#Cyrus's pull to share knowledge

[oldestenemy]

the deathless, the undying, and the unwilling divine - part 3

Part 1, Part 2

The first floor poses little issue. Howling Cheney and Sir Blackwater go down without a fuss, Renfield proves to be helpful—though very obviously hypnotized—and directs them towards the upper halls. Which is where the wizard starts to put together why this is where Malistaire had chosen to seclude himself.

The spirits of the Dragon Titan’s army sting—but with the academy rebuild ongoing, much of the wizard’s sourness towards Dragonspyre has eased.

No, it’s the Spirit of Darkmoor herself who throws them into unwanted memory.

Of seeing Sylvia Drake’s wraith.

A spirit unwilling bent to anger.

“You alright?” Penny pulls them to a stop before the fight begins. “You went really off-color just there.”

The wizard grimaces. They don’t like to talk about the wraith. They don’t like to see what grief did to Malistaire—especially after their brief meeting in old Dragonspyre. But this whole mess had come about from lies of omission, they may as well dig up the rest of the pain.

“When I was first in Dragonspyre, Cyrus wanted to try and resolve things without a fight—I went into the Drake family tomb to capture a memory of Sylvia’s spirit—he was hoping her love would bring Malistaire back to reason.” And they had fought the wraith and run. They had spent those sinking moments in a bedroom no longer their own, looking at eyes that were not theirs, shaking flesh and blood that belonged to a stranger. “But her spirit had been twisted into a wraith. Angry and vengeful and—I see why this is where Malistaire chose to come, familiar pain, kindred spirits.”

“He turned her into a wraith?” The mix of horror and disgust on Malorn’s face matches the memory of their own.

“I don’t know if he meant to,” The wizard tells him, “I think he just wanted her back—I think he was trying anything, everything, no matter the cost.”

Duncan is glowering at them, but the anger doesn’t feel like it’s for them specifically.

“I’m sorry.” They say again, it’s coming a lot, they can’t help it. “I know this is hard for all of you—I know you were both close to—”

“Both?” Duncan laughs, “You say that like I wasn’t shoved aside for the only teaching assistant Malistaire ever took—even if he’s better at theory than he’s ever been at real spellwork—”

“Hey!” Malorn barely raises his voice, cutting over Duncan regardless. “I didn’t ask to be his assistant! I didn’t ask to be a professor when he faked his death and blew up our classroom!”

“You didn’t say no though did you.” Duncan spits back.

“How could I? Our professor was dead, our school was gone, the death students needed something and Ambrose barely gave me a choice—”

“Stop stop it—both of you.” Marla slams the end of her staff against the stone floor. “We have more important things to do here.” She looks to the wizard, and then up to the Spirit of Darkmoor where she waits in the next hall. “Let’s keep going.”

The tension doesn’t break.

But it drops back into the well it seems they are all holding at bay.

The spirit falls as quickly as they can manage. Leaving nasty burns and aching limbs in her wake.

Nobody speaks as they enter the library, scanning shelves for the Phylactery that the spirit is so desperate to destroy. The knowledge held in here must be endless, the wizard gives pause at a handful of titles that light on words in their head.

The Great Sky Anchor.

Desserts of Mirage—well, that appeared to just be a cookbook—regardless.

“Little seekers—welcome to my library—behold all the knowledge before you and know that when we are through I shall document your cries for mercy and final words among the tomes.” Lord Von Shane had returned, beckoning them forwards. “And when I do, I will have proven to Malistaire that I am worthy of his boon—to have my love returned to me in eternal live, that we might live in bliss.”

The group share a look, and Penny, an odd little smile on her face asks: “The spirit? She doesn’t seem to fond of you my lord.”

“And Malistaire couldn’t even bring his own love back, let alone yours.” Duncan adds, seeming to enjoy the outlet for a bit of the steam they’re all holding.

“Bah! What do foolish children know—face the might of Von Shane!”

The vampire himself poses more of a challenge, though Penny’s mass feint comes in intensely handy. And once he’s flown himself from the room in a frustrated huff, with a promise of vengeance, they can resume their search.

“That was a little disappointing,” Marla muses as she thumbs through another shelf, “for such an infamous monster he wasn’t exactly, well, hard.”

“He’ll be back.” the wizard tells her, eyes landing on a glass case enclosing an amulet with a carved portrait. One that looks very similar to their bound spirit. “I think I found it.” There is in fact a large amount of magic pouring off the amulet, which has a small song of protection inscribed along the back face. The stone feels quite soft, and without much effort—the wizard crumbles it in their grip.

A soft wind rushes through the room, accompanied by the reappearance of the Spirit of Darkmoor.

“You’ve done it!” In a voice hushed and grateful, the spirit—Tatyana—explains her connection to these halls, how she tried and failed to escape them and was bound even in death to remain.

She guides them through a portal to the Bridge of Neverwhere, and there the group takes a moment to breathe.

“I would offer you a boon for releasing me,” Tatyana tells them, “something that may aid you as you delve further into Malistaire’s nightmare. After spending so much time in death, I am touched by Shadow—let me allow you to use it to your advantage within your chosen schools of magic.” She waves a spectral hand, and a card hovers before each of them.

The wizard smiles a little at the sight of one of Khrysalis’ Colossi. But realizes immediately there will be a problem for their companions.

But now is not the time to turn away a gift, especially not one further arming them for the fight ahead.

“Malistaire the Undying, the self named Exalted Lord of Death, has taken over the Von Shane family crypt. He waits in the mausoleum, where you must go and vanquish him.” Tatyana shows them as far as the graveyard gate. “If you are not successful, there is no telling what he may unleash upon the spiral. I wish you luck seekers, and may your deeds thus far carry you to victory.”

One by one, they offer her quiet thanks.

And pass through the gate.

~*~

It’s in the graveyard that the concern the wizard had is voiced, though not by them.

“We won’t be able to cast these.” Duncan says, inspecting his card. “None of us can use Shadow magic except you.”

The wizard frowns slightly, pulling out their deck and rifling through it for— ah, there it is. The extra time to think before had given them an idea. Though perhaps a foolish one. Only an attempt would tell. “One second—I think—” it’s awkward, spell card now clutched gently between their teeth as they replace their deck and grab for the Shadow Point. They have to be more careful with this, if they tear the spell card oh well they have more—but if they tear it when it’s imbibed with Shadow? That… might not be the best idea.

“What are you—”

There is a flash of violet light as the card in the wizard’s hand shimmers and shifts, the words Donate Power flickering and then settling into Donate Shadow.

“That should work. Probably.”

“How are you still alive?” The expression on Duncan’s face very clearly says he meant more specifically How have you not gotten yourself killed yet?

The wizard doesn’t answer.

Read the whole series here <3

[alynnl]

hmm, 2, 20, and 24 for Cyrus, Edgeworth, and Frederica fir the character ask game!

Pulled from this list here.

When did I start to like them:

Cyrus Albright - I will admit, I started to like him a lot playing through his 3rd and 4th chapters in the main game, and gradually unlocking his travel banters as I went along. The way he just sticks to his philosophy of gaining knowledge so he can share it is just amazing, phenomenal. Him possibly being Ace (not understanding or caring for romantic cues at all) is just the icing on the cake.

Miles Edgeworth - I began liking him at the end of Turnabout Samurai. Not just for the Unnecessary Feelings line that he's so famous for, but the way he acted at the end of the trial too. How he took the real culprit to task even though he was winning. How he was just beginning his journey to find the truth in the courtroom, even if it cost him his perfect record.

Frederica Aesfrost - I began to like her in the early war arc, and her willingness to give moral support to Serenoa and House Wolffort, as well as fighting by their sides as a comrade-in-arms. This showed me how strong Frederica is when she's not under the thumbs of her judgemental family. She was given a chance to grow and form her own convictions.

Weird Headcanons:

Cyrus doesn't just collect serious Research Tomes for Essays and Academia. He collects fairy tales too. Because that was part of what got him interested in studying faraway places to begin with. A fairy tale is what a society teaches its children, so they're as valuable to Cyrus's studies as any encyclopedia.

Edgeworth has tried to do the different poses the Steel Samurai does on the show. And he has a great deal of his hero's speeches memorized. It was a speech about Truth and Justice that got him to change his mind in Turnabout Samurai, and that was just one of the many unnecessary feelings he was unable to discuss with Phoenix after the trial.

Frederica and Dragan got in a lot of trouble with fire and explosives when they were little. Dragan would invent a new "firework" and Frederica would use her magic to light it off. They once blew a hole in the roof of the Aesfrosti palace and everyone was furious with both of them. Dragan took most of the blame, and Frederica will never forget that.

A secret they have that they'd never tell anyone:

Cyrus truly isn't a genius by any definition of the word. He's just extremely hardworking and dedicated to his subjects of study. He'd rather have his students or companions recognize their own brilliance instead of taking all the credit for himself.

Edgeworth will not admit it to anyone, but he becomes homesick each time he travels abroad. He sees his studies outside the country as a necessary part of his growth as a person. But every once in a while his heart aches for Japanifornia and the people he's left behind.

Frederica won't say it out loud, but she believes coming to House Wolffort is the best thing that ever happened to her. She felt as if she had no voice and no sense of self growing up among her family in Aesfrost, but here she contributes to Serenoa's council just the same and the rest of the house. This is huge for her. And she fights hard to keep her new family safe.

[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

[atozphantomsquadron]

Chapter Twelve: The Muster

July 20th

            The sun rises on what may be one of my last mornings on this planet. The knowledge of this gets heavier with each passing moment as I awaken and sit up in bed, my eyes traveling up to the mountain lion head.

            I pat my old, taxidermied friend on his wrinkled snout, in mid-snarl. “I never thought you would outlast me.”

            The dead glass eyes in the trophy stare back, impassive, much like I need to be this morning. After all, today I start mustering our troops.

            At the conclusion of the meeting when I revealed the battle plan for Operation Glass Jaw, we formalized our initial loose plan to train the supernaturals we have rescued to fight. Every one of us is scheduled to conduct one day of training a week each for the next month, to prepare our forces for the eventual siege on the Ranch. Each of us drew straws for which day we would lead the training. Teresa Iles drew Mondays, to train on physical aptitudes, like running, jumping, and evading fire. Michi drew Tuesdays, where she’s taking the magic users through their ropes, while the non-magic supernaturals continue physical training. Wednesdays fell to Aunt Kitty, who’s taken it upon herself to teach all of us how to fire every weapon she has available at the Ranch. William drew Thursdays, when he’s teaching field triage and first aid. Fridays were drawn by Gabe, who uses it as a strategy day, to share New Empire tactical data and countermeasures. Uncle Cyrus got Saturdays, which he’s using to train the last-line defenders how to fully guard the Avalon door, while all the others continue training on their own.

            I wound up with Sundays. Which meant I wound up first. I haven’t the damnedest idea what I’m going to do with these people, but I’ll give it my best shot. I dress in clothes suitable for light physical activity and head down to the dining room. Aunt Kitty stands by the counter, serving up plates of food to us all.

            She gives me my plate. “Don’t get too nervous today, kiddo. They need you on top of your game.”

            I smirk. “Thanks.” The added pressure isn’t helping me one bit. Michi waves frantically over to me, and I join her quickly at the table. William, oddly, is kind of distant … he’s talking with Dad fairly animatedly, but I don’t know why.

Michi quickly pulls my attention away from them. “So what are you going to train us in today?”

I give a non-committed shrug. “I don’t really know, actually. Everybody else has certain specialties. All I have is accidental heroism under my belt.”

Michi punches me playfully, but with her new supernatural strength it hurts like hell. “Don’t worry, Alanna. You’re going to be fine. After all, accidental heroism is something that’s in short supply, so we need a little bit more.”

I give a sly wink to my best friend. “I’m sure.” I look back over toward William and Dad. Every so often William looks up at me, barely acknowledging my presence, but then he turns back to Dad and rejoins their conversation. I sigh deeply, picking at my breakfast.

“What happened between you two?” Michi ponders. “Did you guys have a fight?”

“What? No, no we didn’t,” I retort with a start. “It’s just … well, since we got back from DC, he’s been so … solitary on me. I think I accidentally insulted him or something … he won’t come close to me, and he certainly doesn’t give as much affection as he did before.”

Michi looks back over to where William and Dad are talking, then back at me. “Ahh, don’t worry about it. I think if you give him a few days, things’ll be right back to where they were. Besides, even if I’m wrong, you still got me.” She winks and holds out her pinky. “BFF’s to the end, right?”

I can’t help but laugh, as I loop my own pinky with hers. “BFF’s to the end.” The seriousness of the situation is starting to sink in on me, and I suddenly grasp Michi’s entire hand. “Sisters beyond the end.”

Michi seems startled for a moment, then gives a warm smile. “Sisters.” She clutches my hand tightly once more before standing up and leaving the table. I turn my attention back to the scrambled eggs and chopped bison steak on the plate in front of me, my appetite newly returned. All through breakfast, though, I keep an eye on William and Dad.

With food down me, I head outside to the main field of the Ranch, to where Uncle Cyrus and Gabe are already standing. With them is a large crowd of supernaturals, roughly about two hundred in number, all of them looking as confused as I feel. Gabe motions for me to join him, and I pick up my pace to meet the two men.

“How do things look this morning?” I ask gently.

“Fair to middling,” Uncle Cyrus responds. “This is all the supernaturals we could muster together from our rescues, all of them have been brought back from Avalon, and all of them are really reluctant to fight.”

Gabe’s eyes darken. “It’s going to be up to you to show them that they can survive battle, and that they can win this war. You’ll have to be an example.”

Always the icon. Of course.

“I’ll do my best,” I respond, “although this group looks pretty rough.”

“They’ll get the polish from the other instructors,” Gabe insists. “What they need from you is training on how to be a supernatural.”

“Many of these people only have latent powers, which means they haven’t really used their powers extensively yet,” Uncle Cyrus explains. “A lot of them are self-conscious about them, life in the New Empire doing that to a person with powers.”

I can certainly understand that. Even the suspicion you might be a supernatural tends to get you scurried off to a far-away prison cell in the New Empire, so for sure these actual supernaturals won’t want to be showing off.

“Are you ready?” Gabe asks.

I close my eyes, trying to find a place of inner peace. My mind laughs at me. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Your audience awaits, then.” Gabe motions to the front of the group, where he has a bullhorn waiting.

I walk over to the tool and pick it up, flipping on its switch and speaking into it. “May I have your attention, please?” My voice booms over the heads of the group, who stop their individual conversations to turn their attention my way. “Thank you. If you don’t know me, I should introduce myself. My name is Alanna Sharpe, and I will be training you today.”

“You? Train us?” One voice cracks wise at the back of the group. “You’re a kid yourself!”

The crowd parts so that I can see my opposition. It’s an older man, looking around forty or so, and his eyes are glowing. I start walking toward him. “What’s your name, sir?”

He smirks and crosses his arms. “It’s Urich. Samuel Urich.”

“Well, Mr. Urich, what are your supernatural abilities?”

“Uh, hell-LO!” He points at his eyes. “These glowy eyes got my ass in trouble from every SSA troop from here to Bakersfield. What do you think?”

I’m now face-to-face with him. Sort of … he’s about five inches taller. “And what use are those ‘glowy eyes’ of yours in a fight? Do you even know how to use them to your advantage?”

I might have caught him off balance, but he’s not showing it. “Sure I do. I stare, someone else shoots. I try not to die.”

“A little too simplistic,” I retort. “There’s got to be some reason why your eyes glow.” My rage is starting to climb the longer this conversation continues.

Urich snorts. “You’re supposed to be that super-scary terrorist? What’s your supernatural power, texting your boyfriend 24 hours a day?”

I narrow my eyes. “Have you fought the SSA?”

“Yeah, why do you think I’m here?”

“Have you had to fight them every single day for years? Have you had your entire family taken away from you by them? Have you had the SSA target you specifically as a wanted criminal so that no place in the nation was safe for you? That’s my life right now, Mr. Urich.”

Urich snorts again. He sounds like a pig … “And what about that makes you qualified to teach us anything, little girl?”

That tears it. Images start echoing through my mind, specifically Scolar’s insistence on calling me “hatchling.” The rage bubbles over, as does the burning coming up my throat. I launch a fire stream right into Urich’s midsection, blasting him backward and over a large group of the other supernaturals behind him, who all rush to his side once he lands to put out his flaming clothes.

I let out a long puff of smoke from my nose. “Does anyone else have an objection?” I scream at the rest of the assemblage. Quiet murmuring is all I get in response. “All right then. I’m tasked with training all of you in how to use your supernatural abilities to your advantage in battle. This is something you will need to know if you are to survive the coming fight. The SSA will no longer take prisoners, this is now a fight for our very survival.”

More murmuring, this time of the worried variety. Samuel Urich finally stands up again and is helped back over to the group, but this time he remains quiet.

“For the next month of Sundays, I will be helping all of you get a handle on your supernatural abilities. We will explore every aspect of your powers, leave no stone unturned. You will know everything there is to know about yourself by the time we’re finished with this, and every possible way you can use those powers. Even the most seemingly useless power will be useful.”

The rest of the group sits down on the ground, listening intently to me. I’m not used to this kind of attention … I’m not entirely sure I like it. One man raises his hand, and thankfully it’s someone I recognize, Jerry Tile. “How will you be dividing us up?”

“Good question, thank you. You will be placed into two divisions, Attack and Support. Those of you with powers that create chaos and destruction … powers like the one I just used … you will be in the Attack division. Anyone whose power can be weaponized will basically be in this division. The rest of you, those who have powers more aimed toward recovery and healing, will be in the Support division. Jerry, for instance, your power to rebuild weapons and equipment puts you in the Support division.”

Jerry nods in confirmation.

“Everyone, today will be the day that we make the divisions. You will need to demonstrate your supernatural abilities before myself, Mr. Salem, and Mr. Francis.” I motion toward Uncle Cyrus and Gabe. “We will be making the decisions on who goes into which division. For now, please form an orderly line, and we will take you in turn to a secluded field for your demonstrations.”

The rest of the day is spent evaluating powers, and taking notes on who’s available and who is the most powerful. Jerry, naturally, winds up in the Support division. Because he isn’t training, Trent Gracin gives us a demonstration of exactly what his insect powers entail, which earns him a spot in the Attack division. Samuel Urich, it turns out, is a healer and those “glowy” eyes produce x-rays; while it’s all the more reason for me to blast him above and beyond his insubordination, he winds up in the Support division as a medic, and I give him precise instructions to get additional medical training from William and Grandmother.

Some of these supernaturals will be more useful than others. One of them has a power almost identical to Yolanda French’s, only instead of producing projectile guns from their arms they spew various forms of caustic gas; definitely the Attack division. Many of the Attack division supernaturals have obvious gifts which will help in a fight, but others are more subtle such as Lydia Dales, a woman I met at my birthday party three years ago whose power involved producing wine from her hands. Isaac Portland, the explosive flatulence supernatural from the same party, also winds up in Attack.

The Support division is less than half the Attack division by the end of the day, however, and includes many folks who came to the Ranch while I was in the Inferno. Betty Rancin, a mechanic who apparently can repair any intricate machine she touches through a psychic ability, naturally gets a Support role. So do Tyler Wauk, whose ability involves sucking poisons out of other people, and Quincy Alenia, whose ears can tune into any radio frequency; Quincy in particular will be useful for picking up reports of enemy movements. By the time the sun sets, we have our exact numbers for each division. Both Uncle Cyrus and Gabe count up and confirm their numbers before handing me a tally sheet.

SUPPORT: 38 Healers, 18 Communicators, 24 Fix-Its, 80 total

ATTACK: 83 Projectile, 58 Close Quarters, 66 Mages, 19 Defensive, 226 total

TOTAL FORCES: 306

It looks like a register for Dungeons and Dragons. If only it wasn’t the entire force defending supernaturals everywhere from an enormous enemy army looking to eliminate them all from the face of the planet.

[faebriel]

🤡 , ✨ , an d 🤲 !!

hi cyrus!! thank u for the ask :D

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

okay for the record i tried looking for funnies in it's called freefall given that it is my most recent fic but jesus christ it is really not a very funny fic. good lord. i'm picking this exchange from all's well that ends instead:

“What,” Tommy bellows, watching Tubbo clamber up the black-and-yellow walls that now sit around the hobbit hole he calls a home. He’s been hard at work, apparently – the towers stand tall not only above Tubbo’s head (not that great of a feat, honestly), but Tommy’s too (much more impressive). “What is that."

Tubbo swishes his robe around a bit to demonstrate, pulling on the skirt when it catches on a nail sticking out of the treads of his snowboot. Already, the drying concrete is leaving pudgy marks like yellow fingerprints where it presses against the robe – it’s going to stain, he thinks.

“I’m entering my widow arc,” he explains.

nothing i ever write is going to top "i'm entering my widow arc" or tubbo having every other serious conversation in this fic dressed like this

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

boooo fine :] i think i write character voices okay. specifically i'm always really careful (bc i write in limited third person pov) to make sure narration/internal dialogue/whatever fits character voice just as well as the dialogue does and i think it helps my fics feel more immersed in the mind of the perspective character

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

:3 fine. raincoats be upon ye

“I’m sorry about what you had to see in there,” Wilbur says - his voice, though soft, shatters the silence like glass. Niki suppresses the urge to flinch. There’s no point. There's nothing to hide from here. “I can imagine it was… upsetting.”

She takes another sip of her tea, silent. The cheap film clings to her tongue, fills her nose with that half-stale scent of gone tea, and Niki tries to act like it grounds her. There’s little else that could, out here, besides the slight chill of the wall at her back. She breathes a sigh into her mug, watching steam curl lazily across her view of the street like spring fog.

“...it scared me,” is what she settles on, finally.

Wilbur’s voice is small when he asks, “I did?”

“No!” Niki turns without thinking, jostling her shoulder against the wall - the spilt tea doesn’t bother her, not really, not when she sees the wrecked look on Wilbur’s face dim cautiously into some kind of relief. She wasn’t. She clings to that knowledge stubbornly. She wasn’t - she couldn’t be scared of Wilbur. “No, just - those people, they were - they were awful. Awful to both of you, and then, then they hit him…”

ask game!! ✨

[echo-echo31]

The Water Hears and Understands | Siren!Yancy x GN!Reader

Chapter 1

I finally did it :3 I'm going to be updating this every third Sunday!

Warnings: hypnotism/mind control implied.

When you dream, you dream of the ocean. Not the tranquil, serene scenes that most people imagine. No, your mind is overflowing with tormented, mountainous waves. The colour of the sea is steel, almost black, as it curls around like it wants to destroy its own self.

When you dream, it's dark. The deep visions of the darkest depths engulfing your senses, till the only knowledge you have is of immense pressure and the memory of sunlight.

When you dream, it's of a voice. Not words but a language so ancient and etheral that it seems to be injected directly into your veins. Unable to be translated but omnipotent none the less. It's not even language really, it's more like...singing.

***

When you wake up, you don't remember any of that.

What you do remember, is that you have an appointment at 8am sharp with your boss, ominously titled 'Review' in your shared work calendar.

It's almost as if you simply time travel, suddenly finding yourself standing in their office with a vague recollection of having gotten ready, eaten breakfast, and taken the bus to work.

"Alright, I think that's it? Got any questions for me?"

You blink out of your daze to make eye contact with the warden of Happy Trails Penitentiary. The man looks warm, but in that 'might secretly be a serial killer' kind of way, which you admit would be pretty ironic.

"Um...oh, no! I'm all good, Mr Murrdar-Sloretore"

Seriously. Whoever got married to combine those surnames really had a very particular sense of humour.

"Ok then," The warden rises from behind his desk, pulling his suit jacket down and gesturing for you to follow him to the door.

You continue on your way through the corridors of the prison, passing the guard's recreation room, the staff toilets, the CCTV office, all the way down to the metal gate painted in a peeling pale green. The warden unhooks his keys from his belt, fiddling a little, before slotting the correct one in and opening the gate as it sounds its long, groaning protest.

It's still weird to you that Happy Trails hasn't modernised, but you can't help being grateful. Technology was never your strong point.

You continue on your way, passing the threshold between freedom and incarceration, until you get to the plastic booth that's used for the processing of new prisoners.

It's then your heart stops.

It's a flash, like when lightening briefly illuminates the sky. One moment you see the back of a dark haired man, a tattoo across his neck, shoulders omitting easy confidence. The next, he turns, and it's as if your lungs fill with water.

For a single moment, you see pointed fangs teasing you from a provocative smile. The neck tattoo is replaced with what looks like three incisions. But the eyes. Ice blue, almost white, with a pupil so small it might as well be a speck. Those eyes seem to look right at you. You smell the harsh sting of salt. You hear a voice, a noise, a song...so familiar...so right...you just need to-

Then the moment is gone and you find yourself suddenly stood right next to the new inmate, looking at deep brown eyes that reflect the same confusion and uncertainty that you feel.

"Ah, yes! Here's our new guest. Mr Philip Cyrus-"

"-Yancy," The man stops him mid sentence, for some reason looking at you whilst addressing him, "Name's Yancy"

You step back a little, conscious that you're probably imposing on personal boundaries. Yancy's mouth curls upwards at the side slightly.

"Alright then, Mr Yancy," The warden is now flipping through paperwork on a clipboard, frowning when he gets three pages in, "It's says here you're from Ohio, son. What's with the accent?"

"My Pa used to ask the same thing,"

He doesn't say it in anything but a nonchalant tone, however you notice the warden stiffen at his words.

"Right then, guess we welcome you to Happy Trails. Officer Y/N here will escort you to your living arrangements,"

With that he nods once to you and turns back towards the peeling gate. To freedom.

You turn back, unable to stop the feeling of déjà vu from crawling up your body.

Yancy holds out a hand with a gleam of something you can't quite define in his eye.

"Nice to meet ya, officer. You doing okay? Looks like youse ain't been sleepin' right,"

You know you're not suppose to touch the prisoners except for safety, but there's something about the man before you, that makes you grasp his hand and shake it without thinking.

A moment of awkward silence, then you remember your job.

"Right...Mr Yancy, if you'll follow me," You pull back from the contact quickly, moving in front of him and almost forgetting to check of he actually is following you.

Again, time seems to skip forwards. You put it down to tiredness again when you find yourself at the cell Yancy will inhabit for the next couple of years, without having really paid any attention to the journey there.

"If you could please drop off your personal belongings and then report to the canteen, they will register you for meal times. Wake up is 7am sharp, lights out at 10pm. Do you have any questions?"

You only realise you've been staring at the cell wall rather than the prisoner, when you look back to see Yancy leaning against the metal bars, eyebrow raised, with a smirk that makes you want to check your teeth.

"Youse seem familiar like, officer," He pushes himself away from where he's been leaning, traveling towards your space so that you cautiously place a hand on your emergency radio, "What's your name?"

His voice is suddenly deeper, more precise. He's now only about a foot away. You think you can see a ring of icy blue around his pupil.

"You...you don't need to ask that, Yancy. I am your prison guard, and you need to...r-respect boundaries,"

You hate the way your voice shakes a little. You're never normally this nervous, this unprofessional.

What the hell is going on? Get a grip, Y/N.

Yancy's eyes flick downwards towards your lips once.

"I guess I am forgettin' my manners," He steps away and you can breath again.

Quickly deciding to get out of whatever the hell this situation is, you go to walk away, leaving Yancy to wonder into his cell.

He calls back to you half way down the corridor, and you swear the accent dissipates for a moment.

"My apologies, officer. I did not mean to intimidate you. I'm sure we will have plenty of time to get to know each other properly...Y/N,"

Later, they tell you that you blacked out in the cell corridor. You wake up with ringing ears and wetness gathering at your thighs.

[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.

[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

[alynnl]

When Cyrus wanted Others to Learn

One particular incident in Cyrus’s younger years (when he was about 14 or 15) shaped his rock-solid philosophy that knowledge is something to be shared, and not hoarded.  (Headcanon, of course.)

Where it Began

From the beginning he attended one of Atlasdam’s public schools, where people from all social status could attend.  This was important to Cyrus’s parents, because while they wanted to give him the best life possible, they didn’t want to shelter him from reality.  He would have to learn about people from all walks of life (and sometimes the other regions outside the Flatlands) if he was to be a well-rounded scholar.

The academy Cyrus attended covered both mundane studies (reading, writing, mathematics, history, science) as well as arcane subjects (magic origins, casting, control and blocking.)  So students were tested on paper in all the mundane matters and given a performance test on their practice of magic.  Those who fail the magical portion of the test would not be permitted to cast in the city limits of Atlasdam, or any city for that matter.  Their failure shows a dangerous lack of control over nature’s elements.

Left Behind

One of Cyrus’s peers, an introverted boy named Alex, did fine in his mundane studies, but struggled when it came to applying his knowledge of the arcane.  He always scored very poor marks on any of the performances, earning the ridicule of his classmates (especially those from Altasdam’s wealthier parts, who were tutored privately in their parents’ mansions and seemed to boast perfect control and casting.)  Alex’s instructors had all but given up on him.

One day after another of Alex’s many failures, Cyrus waited until the rest of their classmates (and even their teacher) left the building and he pulled Alex aside.  He put it gently that he noticed his peer struggling, but he might be able to explain matters of controlling fire and ice better than their instructor, who had an old school “sink or swim” mentality.

Alex is embarrassed at first, but makes it clear that he has no money or anything else to pay Cyrus for his tutelage.  He’s about to go home when Cyrus stops him again.

“I don’t need you to pay me.  I’m just lending you a helping hand.”

When Alex further questions why Cyrus would do this free of charge, Cyrus simply states he could think of no better way to use his knowledge.  Since he’s already guaranteed to pass both his paper tests and magical demonstration tests, he might as well take his time to help someone else learn.

Struggle and Challenge

The two have a rocky start at first, but eventually Cyrus’s slow paces through the movements and incantations allow Alex to catch on.  Soon they are casting practically in sync.

During one of their training sessions in a field just outside of their academy, two of Cyrus’s wealthier peers, Bryce and Damion run into them.

Bryce remarks that Cyrus is wasting his time on Alex, who got the lowest possible marks and will end up a “spell-less failure.”

Damion wonders if Cyrus did this as a joke, or if he lost some sort of bet with their other peers.

In a moment of doubt, Alex asks Cyrus if this is true.  Cyrus of course denies it and steps in front of his classmate to defend him.

“Have you two got nothing better to do with your time than to interrupt another person’s learning?  Alephan would be ashamed of you.”

Damion proposes that Cyrus proves that Alex isn’t completely and utterly hopeless, and challenges the both of them to a magical duel just outside Altasdam’s city gates.  It would be 2 vs. 2, Cyrus and Alex vs. Damion and Bryce.

Cyrus accepts the challenge, much to Alex’s dismay.  They will meet at sundown.  Bryce and Damion leave for now, feeling like they have the match in the bag.

Alex wonders if they could really win the duel, and Cyrus insists that they concentrate on training.  

“But if we lose, you’ll be seen as a disgrace too!  And you might get hurt.  What’ll your parents say?”

“It’ll be alright.  I know how to beat them.  Bryce and Damion have always been too arrogant for their own good.  We can use this to our advantage.”

During the rest of their training session, Cyrus emphasizes the importance of conserving their magical energy until they’re sure they can land the decisive blow.

Duel at Sunset

At sundown, they show up to the duel as promised.

At first Bryce and Damion seem to have the upper hand, breaking out second level fire and ice spells from tomes given to them by their private tutors.  Cyrus urges Alex to stay calm, and the two of them counterattack whenever they have the chance.  After some time passes, Damion and Bryce realize their mistakes too late - they use up all their energy with their flashy second-level scholar magic, and they’re unable to counter the combined efforts of Cyrus and Alex’s first-level fire and ice spells.

With one decisive combined strike, Cyrus and Alex end the duel (non-lethally, but their opponents are definitely humiliated.)

A Late Night

Politely asking one of the city guards to fetch the arrogant duo, Cyrus offers to take Alex home, as it’s getting late.

“It’s fine.  I can get home on my own.”

“Please, Alex, I insist!  I just want to know that you got back safely.”

Very reluctantly, Alex leads Cyrus to a poorer side of Atlasdam.  And while it’s better looking than, a place like the poor side of Bolderfall it’s still noticeably more modest than the group of houses Cyrus lives by.

Alex goes up to a cabin made of stone and wood and politely knocks on the door.  There, a middle aged man holding a cane and missing a leg fondly greets Alex, but wonders who Cyrus is.

Alex formally introduces Cyrus to his father, Emmet.  Off in the distance, Cyrus can smell freshly baked bread.

Emmet invites Cyrus inside, and thanks him for bringing his son home.  He leaves the two to get comfortable at the dining table while he wanders over to a brick oven.  From it he takes out several loaves of bread, and hands one off to Cyrus, as it’s the only token of appreciation he could think to offer.

Alex takes his own bread and spreads strawberry jam, a real treat onto it.  

He briefly explains that he and his family used to live in the Highlands.  His father lost his leg fighting in one of their wars as a sellsword.  The war also took the lives of Alex’s mother and grandparents - and what little money Emmet took with him, he used to buy the cabin.  He took up to baking, since he only needed his hands for it.

Alex goes on to further explain that he hasn’t had much time to study the arcane part of his schooling, since he devotes a lot of his efforts to helping his father run their in-house bakery.

Cyrus considers the implications of this, and ends up paying Emmet for the loaf of bread he was given.  When Emmet refuses at first, Cyrus all but shoves the leaves into his hand, stating that he will pay any craftsman fairly for what they make. Emmet counts the coins and realizes Cyrus did indeed give him fair payment - not undercutting him, but not giving too much out of a sense of charity or pity.  For that, he and Alex are grateful.

Cyrus leaves shortly after, taking the loaf with him and intending to share it with his own family back home.

When his parents ask why he was home late that night, Cyrus suggests they put on tea, because his tale will be a long one.  He starts off saying,  “This is a story about giving and receiving knowledge,” and goes from there.

As the result of Cyrus’s efforts, Alex would go on to pass both sets of exams.  After graduation, Cyrus wouldn’t hear from his classmate again until a letter with a hand-drawn illustration of a harbor came to him from Rippletide.  Emmet opened a larger bakery, and Alex went on to use his abilities in both areas of learning to be a valuable crew member on board a certain traveling merchant’s ship.

[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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