#Cyrus's pull to share knowledge

[whichgreathousewouldtheybepartof]

Cyrus Albright (Octopath Traveler)

Oh here's something from the wiki since he's a niche character

Cyrus Albright is one of eight playable characters in Octopath Traveler. He is a professor (...) Brimming with passion for knowledge and teaching, Cyrus enjoys a substantial reputation as an academic.

As a scholar, Cyrus prizes knowledge above all else. He believes that knowledge must be shared with other people (...) Although Cyrus blatantly opposes the headmaster's beliefs, he keeps quiet because criticizing Yvon could cost him his job as a scholar; (...) He is always eloquent and respectful towards others.

Thanks in large part to his overflowing knowledge, Cyrus possesses excellent deduction skills. (...)

Despite his intelligence, however, he tends to be oblivious to the feelings of women who fall for him.

Ways to approach the poll if the character isn’t a royal:

If you think they’d be from a smaller house, go with the Great House that that smaller house is sworn to (ex: House Manderly —> vote Stark)

They don’t have to be a nobleperson, they can be someone working for the house or being ruled by them. Roles could be a sworn-sword, a septa, a butcher, a blacksmith, or even a lowly peasant.

You can consider the region itself. For example, if you feel the character would be from Dorne, pick House Martell.

You can consider the personality of the character. For example, if your character is all about honor, then consider either House Arryn or House Stark.

Last, but not least, be creative with it! For example, there was a comment I read that the character who was the subject of the poll would be pulling a Littlefinger, so they went with either Lannister or Tyrell as that would be that character’s target houses.

[dandelion-wings]

PLEASE share those extraneous details you cut from the Lisa whump we need the lore/headcanons

I liked a lot of them, so, sure? XD A lot were embedded in other parts, so I'll post those parts in full with the extra/parentheticals highlighted.

First, not parentheticals, just the easiest things to chop out of a section that was already prose-heavy when I was trying to also convey urgency. Also a potential theme (learning vs. teaching) that I found interesting enough to chuck wholesale into my fic ideas document for later exploration:

"So when Alice designed her Theater, there was enough resin in it for this to revitalize? Like a tree in a Domain?" Jean asks. Even in the midst of the calm that she refuses to let become terror, Lisa feels a spark of pride. She may not be Jean's teacher in the way she is for Razor and Klee, but seeing someone untutored make connections between the information they're given and what they already know will always give her the same joy. "Yes," she says, in the same tone she would to one of those students, "very good.

and

Two years of helping seal Hermanubis, over and over, until it stopped breaking through to overwhelm Cyno and he could develop his own control. She'd done a great deal of research in those two years. Along with all the other learning she'd been doing at the Akademiya, of course. Sleeping two hours a night, working through every meal, walking about with a book in hand so as not to lose a single second in which she might be able to absorb more knowledge.... An unsustainable pace, but one she had sustained for longer than might seem humanly possible. Even then she had eventually burned out. (She sees herself in Jean, sometimes, young and determined and convinced that if she just keeps going, eventually she'll reach the breakthrough point where all the hard work at last becomes *easy*, and all that sacrifice is redeemed by what she gains.) Only after that catastrophic emotional crash had she learned the joys of relaxing, the delights of taking it slow. And the satisfaction of teaching, so much more rewarding than all that learning had ever been. The pursuit of knowledge requires constant sacrifice; *sharing* knowledge demands nothing, only doubles what is given. She had left her notes for Cyrus when she left the Akademiya, and he and Cyno far surpass her now in their expertise on this subject.

I had a whole thing going about "Vision users die young," based in part on a lore theory that I think I picked up from @chrysoula about Vision-users being (ultimately expendable) ways for Celestia to control/process elemental power, but also 50% a dig at the Genshin devs for refusing to give me any playable Beefy Grandpas or Tough Old Women. I pulled it out because all the references for it were an easy thing to rip for pacing:

Very little magic in the modern era doesn't rely on the elements. Even when scholars speak of "old techniques," they're talking about herbalism, which still involves the elemental affinities of certain plants, or tapping the leylines, which remains an occasional if dangerous recourse for those without Visions but had been much more common when Visions were much more rare. They were, before the Cataclysm. (The Akademiya quietly suppresses discussion of *why*.) But there are even older techniques from before the establishment of the Thrones, some still practiced in Liyue and Inazuma under the guise of traditional healing and martial arts, that draw on another source entirely. Her own lifeforce isn't a price Lisa *wishes* to pay. But it is one she knows how to. And it's one Celestia would always have demanded from her, anyway, for that Vision she's so ambivalent about. (People never seem to notice that they've never met a Vision-bearer who isn't *young*. Lisa has done her best to avoid exerting her power, to avoid paying that price into Celestia's coffers. She doesn't miss the irony now.)

(Jean was predestined to die young the moment her Vision appeared, but she'd been taught long before that to accept it as an honor, if in Mondstadt's defense. She would begrudge Lisa the chance to serve more than she would the risk.) (Lisa was predestined to die young the moment her Vision appeared, and she had recoiled from her fate as soon as she realized that truth. She has no desire to rush towards annihilation, even on Mondstadt's behalf.) (Practically, rationally: if they share the work,  *both* of them have a better chance.)

(I do headcanon Lisa as the oldest Mondstadt character by at least 10 years, but mid-to-late-30s is far from old, just puts her that much closer to this theoretical fate.)

and (from Lisa accepting Jean's aid, which happened after the paragraph above in 1.0--moving that to earlier in the ficlet was the other major revision between it and 1.5, and was the reason I wrote that post about twisting Lisa's arm yesterday. I couldn't make her first thought believably be "fine, I'll do this solo" without upping the stakes with something like "Klee's stuck in that," which is a method I already used in the last promptfic, and Jean volunteering way earlier was IC for Jean and fixed that neatly). This whole bit's cut material so I won't color-code here:

Finally, just a bit of speculative magical (and "we don't talk about this in front of Celestia"-themed) worldbuilding that made this paragraph way too chunky:

Sumeran seals tend to use threes (for Dendro, Electro, and Pyro, they say; not for certain trio in their past), Liyue prefers sevens (all seven elements at once grant stability; certainly, with all the adepti also in that court, it has nothing to do with two ruling gods and five generals), and Inazuma likes fives (they're far too secretive to even give their justifications, let alone the historical context behind). Khaenri'ah was emphatically locked into pairs (too gnostic to admit the world has three parts), and Fontaine has a terrible, unstable tendency to use just one anchor-point (that Lisa hopes will change now that it's nearly wiped them out). Mondstadt doesn't have a sealing tradition in the first place as far as the Akademiya is concerned, but Lisa knows better. What else are the Four Winds?

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

I GOT YOU SIBLING! PREPARE FOR THE POKEMON AU!

Young Friends and Pretend Date Mates

In the picturesque region of Sinnoh, nestled among rolling hills and vibrant meadows, Adria Nakatomi grew up surrounded by the love and care of her parents, the Daycare Couple. Their home, a charming cottage adjacent to the Pokémon Daycare, was always filled with the joyful sounds of Pokémon and laughter. Adria, with her boundless energy and love for Pokémon, was a bright beacon in this tranquil environment.

From a young age, Adria was inseparable from a boy named Cyrus, who lived nearby. Cyrus was quiet and contemplative, often lost in thought, a stark contrast to Adria's exuberance. Despite their differences, they formed a close bond, spending countless hours exploring the countryside, caring for Pokémon, and sharing their dreams.

On sunny afternoons, they would embark on adventures through the fields, pretending to be the greatest Pokémon Trainers in the world. Adria's infectious enthusiasm always brought a smile to Cyrus's face, while his calm demeanor balanced her spirited nature. One of their favorite pastimes was playing "pretend dates," where they would imagine going on grand journeys together, facing challenges and overcoming obstacles as a team.

Paths Diverge

As they grew older, life began to pull them in different directions. Adria's parents encouraged her to start her own Pokémon journey, and at the age of 11, she received her first Pokémon, a Chimchar she lovingly named Fire Tail. However, she waited until she was 12, so she could start her journey alongside her younger sibling Warden, who had chosen a Piplup named Emperor.

Cyrus, on the other hand, became increasingly withdrawn, obsessed with his quest for knowledge and power. He distanced himself from Adria, believing that human emotions were a hindrance to achieving true greatness. Despite their growing apart, Adria never forgot the boy who had been her closest friend.

Reunited as Enemies

Years passed, and Adria's journey took her far and wide. She became the Champion of Sinnoh and eventually Alola, earning a reputation as a fierce yet compassionate Trainer. Meanwhile, Cyrus founded Team Galactic, with a plan to create a new world devoid of spirit and emotion.

Their paths crossed once more when Cyrus's schemes threatened the very fabric of Sinnoh. Adria, now a seasoned Champion, stood as a formidable obstacle in his way. They faced off in a climactic battle, their childhood memories clashing with their current realities. Despite their conflicting goals, a part of Adria still saw the boy she had once known in Cyrus's eyes.

A Desperate Alliance

Cyrus's ambition led to the catastrophic summoning of Giratina, the ruler of the Distortion World. The legendary Pokémon, enraged by its forceful summoning, threatened to wreak havoc on Sinnoh. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Adria and Cyrus were forced to set aside their differences and work together to calm Giratina.

Their combined strength and strategic prowess eventually subdued Giratina, preventing disaster. During their ordeal, they rekindled a semblance of their old friendship. Cyrus, despite his cold exterior, couldn't help but admire Adria's unwavering determination and kindness. Adria, in turn, saw glimpses of the thoughtful boy she had once cared for, hidden beneath his hardened exterior.

Unspoken Feelings

In the aftermath of the chaos, Cyrus found himself grappling with unfamiliar emotions. He was drawn to Adria in a way that both intrigued and terrified him. His rational mind fought against these feelings, deeming them a weakness, but his heart was slowly beginning to thaw.

Adria, too, felt a deep fondness for Cyrus. She saw the potential for redemption within him, believing that the boy she had once loved was still there, buried beneath layers of ambition and pain. Their shared experience had forged a fragile connection, one that held the promise of something more.

An Uncertain Future

As they parted ways once more, Adria couldn't help but hope that Cyrus might find his way back to the light. She believed in the power of redemption and knew that, given time, even the darkest hearts could change. Cyrus, though conflicted, carried a piece of Adria's unwavering spirit with him, a reminder of the bond they had shared.

Their story was far from over, but for now, they walked separate paths, each carrying the memory of a childhood friendship that had withstood the test of time and adversity.

[sidesteppostinghours]

WIP its-not-Wednesday-but-close-enough

tagged by @autistic-sidestep! thank you for the tag :D i have,,, so many wips rn. pulp stop starting a million projects challenge. all of these are very rough, and a lot of them feature other steps, but i wanted to share a few :]

for writing, ive got these:

“What the hell, man!” Mitchel hisses. He’s let go, but he hasn’t bothered lowering his voice. Too loud, but real. Caine groans, pulling themselves up from the mattress. At least it wasn’t the floor– this could’ve hurt a lot worse. They wince at the throb in their shoulder as they reach for the wall, probing for a light switch. When he flicks it on reality re-establishes itself once more.  It’s Caine’s room, familiarly bare-bones. There’s only a singular twin sized bed in one corner of the room and a desk just across, with a heap of laundry they haven’t bothered to do taking up the chair. Mitchel stands on the mattress in the middle, both parts pissed and bleary eyed. His cheek is a lightish colour that’s a telltale sign it’s going to bruise, and a portion of his blanket stubbornly clings onto his shoulder. There’s no threat in here, or at least nothing more threatening than Mitchel annoyed. The knowledge doesn’t stop the blood pounding in their ears.

-caine wakes up and gets jumpscared by @hyper-pixels mitchel. they react to this calmly.

Marshal Steel has hair stuck in his finger joints. That's the first thing Daniel noticed when he came in to work this morning. Steel has his civilian hands on, which is normal when he has admin work. Those civilian hands will usually have hair in it too, mostly from Spoon. That's also normal. What's not normal is the colour; because instead of the odd tufts of grey fur Daniel's used to seeing scattering Steel's joints, this is a single, longer strand that he's sure wasn't left on purpose. Because the hair strand is brown. Suspiciously similar to Ortega's own brown hair.

-herald is suspicious that his boss is having another secret relationship with a pretty old man, but its none of his business! not at all. thats why hes eavesdropping on them from the breakroom pantry.

“What are you two talking about?” Ortega jerks, nearly spilling coffee all over Wei, tearing a curse out of him as he yanks his head to the direction of the voice.  Speak of the devil. Caine glances between the two, head cocked. When did he get here? Ortega doesn't remember inviting him, and nobody told him he was coming either. Not that Ortega isn't happy to see him, but the timing… “Dios mio, Spot, how long have you been standing there?” he mutters. He gives his coffee a once over, but nothing's spilled.  He turns back to Caine and double takes. The poor guy looks like he's just run a marathon– he's drenched in his own sweat. He's not wearing his raggedy sweater, for once. Instead, he's got a skintight suit with a simple white tee over it.

-a multi-pov fic featuring the same conversation, but told from the perspective of ortega, chen, and caine. trying to practice voices with it, and so far its been fun digging into each of them!

as for art wips:

-arde and vera based on the song "the villain i appear to be"! i actually made this today after playing the new revelations demo lmfao. i do not remember what arde looks like 😔 im so sorry ive done you a disservice

the next two have blood+mild gore in them, so im throwing them under the cut!

-cyrus gets Fucked Up by a dream version of fawn from @villainsidestep, based on this absolutely vile(/pos) soul read of him:

because why not fuck him up even more??

-mitchel painting i have yet to put down colours for that i am lovingly dubbing "cannibalism (NOT ROMANTIC)". chew it out with your teeth mitchel!!!!

ill be tagging everybody mentioned in the post, plus @idlenight, @disastersteps, and maybe @euelios if you all wanna give this a shot?

[ellie-e-marcovitz]

Five: Defensive Matters

prev.

He ended up wandering aimlessly through the castle, crossing the Transfiguration Courtyard and back to Central Hall, finding the Great Hall in the process, as well as the school library.

It certainly beat the one at Ilvermorny, though he got horribly turned around looking for the Ancient Runes section. Not that there appeared to be one… He was just about to ask the librarian if she knew where they were, when he noticed the time.

Lunch was needed.

Thankfully, he managed to navigate the halls without getting too lost. The map was very useful.

Entering, he looked around. It seemed most everyone had chosen this time for lunch, and most everyone seemed unfamiliar.

A waving hand caught his attention from the Gryffindor table, and he hurried towards it. Natty had somehow managed to save him a spot. Even Eleanor, Seraphina and Garreth were nearby.

Waving, he gratefully pulled food onto his plate, feeling almost ravenous. The cooking certainly rivalled his mum’s, even if it was less elaborate than the opening.

Noodles eaten, he and Natty chatted about their upcoming afternoon. He grinned at them sharing an Ancient Runes class, and eventually managed to coax her to take the summer essay for him to class.

Garreth was easily persuaded to take his potions, and Eleanor his Muggle Studies one, even as part of him suspected that it was already too late.

“It’s not,” she reassured him. “Your schedule might be a bit tight, once you start them all, though.”

He winced a little at that, not sure what to think.

Natty glanced at her watch. “Cyrus, you might want to start towards Defence. Professor Hecat can be quite strict about being late. And it’s not the easiest class to get to from here.”

He nodded quickly, grabbing his book bag, and waving his goodbye. Hurtling out of the Great Hall, he set the map to the Defence classroom.

And walked in on a duel between Leander and one of the Slytherins who’d also been in Charms class. Sebastian, if he remembered correctly.

Stupefy seemed to be the main spell being traded between them, along with Protego and basic casts it seemed.

Until Sebastian pulled out another. “Is that all you’ve got, Prewett? Bombarda!”

Leander threw up a shield, knocking the curse away from himself. But it impacted above him, onto a skeleton hanging from the ceiling of the classroom.

All it seemed he could do was watch the skull plummet towards his dorm mate.

Until it stopped, with a yell from above them. “Levioso!”

“Professor Hecat!” one of the other students exclaimed, and he recognised Cressida’s frizzy hair.

Professor Hecat was revealed, as she floated the enormous skull back up towards the rest of the skeleton. An older lady, slightly stooped, but no less capable, she reattached it as she made her way down from her office.

“Perhaps you would be good to blast each other to pieces on your own time,” she chastised, as she lifted it away from Leander. “I get new students every year, but I only have one Hebridean Black skull.” Her voice was firm, no nonsense, and she reminded him a little of his grandmother Northrup. “It was a token from the Great Poacher Raid of 1878. No doubt you’ve heard of it.”

So a dragon, a Hebridean Black. It looked quite a bit like the one that had attacked him and Professor Fig. He felt a little in awe of both the skeleton (the size of it) and his professor.

“Now,” she continued, dragon skull hovering slightly in place. “You may be asking yourself how an old woman like me single-handedly took out the largest poacher ring in eastern Wales and lived to boast about it…”

Another wave of her wand and the skull fell into place. “Knowledge.”

She moved further into the classroom, “To the wise, age matters very little. Today we will review a spell that has saved me from death at the hands of Dark wizards more often than I care to remember.”

Professor Hecat paused. “Levioso.”

Leander seemed to be in disbelief. “Levioso?” he asked, aghast. “A levitation charm?”

Professor Hecat turned to him, wand at the ready. “Levioso!” she called out, and up went Leander, clearly surprised at the actions of his professor.

Several students snickered at the crestfallen expression, including Sebastian.

“A surprised opponent is a weak opponent,” Hecat continued, almost casually. “Care to defend yourself, master Prewett?” Leander shook his head, his expression panicked. “No?”

Another flick of Hecat’s wand, and Leander landed unsteadily on the floor. “One thing I’ve learned as an Unspeakable,” Hecat continued, turning back around. “Is the value of simplicity, especially in the heat of a battle. Now,” she folded her hands. “Let’s practice what we’ve just learned, starting with something small.”

The group dispersed to the desks and managed to grab the one behind Leander. It took a couple of tries to get the wrist movement just right, but he managed it alright. There was something mildly hypnotic about making something float in front of you.

“Now let’s try something a little larger…” Hecat forged on, making her way back to the front of the classroom. Pulling a dummy over, she then flicked the desks off to the side of the classroom, keeping everyone on their feet.

She gestured for him to step forward. He did so, somewhat reluctantly. Nothing like being the newest student in the year… He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Hecat conjured a shield charm around it. There seemed to be a strange yellow tint to it. “Let us begin with a Basic Cast.”

He threw one, and just managed to dodge it as it was deflected. “See how the dummy deflected your cast? This time, try using Levioso, and then the Basic Cast. Remember, a surprised opponent-”

“Levioso!” he called, breaking the shield around the dummy, and hurling it into the air.

“Good. Now, a basic- Well done.” Hecat observed, then congratulated. He added on a couple more blasts for good measure, not sure when it would drop.

“Very good,” Hecat congratulated, once everyone had a crack at the dummy. “But, I’ve found the best way to practice is by duelling. In a controlled environment, at least.”

She faced him, and the Slytherin, Sebastian, who had come up beside him. “We’ll start with you two. Duellists, take your marks.”

“Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome,” Sebastian muttered, chuckling a little.

He rolled his eyes. Sebastian seemed like some of the other students at Ilvermorny, who seemed to find enjoyment in tormenting him that first year.

Sebastian headed for the spot at the front of the classroom, drawing his wand. He headed for the one near the back, drawing his wand as well.

As the floor shifted into a duelling platform. He wobbled briefly at the sudden shift, before finding the appropriate mark.

“Now,” Hecat ordered sternly, standing between them. “I want a fair duel using only Levioso, Basic Cast, and Protego.” She held her wand firmly. “Anything else, and it’ll be detention. You may begin.”

Sebastian gave a brief bow, which he returned shortly, before conjuring the same yellow-ish shield. “This should be easy.”

I wouldn’t bet on that, Sebastian… he thought, before retorting, “Levioso!”

The shield charm around Sebastian shattered, catapulting the Slytherin a couple feet above the duelling platform. A wistful part of his brain imagined Steven Lester there instead.

“Good form,” Sebastian gasped, clearly surprised, the half moment his mind drifted. Before dodging two basic casts from Sebastian, and following up with several of his own.

The Slytherin hit the table, which had to be charmed, even as he groaned a little.

“I know,” he replied, allowing Sebastian the brief chance to stand up, before barely dodging Sebastian’s own return fire.

There was plenty of clapping from most of the class, students Sebastian no doubt harried during class. Sebastian pulled himself up with a wince.

“Lucky…” Sebastian muttered, disbelieving and slightly winded.

“Nothing lucky about it,” he said back, the words slipping from his mouth. “Levioso!”

Sebastian flailed, as he was floated again. Several more basic casts, and he was finally starting to feel comfortable with them.

“This can’t be your first duel…!” Sebastian exclaimed, as he pushed the Slytherin off the table.

“Let’s just say… I’m a quick learner!” He hopped down himself, legs shaking a little from the subsequent adrenaline rush.

He approached Sebastian, after he picked himself up, and as Leander and another student faced off.

“Not bad for a beginner,” Sebastian commented, as they faced each other. “You give as good as you get.” A chuckle, as he dusted off his robes and walked off, shaking his head.

Part of him felt particularly proud of that fact, and he walked over to where Professor Hecat waited.

“Well done, Mr. Northrup,” she congratulated again. “I put you on the spot, and you rose to the challenge. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Thank you, Professor Hecat. I was glad for the opportunity to practice.”

“If what I’ve seen today is any indication,” she continued, clearly impressed, “we can expect great things from you. I demand excellence from my students. They are more than capable of achieving it – and they must achieve it.”

Her expression grew serious. “A classroom duel is one thing, but battling Dark wizards – or, as ever more likely, goblins – is a different kettle of Grindylows entirely.”

He nodded, getting the emphasis. “Understood, Professor.”

“So, I would advise you to keep practicing whenever you can.” There was a mischievous twinkle that appeared. “Perhaps Mr. Sallow will have some ideas for you. Again, well done today. I shall reach out soon enough with additional assignments for you.”

The sound of bells caught his attention, again indicating the end of class.

She moved off, shooing everyone else out, as the last duel finished. “Alright, that’s enough spectacle for one day. Class dismissed.”

Chatter and groans rose from the rest of the class, as everyone gathered their bags and filtered out. He grabbed his own, before pulling out the summer essay.

“Professor Hecat -?” he asked, looking around, but she was occupied with something. He stuffed it back in his bag. Next class, then.

Making his way towards the door, he heard, “Nice work,” from Sebastian, followed by one of the Ravenclaws going, “If you know the right spells, it’s the dark wizards who will fear you…”

He turned back towards Sebastian, not that he was overly eager to talk with the Slytherin.

“Hello,” he intoned in greeting.

“Cyrus Northrup, is it?” Sebastian asked, and he nodded. “Sebastian Sallow. I recognised you from Charms. Say, is it your brother who joined Slytherin this year?”

He nodded. “It is. My younger brother, Hayden. I wasn’t surprised when I saw.”

Sebastian moved on. “And that duel just now was quite something. Everyone’ll be talking about it.”

He raised an eyebrow. Clearly news travelled fast here, almost as fast as at Ilvermorny, and the murmurs about his entrance hadn’t been a fluke. “Either way, I enjoyed that. And it was certainly good practice.”

“Practice? Is that what you’d call that?” Sebastian asked, clearly surprised by that. “I felt like I was duelling an expert there.”

There was something of a hungry expression on Sebastian’s face as he said that. And one that made him… uneasy.

“I honestly didn’t expect a new student to be so deft with a wand. Then again…” he had a thoughtful, almost analytical expression on his face. “Perhaps this wasn’t your first duel…”

He kept his expression neutral. There was no rush to share his experience at Ilvermorny with anyone besides the professors so soon. “In fact, it was.” In a classroom, in Britain. “Perhaps I have a knack for it.” He shrugged.

Sebastian seemed unconvinced, if not a little smug. “Be coy, if you’d like, but I know better. Magic requires intention and talent. You know…�� the analytical expression reappeared. “You might be a perfect fit for a… certain, shall we say, exclusive and unsanctioned duelling organisation.”

He hoped his confusion wasn’t obvious. Was this what Professor Hecat was hinting at? “That does sound intriguing. Count me in.” Speaking of Hecat… was she eavesdropping?

Sebastian grinned, clearly oblivious. “Excellent. Knew I was right about you.” He seemed far too proud of an assumption. “Look, if you want to get the most out of your time here at Hogwarts, you’re going to need to break the rules every now and again.”

Sebastian gave a half-shrug. “Whether its joining a secret duelling club, or even breaking into the Restricted Section of the library… you just have to be clever enough not to get caught.”

He was unsure about that. “…I’ll keep that in mind, Sebastian. Thank you.”

“Good.” Sebastian, at least, seemed appeased, despite his hesitation. “Pleasure chatting with you. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” A sly smile crept onto his face. “Perhaps somewhere… unsanctioned.” A moment, where it seemed Sebastian was sizing him up. “We’ll see if your performance today was just sheer luck – or actual skill. Look for Lucan Brattleby, near the Clock Tower entrance.”

The sly smile grew into a smirk. “If you’re interested, of course.”

He gave a short nod.

“’Til next time,” Sebastian said, before exiting the Defence classroom.

chapter 6

[jadeazora]

I really like Volo as a twist villain, like I actually didn't really see it coming. (Tho I wasn't really predicting a straightforward human antagonist.)

Like, I guess it's kinda obvious in hindsight with how Cyrus's ancestor is good, it would make sense that Cynthia's ancestor turns out to be a villain, but it doesn't really fail for the same reasons past twist villains they've attempted failed.

We're conditioned to trust Cynthia, given how many times she has been an ally to the player. And Volo comes off as just as nice, with him apparently worrying about us fighting the raging nobles (tho he's really just trying to dissuade us from interfering), and seeking us out when we're banished. He shares a lot of her passions like being interested in the myths of Hisui, so even him coming off as more knowledgeable than he should feels like it can be excused.

I'm just like, "Awww, he's worried about us 🥺"

And then comes the postgame and he starts bringing up this whole spiel about how life isn't fair and starts talking about a new world, and it sinks in he's about to pull a Cyrus. He reveals he's been manipulating you the whole time and then tries to kill you, which makes all the times you were alone with him in the wilderness or some dark cave all the more creepy in hindsight.

[flickeringart]

Planets in the 8th House

Like all the watery houses, the 8th house is mysterious and potent, yet it’s difficult to fully get a grasp of. The area of life that this house represents are usually summarized by worn out key words; death, transformation, regeneration, rebirth, sex, shared finances, the occult, hidden complexes, power struggles, trauma, crisis and the list goes on… from these words one gathers that the 8th is not a light-hearted sphere of life – it signifies struggle and emotional intensity. Having planets in the 8th, strong Pluto or Scorpio influence usually revolves around the same themes – paranoia, the striving for control and a tendency to keep things private and buried in order to sustain power.

I’m not going to discuss the difference of having strong Scorpio-Pluto placements vs. having planets in the 8th house in this post, but since the sign, planet and house are linked and are symbolic of the same themes, there’s a lot of overlap that is to be expected.

A person with planet(s) in the 8th will not act out the planetary principles consciously. Usually, the energy is felt through their aura, quiet but evident, as if the planet makes its presence known without revealing itself. For example, someone with Venus in the 8th might not openly declare affection and love, except in the most intimate of settings, but it’s unquestionably there. Picture the goddess of love living within a person as a body of water. She is there, but she is slippery and unable to manifest through conscious expression in daily life. The reason for planets in the 8th house “hiding” usually has something to do with fear of losing control, of exposing something taboo and risky that could have dire consequences.  We see this phenomenon in movies all the time – a person isn’t conscious of the fact the he or she is in love with a person but it’s obvious to everyone else – this would be typical of Venus in the 8th. One doesn’t dare to express it because it would alter the way of things, it would violate the sense of self-control and expose one’s vulnerability. Pain accompanies planets in the 8th, however benefic, because they impose themselves on the person and puts everything on the line. It’s a little bit like opening Pandora’s box – one can never go back to how things were before one fell in love, yet one resists the power with which one is pulled into a relationship. Even Venus and Jupiter, the most “positive” planets are operating in a way that makes the person feel out of control. Sure, it’s probably more positive to be invaded by love and abundance than anything else, but it can still be shocking and fearful to a person that doesn’t want to acknowledge the autonomy of the planet and has put up rigid defenses against it, only to have them be shattered. In the case of Venus in the 8th, personal love and affection is very private and usually has some kind of trauma or complex tied up with it. Looking at astrotheme’s database of people with Venus in the 8th , Miley Cyrus pops up at the top of the page with this placement. In some of her more personal songs, lyrics hint to her being afraid of love and intimacy. Even in her famous song “Wrecking Ball” she sings about falling under love’s spell and slowly seeing a relationship turn to “ashes on the ground”. If this isn’t typical symbolism of transformation through love I don’t know what is.

With the Moon in the 8th house, the person doesn’t openly express emotion – the emotions erupt volcanically from time to time, and it’s very uncomfortable for the person because there’s a feeling of being exposed and threatened that accompanies this release. Because of the fear that is tied up with emotion, the person might show dislike and defensiveness when faced with other people’s emotional expressions and needs. Sigmund Freud had his Moon in the 8th, which is very telling. He was obviously interested in uncovering the complexes behind certain reactions, presumably because he didn’t feel himself to be in control of his own emotions and inner life. He was certainly motivated to transform and free himself and his clients of the tight grip of the unconscious patterns of the 8th house. He explored the underlying mechanisms of repression, formulated the Oedipus complex and postulated the existence of libido – sexual energy with which the mental processes are invested. The Moon’s placement in the 8th would point to deeply rooted emotional and possibly sexual ties with the mother. The Oedipus complex is after all a desire for sexual involvement with the opposite sex and the presence of repressed incestuous instincts. Freud noted that he had wanted to marry his mother as a child to rival with the father and understood that it must be a universal principle among all boys in all cultures. This has not been thoroughly empirically proven, but it’s certainly reveals something about Freud’s own psychology. In any case with Moon in the 8th, the emotional and instinctual nature is accompanied with a sense of it being taboo and shameful. The emotional nature is experienced to be powerful beyond personal control.

Mercury in the 8th is a another story. Mercury is the planet of communication, thinking and deductive reasoning. When looking up people with this placement, it seems to me that it is common among people who speak up about uncomfortable topics, that which would be considered “risky business” to talk about. Prince Harry has this placement and he has been very open recently about his mental health struggles. Emma Watson has this placement and she has been an advocate for feminism and equality – preaching and advocating strongly with emotional investment when giving the famous UN speech in 2014. Lana Del Rey has this placement and she writes lyrics based on her own personal experiences, not shying away from dark topics like death, heartbreak, destructive and passionate relationships. It seems as if Mercury in this house gives the person a propensity for talking and thinking about that which in uncomfortable, for revealing difficult power-imbalances and dynamics taking place within the psyche. There’s usually a feeling of being cautious of what one reveals, of sitting on information that holds emotional power and that involves other people. With any planet in this house there’s a strong impulse to be aware of other people, in case of Mercury it’s what other people know and don’t know, what they say and don’t say. Mercury in the 8th might be indicative of a person who is controlled by what other people say and feels at the mercy of other people’s opinions – positively and negatively. The narratives and stories of other people might merge with the person on a deep level and fuel one’s own opinions. One might be exposed to challenging, discriminative and harmful opinions, even indoctrinated in them. When speaking one’s mind, one might have to summon a lot of bravery because more than likely there’s a bit of a chokehold that is being felt and effort that is required to break free from deeply instilled thought patterns. This placement could be indicative of a person that likes to think and communicate about deep and taboo topics, reveal and keep secrets.

With Mars in the 8th, one simple interpretation would be “someone who is prone to experience physical violence in intimate relationships”. Either one is the victim of it or the perpetrator, perhaps even a bystander or a protector. The violence, albeit linked to physical action, might just manifest in the form of acting without another’s best interest in mind. There’s usually a sense of being at the mercy of other people’s actions with this placement, but also of having no conscious control over one’s own motivations for doing things, one’s own drive to make things happen. Princess Diana had this placement, conjunct Pluto-Uranus, and she was far from feeling in absolute control of her direction in life. With Pluto-Mars the drive is buried and tied up with the primal survival instinct and latent rage. Her relationship with Prince Charles was anything but smooth and she felt like a victim to greater forces (Pluto-Uranus) making her act in a way that was, most certainly, driven by emotional complexes and not out of conscious will. She also behaved in a way with her compulsive eating and independent streak that was not favorably looked upon. J.F. Kennedy also had this placement, he too had difficulties on the relationship front, mostly because he had a compulsive sexual drive and had a lot of extramarital affairs. This is typical of Mars in the 8th being tied up with emotional complexes – he couldn’t stick to his wife; he had to prove himself and his masculinity through conquering women (he has Jupiter conjunct his Mars and we all know how faithful Jupiter was in mythology). His sexual appetite caused moral problems among the Secret Service agents who were employed to smuggle women in and out of the White House. His behavior was altogether inappropriate but somehow he survived politically as it was kept in the shadows. Diana certainly had her own extramarital affairs as well, perhaps to revenge Charles for his strong tie with Camilla and subsequent declining interest in their marriage. Mars in the 8th is undoubtedly indicative of action taken out of the need to retain emotional integrity, sometimes with unfavorable consequences. Notably, both Diana and J.F. Kennedy died suddenly, Diana in a car accident and J.F. Kennedy through assassination by a bullet. The 8th house is the house of death, and Mars here usually indicates a violent and sudden strike of “fate”.

Last but not least, let’s take a look at the Sun in the 8th house. The same people who shows up when searching for Mercury, Mars and even Venus, also have the Sun in this house; J.F. Kennedy, Lana Del Rey, Emma Watson and Prince Harry, which is not surprising considering that the inner planets never stray too far from the Sun. The Sun represents the ego, the sense of self-knowledge and self-awareness. The Sun is representative of the conscious center of the personality. This suggests that the people with this placement are painfully aware of death and violation, of the destructive nature of reality. While the Moon in the 8th might indicate that emotional reactions or lack thereof stem from deep seated autonomous complexes rooted in survival, the Sun might indicate a sense of self and self-expression that stems from the difficulties and hardships one has gone through. This placement can be understood in the sentiment “who am I without my trauma?”. There’s the tendency to identify with the ordeals of one’s life and how one overcame them (or didn’t). This dynamic is evident in all the people listed at the top of this paragraph. Prince Harry being a very obvious one that people make fun of nowadays – he’s coming out as a survivor of past down ancestral trauma, attempting to work through and shine a light on his personal struggles growing up within the Royal Family, attempting to separate himself from the curses of unconscious programming. Lana Del Rey certainly enjoys identifying and expressing the darker side of herself, illuminating the theme of death and emotional hardship in her songs. Emma Watson also seems to identify with the hurt and injustice present in the world and is a spokesperson for collective movements (Sun in the 8th, Leo in the 11th). J.F. Kennedy has the same Sun –Leo house setup as Emma, channeling his experience of personal hardships into his career and public life. In a sense, people who want to appeal to the masses and make a change on a large scale must be personally invested enough to fuel the movement. In the case of the 8th house being involved with Kennedy and Watson, they might feel as if their sense of self is dictated by other people’s values or that they would have to fight to remain in control of their sense of self. As the Sun relates to the father, the father figure might’ve been quite controlling, demanding and dominant. If the Moon in the 8thsays something about a mother complex, the Sun in the 8thdefinitely says something about a father complex.

[viridiave]

octoparallels

My brain refuses to work in 37 degree heat so this is me retaliating and now it’s gonna be EVERYONE’S problem as I spitball themes and parallels with the Octogang

Massive spoilers incoming by the way

OPHILIA and CYRUS (For Meaning) - The Transience of Life - Both of their final chapters feature themes of everlasting life in two forms. Mattias promises functional immortality in bringing the dead back to life, and Lucia has synthesized a blood crystal that would enable her to live forever. Ophilia fights against Mattias's promises, because the transience of life is what makes it worthwhile instead of worthless. Lucia is proof of the converse of this argument, when she had planned to become immortal and consume knowledge to hoard it for herself- a motivation that Cyrus finds hollow and unfulfilling.

OPHILIA AND PRIMROSE (For Family) - Family and Faith - Ophilia and Primrose's families are fundamental parts of their lives. The love that Ophilia experienced with Archbishop Josef and Lianna pulled her out of the darkness that came from losing everything at a young age, meanwhile Primrose's love for her father was what kept her from falling into darkness when she dedicated her life to avenging him. If faith is Primrose's shield, it is Ophilia's spear. They have shared faith in what their fathers have taught them, with Ophilia depending on it to save her sister and Primrose drawing strength from it in order to finish her journey.

OPHILIA AND H'AANIT (For Life) - Life, Death, and The Cycle - Ophilia and H'aanit have both lost their birth parents from a young age, and have both gained a father figure who would teach them meaningful lessons about loss and the nature of life. It is from Z'aanta that H'aanit has learned all she knows about the cycle of life and its importance- where every living creature returns to the soil eventually, and in this lesson H'aanit finds peace. The beasts that become her quarry are treated with the utmost respect, where the rule of the forest is to waste nothing and live on lest the life of the slain beast is wasted. Ophilia has a similar lesson on death, learning that living in memory of those she has loved and lost is the greatest gift she could grant them.

H'AANIT AND TRESSA (For Legacy) - The Storytellers - H'aanit and Tressa are both people who find joy in and are inspired by stories told of great people and their exploits, and are partially motivated by the thought of telling a story all their own. It is in this pursuit of a personal tale that they learn and grow stronger, earning their experiences and the retelling of it all. They follow their trade in earnest, hoping that one day they'll be able to tell stories just as great as the storytellers before them.

OLBERIC AND PRIMROSE (For Acceptance) - Revenge and Redemption - Olberic and Primrose share common themes in the pursuit of revenge- Olberic for his fallen kingdom and Primrose for her late father. But while Primrose is looking to avenge her father and fully intended on staining her hands with blood, Olberic sought answers instead- and in the end, doesn't spill blood in his search for meaning. Therion shows concern for both of their quests for revenge, often expressing doubts in their place about where this bloodlust would leave them after all is said and done. Olberic found acceptance and meaning after confronting the source of his grief, and Primrose is in the process of doing the same after her own tale- though it is left ambiguous. - Erhardt is the what-could-have-been for them both- left hollow and listless after he achieved his goal of taking down Hornburg.

OLBERIC AND CYRUS (For Future) - The Future of Mankind - Olberic and Cyrus share in the ideal of a better future. While Olberic's past may haunt him it is a lesson that he keeps going forward- pushing him to resolve to do better. Cyrus analyzes and studies the past with fervor in order to better serve the future in a similar fashion. They both acknowledge their strengths and aim to use it in order to protect and breed new and better generations to succeed them, with Olberic offering his sword and Cyrus offering his knowledge. Their promises are made to the present in pursuit of the precious future, believing that no one should be left behind. - Their final chapter bosses Lucia and Werner both ask them to abandon their ideals and to join forces in vain, not being able to understand that what they view as Cyrus and Olberic's weaknesses are where they draw their strength from. Cyrus does not give up on mediocrity. Olberic is insistent on standing by those he swore an oath to protect.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

He arched slightly under the drag of Cyrus' hands over his front, and already wanted to tear the borrowed shirt off for one less layer between them. Welcoming the kisses along his jaw and neck with a tilt of his head, Bolvirk let slip a quiet chuckle. "I might have some."

That first skim of teeth over his skin did indeed spark a long, low hum from his throat, drawn out further when it ended in working up a small reddened mark. Bolvirk had been contented with only kisses and touch - but the rolling grinds of Cyrus' hips shifted the atmosphere, in the best kind of way. Just enough friction to whet his desire, to have his hands curling against thick muscle and short-cropped hair, to pull a sigh of a moan past parted lips. He returned the lighter kisses where and when he could, though not wanting to interrupt such high praise either. This was the perfect, luckiest place for him to be.

Bent leg tipping aside just a bit further when wandering hands found the waist of his smallclothes, Bolvirk bit his lip to hold back any passing, unserious complaint when Cyrus' touch only teased at the edge of fabric. He let go of it just in time for their mouths to meet again, melting into the deeper kiss without any attempt to contain any soft sounds of pleasure. "I mean every word," he breathed. Gods, that teasing again, even closer to where their hips met...

When Cyrus' forehead pressed to his, Bolvirk took a deeper inhale, sharing the same air with the friend he'd adored for years. His eyes closed for a long moment, then opened at the whispered words - somewhere between a request, an order, and a plea. The answer leapt readily to the tip of Bolvirk's tongue. It was waylaid, however, by those borrowed smallclothes getting tugged down his hips, far enough to leave his ass bare. Bare, but not unattended, as a broad hand splayed over one cheek. That alone had his head spinning with all the ways to have those hands on his rear.

What also didn't help his promptness was the promises that followed. Arousal rushed hot through his veins. Oh, how he wanted to get wrecked by this man, with the knowledge that Cyrus would be just as thorough in the doting afterward. And maybe he wouldn't have to worry about going totally nude around the manor as much as he'd thought. Bolvirk couldn't deny a little reflexive hesitation at the part about taking what he wanted. Cyrus had said so, clearly wanted him to... yet decades of striving to be everything his father wasn't still made him balk at being that forward. Maybe it would get easier with time, with guided attempts or patient reassurances. He hoped so; he wanted it to, when his partner was so keen on the idea.

That brief, inner hesitation didn't stop Bolvirk from sighing again at the skim of lips, nor from leaning in before Cyrus to meet the kiss. Even with only two pieces of linen clothing, already halfway rucked off, he felt too overdressed. The absence of their close press was soothed by another request from Cyrus. Bolvirk obeyed immediately, pulling the shirt off over his head first. While he let it drop to the rug, and reached to unfasten his smalls, he had the chance to give his earlier answer. "I want this so badly, Cy. I want you to fuck me til I see stars, til I have to wait for my knees to work." Bolvirk dropped the smallclothes aside as well, rubbing an open palm over his hardening cock with a tantalizing slowness. "I want to feel your mouth anywhere I can get it. I want to watch you finish, I know you'll look so beautiful..."

He trailed off into another low moan, gaze fixed on Cyrus' face all the while.

Bolvirk just grinned at the remark about how he'd sounded, meeting Cyrus' gaze easily. He looked forward to 'testing it out', whenever that might be.

Perhaps a little sooner than he'd thought, depending on how serious they got in making out. He wasn't about to object regardless. Still, a soft surprised noise escaped as Cyrus hefted him up off the floor, as easily as Bolvirk himself had done to others but never experienced before. It was his turn to wrap arms over the other man's shoulders, and he couldn't help a grin; the corners of his mouth remained curled, even as he met the kiss. What a thrill it was, to actually be the one lifted like this.

Legs locking around Cyrus' waist, Bolvirk indulged in kisses the whole way, both to those wonderful lips as well as to the man's cheeks and jaw, even his nose again. Barely a glance was spared for their surroundings, just enough to realize they were in the library. He could linger over the shelves later, when he wasn't being laid out so gently on a broad lounge and gazing up at Cyrus.

He nodded and followed that suggestion, legs tipping apart to welcome one broad, muscular thigh. Bolvirk's arms lowered, though only enough to drag palms down over Cyrus' chest and sides, the easier to embrace when his dearest friend and new lover leaned in to kiss along his bearded jaw. Bolvirk tipped his head back a bit with a throaty hum. The sound built into a quiet laugh at the end, his expression awash in affection. "I did. It's almost embarrassing how often. Inn pillows taste horrible when you bite them too long." Though imagining the size and feel of Cyrus' cock, and related topics, wasn't the only fantasy he'd had about the man. Many were less lewd, more about sharing space and time together, like they'd been doing for a while already but now with the freedom to pepper in kisses or cuddle for hours. He wanted to talk about all kinds of things, learn more about Cyrus and be better known in return.

Bolvirk still kept his arms round the other man, just in a looser hold as Cyrus settled in beside him. He swallowed once at the feel of that enticing weight pressed at his hip, with only thin cloth between them. One leg propped up on his heel with the slide of Cyrus' touch up his thigh; pleased anticipation subtly tingled at that squeeze, though Bolvirk didn't push for anything more. Even when he could've sworn he felt the man's length twitch against his hip.

His contented sigh held a vocal tinge as Cyrus' hand slipped beneath the borrowed shirt to continue up his side. Bolvirk's own palm moved to return to that broad chest, squeezing one pectoral when their lips first met again. Cradling the back of Cyrus' head with his opposite hand, his tongue met the other's with equal fervor. Eyes slivering open after they parted just enough to breathe, Bolvirk couldn't help another broad, besotted smile.

"I'd love that, Cyrus. Especially if I can return the favor."

[rumblelibrary]

hii!! i saw your requests are open, if you’re not too busy could you write something about Laszlo falling in love with reader (she’s a friend of Sara’s and helping with the case) but he keeps trying to avoid his feelings and remain professional and friendly until then he gets jealous of Marcus (or maybe John whoever you think works best) and starts being mean and pushing her away and then John or Sara are like “really?? can you not see that she likes you?” and he apologizes and it’s all fluffy at the end??

that was a bit long sorry, i hope you’re having a great day💗💗

Worlds Apart [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Laszlo being his usual adorable dumbass

Author’s note: Thank you so much for giving me the chance to write your story, hope you’ll enjoy it 💗💗

The first time your presence graced him was on an infamous rainy day. He didn’t mind rain, but it was the kind of storm that forced kids inside the Institute and some of them really benefitted of the time spent outside. So when you appeared at his doorstep escorted by Cyrus, a little of wetness on your shoulders and your hat, arms tightly grasping a big bunch of paper folders, untouched by the heavy weather clearly at your expenses, you looked like a gift from the above.

“Sara Howard contacted me, My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I work for the Town Hall Archives” you introduced yourself, a polite smile softening him. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you, Dr Kreizler” you added.

He blinked realising he was staring while your words moved past him without affecting him.

“Please, Sara told me you are going to be vital in the unravelling of this case, call me Laszlo”

He opened his arm on side letting you in as Cyrus walked away closing the door behind himself. A sense of guilt creeping over him, he realised how low his mind went to appreciate your physical side first and your sweet smile next, if men were anything different from the beasts, then why indulge still in such raw details. From that moment on, he decided, he would not do you the same disrespect. Little he knew that once he forbid himself to take grace of the sight of you, he would be overwhelmed by your bright mind. As you exposed those files to him you two started working together, day after day, time after time, a little dance of turning pages, soft smile, excited discoveries. Your smile affecting him in unpredicted ways, your good heart weakening his mask, your calm demure forbidding his raging fits. Anything of you made him better, any part of you was loved and worshipped by him, your position quickly transitioning from helpful hand, to admirable being and now to an ideal. A sense of necessity creeping over him every time you closed the space between the two of you to show him something, every time he stared at you wrapped up some archive ladder to find this or that file. Another thing you earned from him with time, the hardest maybe, was the ability to make him chuckle. You weren’t a goofball but you knew when to break down his thought process to bring him back to a quieter state. He liked you, he was even considering to offer you to leave the Town Hall Archives to work as his secretary at the Institute. The benefits of your presence made his work better and your natural tendency to method blessing his day to day activities with balance. Laszlo didn’t like to admit it, but a sense of possessiveness was also growing on him, he knew what was going on in his mind, or to better say it in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it. The case was on, after the case maybe.

Or maybe never.

That’s what he thought when, after an interview at the house of a potential future patient of the institute, he took a stroll on the main road, his eyes darting on the flower shop only to recognise you there. Your figure associated with the colourful gifts of nature made his heart skip a beat, a sense of joy filled him soon to disappear when Marcus Isaacson figure appeared beside you holding three or four different kind of flowers in large bouquets, all of them meaning something love related: attraction, desire, kinship.

Those meanings pestered his thoughts, your soft laugh hitting his ears like an angel choir. Your hand lifting up as Marcus bowed his head toward you, your bare fingers running through his curls pulling out some wild leaf that got tangled among them.

“Silly me” he chanted like a child that has zero guilt about earning something undeserved “Come on Y/N, pick your favourite, I can’t hold them all forever”.

Laszlo’s eyes narrowed on him, hating the urgency in his voice, before drifting on the big bouquets, the carnations attracting his gaze, the meaning: pure love, faithfulness, also motherly love.

“The carnations” you said without a doubt moving your arms among the flower to pick them, the closeness you shared rubbing Laszlo in the wrong way.

A sudden realisation hitting him, rage boiling as he turned on his heels to rush to the Institute. What a fool he was, mistaking your natural kindness for…what? Interest for a cripple? Tenderness for a lonely angry man? His jaw clenched, rage surging through him, on that day the door of his office slammed so hard nobody dared to call for him, not even for dinner. When the next day you came to bring some papers and revise some new information, he was keeping a two meters distance all the time, if not more. Anything you said was welcomed with sounds the usual good morning disappeared.

“Laszlo” you called him after more than one hour spent welcomed by only silence and grunts “Did something happen? Maybe, I could help..”

“What exactly gives the impression I need your help?” He shot back before you could even mutter another sentence or even conclude the one you just begun.

His eyes raising from the papers he was holding, his hand moved to his glasses taking them off “As far as my knowledge goes, you’re here to support the investigation with documents and research, not to interfere with my personal life or a job like mine that requires not only tact but also a severe respect of the patient’s privacy”

You closed your mouth suddenly as he never reacted in such a way toward you. Usually he seemed to like to engage with you, to hear your thoughts and opinions, now his hard glare was dooming over you like the Judgment Day.

“I apologise” you resumed to say, maybe it was a bad day, those bad days John teased him about so many times, but that you never encountered before.

So you moved back to your spot respecting the distance he wanted, he put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Nothing more was said.

That evening when you were about to leave you thanked him and wished him a good night, as you always did. Silence again, only one hand to be lifted as he didn’t even turn to talk to you. His reaction gutted you and from that day on to visit him turned into the heaviest hours of the day. There was no room for chat, no room for accommodation. You even brought some sweets one day thinking he might like it and he handed those just as quickly to the kids. You even asked him if you wronged him and he said there was nothing wrong.

After two weeks like this, you sat behind your desk at the Town Hall resigned to live with his silence, you stared at a little note he wrote to you once to thank you of your help with some documents titles underneath.

I admire your dedication to the case. Your help is invaluable L.K.

You read, but that didn’t stand anymore, for some reason.

“What’s that long face for?”

Sara asked leaning against your desk as you slipped that piece of paper underneath your notebook. You already gave Laszlo all the documents requested, you could throw that away, but you didn’t.

“I think I upset Dr Kreizler”

Sara looked at you surprised by the way you resumed calling him by his title, like you were trying to gain distance from him. You looked at her incisive look as you quietly explained to her your fears and doubts, what was going on and how you probably should ask John a way to repair the situation, because you were clueless. After your conversation Sara didn’t think about it twice and after concluding her duties she stormed at Laszlo’s office only to find him engaged in the billionth argument with John.

“What have you told to Y/N?”

She asked, a proper mad mama bear as she stared at him mercilessly, she was aiming for the throat and John looked at him puzzled.

“What have you done Laszlo? Having a fine woman interested on you hits so differently?”

Laszlo was about to answer Sara when he suddenly felt attacked on too many fronts.

“Wait, I beg your pardon? I think you have got into some mistake, John”

John looked at him and then at Sara as she shook her head impatiently and already fed up with Laszlo’s ways.

“She does like you Laszlo, where is your problem about it?” She inquired more “Is she not a doctor enough for your likings? Do you want a duchess or something? Because I don’t understand, if you’re not interested to her at least be human”

By this moment Laszlo was still incredule and a chuckle almost left his lips

“I think you are mistaken Sara, Y/N is in a relationship with Marcus Isaacson, I stumbled upon them already”

“Marcus? I thought he was seeing that Esther girl, Lucius complained about his lack of focus more than once, how did you manage to erase her interest that quick Laszlo?” John said surprised and Sara had to hold onto her iron will not to slap the both of them in their faces.

“You two are worse than any little town blabbermouth” she snapped.

John frowned feeling accused and Laszlo was ready to give her a lecture that could last until the end of times when you walked inside in a rush.

“Excuse me” you said out of breath, mud stained your dress as you clearly run your way to her Institute handing them a file “This just came”.

You gulped down as Sara glared at Laszlo while she guided you to have a glass of water.Laszlo studied the document without even acknowledging your presence, another victim served on a plate.

That evening he went to see the body, the Isaacson’s giving a full display of the wounds and marks on the body to him and John. By the rules of the obituary, you and Sara weren’t welcomed inside as they were.  You sat silently, slowly tracing the stain on your skirt thinking how bad Laszlo’s impression of you must be now that you even showed yourself in such an improper manner, such a gentleman like him witnessing you in such a state. When they came out of the obituary Sara stood up as you remained sat, the warm presence of Laszlo now hunting you like a ghost every time he is around.

“The murderer knows we re close” Laszlo stated as he sighed, ashamed that another life was lost “I think that this victim in particular..”

“Y/N!”

Marcus interrupted him rushing out of the obituary with his bloody apron still on, his less than sanitary clean hand on your shoulder as Laszlo was ready to reduce the both of you to dust for interrupting him.

“Excuse me Doctor” Marcus head shot up to him before looking back down at you “Thank you for helping with the gifts, Esther adored them, we are going out again tonight” he said excitedly to you and a big smile, the first of the day, blossomed on your lips.

“I told you, you should trust me more often” you said and he nodded vehemently “If things go this good, I will come to ask you to help me with the ring” he said completely hyped up, bouncing curls everywhere, as you crossed your fingers for him and he repeated the gesture before disappearing again called by his brother who was fed up with his love talks already.

Sara crossed her arms as John’s stare went up to Laszlo’s face, the sudden realisation of his mistake hit him like a bag of bricks. A mix of shame and happiness filling him up. And now the doubt: did he ruined his chances forever? The next morning you came into his office, you never stopped wishing him good morning and being polite, no matter his attitude.

“Y/N” he called you as you were placing your belongings aside. Your surprised look due to his softened tone was unmissable to him.

“Come here, I wish to talk to you”

You grew nervous as he didn’t say much else, so you walked to him sitting on the couch beside him, the one where you shared so many talks not too long before, even if now it felt like an eternity.

“I want to apologise to you” he blurted out all together, no need to move around the topic even though that only affirmation run over you harder than any other phrase.

You didn’t reply, allowing him to proceed.

“I apologise, because I have been selfish and foolish” he said, the fingers of his left hand touching nervously the armchair “I have been mistreating you only because my pride was hurt, I have acted like a man without means and courage.”

You parted your lips but he interrupted you before you could even begin.

“Please, let me finish, I have felt from the beginning a prominent fondness toward you. Your character and your kindness make you a remarkable person, you have the talent of bringing out the best out of most people, me included. But I have misread your ways and pointed your natural disposition to a form of romantic interest directed on me and our common friend Marcus Isaacson”

He was still excluding the possibility of you being attracted to him.

“I thought there was something behind it and I acted like a child instead of asking you directly, and I am ashamed for that”

You stared at him, a little smile creeping onto your lips.

“I think you misread only half of the situation Laszlo, as always you’re too unkind on yourself” you said gathering all the courage you had “because my interest toward you was honest while my relationship with Marcus is nothing by friendly”

Now it was Laszlo’s turn to be silenced, a new realisation creeping into his bones, a hope becoming a possibility.

“And is that honest interest still alive after my despicable ways?”

Your smile grew pulled by the redness spreading on your cheeks.

“Maybe” he interrupted. He didn’t want to wait for your answer, your smile spoke for you “maybe we can further bring this conversation to Delmonico’s, tonight, just the two of us”

Your smile grew bigger, his eyes shining for you.

“It will be my pleasure” you answered only, not knowing a bouquet of carnations was already being delivered at your house to welcome you once you’ll be back.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved​ @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[letarasstuff]

Minimal Loss - Maximal Stress

(A/N): This was requested by an anon and plays in the intern universe. It’s based on 4x3 “Mininal Loss”. I didn’t follow the exact plot, but the quint essence is there (you’ll see what I mean). I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: An intern goes along on a seemingly undangerous case with Emily and Spencer on a ranch under the lead of Benjamin Cyrus. What could go possibly wrong (well, everything ig)?

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, guns, vomit, swear words, ususal Criminal Mind stuff

Wordcount: 2.9k

✨Masterlist✨ ________________________________

“Do you guys really think it’s a good idea to bring a child to an interview about child abuse?” Agent Lunde asks skeptically while steering the car towards the ranch, where the allegions originated from.

“(Y/N) is our intern and we thought she has to make some experience in the field and since this is the most peaceful case you can find within the BAU, it’s her opportunity”, Emily defends the team’s decision.

“Also, she is nearly the same age as the girls, so it’s easier for them to open up to her and she is incredibly bright, meaning she can help us deducing a profile”, Spencer adds. The teenager doesn’t acknowledge anything they say, too engrossed in listening to One Direction over her bluetooth earbuds.

Soon the quartet arrives at the Saptarian ranch. “I’m looking for Benjamin Cyrus.” “You found him”, answers the man, who sits in front of a chapel.

“He really is nicely placed. I feel like I looked like this in my math classes. I was like beautiful decoration, but had no use”, (Y/N) whispers to Emily. She in turn has a look of confusion on her face. “You aced math, you graduated with an A+ in it.” “Just because I have good grades doesn’t mean I’m not stupid. I mean, I’m educated, but stoopid.”

A little later she sits across from a blonde girl named Jessica, asking her questions about the 911 call. Her mother continuously steps into that conversation.

“Jessica, can you tell me, if anyone here were ever touched inappropriately?” “Is this really necessary? You are a child yourself, shouldn’t ask one of the other agents the questions?” Slowly the teenager’s patience is wearing down and Spencer can definitely see that from five meters away.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, but I’m perfectly capable of conducting this interview, if you stop interrupting me. I may be young, which doesn’t stand in my way of being an intern for CPS and still knowing my way around, so please step to me colleagues or something and let me do my job.” Hesitantly the mother gives the two girls their space.

As soon as she is out of earshot, Jessica begins to explain. “Nobody is touched in a way they shouldn’t be touched. Or is it wrong for a wife to share a bed with her husband.”

(Y/N) remembers Emily telling her to not judge anything anyone of the girls will say. But damn it, this girl is really hard not to judge.

“Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight: You are simping for that walking quote machine?” Okay, maybe she is judging. But just a little bit.

“If simping means deeply in love then yes, I am simping for Benjamin Cyrus, my husband.” At this point the other three agents get closer again. “Jessica, the state of Colorado demands parental consent. You aren’t married to him unles-'' The black haired woman cuts the young doctor off. “She did give consent.”

(Y/N) can barely contain the unsurprised “surprised” gasp leaving her mouth. But it would have been cut short nonetheless, since sudden gunfire erupted outside the school building.

Fairly quickly everybody is evacuated through the tunnels. As Cyrus tells the cult members to trust in god, the teenager turns to the agents. “This much to it’s safe for me here. Didn’t anybody check for weapons or something?” Flabbergasted because of the whole situation Spencer answers. “Yes, Garcia checked with the authorities and nothing was suspicious.”

Suddenly Lunde takes all the courage she has (maybe because a teenager she brought into this is in immediate danger like all the other kids) and goes up with the cult leader to speak to the shooting law enforcement officers. Shortly after the other three get the message of her death.

But they don’t have any time to think about her, since they all are shoved into the chapel.

While Cyrus holds a speech about trust in god in dangerous and trying times like this the BAU in Quantico learns about the shooting through the tv news report.

“HOTCH”, Morgan yells up to the Unit Chief’s office, probably giving everybody else a heart attack. Alarmed Aaron storms out into the bullpen followed by Rossi, who is attracted by the tumult. “Aren’t Prentiss and Reid on that ranch?” Derek asks, his eyebrows furrowing in worry.

Squinting at the screen, horror etches on the other agent’s face. “(Y/N) is also there”, he says, realizing that they sent a minor with zero field experience into a lava hot situation.

Suddenly the whole bullpen’s phones ring, which results in Hotch barking his first commands.

After a nightflight to Colorado the team sets up at the crime scene.

“Dave, I was appointed to determine the primary negotiator”, Aaron tells him after he pulls him to the side. “It makes sense. I trained most of the people here, if you want me I can give you a few recommendations.” But the Unit Chief shakes his head. “No, I want you to be the negotiator in this.”

Now it’s Rossi’s turn to shake his head. “Aaron, I can’t do it, I’m too emotionally involved.” “So are all of us and why should I take the student if I can have the teacher?” The older one sighs in resignation and accepts the offer. They don’t have the team nor reccourses for any mistakes in this.

As he goes to prepare for his task at hand, Hotch hears a man complaining loudly. “I demand to talk to know why I wasn't told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Saptarian ranch?” “The only thing you are in position to demand is a lawyer”, he says while stepping closer to the scene.

“Who the hell are you?” The man spits out into his direction. “I’m Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. I’m the guy who is gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.” “You can’t talk to me like that”.

Upon closing the little bit of space between both of them, Aaron stares him down. “Get off my crime scene.” Just a few seconds of the intense and pissed Hotch Stare are enough to chase that man down to his car and go on his way to Coward Island.

Meanwhile the first contact is made, Emily and Spencer tell (Y/N) in hushed voices what the situation means. “There are three groups here. The leader, in this case Cyrus. The hard die hard believers, the goons of him, and the followers”, Spencer explains.

“In a case like this we go for minimal loss. We try to get as many of the followers out as possible, because the rest won’t give up as long as they can breathe. At first we go with one or two people, children mostly, then with smaller groups and in the end we get out as many of these people we can. Soon, there will be the first supply delivery from our team, but it’s gonna be bugged, which means we know they are listening. Understood?” Emily adds.

Aside from the knowledge that there is a great possibility that they won’t come out alive of this one, (Y/N) is pretty calm. “Honestly, it’s pretty extra here. I mean I can’t even, look at the walls and the whole pseudo decoration. Why would anybody choose this willingly? But yeah, I understand.” Seeing that these phrases are a kind of a coping mechanism, the two agents aren’t too concerned about her right now. I mean, of course they are pretty much on edge because they all are in a hostage situation, but since the teenager doesn’t seem to be on the verge of a breakdown she has to be fine.

“Is there anything you want to know?” The black haired woman asks, stroking the younger one’s hair out of her face. “No, not right now. This is anything but basic, but I’ll hit you up if something shoots into my mind.”

When Rossi comes in to hand make the first delivery, he looks beyond worried. It seems like he got years older in the span of the last 24 hours. As he glances through the rows of people, he subtly acknowledges their presence and well being.

“How do we know this will be nothing like Waco?” (Y/N) asks out of the blue as all the members get a cup of wine. Surprised Emily turns towards her. “You know about Waco?” “Duh? I told you, I’m educated. So, how do we kno-” “And together we drank the poison.” “Oh well, I guess we do now. It’s nearly iconic how bad his acting is.” Now both of the agents look confused at her.

“What? Didn’t I tell you that I was a theater kid? Also, his goons are writing the reactions down, so it’s just a test to know who to separate from the group and who not.” Even in a situation like this a girl in a red and black flannel over a white graphic tee - it is a Doctor Who Tardis - astounds them.

Not long after this, the three of them are shoved into a small room, which looks sort of like an office.

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus asks. Confused Prentiss, Reid and the intern look at him. When nobody speaks up he pulls out his gun. “One of you is an FBI agent. So who is it?”

In the short silence he points his weapon at (Y/N). “Oof. Dude, what the fu-” “She is a child. The FBI doesn’t recruit children. But she is a good leverage. So, if neither of you reveals their identity, I will blow her brain out.” This is the final point for the teenager to slowly freak out.

“It’s me. I’m the FBI agent”, Emily confesses. Seeing the young girl with panic in her eyes sets something off in her. Roughly she is taken away by two big guys.

“No no no! This can’t be right. Nobody of us is from the feds. It’s not her, you stupid piece of boom-” With a swift motion of his gun Cyrus knocks her out.

“Damn, this is an annoying one. I don’t know how you can even take her seriously.”

(Y/N) wakes up half an hour later in the chapel draped over two stools with her head in Spencer’s lap. He strokes her hair while his mind is running non stop looking for a solution to this situation. A groan tells him that she is awake.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” The young doctor asks in a soft voice. “If good means your head feels like it’s dancing samba without me, then I’m good.”

He smiles. “We are going to get out here, soon. I convinced Cyrus that we are on his side. He also won’t hurt Emily any further. I saw her earlier, he held a speech. She is fine, just a bit roughen up.”

To lie to the girl like that feels wrong to Reid, but he can see signs of a concussion by her behavior and doesn’t want to worry her more than she already is.

Three o’clock rolls closer and closer, which makes both of them more nervous. Because of the lack of communication they don’t know the tactic the team will use to come in. They can only hope that they all come out alive and in one piece.

Since they are in the chapel, their attention is solely on the cult leader. They don’t even notice all the women and children leaving. As (Y/N) and Spencer spot Cyrus with the remote for detonating the explosives, she mumbles “Let’s get this bread”.

When the leader sees Spencer trying to convince one of the die hard believers that he has a choice to change his mind, he punches the young doctor so hard in the gut that even (Y/N), whose vision is slightly blurred, feels the pain he endures.

“Hey Cyrus”, she calls out, “TBH I think all the shit you are doing here didn’t pass my vibe check. Also, the whole system is pretty whack.”

“You are a child, you don’t know anything. If god doesn’t want me to do any of this, he would stop me.” As Cyrus cocks his gun towards Spencer, Derek runs in and shoots him in the chest twice.

(Y/N) crosses her arms over her chest, says “Ok, Boomer” and rolls her eyes.

“Are you ok, princess?” Morgan asks, going over to her and examining the wound on the side of her head. “Never felt better now that there are two Derek Morgans to protect me.” Concerned he goes to say something else, but is cut short by Spencer shouting “RUN!”.

A look behind them shows Jessica short circuiting upon her husband’s death and grabbing the remote.

When the explosion erupts, Emily looks terrified at the remains of the chapel.

“Morgan! Reid! (Y/N)!” She shouts, followed by the other members and their calls after the three. A certain fear captures every single one of them. If only one of them is- No. Nobody can go through this thought. They are going to be fine. They are alive and-

“Thank god”, JJ breathes as she spots three limping figures. They slowly approach the group of four. “EMILY!” The teenager shouts relieved, though a little loud for the proximity between them. “SPENCER WOULDN’T REALLY TELL ME HOW YOU ARE! YOU LOOK TERRIBLE! THANK HARRY STYLES YOU ARE FINE!” Yes, the explosion definitely messed all of their hearings up, since Morgan and Reid also speak with the same volume.

Emily hugs her. “I’m okay. But you need to get checked out.” But the teenager vehemently shakes her head as she hugs Aaron. “I DON’T NEED TO”, when she sees her teammate’s faces, she reduces her loudness. “I am ok. But Spencer, he got a good blow to his guts. I think the Queen in England even felt that vibe check.”

As Derek escorted the young doctor to one of the awaiting ambulances, JJ also gently stirs the girl in the same direction. “Just let a doctor look over your head, it looks like a nasty cut and believe me, you want to get this checked out, Honey.” “But Jayje-” She begins to complain, but gets cut off by bile rising up her throat. In the next moment (Y/N) kneels on the floor, letting out anything she got in her system over the course of the past few days.

“I think this is nothing your body should do, Bambi”, Rossi adds up. Unwillingly the intern goes with the blonde mother to the EMTs. They decide to have a doctor looking over her and getting her x-rays done at the hospital.

A few hours and uncountable complaints from (Y/N) later, the team is back on the jet on their way home. She thanked Emily in a heartfelt moment in the hospital shortly after she got pain killers, which made her loopy, for saving her life by putting her own on the line by exposing her identity. Even Prentiss had tears in her eyes as she saw the young and innocent girl so frayed by the just occured events.

Unusual for Rossi, he takes a seat on the sofa, petting his lap as (Y/N) sits beside him. With pleasure she lays her head onto it, cuddling closer into the fuzzy blanket she got from Morgan.

A few minutes into the flight, Rossi just got into describing the interviews he conducted with Ted Bundy, Aaron motions him to make space. David excuses himself with the reasoning of getting a cup of tea for her.

“I’m sorry”, Hotch says as he runs his hands through his youngest employee’s hair. He is careful to not mess with the bandage she has on the side of her head. Confused (Y/N) looks up to him. “What for?” “For sending you into a situation, where you got seriously hurt.”

This makes the girl sit up, though her world once again begins to spin. “Aaron Hotchner, I hope you don’t mean that. You nor anybody else knew that this was going to happen. You only wanted for me to get as much experience as possible while this internship lasts and I tell you, with that story I’ll go viral on TikTok. Just because I got a medium severe concussion and a wound, which hopefully will leave a badass scar, doesn’t mean you have to apologize. But you can do me one favor.” “Anything.” “When I fall asleep, please make sure I don’t choke on my own vomit. The doctor told me it could happen, that’s why I am not allowed to fall asleep unsupervised. But I haven’t slept in three days and I think I'm beginning to feel uncomfy because of that.”

Smiling softly Hotch nods and lets the teenager take her original place in his lap. Minutes later she is fast asleep. But one thing is certain: As soon as she wakes up and feels any better, she is going to tell everybody who wants to listen about the one time where she got blown up by a fifteen years old girl, who was married to a cult leader. And nobody is gonna believe her tea. Except for Penelope, who greets (Y/N) with a hug and the promise to never let her out of her eyesight.

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

Spencer Reid:

@calm-and-doctor

[mistressemmedi]

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

Greetings from Miley Cyrus - phenomenal numbers.

The streams of Zitti e Buoni are growing by the second, and ahead of Muse, on the top of the English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. We almost tripled followers after Rotterdam (from 1.4 to 3.3 million, ed). Contagious and universal madness: T-shirts and merchandise sold out in 10 minutes. Like records, tickets for a tour that adds dates and expands on maps. They are even looking for us in festivals where the Rolling Stones have played. - Thomas

After the whole cocaine scandal that was started against us from France, which was later denied by my drug test, in Spain there people have been making murals with my face saying "No drugs". Some tweets made us laugh: «Congratulations, Italy! I have never been so sure that four people have fucked each other ". Miley Cyrus started following us. "You are great". “You are more” . - Damiano

From rags to riches - what a story

It was only 2016, and we were playing in restaurants, on the streets, in via del Corso (famous street in Rome). Damiano without a microphone, Thomas's guitar with broken strings, Ethan drummed on a cajón. At the occupations of the high schools in Rome (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first gigs and half an hour of fame, between those who criticized us and those who said "these guys are so cool". One of the rare times in which they offered to pay us to play - 50 euros each - we offered that money to those after us, in exchange for the chance to play during their time slow, as we knew there would have been a bigger crowd. We already understood then how it worked. That visibility was worth more than the money. We still think so ». - Victoria

The intimacy of rock - Choice of a genre

Music allows is this miracle which allows one to talk about very personal and private topics, even difficult and delicate ones. They are and remain deeply yours, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage which is like a delivery, they also find their place in you, their elaboration. They are overcome, they are accepted. One moment it feels aggressive, one moment later a (soft) ballad. It's very cathartic. - Damiano

Against panic - The stage as therapy

I have suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it is a problem that I have worked on thanks to a course of psychotherapy, to my friends and family. Playing has helped me not to let myself be paralyzed by my fears, not to be limited in my private and professional life. I have learned to accept, to live with this side of me. I don't hide it. I no longer feel ashamed. - Victoria

This belief that only crazy people go to the psychologist is widespread ignorance. Nobody is born learned. And it is often difficult to understand why we are here, let alone the derivation and direction of our desires. It is a long and legitimate journey towards one's clarity. - Damiano

Essere fuori di testa – Ma diversi da loro (Be out of your mind - But different from them)

Already feeling a strong passion for something that is not a 'regular' profession but an artistic language, it puts you on a level where you're an anomaly, and while you're neither superior nor inferior to others, it places you in the condition of what breaks the mold but you're also being at a loss, leaving it to you to be bold and to take risks, hoping that they will pay off and land you somewhere. "What good is it if you don't stand out on your own?". You want to give it an aesthetic to your artistic dream, but to others it boils down to " You dress differently! You must be gay! ”, I'm 22 now and it makes me laugh, but at 17 it had an effect on me too. - Damiano

The beauty of being unique - Of believing in that and defending it

After all, we are all different not because we want to be alternative but because really no one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty. - Ethan

Fluid sexuality - Pride is freedom

We appreciate heels on men, we kiss each other, we have an open, extended mind, and we are proud of it. The horizons become vast, beyond the oppression of conservative families. With information on the web, knowledge is enriched and with it the possibility that minorities will be fewer and fewer, because majorities will be fewer and fewer. This will lower the volume to insults and bullying. If social networks can reach a village of 50 souls to reveal to someone, who is afraid of the darkness, that someone has felt that same fear.. There is no longer the need to give it a name, to define that "something" to fear, to brand it with labels that only limit you. Definitions have always had this effect on me. Gender should not even be considered in a person's judgment. Let alone orientation ". - Victoria

Sexism - A culture to be dismantled

Emma (Italian singer) dropped the bomb:" When I went to Eurovision, they insulted me over a pair of shorts. Damiano - half naked and in heels - was never criticized ". The judgment against women is constant, ferocious, and demeaning (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool but Vic a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader she is domineering and pain in the ass, who is successful because only because of her looks [and not the hard work she puts in]). As a male I am privileged, the harassment I suffer is not comparable to that experienced by a woman, the comments on my aesthetics are focused only on my aesthetics and do not insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thinking in a systemic way. But I did find myself in a situation, out of nowhere, with someone who, pulling close to her for a selfie, started licking my face ... "What do you want, did you ask me?" Consent exists, and it is a must ». - Damiano

To grow as a person - The only rule to follow

For me, to conform is the total opposite of educating oneself, and the asphyxiation of one's expression (of freedom). Fortunately, I did not suffer heavy bullying, to the point where I felt I needed to change to adapt to how others saw me. But the matrix of who I am and the aggression that marks me is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and loves dolls, then allow me the freedom to do so. I used to be a kid who wanted long hair and played with Barbies. My friends, as a teenager, looked my long hair and teased me: "You have to find yourself a girl with a short hair to make up for it". My grandparents took the dolls away from me and said: “Stop it, they're not for you” ». - Ethan

“I was six and I already could not tolerate the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things typically defined as feminine as a child, and they made fun of me for skating, for playing soccer, for not wearing skirts, for giving myself the chance to be as I wanted to be. I suffered a little, as I was bullied, but I had courage to stay true to myself, and today thanks to that courage I know that I could have been much more hurt, or I would have risked leaving the most important decision to others: the one about being just me". - Victoria

Love - music and girlfriends

I've been married to music for the past 20 years. I cannot wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. - Ethan

Everyone goes through their own experiences, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's never other people's business." - Thomas

When, for the first time, I developed feelings and attraction for a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage to go beyond the limitations I had imposed on myself. For society, being heterosexual is the norm and therefore often one automatically pegs himself in that way, giving up the freedom to experience many different shades and facets of love. Once I got over the initial insecurity of having to question one's own certainties, I lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone. - Victoria

I had paparazzi under my house morning and night. So, after four years of relationship, I finally revealed her name. I still have the paparazzi under my house morning and night, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore. - Damiano

The value of the group - Protecting each other

But the real relationship, the real family, is between us. Our band. We believed in it from the first day, even before calling ourselves Måneskin (moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon, on the poster for our first concert. We share everything, even the pain of the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because he was a victim of racism. Being a group is what we should all do together: stay united and not retreat in the slightest in the face of abuses generated by a distorted vision of someone "being different|. - Thomas

Non ho l’età – like Gigliola (It references Gigliola Cinquetti who won both Sanremo and Eurovision with her song "Non ho l’età" which translates to Not old enough)

Before us, the only one to win Sanremo and Eurovision together was Gigliola Cinquetti (in 1964). Is there is something for which I feel I am not yet old enough for? No, honestly no. Maybe for kids. I'll be honest, I'm not enough to be a dad. - Damiano

Reached the sky - What fears still remain

We are more than in the dream, we have conquered the dream. To fly high this high, there is the risk is to fall and get hurt, but we will try not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - somewhat presumptuously - reassures us rather than frighten us ". - Damiano

(ORIGINAL INTERVIEW IN ITALIAN)

[Please note that I have changed some words or structure sentence, trying to make it so that the interview made more sense lol - I skipped the first two paragraphs, which was basically the interviewer gushing over how pretty the band is lmao (relatable).

Any mistakes in the translation are sorely mine, nothing was proofread, so apologies in advance]

[winterscaptain]

through and through.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: this is our ajf minimal loss fic! as (usually) usual, its more fun if you read the rest of the series, but this one stands on its own just fine. lemme know what you think!!

words: 5.8k warnings: canon-typical violence, death, and injury, language, aaron Flexing on These Hoes™

summary: the septarian sect ranch situation is hard enough with the memories of waco. the knowledge you’re in danger, along with reid and prentiss, has aaron on edge. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Everyone just stay calm!” 

Nancy turns, assuring you with a naive and placating smile, “I’m state police. I’m an officer of the state.” 

Stupid. Stupid!

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.” Emily, ever the voice of reason, assures from behind you. 

“We just have to calm down.” Your useless attempt at de-escalation is overrun by gunfire. 

“I can talk to him.” Lunde turns to go, and you reach for the back of her shirt, trying to pull her back. 

You manage to get past the goons in the front, while they stop Emily. There’s only one chance. “No, Nancy! Wait.” 

As you run after her out of the tunnel to the main level, you give her more and more space. The noise and smoke is a little overwhelming and you almost lose her in your confusion and distraction. Cyrus shouts to cease fire, but it’s in vain. The gunfire echoes around you, and you can’t help but think of Aaron. 

What if I don’t come home? 

She rushes to the front of the building, by the window, and addresses Benjamin. “Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them.” 

You catch up to here in the chapel, reaching for her arm to pull her back to safety when something stops you. You can’t feel it at first, but when you watch Lunde drop to the ground, you know. 

Fuck. 

Hitting the deck right away, you put pressure on the gunshot wound that’s torn through your left shoulder. You breathe deeply, fighting the panic you know will only hurt you more. The shock still numbs the pain and when you look, it seems through and through. The back of your blazer is ripped through, and there’s a hole in the wall behind you. 

That’s a comfort. 

The last thing you needed was a .223 round bouncing around in your chest. You’re grateful enough it didn’t tear your arm off entirely.

You crawl around the corner and press yourself against the wall. With a groan, you remove your blazer and tie it around your shoulder as best you can. You chance a glance at Nancy, but she's already gone - unseeing eyes turned toward the ceiling, her hand limp on the carpet, blood blossoming across the chest of her teal blouse.

Damn it.

Cyrus’s men shout around you, and it feels more and more like an active warzone with every passing second  

“Man down, man down! We can’t stay here!” 

“Hold your fire!” 

You breathe as deeply as you can, tucking your arm to your belly and closing your eyes. The gunfire slowly ceases, the movement around you becoming only a little less frantic. 

Aaron will know. He’ll find us. We’ll be okay. 

Your shoulder twinges. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and you only hope you go into shock soon for the sake of your pain tolerance. 

Aaron, please. Please hurry. 

+++

“Morgan.” JJ bursts through the glass doors and unmutes the television in the corner. 

“What’s up?” 

She increases the volume, and they hear, “... a routine question and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Septarian Sect.” 

Morgan stands, ready to leap into action. “JJ...That’s not the ranch were -”

“They’re still inside.” 

Derek’s voice rockets across the office as he calls for Hotch, who immediately ends his call and leaves his office, leaning heavily on the banister. Derek tells him you’re still in there, with Reid and Prentiss. 

“...at least three child services members are still trapped inside the compound.” 

No. 

Aaron swallows heavily, 

Keep your head, Hotcher. It’ll be okay. 

Phones start ringing all at once. Everyone looks to Aaron, and he’s already back in his office, grabbing his things. He flies back out, blazer slung over his shoulder and go bag in-hand. “Wheels up. Now.” 

+++

You watch as they haul Lunde’s body out of the way. Someone helps you to your feet. You’re feeling pretty dizzy. 

“Can I have some water? Please?” You know for certain you’re in shock now, and keeping your blood pressure and volume high enough is the only way you’ll make it out alright.

“We’ll get you what you need after we take you back to your people.” 

There’s always been a little part of you that believes in the nugget of humanity in people. Today, it might just save your life.

Emily rushes to you as you step down into the basement. Reid hovers, nervous and watchful. Emily’s voice is steady. “We need water and medical attention.” 

“First aid kit is in the corner.” Cyrus points and Reid jets off to grab it while Cyrus continues giving direction. Someone hands her three bottles of water, and she sets them by your side.

Emily’s hand flutters over your forehead, as if checking you for fever. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Through and through. Just gotta stop the bleeding.” You know you’re slurring your words a little bit, but it’s not as bad as it could be. 

“I prayed this day would never come, but it has.” Cyrus shoulders a rifle. “God will see us through.”

Fuck. 

Cyrus’s eyes linger on you and Emily a little longer than is comfortable, but that’s the least of your worries. Spencer returns with the kit, pulling out packing gauze and wrapping. 

Emily helps you with your blazer and shirt, leaving your shoulder exposed to the mountain air. Spencer packs your wound while Emily starts wrapping the gauze around your ribs and shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

You put a hand on her arm. “I know. Thanks.”

+++

Hotch comes to a screaming stop in the SUV, his suit jacket long gone in the Colorado heat. He immediately makes assignments. “Dave, I’m making you lead negotiator.”

“Me?” Dave asks. 

“Why go to the students when I have the teacher?” Aaron’s eyes are probing and hold all the respect in the world for his dear friend. 

“Because the teacher is emotionally involved!” Dave cants his head toward the compound, and Aaron’s eyes follow, as if searching for you. Dave’s eyes stay steady on Aaron - watching him look for you. “And so is the Agent in Charge.”

With a defeated sigh, Aaron cops to it. “I know I am. This is a unique situation.” At Dave’s squint, he continues. “We have three agents who could affect the outcome on the inside.” His voice is low and riddled with tension. The concern radiates off of him in waves, and he can only hope it passes as concern for the whole team. 

In truth, it’s almost all for you. He can’t explain it, but he knows something isn’t right.

“I can’t be objective. I know them too well.” Dave does everything he can to pull Aaron from direct control, but he knows it's a lost cause. More than one part of him knows why. 

Aaron’s jaw tightens, and he’s more intense than before when he replies, “This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of our team as Cyrus. That’s why you’re the best man for the job.” 

“Assuming they’re still in a position to make moves.” 

The thought is near-unbearable. He softens, taking another approach. 

“I know how bad this is. That’s why I want you doing the talking.”

“Alright.” 

Aaron claps Dave on the shoulder, and it’s a silent thanks. Before they can move, there’s more commotion around the back of the FBI staging area. 

Goddamn it. What now?

“...I’m sorry sir, I’m under direct orders from the FBI.” 

Dave and Aaron share a glance, and Aaron leads the way to the argument. 

“I’m the Attorney General of this state.” 

He can’t help it. A smirk crosses Aaron’s face. 

Lawyers. Alright. I can do lawyers. 

There’s also a part of him relieved that he can offload some of this stress into some kind of altercation. An opportunity to flex his Juris Doctorate never hurts. 

“I demand to know why I wasn’t told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Septarian Ranch -”

Alright. That’s it. 

Aaron turns, an insulting kind of disbelief on his face. Steadily and without haste, he approaches. “The only thing that you’re in the position to demand is a lawyer.” A spike of anger strikes his chest. 

He knew about this raid. He knew and he failed to tell us. 

And now his people are in trouble. 

You are in trouble. 

“Who the hell are you?” The overblown AG turns on Aaron. 

Big mistake. 

“I’m Aaron Hotchner. Unit Chief. I’m the guy who’s gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.” 

And it’s not an empty threat, dipshit. 

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Was that a smug smile on his face? 

Aaron steps up to him, nearly nose to nose. The adrenaline and anger and fear floods through him and leaks through his words. “Get off my crime scene.” 

Hard brown eyes stare down weak blue ones. Aaron wins. 

+++

“Then leave us alone.” Cyrus’s voice belies no tension as he paces. Your eyes follow him, much more alert now that much of the bleeding has stopped and you have some water in you. Emily strapped ice to your shoulder about twenty minutes ago. You might end up with a little nerve damage, but it's better than bleeding to death. 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin.” Dave takes a breath, delivering the information steadily. “One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse.”

Aaron’s brows, already low, get even lower. Derek, hovering behind Rossi, takes note. The tension in his unit chief is different and he doesn’t know what it is. 

“Please,” Dave continues, “just put down your guns and come out.”

A buzzing takes over Aaron’s senses for a moment, and he shakes his head to rid himself of it. He reaches down for a bottle of water, downing half of it before he puts it back down. 

“Now, the four child service workers…” That catches Aaron’s attention, and he snaps to. “One of them is dead. It wasn’t us.” 

You bite your lip, watching Benjamin pace near the door. That phrasing will do nothing but panic your team, and you know it. Tipping your head against the wall behind you, you throw out anything you can. 

I’m alright, Aaron. We’re okay. 

Aaron’s head drops and he wets his lips. He closes his eyes, doing his best to keep himself from running straight for the compound. 

No. Please. I’ll get what I get for wishing it’s someone else, but please let it be someone else. Anyone else.

What if it was Prentiss?

What if it was Reid? 

Guilt floods him and he pushes the thoughts aside. 

Dave keeps his voice clear and even. The depth of Aaron’s gratitude and respect is ineffable. There’s nobody better for the job. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.” 

Aaron nearly collapses in relief, pushing away the guilt as it rises in his sternum. 

“One service worker was shot in the same altercation, but we have provided medical care and the wound is non-lethal.” 

Say my name. Say my name, please. 

He doesn’t, and you grind your teeth together. 

Dave nods, glancing at Aaron. “Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded, including the injured service worker. I promise they’ll be taken care of.”

“With enough supplies, we can tend to our own.” 

“Okay, I’ll need a few hours to put them together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

You can’t hear what Dave says on the other end of the line, but Cyrus’s lack of reaction can only be a good thing. 

“You should get some sleep.” Emily, sitting next to you, checks over your wound again. Spencer’s on your other side with his eyes closed, but you know he’s not sleeping either. 

Closing your eyes, you reply, “I can’t.” Nevertheless, you reach for her hand. She slips her fingers into your palm. “Mm. Your hands are warm.” 

“Well, yeah. I didn’t get shot today.” She’d usually jostle you with a jab like that, but she knows better - obviously. 

+++

When first light comes, you open your eyes. You’re not sure, but it was likely you got at least a couple of hours of sleep. There’s a lot you don’t remember from the night before, but you know they shuffled you up to the chapel at some point. 

Probably a good thing. 

The ice has melted and your arm is all wet. You check your dressings and find them working well enough. They’ll still have to be changed, but you can’t deny the effectiveness of Emily’s instruction and handiwork. 

A car door closes outside. Emily stirs, immediately reaching for a nearby bottle of water. She hands it to you after she takes a couple of sips. Shuffling around Spencer, you take it with your good arm and drink as much as you can. 

Wait. Didn’t Spencer say you could do a transfusion with coconut water?

Do I even need a transfusion? 

Yes. 

Oh. Thanks. 

A knock on the door startles you out of your half-delirious thoughts. You’re grateful for the distraction. The feeling increases tenfold when Dave walks into the chapel.

Aaron’s nearby. It’ll be okay. He probably put Dave on this himself. 

“The children, and our guests.” Cyrus gestures to you, proving to Dave that everyone is in fact, relatively, alright. 

You turn your head (ouch) and meet Dave’s eyes. Looking back down, you’re satisfied he knows you’re alive. 

“I was hoping you’d let me take the children,” Dave says. 

Benjamin shakes his head. “Nah. They’re our protection.” 

We are, too, dumbass. 

The two men chat for a moment. Your heart feels like it grows three sizes as you listen to Dave do what he does best. 

It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. 

You have to believe it. 

After Dave leaves, they make you stand off to the side while they pour wine for everyone present. Emily starts whispering, and you know she’s profiling the adults. It’s probably smart, but all your energy is focused on remaining upright and ignoring the throbbing ache in your shoulder. 

+++

Dave jogs back up to the staging area and assures them you’re all okay. He relays your condition to Aaron, “...but it looks alright. Well-dressed and not bleeding through.” 

Aaron nods. So that’s what the feeling was. You’re alright, but it’s still wrong. He shoves down something else that scares him a little. 

That’s a problem for another time. 

Is it a problem, though?

Yes. 

“He’s too calm. It’s - It’s like he was waiting for this to happen and now that it has, he feels vindicated.” 

Aaron rounds the table and comes to rest at Dave’s side. They’re in full strategy mode. The opportunity to stretch their abilities is welcome, but they both wish it was under better circumstances with lower stakes. 

His hands flutter uselessly at his sides. Restless energy still rockets around his limbs and he hates it. He hates feeling so deeply out of control. 

“I have a signal!” 

Derek, Dave, and Aaron flock to their headphones, tuning in just in time to hear Cyrus inform the congregation they have all ingested the poison together. 

+++

Emily’s eyes shoot around the room, and you know what she’s thinking. 

The profile didn’t indicate mass suicide…

This doesn’t fit

He continues to deliver his sermon and you tune out, focused on the faces of Cyrus’s followers. Right now, they’re more revealing than he’ll ever be. 

+++

“This doesn’t fit.” 

Dave voices Aaron’s thoughts exactly. It quickly devolves into discussion of a breach, and Aaron brings a hand to his forehead. He’s ready to go. 

“If we go into there, people are going to die.” 

Aaron’s hand flies out to the  side. “People are already dying.”

Rossi’s eyebrows raise, and Aaron tries to keep his hackles down.

+++

“What do we do?” Emily whispers. 

Spencer shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

“We have to do something,” you hiss. “These people just took poison.” 

“Cyrus just told them he did and I think he’s bluffing.” 

Emily’s brow crumples. “Why do you think that?”

Spencer’s following observations make sense - the notes, the watching armed bystanders. It’s strategically sound for Cyrus to weed out the weak in his congregation. 

After a moment, Cyrus admits it was a test of faith. “...Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

+++

Frustrated, Aaron runs his hands through his hair. “Tell ‘em to stand down.” 

The tension is getting to him, as is the lack of sleep. Dave made him lay down overnight, but he never once closed his eyes. He was worried about Prentiss. He was worried about Reid. 

He was worried about you. 

I almost got all of them killed. 

Step it up, Hotchner. You chose Dave for a reason. 

Listen to him. 

+++

“...well into its second day, the standoff at the Septarian Sept ranch has now been taken over by the FBI. There was much speculation in regard to hostages…”

Aaron hovers behind JJ, completely tuned in to the news. This could be disastrous. 

“...But anonymous sources inside the state attorney general’s office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect ranch.” 

This is disastrous. 

Everyone reacts, but Aaron walks away. He can’t face this right now. There’s too much to do, too much to think about. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

He only hopes you can hear him, somehow. 

Please don’t be a hero. 

+++

Cyrus enters, all bluster and confidence. 

Shit. Something happened. 

“Which one of you is it?”

You all just stare at him. He pulls a gun from his waistband and you jump a little. The movement twinges your shoulder, and you let out a small wince. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer is the first to speak. “Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?”

Yikes, Spence. Question for a question. 

Wait. Maybe it will work. 

Something in you tells you to keep your mouth shut, and you do. The last thing you want is to screw up whatever Spencer’s cooking up. His brain moves a lot faster than yours. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

“God will forgive me for what I must do.” 

You can feel your eyes widen as Cyrus raises the gun to Spencer’s head. You’re completely frozen, as if something’s physically holding you in place. 

Don’t be a hero.

You’ve been shot, idiot. Your shock response is all over the place. 

No, it’s different. 

Yeah. Sure. 

You roll your eyes at yourself, but quickly cover it by crinkling your face up in what you hope looks like confusion. 

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Cyrus looks at you and you shake your head, doing your best to look like a deer in headlights. “One of you does,” he says. “Who is it?”

Before you can open your mouth, Emily jumps in without hesitation. “Me. It’s me.” 

Spencer looks at her like she’s grown a second head. Cyrus lowers the gun and you take a breath. You don’t have much time to recover, though, as Cyrus snatches Emily by the hair and drags her out of the room. 

Your breath catches and you leap to your feet with Spencer. The dizziness doesn’t phase you, but your concern for Emily certainly does. 

Don’t cry. 

Don’t be a hero. 

There’s a gun to your head and you do your best to relax. You raise your good arm into the air, as if you could be a threat with a half-inch hole through your shoulder. 

Shit. 

+++

Between your gunshot wound and now listening to Emily getting the shit beat out of her, this is a bad day for Aaron. 

Someone else hauls you by your bad arm into another room, and you can’t help but yelp. They need to listen to Emily now, so you do your best to stifle the urge to cry out. You’ll answer all the questions as quietly as possible. 

They need to hear Emily. 

Aaron, please have ears in there. 

+++

Aaron very nearly throws the headphones off. He’d know your voice anywhere, even raised in pain. The overlapping cacophony of anguish breaks his chest wide open. 

“We gotta go in.” He stands and removes his headphones, unable to listen any longer. 

Rossi shakes his head, still tuned in. “We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.” 

+++

You can hear Emily through the wall, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds. The man (who still has a hold on your arm), throws you into a chair. You let out a small wail, but cover your mouth with your good hand before speaking. “Please, I -”

“Did you know?”

“No. No.” They need to hear Emily. 

“Tribulation breeds resilience,” the man says, dropping close to you. His thumb digs into your wound. It’s too much and you internally apologize to Aaron as you let out a sob. “God rewards the resilient. He rewards those who cleanse themselves of evil.”

“Please -” 

He shakes you and man does it hurt. The pain shoots from your shoulder to your fingertips and zings all the way down your back. You’re hot and cold at the same time and don’t have the energy to fight it anymore. You break down, and sound falls from your mouth as the man continues to preach at you, all the while tweaking and twisting and squeezing your shoulder. 

+++

“He’s got them both.” Aaron stands, his palms pressed flat to the table. Hearing you in that kind of pain ignites something white-hot in his chest. He hurts for Emily, too, but at least she’s still able to talk. 

“I can take it.” Emily’s voice rings clear through the headphones, and they all freeze.

“Wait - Wait. Listen to what she’s saying.” Dave gestures to Aaron, who reluctantly tunes back in. 

“I can take it.” 

Derek scoffs. “She’s antagonizing him.”

“She’s not talking to him.” Rossi remains firm. 

Aaron’s hands get lost in his hair, restless and frustrated and useless. He takes a breath and ignores the sting behind his eyes. “She’s talking to us. She’s telling us not to come in.” 

He knows Emily. She’s just as smart as she is strong and wouldn’t antagonize Benjamin on her own. 

There’s a particularly vicious commotion and Emily falls to the ground with a sharp groan and a cough. 

That’s it for Derek. He throws his headphones off and starts to pace. Aaron’s the only one who leaves the headphones on. Even then, his eyes mist up and his jaw is so tight he’s almost afraid his teeth will shatter. 

+++

You slump back against the chair. “I’m sorry she lied to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The words choke out of you with a gasp. Your shoulder screams and the pain is truly breathtaking. 

Emily will forgive you for throwing her under the bus - you know you’d forgive her if the situation was reversed. 

Cyrus throws the door open. “The agent’s going upstairs. The other two are clean.” He looks at you with a certain degree of contempt and you keep your eyes on the floor. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

Don't be a hero. 

Why those two phrases keep echoing around in your head, you have no idea. Nevertheless, they’re both good reminders. 

You’re returned to Spencer and slide into a chair. You tip your head back against the wall and listen to Cyrus question him. 

Why didn’t Spencer get beat up?

Not that you wanted Spencer to get beat up, of course, but it all seemed a little inequitable. You’d already been shot - isn’t that enough excitement for one day?

“On the next call, you should test them.” 

Oh, how I love you, Spencer Reid. 

He continues. “Test the negotiator. Make him prove he isn’t a liar.” 

This would only work if they had ears in the building. If Spencer has faith, so do you. Tears prick at your eyes and you think of Aaron. 

Please tell me he didn’t hear me. Please tell me they only had ears on Emily. 

You’re still the baby of the team, the newest, the youngest. You know that’s why Aaron watches out for you so carefully. He’s just protecting you. 

At least, that’s what you choose to believe. The other option is ridiculous, absurd, and nothing but wishful thinking. 

Don’t be a child. 

Spencer has Cyrus right where he wants him. You suppress a smile and hope it passes as a grimace. 

“What about you?” Cyrus turns on you and you’re proud when you don’t flinch. “What do you think?”

You shrug with your one good shoulder. “It’s a good idea, and the offer to exchange a child for information is a show of good faith. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.” 

+++

Dave and Aaron share a glance. 

“They’ve got him.” 

A swell of pride crashes through Aaron’s chest. It’s just because you’re his youngest agent - the most time, the most potential. He has to keep you safe, he reasons. It’s the right thing to do. 

That’s not the only reason. 

He shakes his head, but the thought has its claws dug in deep. 

+++

As Cyrus reads the list of names, Emily appears at your side again. 

She looks awful - half her face painted with red and purple bruises, with more blossoming under her collar. You almost laugh aloud when she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Emily, you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

She huffs. “I didn’t get shot. Just a little beat up. We’re good. It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

Spencer’s mouth presses into a thin line. You both know she’s lying. “I’m so sorry.” Moments later, he relays the information for both your ears and your team outside. 

Cyrus looks at you, and you almost think he’s going to let you go, but his gaze slides past you. Spencer approaches him and they speak in hushed tones. 

When they’re through, Cyrus gestures to Emily and a pair of goons. “Take her back.”  

Emily looks only the slightest bit alarm as she’s taken back upstairs by the arm. If Spencer’s in, and Emily’s out, where does that leave you?

You elect yourself Reid’s shadow, silent and always right off his shoulder. Cyrus doesn’t seem to mind too much and if he does, he doesn’t show it. 

+++

“Drugging the food isn’t an option because of the children. We’ll have to go in.” The whiteboard marker twirls between Aaron’s fingers as he thinks. 

Indeed. Rossi, from his place in the corner, says, “The best time to hit them is when they’re least mentally prepared.”

“3am. Biorhythms are at their low point, then.”

“We need a diversion,” Derek notes. “Something that plays into his expectations.” 

Humvees, then, are clearly on the docket. As are bright lights and all the flash and glamour of federal law enforcement. 

Hotch and Morgan begin to volley, both men processing and paying close attention. 

“The plan depends on our people separating the diehards from the followers -” 

Derek interrupts, finishing Aaron’s thought. “And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault.” 

“No, that’s not my main concern. They know what they need to do.” 

“So what is your concern?”

“Letting them know when we’re coming. The whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3am.” A thought comes to him then, and he reaches for a sharpie and a lid. Maybe your weird understanding of each other will come in handy, or Spencer will be looking for those signs he alluded to with Cyrus. 

Either way, it’s the only option. 

+++

Downstairs with Spencer, something catches your eye. 

Wait a minute. 

You’d know that blocky, left-hand slanted lettering anywhere. Aaron. 

Spencer sees it, too, and you share a glance. You offer him a little smile, and he nods, understanding you completely. This might just work. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” Cyrus startles you a little, and you step closer to Spencer. Your wound dressing has yet to be changed today, and the heat radiating off your shoulder has made you a little jumpy.

Just my luck to survive all of this and die of an entirely treatable infection like a sickly Victorian child. 

 “You don’t have to be a part of this. You can go.” He addresses the both of you, and bite your tongue again. You have to trust Spencer’s plan, and you know he has one. 

As you suspected, Spencer says, “I would prefer to stay. Somebody needs to tell your story.” 

“I’m glad it will be you.” Cyrus turns his gaze to you, and you nod. 

“I’ll stay.” 

He softens a little, and calls someone over. In what feels like seconds, you’re sitting down while gentle hands clean and re-dress your wound. It hurts like all hell, but you’d rather do this than throw the whole damn arm out. 

As you sit, Cyrus’s plan becomes clear. Explosives seem to pass from hand to hand without hesitation. 

Where’s Emily? 

+++

Aaron has no idea how long he’s been staring at the compound. He’s wound tighter than a spring, his body all straight lines of stress as Rossi approaches him. 

Finally, Aaron says, “I know I can’t go in there.” There’s too much at stake, too much on the line, too many emotions. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind in a place he won’t acknowledge, that he would prioritize you. 

So, he can’t go in there. 

Dave nods. “I’m going.”

“If something happens to Prentiss or Reid or…” he trails off, unable to speak the thought aloud. “I - I don’t know.”

Dave looks over at him, understanding all the things he can and can’t say. “You’re not alone.”

+++

You can feel a shift in the air as 3am creeps nearer and nearer. Outside, inside, it’s all alive with activity and anxiety. You hug your arm to your chest, nursing a bottle of water. With fresh dressings, you feel a little cleaner, a little safer, but you know it’s an illusion. 

“Something’s wrong.” The goon’s observation brings Cyrus to the front window, and even over his shoulder you can see the humvees advancing on the compound. 

Nice work, team. 

“They lied to us,” he whispers something to his shadow. While Cyrus grabs his firearm, the shadow opens the door. The gunfire startles you, and you look to Spencer. 

Tell me it’s gonna be okay. 

His eyes are steady on yours and he nods almost imperceptibly. We’re going to be fine. 

Some of the lights go out and your eyes dance around the room. 

Aaron, this better be part of your plan. 

“It came from inside the building.” 

“Check the fuses.” 

The rapid discussions fly around you, but you keep your eyes on Spencer as much as you can. He’s spitting verses at the men around Cyrus, stalling. Luckily, Spencer could talk about nothing and everything forever. 

You knew that would come in handy one day, even if it drives you up the wall outside of life-or-death hostage situations. 

“...I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.” Cyrus smacks Spencer with the butt of his rifle, and Spencer doubles over. You can’t help him - not with one arm and certainly not without a weapon of your own. 

“You cannot convert my brothers.” Cyrus hits him again, and Spencer drops to the floor, and you crouch beside him, the very picture of fear. Oddly, you’re less afraid right now than you were before. “No one had to follow. God could have stopped me.”

There’s a breach, and you cover Spencer with your body as bullets fly past you from all sides. Cyrus goes down, and so does the detonator. 

“He just did.” 

You almost snort as you rise, but you rapidly remember time is of the essence. 

“You alright, kid?” You’re not sure if Derek’s talking to you or Spencer, but you nod anyway. 

Spencer, too, responds in kind. “Fine. Where’s Emily?”

“We got her out of here.” 

The breath you’ve been holding since she disappeared again leaves you, but a heavy throb of your shoulder replaces it. 

The girl you’re here for in the first place, Jessica, rounds the corner and you have a sinking feeling you know exactly what she’s going to do. Nevertheless, Derek calls out to her. “Sweetheart, come with me. We need to get you out of here. Come on. Let’s go, right now.” 

You snag Spencer’s sweater in your hand and follow him to the door. You watch as Jessica takes in Cyrus’s body, clocks the detonator, and then reaches for it. Spencer leaves your grasp.

You’re hot on his heels and it’s only then you have another fleeting thought of not making it back home. 

“Run!”

Derek’s behind you. You only hope it’s enough time. 

The explosion rocks you to your core and for a moment you’re not sure whether you’re alive or dead. When the ringing in your ears cools off, Derek has his arm around you. The smoke covers everything. Your eyes burn, coughs rattling through your chest and wracking your shoulder. 

You hear your last name, as well as Derek’s and Spencer’s. It’s Emily. 

She’s scared. 

Derek helps you straighten, and guides you down the steps. “We’re alright!”

You still can’t talk for your coughing, but you hear Emily’s relieved, “Oh, God.” 

She meets you in the middle while Aaron waits at the bottom of the stairs. He’s watching you. Emily touches the side of your face and you lean into it. You’re a little on the outside as she gathers Spencer into her arms. 

There’s something going on by Aaron, but you can’t quite hear it yet. Whatever it is, it’s over before Aaron’s hand is extended toward you. When your fingers meet his palm, he brings you close, careful of your shoulder. His hand meets the back of your head, and you press your face into his neck, blocking out as much as you can.

You don’t exchange words. There’s no need. 

He tucks you under his arm and you pass Jessica’s mother, watching the burning compound with bewildered eyes. 

+++

You sleep on the plane, your head resting against the window. Just as you suspected, you developed a small infection on the last day in the compound, but it’s nothing two weeks’ worth of antibiotics can’t fix. 

Hotch sits beside you, pretending to read something or another. His eyes keep tracking the same line over and over again. The moments where he thought he’d lost all three of you to the explosion plays back in his mind again and again and again. 

You can hear him thinking and you crack an eyelid. “Hotch.”

He immediately turns his head, ready to get whatever you need. Frankly, you look miserable. “Yeah?”

“We’re fine.” 

An eyebrow raises. 

“Fine. I’m shot and Emily’s beat to hell, but we’re alive.” You reach for his sleeve, running your fingers over the fabric. “I think you saved my ass, by the way.”

You pull your hand back. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Something in me kept telling me ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ ‘Don’t be a hero!’ and I’m certain it can be attributed to your undue influence on me.”

The corners of his lips turn up just the tiniest amount. “Maybe so.” He slips his blazer off and drapes it over you. “Sleep. You need it.” He sees you about to interrupt him and cuts you off. “If I see you in the office at all before next week…” The empty threat speaks for itself. 

“Trust me. After my near-death experience, the last thing I want to be looking at is you.” 

Liar. 

“The feeling is mutual. You look terrible.” He smiles for real this time and you return it. A whisper passes through his head, and he pretends he doesn’t notice. 

Liar. 

+++

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[dreamypeaches]

don’t wake up pt. 2 | rafe cameron x reader

summary: after spending the week hoping to see rafe again, sarah invites you to a sleepover at tannyhill.

warnings: SMUT, cursing, alcohol use

word count: 2.8k

a/n: thank you all for the wonderful response to part 1! this is my first time posting smut, so let me know what you think of it. i honestly think i did a good job rereading it, bc it is hot. there will definitely be one or two more parts to this, maybe even more idk. all i know for sure is there will be a lot more sexy times. enjoy :)

series masterlist

It had been a week since the Boneyard kegger and you couldn’t get Rafe out of your head. You hadn’t seen him since that night, at least not in real life. Your dreams, however, were plagued with him. The way his hands had gripped your hips, his lips on your lips, your neck, imagining how they would feel on other parts of your body.

Part of you had been tempted to drive down to Figure 8 and “run into him” somewhere. One morning, after an especially steamy dream, you almost asked Sarah for his number. But then you thought of the questions that would come with that request and decided against it. You felt pathetic, pining after a guy you’d spent a couple hours with. A guy who, by all accounts was an asshole and hated people like you. Why would he want a Pogue like you?

Still, you wanted to see him. At least once. Just look in his eyes and see if that same spark was there. You had even tagged along with JJ during the day more often than usual, hoping Rafe and his Kook friends would appear to antagonize one of your best friends. But he was nowhere to be seen. As the week came to a close, you resigned yourself to experiencing his touch in your dreams only.

You were laying in the hammock at the Chateau listening to music with Kie, who laid beside you lazily braiding your hair, when Sarah suddenly appeared. She practically jumped onto you and Kie’s laps, a grin on her face.

“Let’s have a girls night!” She proclaimed, “Ward and Rose are taking Wheezie and her friend on a mini vacation on the mainland, so I have Tannyhill all to myself!”

“What about Rafe?” You asked, trying to fill your voice with disdain rather than hope. Sarah scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t worry about him, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother us. So?”

You and Kie looked at each other. Kie raised her eyebrows, a smirk on her face. You smiled back and nodded. Both of you looked back at Sarah.

“We’re in!” Kie said.

“Yay!” Sarah pulled both of you into a hug, already unleashing all of her plans for the night. After telling you to be there at 6, she left to prepare for the night.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had a night just us girls. I mean, I love the boys, but I could use a break from them,” Kie said, finishing the braid in your hair.

“Yeah, fuck the boys,” You giggled, though in your head, you were much more focused on one particular boy than the girls night ahead of you.

Kie drove you to Sarah’s house, arriving at 6:30. Kie complained about how long it took you to get ready for a sleep over. You just laughed and told her you needed to look good for your girls. If she had know the truth, her head might have exploded. You had worn your cutest pair of pajamas, a large shirt with short shorts that left little to the imagination. You’d even done your make up. Not much, keeping it natural. After all, it was a sleep over, you didn’t need to go all out.

You were disappointed when you didn’t see Rafe as you walked in, but assumed Sarah had probably threatened him with violence if he came anywhere near her friends. You tried not to let thoughts of Rafe distract you, actually wanting to enjoy the night with your best girl friends. Sarah had stolen a couple bottles of wine from her dad’s wine cellar, passing around wine glasses before heading up to her room.

The three of you quickly became tipsy on the wine, giggling at little things. You all were laying on Sarah’s large bed, giggling at Sarah’s sexual mishap with John B in the Twinkie.

“I thought my nipple was going to come off! Like I’m sorry, I know it probably hurt when I kneed your dick, but who bites a nipple that hard? So, moral of the story, never have sex in the back of the van.”

You and Kie burst into laughter, while Sarah contained her giggles, trying her best to look annoyed.

“What about you two? Any sexy stories to share? Y/N, what about that Touron from the kegger?”

Your laughter quickly faded as Rafe was brought to the forefront of your mind. You bit your lip, trying to hide a smile.

“Nothing happened, I haven’t seen him since that night.”

“Well, you need to track him down!” Kie exclaimed, sitting up on her elbow to look down at you. You just shrugged, not meeting your friend’s eyes.

“Y/N, you should have seen the look on your face when we were leaving. You had literal stars in your eyes.”

You shrugged and downed the rest of you wine, sitting up on the bed.

“I don’t know. If I run into him again, we’ll see what happens. I’m gonna go get some water.”

Sarah started asking Kie about the girl she had been talking to as you padded out of the room and down the stairs.

You made your way to the kitchen, where a happy surprise waited for you. Rafe stood cooking something at the stove. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His back was facing you, giving you a moment to take in his form. Your eyes wandered his body, tracing his biceps and the curve on his shoulder blade.

“Hi, Rafe,” You finally said, just loud enough for him to hear. He turned suddenly, surprised expression quickly turning to a smirk. You looked into his green eyes and felt your heart jump when you saw it. That spark you’d been hoping for for the past week.

“Hey,” he replied. You slowly made your way to the cupboard, making sure to brush up against him as you passed.

“How’ve you been?” He asked. You shrugged, filling up your glass at the fridge.

“I’ve been better. I’ve been a little lonely, especially at night, you know? My mind starts to wander to certain places,” You moved back over to Rafe. Your chests were almost touching as he smirked down at you. His breath fanned across your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe you need a little company,” He whispered, his low tone going straight to your core. You smiled at him innocently, moving so your lips were inches apart.

“Yeah I do.”

You noticed him start to lean in and quickly pulled away, skipping towards the stairs.

“That’s why I’m having girls night,” You called, keeping the innocent look on you face. His light eyes had grown dark, watching as you moved away. They followed the curve of you ass, very evident in the shorts you were wearing. You inwardly smirked at the effect you had and started up the stairs.

“Your grilled cheese is burning, by the way,” You called. You giggled at the quiet shit he let out and made your way back to Sarah’s room.

You, Kie, and Sarah spent the next several hours having as much fun as you could. After a few dance parties, a couple rounds of truth or dare, and intense argument about whether Hannah Montana or Miley Cyrus was better that almost turned violent, you all collapsed on to the bed, turning on a random movie. Sarah and Kie fell asleep quickly, but you were wide awake, replaying the moment with Rafe in the kitchen.

You rubbed your thighs together, wanting nothing more than for Rafe to touch you. With a groan, you hopped out the bed and quietly escaped Sarah’s room. You had been to Sarah’s house several times before, but your knowledge of the layout was reduced to the path from the kitchen to Sarah’s room. You tiptoed down the hallway, trying to figure out which room was his. You a few doors down from Sarah’s, you could see a faint light from beneath the door frame. You knocked a couple times, then stood, waiting. It didn’t take long for Rafe to open the door. He was still shirtless, but had removed his sweatpants, leaving him in just his boxers. He smirked down at you, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head.

“You fucking tease,” He said before crashing his lips onto yours. You were almost knocked off your feet by the force of it. You placed your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. Without breaking the kiss, he moved you into his room, kicking the door closed behind him. His hand moved down to your ass, gripping hard as he lightly slammed you against the wall. He broke the kiss, brushing your hair out of your face as his eyes examined your flustered face. The same hand slowly moved down your cheek until it was gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful. Do you have any idea what you do to me? I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week, how I wanted to fuck you while you screamed my name.”

You let out a whimper at his words, breathing uneven. You could feel your panties become more and more soaked as his hand moved from your ass to your hip, playing with the waist band of your shorts.

“Then you come into my kitchen wearing this, getting me all worked up.” He laughed humorlessly, his hand diving below your waistband. His fingers ghosted across the soaked fabric that covered your center.

“Got yourself all worked up too, didn’t you?”

Your panties were pushed to the side, giving him space to run his fingers through your folds. You let out a moan as you nodded. His finger came up to his lips, sucking your wetness from them.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you,” He said before going on his knees in front of you. His breath fanned against your inner thighs as he slowly slid your shorts down your thighs. When they landed on the floor, you stepped out of them and kicked them across the floor. Rafe placed gentle kisses across your thighs and stomach, avoiding the spot you needed him most. You whimpered as his mouth hovered over your clothed clit.

“What do you want, baby?” Rafe said.

“Touch me, Rafe, please, I need you!” You moaned out. He was quick to respond, fingers deftly moving your underwear aside, giving him space to wrap his lips around your sensitive bundle, lightly sucking. You moaned so loudly it was almost a scream. Rafe gave a hard slap to your ass in response, looking up at you.

“Uh uh, not too loud, angel. Don’t want your friends to hear, do you?”

You shook your head quickly, hand reaching down to push him closer to your pussy. He chuckled before compiling, licking a strip up your center, thumb moving to rub circles against your clit. Your head fell back against the wall as he continued his movements. His tongue delved into you, flicking in and out. One of his arms wrapped around your thigh, holding you up while spreading you wider. You were already a mess of pleasure when he slowly pushed two fingers into you, tongue moving up to you clit. You bit your lip to surpress your moans, but it was difficult as his fingers started to move faster. It became too much and a single, long moan escaped your mouth. Rafe’s movements ceased. He removed his fingers from you and stood up, hand gripping your hair, pulling it to where there was more pleasure than pain,

“What the fuck did I say?” He asked. Your tried to rub your thighs together, trying to regain the friction you had lost, but he moved his leg between your own.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. Please, I’ll be quiet, I promise,” You whimpered.

He smirked at you.

“Yes you will.”

He kissed you again, tongue dominating your own as he explored your mouth. He dragged you to the bed, throwing you down on your back before returning to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the mattress. He nearly ripped your panties off, mouth diving back to taste your dripping center. His hand reached up, clasping over your mouth, while the other returned to your entrance, fingers fucking you roughly. It didn’t take long before you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. Your screams were muffled behind Rafe’s hand as he continued to lick and suck on your clit, fingers pounding into you. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you came on his fingers. You felt him smirk as you clenched around him, but his movement didn’t let up. He moved his hand up under your shirt to massage your breast while his tongue moved down to fuck your entrance. He went back an forth between your entrance and you clit, hand moving between both your breasts to roughly massage them. Your second orgasm came fast and hard, leaving you with stars behind your eyes as he lapped up your juices.

He moved up your body, biting and sucking across your torso, leaving bright red and purple marks like constellations. He reached your face and removed his hand, kissing you hard and allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. He broke away, pulling your shirt over head and throwing it to the side before standing up, pulling his boxers off. You bit your lip as you stared at his cock, wanting nothing more than to wrap your lips around it. He stroked himself a few times, taking in your fuck out look and the hungry look in your eyes.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get to taste my cock later. Right now, I want to feel you.”

He reached into his bedside table and pulled out a condom. He ripped it open and rolled it over his dick, stroking it a few for times. He stood over you, eyes once again raking over your body.

“God, look at you. You’re gonna take me so good.” He leaned over you, hand coming up to grip your throat. A moan started to escape your lips at the pressure, but he caught it with a kiss. He pushed himself into you as he kissed you, giving you little time to adjust to his size before he started pounding into you. He broke the kiss, holding himself up on his forearm as he thrusted into you. His hand tightened around your throat, muffling your loud moans slightly, leaving the only other sound in the room to be the slapping of skin and the dirty words Rafe whispered in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you like this for days.”

“Feel so much better than in my dreams, baby.”

“Taking that cock so well.”

After several minutes, his hand moved from your throat down to you clit, rubbing fast circles into it. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his thrusts became harder, hitting that spot inside of you. You were so close. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, you could tell he was close too. He leaned down again, fingers still working your clit, and whispered, “Cum all over my dick, angel.”

You did as you were told, coming with a scream of his name, for a moment not caring if Kie and Sarah heard. Rafe wasn’t far behind you. He suddenly pulled out, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He removed the condom from himself and gave a few short stroked before coming across your chest and stomach.

“Fuck,” He whispered, more to himself than you. You heard him walk to the joining bathroom, but didn’t pay much attention. Your eyes were shut tight, trying to catch you breath and come to terms with what just happened. You just fucked Rafe Cameron. Hard. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, it was the best sex you’ve ever had.

Rafe returned with a wet towel, cleaning his cum off of you before collapsing beside you. He pulled back the covers and pulled you into his side under them. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat in his chest. His hand gently played with your hair, a stark contrast to his actions before.

You laid their in silence, neither of you knowing what to say. Eventually, you heard Rafe’s breath even out, quiet snores vibrating through his chest that you found adorable. You untangled yourself from his arm, slipping off the bed to gather your clothes and redress. Sneaking back to Sarah’s room, you hoped neither of the girls had noticed your absence, or heard you screaming Rafe’s name a few rooms down.

The next morning, Rafe woke feeling cold. He turned over to where you had been lying, the nights events running through his head and he hoped that it wasn’t just a dream. But he smiled when he noticed a yellow sticky note on the pillow beside him with a series of numbers and a note in your unique handwriting.

Text me :)

taglist: @bluesiderudy 

[morganmeyers]

Big Reading

So I did this super intense reading last night that was the biggest reading I’ve ever done and it wasn’t for just me so I’m going to share it here. If you see this, it might be for you so take what resonates and leave the rest.

IMPORTANT BEFORE READING: MEDITATE AND GROUND YOURSELF! There is a lot of information that is about to be unpacked in this reading.

I did this reading by using my Santa Muerte Tarot and Oracle cards. With the Oracle cards, I will be explaining what they mean, the significance behind them and what I saw in the cards while reading them. Songs also came up on my phone on shuffle, so Shufflemancy also plays a part in this reading as well. These songs came up before I started the reading that I felt were important:

Gabbie Hanna - Honestly

Halestorm - Uncomfortable

XXXTENTACION - Save Me

In total for all of the cards that got pulled, there was 44. The angel number 44 means: pay attention to your intuition & inner-wisdom as your connection with your guides is VERY strong at this time. This is a very prominent theme that goes with this reading.

Oracle Cards:

Darkness - 1 - Coming out of the shadows and showing your face. Standing in YOUR power. Meditation. Meditation. MEDITATION. The song Midnight Sky by Miley Cyrus came in my phone on shuffle mode. Some lyrics that stood out to me: “The Midnight Sky is the road I’m taking, head high up in the clouds. I was born to run, I don’t belong to anyone, I don’t need to be loved by you.

Masculine - 2 - Don’t be afraid to ask questions. You might not like the answers given, but take it in stride and make the best of it. The song Cancer by My Chemical Romance came up in my head when reading this card. When looking at it, I see a gas mask. Maybe it has something to do with being gaslighted by someone close to you? Either way there are some hard lessons that you’re about to learn. The color red is very prominent not only in this card but the reading in general. Red refers to Family, Love, partnerships, etc. Someone in your family/close to you isn’t telling you the truth or respecting who you are or your boundaries. Don’t take their shit. They’re afraid of whatever truth they’re hiding to come out.

Tlaloc - 9 - Tlaloc is an Aztec god of rain & fertility. He was very feared but also respected in the fact that he could water the fields of labor with one hand and could very easily destroy that same field with the other. In this card, I saw the color of green. Green is in reference to getting justice upon whatever your situation may be. Take no shit but do no harm. While you are being disrespected by whoever it is in your situation, it’s not a good idea to do the same to them. Whatever revenge you want to exact upon the person in question, don’t do it. It will bite you in the ass. The song Bow Down by the band I, Prevail came on: “I don’t really like myself, I think I’m breaking down.”

Mictlantecuhtli - 10 - I almost immediately saw Rafiki from the Lion King when looking at this card. Not everything is as black and white as you’d like it to be. You have to look at the other person’s POV before taking any sort of action. Watch what you say and do.

Tezcatlipōca - 12 - Tezcatlipōca is an Aztec god of night, war, education & temptation. I immediately paid attention to the cheetah print cloak. Maybe the action that needs to be taken upon whoever it is needs to be a fast action. He’s also missing a leg from a battle he fought. When meditating, you need to assess what things in your life you need to sacrifice or cut out when going into this next stage of your life. Not everything you can take with you. Some things you DEFINITELY cannot take with you. 2 songs came up with this card.

Eminem - Love The Way You Lie: “It Wasn’t you, baby it was me.”

Linkin Park - Bleed It Out: “Mama help me, I’ve been cursed, death is rolling in every verse, candy paint on his brand new hearse, can’t contain him he knows he works. Fuck this hurts, I won’t lie. Doesn’t matter how hard I try. Half the words don’t mean a thing and I know that I won’t be satisfied”

Huitzilopachtli - 13 - Huitzilopachtli is an Aztec god of the son & War. The sun is a very prominent theme in this reading. The color blue very much stood out to me with this card. Blue is in reference to Wisdom, increased mental powers & concentration. What drew my most attention was the 4 swords in the back. I went through my tarot deck because the 4 of Swords wasn’t originally a card that was pulled but when I did look at it, it was reversed. What I got from this card specifically, it looks like to me you’re taking the nails out of a coffin. Make plans to trust your intuition & take the nails/swords out of the coffin you previously stored away but do it with caution like the humming bird on the Huitzilopachtli #13 oracle card in the left corner so you don’t get burnt.

Chalchiuhtlicue - 14 - Chalchiuhtlicue is an Aztec goddess of water, lakes, seas, sailors, beauty & fertility. I saw the thunderbolts upon the top of the head first. The day of reckoning/judgement day is coming. 3 songs came up with this one.

Beatles - Yer Blues

AC/DC - Thunderstruck

AC/DC - Back In Black

Go with the flow because you’re at the point of no return and there’s no way for you to go back. At all. Embrace that power, that thunder, as your own.

I saw Mama Imelda & Hector from the Disney movie COCO when looking at this card as well and heard another song by Rihanna called Hate That I Love You (Feat. Ne-Yo). Some lyrics: “And I can’t stand you. Must everything you do make me want to smile? Can I not like you for awhile?” And “I despise that I adore you”

Tlazolteotl - 15 - Tlazolteotl is an Aztec goddess of earth, sex, moon & birth. The moon and the birth is what I saw first. A rebirth of sorts will take place. You need to do shadow work as your ego needs to be put in check but you also need to trust your intuition. If you feel something is off, it is. And it needs to be fixed.

Quetzalcóatl - 16 - Quetzalcóatl is the most important god in the Aztec pantheon. He is a god of Knowledge, dawn, merchants, arts & professions. I thought of Pepita from Coco. Pepita is an Alebrije which in Latin cultures is more so a spirit guide taking the form of an animal. Your spirit guides are trying to tell you something so you need to pay TF attention! Do not fear and do not give up. Through perseverance and insistence, you will reach the goal that you desire and that most of all, you deserve.

Shadow - 17 - Most of people that I know and know me, know that I’m afraid of Spiders. Always have been and probably always will. I saw spiders crawling all across the face on this one. Embrace your fears and face them head-on. Now is the time to do some HEAVY shadow work and work on yourself in general. Be mindful of your thoughts, feelings & words towards yourself and others during this time.

Intellect - 22 - Some of you will be getting MAJOR downloads in the coming days and or will be doing some heavy studying. Keep your brain busy and analyze the situation your facing with rational though. Yellow is also a prominent color in this reading and this card. Yellow represents thoughts, Wisdom and knowledge.

Flux - 24 - The song Carolyn by Black Veil Brides came up with this card. Lyrics: “I wished to god I’d known that I, I didn’t stand a chance of looking back in knowing why. A pain of circumstance.”

Breaking. Generational. Curses.

You’re doing it now. You’re working on yourself and putting yourself first before undoing everything else and that’s a good thing! KEEP GOING!

You have the world in your hands to take time and reflect on your lineage/ancestors.

Harvest - 27 - The sun in the corner. You will be able to eat the fruits of your labor one day and so will your future family/successors if you continue to go forth in braking those curses put upon your family line.

Art - 29 - Your ancestors and spirit guides are watching you in awe for doing the work you’re doing. They see you painting the sun card and creating your own happiness and they’re cheering you on. Keep doing the good work you’re doing.

Santa Muerte - 32 - Be absolutely sure that what you cut out in your life is what you want to be gone. Once it is, there’s almost no way of getting it back. Trust your intuition.

Tarot Cards:

Fool ⬇️

Magician ⬆️

Lovers ⬇️

Temperance ⬆️

Devil ⬆️

Tower ⬆️

Sun ⬆️

Judgement ⬆️

2 of Cups ⬆️

6 of Cups ⬇️

Page of Cups ⬆️

Knight of Cups ⬆️

King of Cups ⬇️

Ace of Pentacles ⬆️

2 of Pentacles ⬆️

3 of Pentacles ⬆️

4 of Pentacles ⬆️

5 of Pentacles ⬆️

7 of Pentacles ⬇️

King of Pentacles ⬇️

Ace of Swords ⬇️

6 of Swords ⬇️

Page of Swords ⬆️

Queen of Swords ⬆️

King of Swords ⬇️

2 of Wands ⬇️

3 of Wands ⬇️

6 of Wands ⬇️

Queen of Wands ⬆️

Like with the Oracle cards, you’re on a journey of self healing & breaking generational curses. You’re on a path that you can’t turn around and go back on. You need to keep walking forwards. Right now it seems like things in your life are in disarray and that’s for a reason. You’re on your current path and dealing with these issues head-on so that others that come after you, don’t have to, they’re gonna have other issues that need to be dealt with. However, the heavy load of the curses/trauma is being dealt with you now in this lifetime because you are the most capable even though it might not seem like you think you are. Going through the trauma is what’s going to bring you so much happiness and everything you could ever hope for.

You are so near the end of the finish line in dealing with everything that it’s so unnecessary for you to even attempt to turn around and undo al do the hard work you’ve already done. Why would you want to go back to all of the trauma? You don’t. Don’t sacrifice yourself for others who clearly don’t give a SHIT about you. FUCK. THAT.

Do what you believe is good for you and your higher self and go forth in doing things that you’re passionate about. Don’t let others lie to you and walk all over you. They don’t know you like YOU do. If you can sense that someone is going something that isn’t good or can tell that they’re not telling you the truth of something that’s going on, that’s most likely the case.

You need to assess what you’re willing to let slide and willing to take with you in the next chapter of your life cause you won’t be able to bring everything with you. And when you do and you set your boundaries by putting your foot down HARD, there will be others waiting for you on the other side cheering you on because you make it to the other side a FAR better person that where you were when you started your journey. Not everybody is worthy to walk with you if they continue to act the way that they do and you have to accept that or nothing will come of the changes you’ve made for your happiness.

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 25: Minimal Loss (S4E3)

[TW!!] Warnings: (This is the same content as found in the episode, so if you’ve seen it, don’t worry too much, but I find this one to deal with multiple sensitive topics at once, and I don’t gloss over it all, like I often do, so be careful) mentions of rape and pedophilia, depictions of torture, cults, murder-suicide

Ch 24 | Ch 26

A/N: Okay, so I’m four days late on posting this, but this is quite possibly the longest chapter I’ve posted, so hopefully that makes up for it?

~ ~ ~

Lydia’s family stayed for about a week, attached to Lydia at the hip the whole time. She loved her sister dearly and was glad to have some time with her father, but she could barely breathe by the time she was taking them to the airport. As she explained to Spencer, she was merely frustrated they didn’t give her any heads up.

Luckily, they left before her teaching schedule came back into full swing at the university. It was nice to get back into her routine and see some of her students and coworkers who were worried about her. She didn’t realize how close she’d gotten to the people there until the letters, phone calls, emails, and gifts started flooding in, telling her to take it easy and get back soon.

And then, in October, Hotch finally gave her a call for a case.

It was small, but she wanted to get out of her apartment so bad.

Hotch was sending Lydia and Prentiss to Colorado where there was a claim against a separation church leader raping young girls.

Spencer wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear Lydia was leaving, but the whole thing was fairly straight-forward: interview the kids, determine what they could about the cult itself, then see if there was reason to shut them down. Hotch knew that there wasn’t going to be any extraneous activity, so it was a perfect start to reintroducing Lydia to the field. Not to mention, she was very perceptive and a master manipulator.

“Tell us about the 911 call,” she said as she flipped through a file on the people of the church.

Emily was in the front seat with Nancy Lunde, from Child Protective Services. She was the head of the case and had the most prior knowledge on the group itself. “I believe the ‘he’ that they referred to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus.”

“Benjamin Cyrus,” Lydia mumbled, flipping to his page. “No criminal record. No record at all, really. I doubt it’s a real name. Correct me if I’m wrong, Emily, but Cyrus is a biblical name. A monarch. I’m seeing some subtle messages in there.”

“It translates to ‘sun’ in persian,” Emily agreed. “What else do you know about him?”

Lunde shook her head. “It’s rumored that he’s practicing polygamy and forced marriages,” she said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Any idea who the caller is?”

“Uh, Jessica Evanson is the one who the age fits, but… we can’t be sure. So I negotiated interviews with all the children. It wasn’t easy.”

“Well, considering their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI,” Emily explained and Lydia got to work on their covers. She took their guns, holsters, and badges, hiding them in the door of the car and handed Emily two fake IDs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.”

The Bureau had made them brand new drivers licences and CPS badges with Colorado addresses to complete their cover stories.

All too soon, they were approaching the front gate. The sign read ‘Liberty Church Ranch’ with a large cross beside it.

It was hot outside and Lydia could feel the dust coating her nose and throat as she exited the car, approaching a set of stairs leading up to the church.

“I’m looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus?” Lunde called to a figure on the steps.

“You found him.”

Cyrus wore a light flannel and jeans, with reading glasses perched on his nose and a book in his lap. Lydia had to hold herself back from calling him out on framing the scene. Oh, look how kind and relaxed we are. Our leader sits outside and reads books all day blahblahblahbl-

Open mind, Lydia.

“I’m Nancy Lunde. We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.”

He got up and approached the three of them. “‘Savages they call us. ‘Cause our manners differ from theirs.’”

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus,” the red-headed woman huffed.

“Actually, that’s Benjamin Franklin,” he sneered.

Nancy ignored this, and began introducing them. “Emily Prentiss, Lydia Ambers. They’re child victim interview experts.”

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be the need to invent a job called child victim interview expert?” Cyrus wondered.

“We wish we didn’t have to be here,” Emily said.

“So do we. But you are welcome, nonetheless. The children are in the school as I indicated.”

“Thank you.”

Lydia nodded and followed Emily off to the school building.

~ ~ ~

Jessica Evanson was not the kid they were looking for. Lydia could tell the moment she walked into the interview room. She was completely calm, the perfect child. Her hair was neatly brushed back, her polo shirt well ironed, and her hands folded neatly in front of her.

Her mother, Kathy, stood beside her, petting her hair gently, as if to reassure her, but Jessica clearly didn’t need it. She wasn’t intimidated by their presence at all.

“We go to school. We do our chores. And we treat ourselves and each other with the respect God demands.”

Emily sat across from her, conducting the interview, and Lydia stood beside her.

“But you’ve never been off of the ranch?” Emily asked.

“I brought Jessie here when she was two,” Kathy explained.

Jessica clearly was not having any of this. “You’ve talked to lots of children in your work. Tell me, are their lives somehow better than ours?”

“We devote ourselves to God,” Kathy continued. “That doesn’t mean we’re not devoted to our children.”

“We are not here because of your religious beliefs,” Emily reasoned.

“Why are you here?” Jessica demanded.

She was starting to become hostile. She grew up in a cult that taught her to hate outsiders, so Lydia couldn’t blame her for her behavior. But her mother was clearly a peacemaker, so where did she learn it from? It wasn’t defiance from her family, because that would put her against the group, not for it.

“We received a phone call alleging that an adult male member of your church was having inappropriate relations with the younger women here.”

“You’re talking about Cyrus,” she responded, almost immediately.

“What makes you say that?” Emily asked.

Her mother immediately became defensive, trying to get her daughter to be quiet, but Jessica was still determined to make a point.

“Is it inappropriate for a husband to share a bed with his wife?”

Lydia’s eyes shot open. His what?

“You are married to Cyrus?” Emily spoke slowly, as if worried that the question would escalate the situation, but Jessica stayed proper in stance, if not in tongue.

“Yes. Cyrus is my husband and a prophet. It’s an honor to bear his children.”

It took everything in Lydia not to look disgusted by the thought and keep the interview going. “Jessica, you aren’t old enough to get married without parental consent.”

Emily nodded at the mother. “She gave consent.”

Before anyone could continue, a loud sound from outside got their attention. There was some yelling and suddenly Cyrus and a few other men were rushing in, machine guns in hand.

Lydia let her shock show on her face. Not just that they had the weapons, but that they would carry them around a school where CPS workers were present.

“Get up!” Cyrus demanded, turning on her and Emily. “Get up! Move!”

On the other side of the room, Nancy was entertaining the other kids. “What’s going on?” she asked softly.

“We just got a very strange phone call from a news reporter,” Cyrus began and a man walked around Emily and started to pat her down for weapons.

They were both unarmed, but Lydia was starting to regret that. These men were clearly threatened by their presence. What the hell had happened?

Another man walked around to check her and unceremoniously smacked her in the side, causing her to wince involuntarily. Cyrus clearly noticed this, but said nothing, continuing on with his point.

“Is there anything you want to tell me? About a raid, maybe?”

She and Emily exchanged a concerned look. A raid? They weren’t prepared for that. They had checked in with the state before joining child services to the ranch, there shouldn’t have been a raid on this church.

Luckily for them, Cyrus took their concern for fear and nodded. “They don’t know,” he determined. “Bring them along.”

A man grabbed Lydia’s arm and dragged her across the room, where another armed man was opening a hatch in the wall. A tunnel. A few guards went first, then they started ushering the people in. Women with their kids, Nancy, Emily, and Lydia all surrounded by machine guns, leaping into a dark hole underneath the church.

The passage underneath the buildings was too thin to walk side by side, so the guards let them go on by themselves.

“What’s going on?” Nancy whispered to the two FBI members ahead of her.

“We’re not sure yet,” Emily hissed. “Just stay calm.”

As they reached a large opening directly underneath the chapel, they could hear gunfire from above ground.

Prentiss pulled Lydia aside, trying to get as far away from the crowd as possible. “If this escalates, Cyrus is going to put this place on lockdown. The FBI is going to be in charge of negotiations as long as we’re inside. Do you know the Critical Incident Response Group handbook?”

Lydia shook her head quickly. God, it would be helpful if Spencer were here. He probably knew that book front and back. Lydia didn’t know what she was doing.

“Okay.” Emily fumbled, trying to determine what was important for Lydia to know before they had to revert back to their covers. “CIRG will bug all the windows and anything else they can get to. So, anything you need them to know, find a way to say it out loud. Keep the inside members talking. We won’t be able to know what the team already knows so tell them everything. If there are blinds on a window, they might be blocking the sound, so try and get them out of the way before speaking.”

“Best hope it doesn’t come to that,” Lydia argued, but the sound of the gunfire overhead was diminishing her hopes of getting out any time soon. She just hoped Spencer didn’t know what was going on.

At the sound of Cyrus’s voice, the two girls stepped away from one another, trying to blend in with the crowd.

“Alright! Move quietly! Quickly, go to the left! Everybody stay together!” he ordered, pushing his way through the room. “Children, listen to your parents. Have faith.”

“Where did these guns come from?” Emily whispered hurriedly and Lydia glanced around her to see what she was looking at.

Wooden crates lined the walls, each labelled as bullets or magazines. Leaning into the corners were more machine guns. Buckets of them.

“I thought Garcia checked with the state police to see if they were involved in…” Lydia trailed off, not sure how to frame the inquiry, but luckily Emily was on the same page.

“Someone lied to us. You don’t just lose track of these weapons, not when you’re already watching this group.”

“At least the raid is unrelated to the FBI,” Lydia reasoned. “Our cover is still intact. But you’re right… someone from the Colorado government just ruined their career. Once we’re back in Quantico, Hotch is going to lose his shit.”

Lunde approached the two of them once more. “This is ridiculous,” she sneered.

“It’s okay,” Emily tried again. “Just calm down.”

Cyrus continued to reassure his followers, telling them that God would look out for them as long as they stayed calm.

Once he had disappeared, Nancy was arguing with them once more. “It’s the state police. I’m an officer of the state.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.”

“I can talk to him.”

“No!” Emily rushed after her but Nancy was already halfway through the crowd of people. “You can’t. It’s dangerous. Nancy, stop!”

The woman rushed out of the room and before the two of them could follow, one of the guards blocked their way. The other went after Nancy, but she was booking it back up to the ground level of the chapel.

Shit. This was starting to look… bad.

She stood next to Emily at the front of the group, anxiously waiting for the battle to cease, but the hail of bullets above them never slowed. After a minute or two, Cyrus came stumbling back down the stairs.

“Do not fear! We are on the side of the righteous.”

Behind him was the guard that went after Nancy, but no Nancy herself.

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked him.

“It wasn’t us.”

“What?!” Lydia screeched, then quickly lowered her voice, seeing the attention she had attracted. “You can’t shoot it out with the cops! You have children here!”

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus argued back.

Emily was clearly distraught watching him reload his gun, then take off with the rest of the men to the roof.

“The BAU is coming,” she whispered.

~ ~ ~

“Reid!”

JJ’s voice reached Spencer from the center of the bullpen and he looked up from his email curiously. “Hm?”

Her eyes were on the TV she was in the process of starting up and he noticed that Morgan was also looking up at it intently. It lit up in the middle of a news report.

“...a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado child services-”

Colorado… that’s where Lydia and Prentiss were…

“-has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separtarian Sect.”

Spencer jumped up, joining Morgan and JJ in the middle of the room, his mind still not coming to terms with what was happening.

“JJ,” Morgan breathed, standing up, his eyes not leaving the TV, “That’s not the ranch where Prentiss and Ambers-”

“They’re still inside,” she said, softly.

Spencer’s legs almost gave out underneath him.

“HOTCH!” Morgan screamed.

The unit chief was rushing out a moment later to see what was going on, but Spencer didn’t pay him any attention. His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him. Where’s Lydia? Where’s Lydia? Where’s Lydia???

“...While no one knows for sure how many people are inside, it is believed that at least three of the child service members are still trapped within the compound.”

~ ~ ~

Spencer sat on the couch of the jet, his head in his hands, listening intently to the ongoing news report on Morgan’s laptop.

“...turned deadly when the Colorado state police officers tried to serve a warrant. Colorado Attorney General Jim Wells says the reclusive cult has been the subject of a 6-month weapons investigation.”

“Six months,” Morgan repeated. “We didn’t check?”

“No. We checked,” JJ argued. “I had ATF call Wells. He told ATF there were no pending state investigations. He lied.”

“Why?” Rossi demanded.

“Wells is challenging the governor in the next election. He thought that ATF was about to poach his big election-launching weapons bust,” JJ explained. “Now, it’s clear he didn’t know there were FBI agents there. He just thought the best time to serve a state warrant was when the kids were safe inside the school being interviewed.”

“Agent,” Spencer corrected quietly, his head finally lifting from his own grasp.

“What was that?” JJ asked.

“There aren’t ‘FBI agents’ in there. There’s only one.”

It seemed to slip everyone’s mind that Lydia wasn’t an agent. They looked around nervously, noticing the edge in Spencer’s voice as he corrected them. Hotch was the first one to speak up.

“Ambers may not be an agent, but she’s not a civilian, Reid. She can look out for herself.”

“The FBI only worries about their own,” Spencer hissed.

“She is one of our own,” Morgan fired back. “We’re going to get her out of there, just like Prentiss.”

“Just like all of the hostages,” Hotch continued.

Not wanting to argue more, Spencer nodded at him, then jumped up from his seat and walked to the back of the plane, unable to listen to any more. The media wouldn’t be able to tell him what he wanted to know, anyway.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ called as she approached him at the refreshment table. “I know you’re worried about Lydia, but we need your help on this case. You gotta stay focused, okay?”

“JJ, she’s in the middle of a deadly standoff and she’s still recovering from getting shot last May. Injured tissue takes months to repair itself and it’s going to take even longer for her to regain abdominal strength.”

“I’m sure that she’s safe inside the church with the other hostages.”

“Even if that’s true, I-” He shook his head. “I always seem to be away from her when she needs me most. When that bomb went off in Annandale, when Sonia had a stroke, when Frank got her… Why does it always feel like I can’t reach her?”

JJ sighed, contemplating his question. “I don’t know, Spence. I wish I did.”

~ ~ ~

Once the police had fallen back, Cyrus brought the two of them into a seperate room. Clearly he wasn’t sure how to deal with outsiders being barricaded in with his people. As him and his men tried to assess the damage done to the church and get people back inside, Emily was prepping Lydia for the worst.

“Don’t antagonize them,” she tried to reason. “I know you’re not a fan, but we need to know everything we can. They won’t tell you anything if they don’t think they can trust you.”

“There are two ways to find things out, Em.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was sprinkled with annoyance. Emily knew that Lydia tended to be very blunt. She didn’t need to worry about Cyrus killing Lydia when she was supposed to be helping the team get these people out.

“You keep Cyrus’s favor. But someone here doesn’t believe him, or else we wouldn’t have gotten that phone call. They’re going to seek us out.”

It wasn’t a terrible plan, she realized. One of them learn from the higher ups, the other speak to the underdogs. “You want to play two different sides?”

Lydia nodded. “For the time being.”

“Okay. That means we have to distance ourselves, though. Act unfamiliar with one another.”

“Brief me faster, then.”

She was on top of it from that point on. “The hostage negotiator’s job is to slowly get the women and children out. They want as few innocent people inside when they raid. But if they think anyone inside is in danger, they’ll come in, no matter what. We can speak to them through the mics on the windows, but they have no way of talking to us. So if we need to know anything, they’ll tell us through other means. Look out for signs from them. They’ll be listening to our every word…”

~ ~ ~

Hotch had put Rossi in charge of being the lead negotiator, in the hopes that he was both objective enough to not be blinded by his care for Prentiss and Ambers, but also knew them well enough to predict how they’d react while still inside.

Frankly, Spencer wasn’t sure he could do either. He hoped that Lydia would play it safe, but a part of him knew that she was just too impulsive.

The entire team gathered around as Rossi made his first call to the church, waiting to find out what happened to their friends.

“You killed my mommy and daddy. Are you going to kill me too?”

A kid. A little girl had answered the phone. It wasn’t surprising that Cyrus had set something like this up, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

“No one is going to kill you, honey,” Rossi said calmly.

Then, there was a shift. A new voice. “This is Benjamin Cyrus. Who am I talking to?”

“David Rossi. I’m an FBI agent. We sent the state police away. There’s just us and the local sheriff. All we wanna do is resolve this before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Then leave us alone.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin. One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse. Please, just put down your guns and come out.”

“We’re believers, Dave. We believe God says what he means and means what he says. His laws don’t depend on what state you live in.”

“I have no issue with your beliefs.”

“You don’t, but the state does.”

This was taking too long. Spencer needed to make sure they were okay. He needed to make sure Lydia was okay.

“I can’t answer for other people.”

“Oh, God will answer for everyone in the final battle I’ve foreseen.”

“That’s why I’m here. To make sure that this is not that battle.”

“We shall see.”

“Now, the three child service workers...” 

“One of them is dead.”

Everyone’s heads shot up. Dead. Dead…

“It wasn’t us.”

Rossi leaned away from the phone, trying to take in a deep breath before continuing. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.”

The relief between them was almost a solid entity, letting their eyelids hang heavy as they realized neither of their friends had died. But someone had.

“Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded. I promise you they’ll be well taken care of.”

“With enough supplies we can tend to our own.”

“Okay. I need a few hours to put it together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

With news that supplies was coming, Cyrus hung up the phone and the rest of the team was left to ponder what to do now.

~ ~ ~

Lydia and Emily didn’t know much about their situation until the next morning. Everyone was assembled in the chapel to pray. Cyrus had sent the two of them to the end of a row of chairs, trapped in by the wall. Not that there was any point in running anyway. There were men at all exits, guns at the ready.

A soft knocking came from the church entrance and to Lydia’s surprise, Cyrus opened the door. It was difficult to see at first, with all the armed men surrounding him, but after a moment of discussion, Lydia was able to make out Rossi walking through the front door, a box of bandages in his arms.

Despite everything Emily had told her, Lydia could feel a twist in her heart. The BAU was right outside. Spencer was here.

Dear lord, he was never going to let her leave their apartment again.

Lydia reminded herself to steady her facial expressions. Cyrus had no suspicions of their connection to the FBI yet and she wasn’t about to give him any. She silently prayed that whatever Rossi was bringing in was bugged, so that she wouldn’t have to make sure all the important dialogue happened by a window.

They took his supplies, patted him down, and then Cyrus walked him down the center isle. Lydia couldn’t make out much of their conversation, but it seemed like Rossi was trying to convince Cyrus to let some people go.

Their discussion took all of about 30 seconds, then Cyrus was ushering him back out the door. With Rossi gone, Cyrus started giving instructions to his right hand man, Cole, then indicated for Lydia and Emily to get up.

The two of them exchanged a look before standing and walking to the back of the chapel.

“We’re going to have communion,” Cyrus informed them. “Feel free to stand and watch for the time being.”

They nodded politely, noticing Cole at the front with a jug of wine and stacks of plastic cups. A few of the men went around, passing them out while Cyrus poured each person a sip of wine.

“We are celebrating,” he announced. “Everyone drinks. Everyone rejoices. Because today we are one day closer to being with Him.”

“Look at Jessica’s body language,” Emily whispered. “The way she looks at him.”

Lydia nodded. “She literally worships him. There’s no way she made that 911 call.”

“Trust in God with all your heart. Lean not on your own understandings. Trust in mine.”

As Cyrus kept talking, Kathy stood up and walked over to the row her daughter was sitting in, leaning over her and speaking quietly. Jessica tried multiple times to nod and turn her attention back to Cyrus, but her mother kept talking.

“Look at how she comes between Cyrus and her daughter,” Emily continued. “She’s inserted herself between them.”

“Acknowledge Him in all things and He will guide your way. Drink to acknowledge him and I will guide our way.”

Everyone lifted their cups together and followed Cyrus in raising it to their mouths. Men, women, and children alike drank the entirety of their share and watched him intently.

“We will be with him soon. We have drank the poison together.”

Lydia was almost too distracted by the audience's reactions to comprehend what this meant. Some seemed completely calm, maybe even relieved. While others gasped or looked around wildly. It was easy to see a line between the diehard believers and the… less-so believers.

“Mothers… Fathers… Children… Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil. For thou art with us. And God will wipe the tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death nor sorrow nor crying. And there will be no more pain. For all of the former things have passed away.”

Some families grouped together, mothers holding tight to their kids. A few of the loners cried silently while the rest nodded to Cyrus in admiration. It was a wild array of people he’d collected.

“What do we do?” Emily hissed.

Lydia blinked, beginning to realize that the team was probably thinking the same thing. They wanted to save these people. If the bugs were working, they could hear Cyrus announce their imminent death.

“I don’t think he’s telling the truth,” Lydia admitted, looking Emily in the eyes.

She looked frantic. Her instinct to help was kicking in, but there was no way for her to act on it. “What makes you so sure?”

“Look at Cole.” She nodded up to the stage. “He’s writing in a notebook. I think Cyrus told him to make note of the people who had a bad reaction to the news.”

Emily’s gaze followed that of Lydia’s. At that point, both Cole and Cyrus were scanning the crowd. “They’re writing down the names of the people who are crying,” Emily realized.

“It’s a loyalty list,” Lydia finished out. “He wants to know who will follow him to the end.”

“Be still.” Cyrus’s voice broke through their conversation just in time to confirm their theories. “There was no poison. Instead a test of faith. Because your adversary, the Devil, walketh about as a roaring lion! Choosing whom he may devour. Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

“What’s he going to do with those that the Devil has devoured?” Lydia asked slowly, but Emily shook her head, not ready to consider it yet.

~ ~ ~

“You exhausted yet?” Emily asked jokingly as the two of them lay up against the stone walls of the basement. Cyrus had brought the two of them back down there a few hours ago and left them on their own.

“You’ll excuse me if I didn't get much sleep last night,” Lydia shot back. “A cement bomb shelter isn’t exactly my idea of comfort.”

“No kidding.” She was on the opposite wall, one leg propped up on the wooden bench she had taken. “You should try to get some sleep now. We don’t know how long we’ll be here. I’d rather have you well rested when the raid starts.”

“I would try, but-”

They swiftly stopped their discussion as the sound of footsteps echoed through the halls. Cyrus was at the door and he looked pissed.

“Ambers. Stand up.”

Her and Emily shared a curious look, but she did as he said and got up from her bench.

“Lift up your shirt,” he ordered.

“What the hell?” she demanded, but Cyrus had already stepped between her and Emily, reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it up above her waist. “Hey! what are you-?”

“That’s what I thought,” he grumbled. “Child interviewers don’t often get shot, do they?”

Lydia glanced down nervously at the bullet wound on her side. She had seen the weird look he gave her when his men had searched her and hit it painfully, but she never would have thought it would lead to blowing her cover.

“I don’t know why you…”

Dropping the front of her shirt, he reached up and grabbed a chunk of her hair, pulling her head back painfully. “We just got word that there was an undercover FBI agent in our midst. Care to explain that?”

Lydia hissed through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“You’re not CPS, are you?”

His grip was getting stronger by the minute. She didn’t like the idea of blowing her cover, but he already knew it was one of them. Might as well let him think it was only her.

“No. You were right,” she admitted. “I work for the FBI.”

Now, Lydia didn’t expect him to thank her for her honesty and let her go, but it still came as a shock when he walked off, while still holding her hair. Her feet were immediately yanked out from underneath her, not prepared enough to steady herself, but Cyrus just kept going, not deterred in the slightest by her weight.

Lydia groaned, her hands wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure, but it did very little. Luckily he didn’t take her very far, throwing her down on the ground inside a nearby supply closet.

“I told you not to put me in this position!”

She moved to look up at him, but he was faster, swinging an arm up to her chin and knocking her down onto her back. Upon her next attempt to stand, she received a swift kick in the stomach.

“Ugh.” Her left side lit on fire in an instant and she stayed on the ground, her arms and legs wrapping protectively around her abdomen.

“Get up!” Cyrus sneered.

He reached for one of her arms and pulled her to her feet. Lydia flinched away from him as he threw an arm above his head and brought it down against the side of her face. There was a mirror on the wall behind her which shattered as her right arm moved to steady herself.

“Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil.” As he said this, he held her still against the broken mirror so that she could see herself.

It wasn’t until she physically saw the blood dripping from her nose that she could taste its warmth on the edges of her mouth. The temple that he hit was tinged pink, but from the way it ached, Lydia knew it would be a dark purple by evening. And her right arm, which was still lodged in the remaining pieces of the mirror was staining the white sleeve of her shirt.

She shrieked as he threw her backwards again, running into the shelf of canned goods against the opposite wall.

The BAU is listening, she remembered. And Emily said that if they thought someone was in danger, they’d begin the raid.

They needed to prepare. They hadn’t gotten any of the children out yet. If the team could hear her and decided to come in prematurely, a lot of people would die. Lydia wasn’t about to let that happen.

There was a window towards the back of the closet she was in. She could only hope that Spencer was listening.

“Careful.” Her voice was shaky and unconvincing, but she made sure Cyrus saw the anger in her eyes. This message wasn’t for him. “Hit me too hard and everyone will see the bruises on your knuckles.”

“No one is going to care,” he replied calmly. “You came here to shut us down! I’m protecting them!”

“From me?” Her laugh came out almost maniacal with her bruised stomach and battered jaw. “I’m fine! I got bruises on my knuckles too! I can take it!”

“Pride comes before the fall.”

His next blow sent her into the metal shelf again, this time her skull ricocheting against one of the sides and knocking her to the floor. She was just able to see a few drops of blood land on the ground below her, though she couldn’t identify where exactly on her face they came from, before her arms shakily gave out and her cheek hit the cold cement.

She prayed silently to whoever may be listening that Spencer understood. She really hoped she didn’t face all that torment in vain.

~ ~ ~

“We’ve got audio!” Morgan called from across their tent set up.

Spencer ran as fast as he could to the panel controlling the microphone feedback, throwing on a set of headphones.

Hotch hadn’t let him do anything for the past day, claiming he was the most emotionally involved in the situation. And although he couldn’t argue with that fact, it killed him to sit and listen. Lydia was right there. She was in the building just over that hill. And he wasn’t allowed to see her, talk to her, call her, save her.

When the fact that an FBI agent was in the church hit the news, Spencer felt an anchor drop to the bottom of his stomach. She wasn’t even an agent. There was nothing to suggest Cyrus would target her. But his instincts screamed that Emily wouldn’t be the one in danger.

And unfortunately, he was right. When he set those headphones over his ears, he immediately recognized Lydia’s voice. She was moaning in pain.

“We gotta go in,” Hotch said, but Rossi stopped him from throwing off his headphones.

“We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.”

“Get up!” Cyrus’s words were followed by a crashing noise, like glass shattering.

Please be okay. Please don’t let it be as bad as it sounds.

“Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil.”

There was more struggling over the line and Spencer threw off his headphones, unable to bear it any more. She was in pain. He knew this would happen.

“How could you let this happen?” he demanded of Hotch. “We have to go in! She’s not-”

“Sh! Sh!” Rossi hissed, one hand over his earpiece, the other between the unit chief and the boy.

Both looked at him confused, but he just kept listening silently.

“Everyone will see the bruises on your knuckles,” he finally recited. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Spencer didn’t answer, but put his headphones back on swiftly.

“-protecting them!”

“From me?” Lydia’s laugh sounded more like a wail over the mic. “I’m fine! I got bruises on my knuckles too! I can take it!”

“She’s antagonizing him!” Morgan exclaimed, frustratedly.

“She’s not talking to him,” Rossi argued.

“Pride comes before the fall.”

There was one more grunt, then the line went quiet. When Spencer finally breathed in again, all eyes were on him.

“She gets bruises on her knuckles when she lets off steam on a case,” he explained quietly. “I always worry for her, but she says she’d rather hurt her hands for a little bit then do something rash or detrimental on a case.”

“So what she’s saying is-”

“Don’t come in,” he finished begrudgingly. “She’s telling us not to go in.”

~ ~ ~

Cole had to basically carry her to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Every breath was agony for her lungs and a violent sting for her nose and mouth. And she figured it was psychosomatic, but her bullet wound hurt as if she’d just been shot yet again.

Who would have thought this whole hostage thing could get ten times worse?

Cole tied her arms to the sides of the bed, though frankly, she didn’t think she’d have the abdominal strength to sit back up anyway. And she didn’t want to try.

Kathy Evanson came by with a washcloth to clean the blood away from her nose, mouth, and temple. She tried to warn Lydia against lying to Cyrus, to which Lydia snapped back, “Do you speak from personal experience?”

Kathy didn’t say another word before standing up and leaving. It was a clear sign that she was hiding something and Lydia could only hope Emily caught onto that too. ‘Cause Lydia… she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

Downstairs, Cyrus had pulled Emily into his office, using some of his only medical supplies to disinfect the tiny abrasions in his hand from his fight with Lydia.

“Did you know she was FBI?” he demanded, as Cole shut the door behind the three of them.

Emily quickly shook her head, but her heart was in her stomach with fear for Lydia. Lydia was strong. She could take a lot. But she was also far too defiant to make this easy on herself. Emily silently wished she’d been smart.

“Nancy told me the woman was a child abuse interview expert from Denver.” Emily hated to put the blame on someone else, but Cyrus couldn’t hurt Nancy anymore. Nancy was gone. Lydia was still here and if Emily made her sound worse, it could fuel Cyrus’s anger towards her. “In the 4 years I worked with her, Nancy had never lied to me before.”

“As far as you know,” Cyrus replied. “Their law says that a 15-year-old girl is a child. Fifty years ago, that same law said a 14-year-old was an adult. Have children changed so much in 50 years?”

No, but people have, Emily thought. It was frustrating. Hotch had chosen Lydia because she was so good at acting calm. At least… in the workplace. She could have any unsub they met trust her entirely, or keep them constantly on their toes. Now, Emily could act, but she couldn’t do that.

If anyone’s cover should have been blown, it should have been hers. Emily knew more about CIRG protocols. She could diffuse a situation. Acting like she wasn’t totally disgusted by Cyrus’s morals was not in her skill set.

“I think it’s a matter of trust. People have stopped believing that kids can make good decisions, they’ve stopped believing in selfless acts, and they stopped putting their trust and faith into God.”

Her appeal seemed to work. Cyrus looked intrigued. She hoped it would hold long enough to make a good argument in her favor. Now was the perfect time to build up Cyrus’s trust with the FBI, because he had brought in the medical supplies Rossi had given them. There was absolutely no way that the BAU wasn’t listening.

“On your next call, you should test them. Test the negotiator. Make him prove that he isn’t a liar.”

“How would you suggest I do that?”

“Ask for the identity of the FBI agent.”

Cole looked unamused. “No. We already know her identity.”

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but Cyrus beat her to it. “They don’t know that.”

“Yeah. But the FBI would never tell us.”

“They keep asking you to release people,” Emily argued. “Tell them you’ll release a kid and you won’t harm the agent. If they really care about the children, they’ll have to tell you.”

“You’re trying to get us to release a child!” Cole accused.

“It’s one kid! If they don’t hold up on their end of the deal, then you know they can’t be trusted!”

“She has a point,” Cyrus conceded much to Emily’s relief. “What is it, Christopher?”

Emily glanced over her shoulder to find Cole pacing the room.

“Some people have been talking about… leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah.”

Cyrus glanced at his hands. “Wake the baby. Let’s let them meet the orphan that they’ve made.”

~ ~ ~

Cole held onto Lydia’s shoulder’s firmly as he led her back to the chapel. She’d been dozing for most of the day, unable to move from her bed, so her ability to process the situation was hazy.

Cyrus had everyone gathered in the pews. “It has come to my attention that some of our brothers and sisters have lost their faith in God. That they no longer love us. They want to abandon us. So, when I call out your name, please stand.”

Cole left her leaning up against one of the back walls as he went to usher the last of the people in and that’s when Lydia noticed Emily eyeing her, slowly creeping closer and closer while still looking as if she was listening to Cyrus.

“He looks pissed,” Lydia whispered to her when she was close enough. “He’s choosing the people who failed the loyalty test.”

“I’m so sorry,” was all Emily could say.

“Em, I’m okay,” she snapped, more forcefully than she meant. She knew she wasn’t okay. “You need to stay focused and tell me what to do. What does this mean?”

Emily cleared her throat quietly. “He’s releasing these people, because he knows it’s over. He’s getting rid of any possible threat to his mass suicide plan. I’ll try and figure out when it is and get word to the team. Be ready. There’s going to be a raid tonight.”

~ ~ ~

“Drugging the food’s not an option because of the children,” Hotch was saying as they passed around tubs of fried chicken. “We have to go in.”

“Best time to hit ‘em is when they’re least mentally prepared,” Rossi added.

“3 AM.” All eyes turned on Reid. “Biorhythms are at their low point then.”

“Reid, I told you to stay with JJ,” Hotch argued, already on his way to lead Spencer out of the room, but he stood firm.

“Please let me help. I can’t just sit here and pray that she’s going to walk back out of there. I need to do something.”

There was a moment of silent tension between the two of them. Hotch didn’t want him to go. Technically, he shouldn’t let him go. But he didn’t have the time to argue, and Spencer would no doubt be helpful when it came to setting up this plan.

“The plan depends on Ambers and Prentiss separating the diehards from the followers,” Hotch continued, turning back to the group.

“And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault,” Morgan said.

“No, that’s not my main concern. Ambers and Prentiss know what they need to do. I don’t know how to tell them when we’re coming. This whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3 AM.”

“Reid? What the hell are you doing?”

Hotch and Rossi followed Morgan’s gaze to the young genius who was covering the top of one of the food trays with red sharpie.

When he stepped back, the tray read, ‘New owners! New hours! Open ‘til 3 AM!’ The time was underlined multiple times.

“They’ll recognize my writing,” he promised. “Just write this on a few different plates so that there’s a better chance they’re near someone with a sign.”

“Let’s just hope it’s that easy,” Morgan grumbled.

~ ~ ~

Lydia watched curiously as Emily slipped into her room and carefully shut the door. She wasn’t sure how Emily had gotten away from Cyrus’s men, but she was positive something big was happening, else she wouldn’t have taken such a risk.

“3 AM,” she said, reaching the bed and helping Lydia sit up. “We need to get all the women and children down to the basement before 3.”

Lydia had no clue what time it was, only that the sky was completely dark and their time frame was getting shorter. “Find Kathy,” she told Emily. “I’m pretty sure she made that 911 call.”

“Pretty sure?”

“She’s hiding something,” Lydia admitted. “But no, I’m not positive that that’s it.”

The unease was more than a little scary, but there wasn’t much else for them to do. These people wouldn’t trust her or Emily. The only way to save them was to find someone they trusted.

“Stay here. I’ll be back for you before 3.”

“Don’t get caught.”

~ ~ ~

“They’re setting the place to blow up,” Kathy said as she ran into Lydia’s room.

Lydia’s heart fell. “Where’s Emily?” she demanded.

“I told Jessie that Cyrus wanted the two of them to gather the women and children. She’s leading them to the basement now,” she explained, untying the ropes on Lydia’s wrists.

Oh, thank god. Lydia thought for sure when Emily didn’t come back that she’d been caught.

“It’s 2:45. We’ve got to hurry.”

Kathy pulled Lydia along by her arm, Lydia’s other hand wrapped around her waist. Her entire torso burned as she ran down the stairs towards the basement. Almost out. This was almost over.

The sound of gunfire was muted through the walls and Lydia didn’t have time to place where it was coming from.

Get out. Get out.

As they were reaching the door, Lydia could see Emily leading the group into the basement.

“Let’s go! This way!”

“Let’s go, kids!”

“This building’s going to blow up!”

There was shouting in all directions. Lydia’s legs barely held her steady as she ran alongside Kathy. The only thing that was keeping her from passing out was Spencer. He was just outside. She needed to see him.

“Lydia!” She looked up as she passed through the door frame and found herself face to face with Morgan. She didn’t have time to open her mouth before he had pulled her into his shoulder. “I’m going to kill Cyrus.”

“You don’t have long,” she said, almost jokingly, but the timing was badly placed. Not a moment later, the ground and walls began to shake and a deafening sound filled the basement.

Everyone still inside hit the floor, protecting their heads from possible falling debris, but the ceiling was solid. Lydia had been through earthquakes before, and she’d survived an explosion, but this was somehow worse than both. She felt so claustrophobic she didn’t even try to breathe, out of fear she’d find herself unable too. For many seconds, she stayed on the floor, unable to tell if the rumbling had stopped.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” She didn’t realize it was Emily who was talking until Morgan and Rossi were helping her off the ground. “That was the explosives. If Cyrus planned a second round, the basement might crumble too.”

The four of them made a run for the secret door in the school, Lydia now holding onto Rossi for support, so that Derek could lead the group and make sure the rest of the kids got out.

“How’s Spencer?” she asked as they climbed back into the school building.

“I imagine Hotch has got at least seven guys holding him down right now to keep him from running into the rubble to find you. How are you?”

Lydia didn’t want to answer that. Not only was she in a lot of physical pain, but after that explosion went off above her, her heart rate had been soaring.

Everyone’s eyes were on the smoking ruble that was the chapel, amazed by the destruction. Many kids were crying and women were no doubt waiting to see if their husbands had survived. Rossi kept pulling Lydia along, not letting her stop to watch. They walked through the barricade of armed men with ease.

“Lydia! Lydia!”

It was Spencer. He was looking for her. Lydia tried to yell back, but Rossi could tell she didn’t have it in her.

“I’ve got her, Reid!”

Not too long after, she saw her boyfriend pushing through the crowd, his eyes looking around frantically.

When their eyes met, it was like Lydia’s whole world muted to a dull roar. Three days. Three days she’d been trapped in that building, trying to reach the team and getting the shit kicked out of her. Three days she’d been quiet, accepting Cyrus’s blows. All to see him again.

She wanted to run to him, but she just didn’t have it in her. Luckily, he was eager enough for the both of them.

His arms were so tight around her that she felt like all her ribs would break at once and her nose was so deep in the side of his neck that the bruises burned. She couldn’t care less.

He pulled away all too fast and she was about to protest, when she realized why. As she looked up at him, a breeze hit her cheeks, making the wet trails going down her face apparent. She took in shuddering breaths.

She was crying.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say, the back of her hand reaching to wipe them away, but for some reason, it didn’t feel like they were gone. “Sorry, I can’t-”

Before she could finish, he leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her in front of the whole team. In front of everyone. He’d never done that before. PDA was a very rare thing for him. But all her shock died on her lips, suffocating between his own.

“I love you,” he whispered, barely moving an inch away. “I love you so very much. You don’t need to apologize for your tears.”

Such kind and affirming words should have quelled her tears, but she just sobbed harder. “I love you too. Please don’t ever leave me.”

Tags: @kris-stuff​, @wooya1224​, @bispences​, @anotherr-fine-mess​, @eddysocs​