before she pulls back to look at her, “You do know that being happy about her doesn’t take away from how much you love Elliot, right?”

She blows out a breath and wipes away another tear, her hand drifting down to her necklace, gripping the pendant at the foreign sound of someone other than her and Aaron saying their son’s name. “I know,” she says, “I have to remind myself of that a lot. But I know.”

“Good,” JJ says, wiping one of Emily’s tears away for her, “And I hope you also know that Penelope is probably planning the pinkest, most unicorn-filled baby shower that has ever happened as we speak.”

Emily laughs, a real, hearty laugh that she forgot she was capable of as she nods, “Oh God,” she says, shaking her head as she looks down the hallway to the dining room, “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

___

She’s exhausted. Her body aching in a way she didn’t know was possible as she’s pushed to her very limit, another contraction rolling through her before she’s even had a chance to recover from the last one.

“I can’t do it,” she says, unable to find the energy to be mad at herself for the whine she hears in her voice, “I can’t.”

“You can Emily,” her doctor says, smiling up at her from between her legs, “I’m holding her head in my hands, okay? You’re so close.”

She whimpers, another sound she’d file away to berate herself for later, and she turns to look at Aaron. He looks exhausted too, worn down in a different way than she was. Torn open by seeing the woman he loves in pain and the emotions that were thick in the air around them, her chest tight with everything they had lost and everything they were about to gain.

He smiles at her, one hand tight around hers and the other holding a cold compress to her forehead, and he nods, “You can do this sweetheart, you can do it.”

Whether she thinks she can or not, her body takes over, instinct forcing her to push where her brain was stopping her. She feels as her little girl slips into the world, a feeling she’d associated with silence and heartbreak for years now, but then she’s on her chest, screaming loudly and insistently as she protests being born, her skin pressed up against hers.

Emily lets out a sob as she looks at her daughter, her skin red and her hair plastered to her head with god knows what as she wails, and she barely registers it as a nurse places a blanket over the baby to keep her warm. She’s locked in the moment between the two of them, the first meeting of their dark eyes and for a moment it’s just them. Just her and the little girl she’d spent months convinced she’d never get to meet. She tries to memorise everything about her, takes in the colour of her eyes and the slope of her nose. Her tiny cupid bow lips and the dimples she can already see in her cheeks.

“Hi sweet girl,” she chokes out, not recognising her own voice, “Hi. Mommy and Daddy love you so much.”

Aaron leans in to kiss them - the baby’s temple first and then hers - and it’s the press of his lips against her skin that brings her back into the room, her focus on the doctor as she smiles up at her.

“Is she okay?” She asks, the words torn from her throat as she holds her baby against her, unwilling to give her up yet, desperate to have as much of this as she could. Aaron kisses her again when her words, and the meaning behind them, register with him. He holds them both close, his tears slipping down onto her cheeks from his, the joy they were sharing now as much both of theirs as the grief that lay underneath it.

“She’s perfect,” the doctor replies, squeezing Emily’s knee, “Dad can clamp the cord when you’re ready for him to, and then we’ll clean her up and get her weighed and measured whilst you and I sort out the placenta,” she smiles when Emily holds the baby a little tighter at the mention of someone taking her from her, “She’s yours, Emily. And she’s safe. You’re both okay.”

Emily nods and laughs, the sound catching in her throat as she looks up at Aaron, one of her hands unhooking from around their daughter to cup his cheek, “She’s okay.”

“She’s perfect,” he says, repeating the doctor’s words as he leans in to kiss her, his lips briefly against hers, “Just like her mom.”

“Do we have a name for her?” one of the nurses asks, two matching wristbands - one for Emily and one for the baby - in her hands, “Or shall I put Baby Girl Hotchner for now?”

Emily’s eyes meet Aaron’s and he nods, a quiet agreement passing between them that the name they’d decided on weeks ago was perfect, and she looks back at the nurse, “She’s called Eleanor Clara Hotchner.”

The first few hours of Eleanor’s life slip by in a haze. Both she and Emily are checked over by the doctor, and once they are given clean bills of health all the medical staff leave the room, giving them their first moments together alone with their little girl. Eventually, Aaron convinces Emily to shower, promising he’d be just outside the door with Eleanor the whole time, and she almost hates him for being right about the fact she felt better for showering the moment she steps out of the bathroom.

The only time he leaves their side is to go meet Jack out in the hallway. He was the only visitor Emily wanted in the hospital other than Aaron, something that everyone understood - although she’s sure Penelope’s understanding came from JJ forcing her to understand - and it’s a decision she stands by as she gets to watch Jack meet his little sister with no interruptions, the expression on his face as he looks up at her and Aaron and announces that he loves his little sister enough to make Emily cry again.

When he goes home, reluctant but willing once Aaron and Emily promise him he can visit again tomorrow if she and Eleanor don’t get to go home yet, Aaron takes him back out to meet Jess. Emily takes the opportunity to look down at her little girl in her arms. She fusses over her, and adjusts the blankets around her and the little hat on her head.

“You look so much like your brother,” she says, her lips pressed together as she contains a sob, so fed up with crying even though she knows she won’t stop any time soon, “Both of them.” She lifts Eleanor to kiss the top of her head and she breathes her in, taking in the sweet newborn smell that she knows will fade before she wants it to, “You are so loved, sweet girl. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

She looks up as the door opens and smiles as her husband walks in, his smile soft and full of love and everything they never needed to say.

“How are my girls doing?”

“We’re okay,” she says, shifting in the bed to make room for him, not wanting him to be anywhere but right next to her, “Aren’t we Nora?” She strokes her cheek again and then looks at Aaron, turning her head so her cheek can rest on his shoulder, “I was just telling her that she looks like her brothers.”

He nods, his breath catching in his chest as he kisses the top of her head, his arms looped around them both, “She really does.”

Emily kisses him and then settles against him, tucking herself into his chest in the best way she can whilst she still looks at Eleanor, unable to tear her gaze from the baby for any longer than a few seconds at a time, “Thank you.”

“For what, sweetheart?” He asks, his fingers trailing up and down her arm, “You did all of the work. Thanking me feels like thanking the guy who just shows up for the group project on the day it’s due.”

She laughs, “As much as I appreciate you saying that, it’s not true,” she kisses his shoulder, “You held me together when I couldn’t do it myself. I don’t think I’d have made it through this pregnancy if it wasn’t for you.”

“You underestimate yourself, sweetheart. You can do anything.”

She playfully rolls her eyes at him and directs her next comment at a still-sleeping Eleanor, “Daddy sucks at taking a compliment, baby. You’ll get used to it,” she looks up at Aaron, “I mean it, honey. I know none of this has been easy on either of us,” she makes sure she has a good hold on Eleanor before she unhooks one arm from around her to cup his cheek, “Thank you for loving me, and her, and Jack…and Elliot,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek, her hold on Eleanor tightening for a moment. Aaron reaches out and adjusts her necklace for her, aware of her habit of doing so whenever she mentioned their little boy they’d only had a couple of hours with. His thumb is briefly pressed against the single letter that now held even more meaning, the choice behind their daughter’s name purposeful in more ways than one, “I just hope you know that we all love you back just as much,” she smiles at him, “If not more.”

He smiles and kisses her, “I don’t think it’s possible for you to love me more than I love you.”

She shakes her head and stamps a kiss against his lips before she looks down at the baby in her arms, “I guess we’ll just have to spend the rest of our lives proving Daddy wrong, huh Nora?”

He rests his cheek on top of her head, a sense of peace he hadn’t known existed washing over him as he watches her watch Eleanor. Their family would always have a piece missing. There would always be what ifs and what could have beens that would roll around. There would always be moments of sadness that would linger between him and his wife when they saw little boys who got to grow up when theirs didn’t, but they still had pieces of their son with them. Not only in a piece of jewellery Emily never took off, or a box of footprints and handprints nestled between their marriage certificate and their social security documents, but in the smiles of his older brother and his little sister.

“I guess I can live with that.”

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